Then Comes Seduction

He pressed Miss Huxtable’s slim arm tightly to his side for a while, but when he turned them onto yet another path, even narrower and more secluded than the last, he was forced to release it and set an arm about her waist so that they could move along side by side. Single file was the only sensible way to proceed along this particular path, but who was being sensible?

Not Miss Katherine Huxtable, certainly.

She did not point out, as she sensibly might have done, that this was hardly a shortcut back to the rest of their party. Neither did she make any protest at the intimacy of his touch. She stiffened for a moment, it was true, but then she relaxed again.

“Mmm,” he said softly. “You wear a perfume I have not smelled before.”

It was even true.

“It is not perfume,” she said. “I never wear any. It must be the soap I used to wash my hair this morning.”

He smiled at the naivete of her answer. And at its unconscious invitation. He stopped walking and drew her to a halt too. He lowered his face to her hair and inhaled. He could feel it soft and silky against his nose.

“Ah,” he murmured. “And so it is. Who would have thought mere soap could smell so… enticing.”

He felt her shiver.

“It is what I always use,” she said.

“May I offer a word of advice?” he said, turning her slightly so that her hand had to come up to his chest to keep a little distance between them. “Never change that habit. That soap is more appealingly fragrant than any perfume.”

“Oh,” she said. “Do you think?”

“I think, Miss Huxtable,” he said fervently, and he slid his thumb along the base of her fingers, closed his hand about hers, and lifted it high onto his shoulder, bringing her against him with the other hand as he did so. “Though sometimes I prefer not to. Sometimes there are better things to do.”

He lowered his head to brush his lips across the warm, soft flesh between her shoulder and neck and then moved them upward. He flicked his tongue over the warm, sensitive flesh behind her ear and heard her inhale sharply and felt her curve her body more firmly into his as he blew softly into the cavity of her ear and then moved his mouth to cover hers.

Her lips were closed and pouted, and it occurred to him that this was possibly her first kiss. Her whole body trembled noticeably and sagged further against his. Her hands gripped both his shoulders.

He kissed her softly, waiting for her grip to loosen before touching her lips with his tongue and, when they parted, sliding it into her mouth. She inhaled slowly through her mouth as he did so, an unconsciously erotic move that had him harden into early arousal.

She tasted of strawberries and wine and woman.

He twined one arm about her slender waist and spread the other hand lightly over her buttocks.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his lips still touching hers. “Beautiful, beautiful.”

Her eyes were closed. She pressed her lips softly to his.

“We ought not to be here like this,” he murmured. “You ought not to be here with me. Especially with me. You have been warned.”

She had opened her eyes, and even though they stood in almost total darkness, it seemed to him that he could see the depths of trust and surrender there.

“I make my own decisions about people,” she said.

Ah, foolish. Naivete par excellence. He felt a strange twinge of tenderness for her.

“Do you?” He feathered kisses against her lips. “I am humbled. And unworthy. You are so very beautiful.”

He spread one hand over the back of her head, angled his own against it, and kissed her with sudden and deep urgency, pressing her mouth wide with his own, ravishing it with his tongue.

Her arms came tightly about him.

“Ah,” he whispered after several moments, “you tempt me.”

She made a low sound in her throat but said nothing, and he turned her so that they were off the path and her back was against the smooth trunk of a tree. In the distance the orchestra at the main pavilion played a waltz tune and revelers laughed and called out to one another.

He made love to her with his hands and his lips, slowly, gently, patiently, almost worshipfully, so that she would not take sudden fright and flight. His guess was that she was experiencing a seething torment of emotions, including alarm and guilt. His guess was also that her inexperience with sexual desire would persuade her to delay one more moment before stopping him and then one more-until the time came when she would feel it was too late to stop him at all without appearing very foolish.

His task was to wait until that moment came and had passed.

And to fulfill her every dream of forbidden sensual delights during the moments that followed. He had always taken a great deal of pleasure in all the women he possessed, but it had also always been a matter of pride with him to give a great deal of pleasure too-even when there was a wager involved.

He moved his hands over her, easing her flimsy dress off her shoulders and down her arms, baring her breasts in the process. He fondled them gently, kissed them, suckled them. They were small but firm, warm, exquisitely silky to the touch. Her nipples were pebbled hard.

Her fingers twined in his hair while she pressed her head back against the tree trunk. She was breathing deeply and audibly.

Someone really ought to make a perfume out of that soap. That someone would make a fortune.

He stood against her, softly kissing her face and murmuring to her while his hands slid the fabric of her gown up her legs and he touched their firm, smooth warmth. He nudged one knee between her inner thighs until she moved her feet apart and his hand had access to the most private, secret, hot core of her.

She whimpered slightly when he touched her there, and he stilled his hand for a moment while he kissed her lips.

“Ah,” he murmured to her. “So very lovely.”

She was too. She was all slender, immaculate beauty. A girl in innocence, a woman in soft, warm allure. His hand played with her, teased her, scratched her lightly. He slid one finger part of the way inside her before withdrawing it. She was hot and slickly wet.

Ready for him.

Hot with mindless desire.

Aware too perhaps that it was too late now to behave as she ought and as she surely had done all her life until this moment when tempted by a practiced seducer.

As he fondled her with one hand and stroked into her mouth with his tongue, he used his other hand to open buttons and lower the fall of his evening breeches. He set his erection against her when he was ready and felt the familiar pounding, almost painfully pleasurable anticipation of penetration, vigorous action, and ultimate release.

Naked flesh against naked flesh. There. And soon to be…

He really did want her, he thought. This was not just about seduction. It was not all cold cynicism.

Whom was he trying to fool?

The question presented itself to him with cold verbal clarity at just the moment when he needed to be as mindless as she.

He had a sudden flashing image of himself tomorrow swaggering into his club to claim his prize after only five days. Seduction of innocence complete-full penetration, full intercourse, full submission. Full enjoyment. One devil of a fine fellow. No dare too daring, no wildness too wild, no debauchery too debauched for Baron Montford, fondly known to his admiring intimates as Monty.

Always and ever a winner.

And he had a companion image of Katherine Huxtable tomorrow, confronting the knowledge of what she had done, knowing herself ruined and alone and abandoned, the latest victim of a heartless, conscienceless rake. Knowing too that she had only herself to blame. She had been warned-even by him.