Regency Scoundrels And Scandals. Louise Allen

she moved a little closer. Encouraged, he let his own hands slide down to hold her against him, supple, yielding as she had been in the waltz, letting him lead.

      He sucked her lower lip into his own mouth and she came up on tiptoe, pressed against him so that the urge to cup her buttocks and crush her against his swelling groin was almost painful. At last her mouth was opening to his gentle assault. Ashe slid his tongue between her lips, into the warm, moist sweetness and her own tongue moved to touch his in a shyly tentative caress. He did not think he had ever felt anything so touching as that innocently trusting gesture.

      It seemed her husband was not a magnificent lover who had left his wife bereft after all. But how could a man be married to Bel and not want to lavish every art of seduction and eroticism upon her? How could she be this innocent?

      She was clinging to his shoulders now and he sensed it was only that grip that was keeping her standing. Gently Ashe lifted his mouth and smiled down at her. The colour was animating her face now, a little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Already it seemed fuller, more swollen from his assiduous kisses.

      ‘Hello,’ he murmured, as though she had been away.

      ‘Hello.’ Her lashes fluttered down to hide her eyes and he opened his hands to release her. Those frivolous ribbons fluttered with the movement and he began to undo the bows, slowly, indulgently, letting the sensual slide of the silk satin through his fingers tantalise him with the thought of how her skin would feel when he caressed her.

      ‘I can do that,’ she said uncertainly, her hands fluttering above his as he worked with slow concentration.

      ‘I enjoy it. This is a very lovely garment; the colour is perfect against your skin, your hair.’ The last bow yielded and the robe fell open to reveal the low-cut neckline of the nightgown. Ashe had seen the lovely swell of her breasts before—this was no lower cut than the fashionable gown she had worn last night, but this time it was for him alone, and he could touch her. Holding his breath, he trailed the back of his fingers across the exposed skin.

      Bel gasped, stepped back, but he simply stepped forward, matching her retreat, caught the edges of the robe and pushed it off her shoulders. Long, slim arms, bare now without gloves, the light glinting on her skin, turning it to ivory, and shoulders, naked except for slim ribbon straps, sloping elegantly up to the column of her neck. The pulse there was beating wildly, he could see it, was immeasurably aroused by it. Low down, where he ached for her, his echoing pulse throbbed with urgent need.

      ‘Belle.’ He gave it a lingering French intonation, laying his fingers gently against the betraying pulse. ‘Belle. You are so lovely, so lovely.’

      ‘Should I…should I get into bed?’

      He had planned to kiss her almost insensible there where they stood, then scoop her up and enjoy the sight of her sprawled on the deep green satin of the bed cover. But all his instincts told him to go slowly, let her do what seemed comfortable to her. ‘If you like.’

      She edged backwards, lifted the side of the covers. ‘With the candles lit?’

      ‘Why, yes. I want to see you.’

      ‘You do?’ She slid into bed and sat watching him, the covers up to her chin.

      ‘Definitely!’ Ashe sat down with caution on the delicate bergère armchair, took off his shoes, undid the buckles at the knee of his evening breeches and began to roll down the silk stockings. With his feet bare he stood up and shed his coat, letting it fall with a carelessness that would have wrung a moan from his valet’s lips.

      As he began to unbutton his waistcoat, Bel stammered, ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Undressing.’ He dropped the garment on to the coat and pulled the knot of his neckcloth free.

      ‘But…don’t you want to do that in the dressing room?’

      Ashe stared at her. ‘No. No, I would like to undress here, where I can watch you.’

      ‘Oh.’ Bel shut her eyes. ‘Oh, dear.’

      ‘Bel.’ They stayed shut. ‘Bel, I know you have seen a naked man before—’

      ‘No, I have not.’

      ‘What?’ Ashe sat down, heedless of the crushed garments on the chair. No, do not tell me you are a virgin. Please! You heard about it. Marriages that stayed unconsummated for one reason or another. He had never made love to a virgin in his life, and he was most certainly not going to start now.

      ‘I have never seen a naked man because Henry always used to come to my chamber in his nightgown and then snuff out the candles,’ Bel explained prosaically, eyes still screwed firmly shut. Ashe let out a tightly held breath and felt the sweat cooling on his brow.

      ‘And then he would take his nightshirt off?’

      ‘Oh, no. He would get into bed and kiss me on the cheek and then he would…you know.’

      ‘With his nightshirt on?’

      ‘Of course.’ Bel opened her eyes cautiously as though expecting to see him standing there indecently naked and rampant. She seemed relieved to find him still in shirt and breeches.

      ‘And you still in your nightgown?’ She nodded. ‘And then he would make love to you?’ Another nod.

      ‘And then he would kiss me on the cheek again and say “Thank you dear. Goodnight”, and off he would go until Wednesday. Or Saturday.’

      ‘He would visit your room twice a week on set days?’ Ashe knew he was staring, but couldn’t help himself. His mouth was probably open. The man must have either had ice water in his veins or have been blind. Or both.

      Bel yawned, hugely, clapping both hands over her mouth. ‘Oh, I am so sorry. I didn’t sleep very well last night.’

      Ashe ignored the yawn. ‘Forgive me, but may I ask…was your husband a very passionate man? I mean, did you find his lovemaking, er…?’

      ‘Dull. I found it very, very dull. But Henry did not seem to think I ought to be enjoying it, you see. He was always rather apologetic about doing it at all, so I assumed it was expected to be horrid.’ Ashe blinked at her frankness. Poor bloody Henry. You idiot. ‘So I had no idea that there was more to it, or that I might enjoy it. Not for a long while. But then there were things people said—when I stopped being a new bride—and things I read. I guessed that perhaps it can be more than just sticky and boring and embarrassing.’

      Bel regarded him hopefully. ‘It is, isn’t it? More? I mean, I began to feel there was something I needed.’ She frowned over the word, then gave her head a little shake as though she could not think of a better one.

      ‘Yes. I promise it is. So much more. So much that will satisfy that need.’ She looked so fragile, sitting up in that big bed. And so nervous and so tired. ‘Bel, you have not considered simply getting married again? It would have been a more conventional way of finding affection. Safer, perhaps.’

      ‘Goodness, no. No, I am absolutely determined never to marry again. You do not know what a husband is really going to be like—look at Henry. I mean, he was a decent, honest, respectable man. He was kind. But he was so dull and he made me be dull—yet I never guessed how it would be until I married him.

      ‘And even if he is not dull, a husband rules his wife and now I know what it is like to be able to think for myself I could not bear it. And then, if by some miracle he did not try to dominate me—imagine how awful it must be to be married to the sort of man who did not care what you did and positively encouraged you to take lovers. How do you respect a man like that?’

      ‘And unlike a husband, you can change a lover if he does not please you? Like a library book?’ Ashe asked, only half-jesting.

      ‘No! You should not treat people like that.’ Bel wriggled up against the pillows, forgetting to be shy in her indignation. ‘That is why I thought it could only be a daydream, a fantasy. I never intended to take a lover, not really. I had no idea