The Chaperon's Seduction(38)

Phyllida sat up, gasping. She felt hot, dizzy with the tumult of emotions swirling inside. Heavens how she wanted him, so much that he invaded her very dreams. She sank back, willing herself to be calm.

It was then that she heard a noise, the faint click of a door closing and the whisper of hasty footsteps past her room. Quickly she slipped out of bed and threw on her wrap.

‘Matty?’

Quietly she opened the connecting door, but the soft regular breathing from the bed told her that the maid was sleeping. She crossed the dressing room and went into Ellen’s chamber. A square of moonlit sky at the window offered sufficient light for Phyllida to see that the room was empty.

Alarm shook her. She hurtled out into the corridor, just in time to see a tantalising glimpse of billowing skirts disappearing around the corner. She followed, but when she reached the gallery she could see no one. Something caught her eye and she strained her eyes to peer across to the opposite landing where she thought she saw a figure, a shape, dim and ghostly, fading into the black-shadowed void of the passage. Picking up her skirts, she dashed around the landing and into that far corridor. Above the thundering of her heart she heard a stifled giggle but when she turned the corner the corridor was empty. Phyllida was alone. She bit her lip and looked at the doors. One of these rooms was Richard’s, Sophia had told her so, hoping its distance from the guest chambers would reassure her.

Silently Phyllida moved forward, straining her ears to listen. Nothing. Then she noticed the faint line of light beneath the second door. Someone was not asleep. She crept towards the door, a board creaked within the room and then she heard the faint but unmistakable sound of girlish laughter. Ellen’s laughter.

She had prayed she was wrong but now rage, dismay and hurt consumed Phyllida. In a fury she grasped the door handle and stormed into the room.

‘Ellen, you will leave here this min—’

Her words trailed away. A single candle burned beside the bed, which was empty. Richard was standing by the open window, but there was no sign of Ellen. The door swung shut behind Phyllida but she barely noticed, for her eyes were fixed on Richard.

He was exactly as she would expect a rake to look, his hair a little wild, dark and gleaming in the candlelight, coat and waistcoat removed, his unrestrained shirt flowing in full and sumptuous folds over his powerful torso and unbuttoned to display the dark shadow of hair on his chest. The width of his shoulders and upper body was enhanced by the tight breeches that encased his thighs. He looked tall, powerful, masculine. Irresistible. No wonder Ellen had fallen in love with him.

Phyllida marched forward and looked all around the bed, expecting to find the girl hiding in the shadows on the floor.

‘Where is she?’ she demanded angrily. ‘Where is Ellen?’

‘She is not in here.’

Phyllida glared at him. ‘Do not lie to me, I heard her—’

He reached out and caught her arm, pulling her closer. At the same time she heard another stifled giggle.

‘There,’ he ground out, turning her towards the window. ‘There is your precious stepdaughter.’

Phyllida stared. Moonlight flooded the gardens and illuminated two pale figures. Julia and Ellen were dancing in the fountain. Richard’s hands tightened on her shoulders.

‘If you had walked on a little further you would have seen that there are backstairs at the end of this passage, leading to a garden door.’

‘Oh. I thought...I thought...’

‘I know exactly what you thought,’ he flashed, his words harsh and bitter, ‘The very worst of me!’

The shock of relief had not quenched Phyllida’s outrage. It surged up, relentless, like fat on a fire, fuelled even more by her own feelings of guilt and remorse. The cool, reasonable façade she had kept up for so long shattered and she turned upon Richard like a wildcat.

‘And why not? Have you not given me reason to think the worst of you? “Let battle commence”, you said.’

‘And have I not shown you since then that I did not mean it?’

She gave a savage laugh. ‘A few weeks of good behaviour!’

Impatiently he dragged her away from the window and she found herself pinned against the heavily carved bedpost.

‘Hush! Do you want to draw their attention to us? Remember where you are, madam!’

She remembered.

She was in Richard Arrandale’s bedroom, something she had dreamed of, wished for, but had thought could never happen. But he had not enticed Ellen there and the hot blue fire sparking in his eyes was not only anger, but passion, too. And desire. She saw it, recognised it and felt it stir her already heated blood. He wanted her. She had put her hands against his chest to steady herself. Now she slid them upwards, wound them around his neck as she reached up and kissed him. There was no reasoning, just an overwhelming need to taste him, to blot out the aching loneliness that was life without him.

His response was immediate. He crushed her to him and returned her kiss savagely. She parted her lips, giving him back kiss for kiss, revelling in the hot, sensuous tangling of her tongue with his. He drew back a little and she nipped his lip. He groaned against her mouth, sending her dizzied senses flying still higher. His hands moved to her shoulders and he pushed at their silk covering. Quickly she shrugged it off and the wrap fell to the floor with a whisper. Richard’s mouth shifted away from her lips to kiss her jaw, moving on to the tender spot beneath her chin and then down towards her breast, leaving a burning trail in its wake.

The ribbon ties of her nightrail snapped easily beneath his fingers and he cupped one breast in his hand. Phyllida gasped as his thumb circled the hard nub, but the pleasure only increased when his mouth covered its twin. Her head went back and she moaned softly. Her heart was thundering, making it hard to breathe, but just as she thought she might swoon Richard gathered her up, swept her into his arms and laid her gently on the bed.

She cupped his face, feeling the rough stubble against her palms. He kissed her, his hands fumbling with the fastening of his breeches. His urgency excited her. During her marriage the couplings with her husband had been slow, measured and unexciting. Now she felt a breathless, frantic need to have Richard’s skin press against her own. She sat up and clutched at his shirt, dragging it up and over his head. She paused to gaze in wonder at his naked chest, the muscled contours shadowed and exaggerated by the single candle’s flame. Richard moved away from her to shed his breeches and stockings and impatiently she threw off her nightrail.

Richard stood beside the bed, looking down at Phyllida. She had fallen back against the covers, her creamy breasts rising and falling with every ragged breath. Her naked body lay open and inviting, her eyes dark, molten with desire. He was aroused, taut as a wire and his jaw clenched when she reached out and ran her fingers over his erection. By sheer force of will he held off from throwing himself upon her and sating his lust there and then. He wanted to satisfy the yearning he sensed in her. To bind her to him for ever. He stretched himself beside her, cradled her cheek as he moved closer for another long, lingering kiss. Her body arched against him as he ran his fingers down her side, dipping into the valley of her waist, caressing the swell of her hips, revelling in the silky smoothness of her skin.

Fierce exultation ran through Phyllida. She felt glorious, all-powerful, her body thrummed with wild anticipation. His fingers were moving with slow deliberation over her body and she trembled as they edged towards her core. Then, even as his tongue flickered between her parted lips she felt his fingers slip inside her. Instantly her body reacted, arching, clenching. She felt as if she was flying, soaring high and free. She broke away from his kiss, moaning. The pleasure was almost unbearable, but those gentle fingers continued their inexorable rhythm. Her body was no longer hers to command, it moved against his hand. Her skin tingled, heat flooded her in a shimmering wave yet still he did not stop. The surge that had been mounting inside her suddenly broke. She bucked, cried out. Richard stifled her scream with his mouth and at the same time he moved over her and she felt the ultimate triumph as he entered her, matching her bucking rhythm as he drove her to the edge of oblivion and beyond.



Phyllida opened her eyes. It was still dark but she heard the crow of a cockerel, so dawn must be approaching. The birth of a new day, and she felt reborn, too. She had shared such pleasure with Richard as had only been hinted at in her marriage bed. It was all so new and exciting. Frightening. She needed to think. Silently she slipped from the bed.



Richard stirred and his hand reached out, only to find the bed beside him was empty and cold. He opened his eyes to the grey light of the breaking dawn. Phyllida was standing by the open window, slightly to one side, in the shadows, where she could look out without being seen. Desire surged through him at the sight of her. She had put on her wrap but it did little to disguise the curve of her body, the firm breasts, tiny waist and those long, long legs that had wrapped around him as he drove into her, pleasuring her, he hoped, as much as himself. His body began to stir again and he shifted restlessly. She turned then, as if aware that he was awake, but instead of the serene smile he expected her face was pale, the eyes solemn.

‘What is it?’ He sat up. ‘What is wrong?’