sure through his clothes. The press of his hand at her back urged her closer, coaxing her to meld into him, convincing her this was heaven and earth all in one.
Nick knew the moment he had compliance. Her arms went about his neck, she arched her head back and he murmured against her exposed throat. He asked once more, in husky tones redolent with desire, ‘Come with me.’
This time she came. He was careful to maintain contact, careful to keep her hand surrounded by the warm, comforting grip of his. It should have worked and it did up to a point. It worked all the way up the stairs, down the hall to the third door on the right, which he knew to be her room, and then it stopped working. For her at least.
His body was surprisingly primed for what should lie ahead. There would be no need for his usual ‘assists’, as he liked to call them. It was no small matter to call up stimulation at a whim. But tonight it had been easy, the only thing that had been, in fact. From the moment he’d seen her in the delectable lavender chiffon with its high waist and low-cut bodice gathered beneath her breasts with ribbons designed to maximise the effects of its cleavage, he’d had no problems in that regard. The gown fit her curves to perfection as had the candlelight, although she had not flaunted it as one of his London women would have.
He reached for the door handle, ready to usher her inside and follow, but she stalled him, her hand covering his, her eyes honest and perhaps a little sad when they met his. ‘I’m sorry, Nicholas. I don’t think I can tonight.’
He smiled softly and placed a kiss on her cheek. ‘Perhaps I could convince you. A massage by candlelight, perhaps? We have all night, we can go slowly.’ It would be a delight to linger with her, no fears of angry husbands bursting through the doors.
‘No,’ she said more firmly, stepping away from him to establish distance. ‘You’re a very attractive man, Nicholas D’Arcy, but you are still something of a stranger. I think anything else we do tonight would be nothing more than a mistake. I, for one, would rather wait and hope for better.’
She turned the knob and slipped inside, leaving him alone in the hall uncomfortably aroused and wondering how was he going to turn off what she had so unwittingly turned on. When he’d contemplated this evening earlier in his chambers and laid his strategy, he’d never envisioned he’d be spending it with only his own hand.
But here he was, aroused both physically and mentally. Nicholas undressed, not bothering with nightclothes or a light. With any luck he’d find relief and then sleep shortly afterwards. He lay down on the bed and took himself in a loose fist, running his hand the length of his cock in long fluid motions, starting slow and then increasing his speed as his need grew. It didn’t take long. He hadn’t thought it would and he did feel a measure of relief when it was over, but only a measure. He reached for a towel and waited for sleep to follow.
His mind would not cooperate. There in the darkness, his brain was alive with thoughts, darting here and there on tangents and considerations, all of them on the same subject: Miss Annorah Price-Ellis. Had she gone to bed unsatisfied as well? Even now was she rethinking her choice? She had not been immune to him. Had she gone to bed, too, forced to find her own satisfaction? Now that would be a perverse irony indeed, to have them both just doors away, pleasuring themselves instead of each other. It would have Channing and the boys in stitches if they knew. He would never live it down.
Neither would he live down her comments in the hall. A mistake? She would wait and hope for better? Those were two things a woman never thought about sex with him. Nick fluffed his pillow and rolled to his side in search of a more conducive position for sleep. But it turned out to only be conducive to further examining the wonder that had struck him earlier. What had happened to tamp down her wildness?
He felt a surprising affinity for Annorah Price-Ellis. Her stories had struck a chord of memory in him. He, too, had such memories of country summers full of laughter and play. He, too, had felt their glaring absence when they’d come to an end. More than that, those stories offered him insight to her. He’d seen the reckless flame of her youth come back to her as she told those stories, a flame that was all but extinguished now. In that way they were alike as well.
She thought her life was over, that nothing would ever happen to her again. Life had occurred and the best days were behind her. The reasons for that conclusion were unclear. She had been careful to hold a little something back tonight even with his prodding. He understood, too, that she’d created a safe harbour inside that reality. There was comfort for her in knowing what to expect.
He knew that particular comfort. It was something of a shock to discover that beneath a surface of differences, he and Miss Price-Ellis shared a fundamental similarity. When he’d come to London and taken Channing’s offer to help with the agency, he’d known he was giving up certain hopes and expectations.
Channing did not ask him to give up those expectations. There was no official relinquishing, but he knew how society worked. Once he was committed as an escort, he’d have his own niche, but he’d never truly belong. He’d never be marriage material. What decent woman would want a man such as him for a husband? That meant no family of his own, something he’d taken for granted right up until the day his father died. Now, he had a brother, two sisters and a mother counting on him. There’d been no question of setting aside his dreams to support them through whatever means possible.
He wondered what Annorah had set aside that had brought her to this moment. What had happened in her life to make her think life as she’d expected it to be was over? Did she really believe it or was there a flicker of hope that somehow it could still be different? After all, he was here, a veritable wolf in the den of her security, poised to threaten that very fabric through her own invitation.
* * *
By the time the sun rose, Nicholas had decided this seduction could be going better. He had not slept well in spite of the excellent accommodations and the relief he’d provided himself. Annorah’s rejection had kept him up most of the night. Nicholas scrubbed at his face with his hands and took in the sunrise from the little balcony of his room. The east-facing room afforded a view of the rolling lawns leading to the stables and carriage house.
From here he could just make out the dark figures of grooms and horses going about their morning rituals. He had forgotten how early life began in the country. In London he’d just be getting to bed—his own bed anyway. Like as not, he’d have already been in someone else’s. That was another item bothering him this morning. He’d spent the entire night in his own bed.
Strategically, he had to admit Annorah had made a sound decision to defer coupling. She might have treated him as a welcomed guest, and for a time at dinner as a close friend, but it was still at the fore of her mind that he was actually a guest who was paid to be here. There would be no pleasure for her if she couldn’t get past that. She needed to see him as that close friend she had imagined at dinner, as a temporary but sincere companion, if she was to find the joy she was looking for.
She’d not been unaware of him. If anything, she’d been too aware: of what he was here to do and of her part in bringing him. She had to go through with it. He could see the internal debate he’d hoped to stem in the garden still being waged behind her hazel eyes. So he’d poured her more champagne, coaxed stories from her and to some extent it had worked. When he had kissed her, there had been moments when she’d forgotten he was a hired service. He’d felt her body come alive, felt her mouth move beneath his. He needed to create more moments like those. She was more than capable of them. How to do it?
Nicholas rested his elbows on the balcony railing. The day promised to be fair and warm, a perfect summer day. Summer. Pieces of Annorah’s stories from the evening flitted through his mind. The summertime, the stronghold of her wildness, perhaps the last preserve where
