Out Of Her League, An Erotic Romance (8 page)

“Talk to me, Kate,” he whispered against her temple. “I want to hear your voice.”

She shook her head, breathless and wild, lost in the sensations building within her. “I can’t…I don’t—”

“Tell me about the corset. Where you found it, why you bought it. Anything. I want to know you.”

“I bought it at Madame Terreau’s,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. “I heard them giggling about the shop and I followed them there one day.”

“Them? Who?”

“The nurses. Not the nurses like me—the other ones. The nurses who meet their lovers outside by the wall.” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I pretend not to know what happens there, but I do. I’ve known about it for months now.”

“Tell me, love.” A note of excitement entered James’s voice. He rocked his thigh a little faster, increased the pressure on her breasts. “Tell me about those nurses and their lovers. Are they friends of yours?”

“No. I hardly know them.” She shook her head, catching her breath. “There is a wall that divides the hospital grounds from the gardens where those nurses meet their beaus. They kiss and embrace and...do other things. Sometimes I go there.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure—”

“Because you like to watch.” His voice was a beacon, guiding her toward some heavenly destination.

“Yes.” She nibbled her bottom lip and wrenched out a confession. “Once when I was walking by I heard the sounds a couple was making. They made me feel weak inside. Hot and flushed, even though it was a cool day. I slowed my steps to listen. To look.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw a man with his hand up a woman’s skirt.”

“Like this?” James drew his fingers up her leg, caressing the tender flesh between the tops of her stocking and the juncture of her thighs.

Kate’s breath hitched. “Yes,” she said. “Just like that. Touching her. Kissing her. Then he brought his hand between her legs and I saw her tremble. I heard her sigh so softly, then moan with pleasure. Her face changed. She looked helpless at first, then overcome...rapturous. She shook and cried out as though she were in pain, though I could tell she was not.”

James traced his hands over her thighs. A ragged hoarseness filled his voice as he said, “When you watched them, what did you feel?”

“Heat. Longing. Envy.”

“Envy?”

“I wanted that. I wanted to feel what she was feeling. I wanted to take that wicked pleasure and have it all for myself.”

“You will. I promise you that.”

He grasped her hips and pressed her down against him. The tight nub of pleasure at the entrance to her sex began to swell and throb as she rocked against him. She arched her back, straining toward a faraway goal she could instinctively feel but couldn't identify, when James slowly drew back, then went still.

“But now here, love. Not now.” He tilted her head against the wall of his chest, his arm a steel band around her ribs, gently supporting her.

“Is it over?” she managed, feeling suddenly bereft. She was panting as though she’d been running, heading blindly toward a beautiful abyss, when she’d been rudely pulled back.

“Over?” he echoed with a harsh whisper of a laugh. “No, sweetheart. It isn’t over. Not even close.” He took a breath, then let it out slowly. “But this is where we stop today.”

James shifted Kate slightly, relieving himself of the exquisite torture of her lovely ass grinding into his erection. He positioned her so she was no longer riding astride his thigh, but resumed her position side-saddle, as it were, with her head tucked beneath his chin and her legs draped over his knee. He stroked her hair, allowing them both a moment to compose themselves and slow their rocketing pulses.

He listened to the sound of retreating footsteps in the outer corridor. He felt Kate tense against him and knew she was listening as well. The sound had finally penetrated the hazy fog of her passion.

Although he’d heard the good doctor amble down the hallway moments earlier, Kate obviously hadn’t. She jerked upright like a sleepwalker who suddenly found herself standing outside in the rain, rather than comfortably snuggled in bed.

Her panicked gaze flew to his. “Dr. Michaelson—”

“Went the other direction,” he murmured softly. “We have a minute.”

Moving with deliberate care, he re-tied the ribbons on her corset, helped her into her gown, and collected the scattered pins he’d pulled from her hair. He watched as she twisted the glorious blond mass into a tight knot, then affixed her ugly white cap to the top of her head.

He longed to pull her back into his arms and undress her all over again, but she had already removed herself from him, both physically and emotionally. The glorious harlot he had caressed disappeared entirely as Kate once again assumed the role of dutiful nurse, stepping back into character like an actress on a stage.

She gave him a nod and then slipped out of the room. He heard her join the doctor in the hall. They spoke for a moment, Kate’s tone at once cool and perfunctory, then their footsteps echoed away. In the distance he heard the sound of his footman bidding them good afternoon, followed by the door opening and closing.

Stillness rang throughout his home.

James heaved a sigh and sank back onto the settee. It was barely necessary to put his hand to his throbbing member to find his release. Two quick strokes and he came with an explosive force, akin to letting the steam escape a pipe before it erupted. The subtle pressure of his trousers rubbing against his erection had nearly been enough to set him off.

He lifted his discarded shirt from the floor and cleaned himself. Then, like a guilty schoolboy, he looked around for a way to dispose of the garment—it was certainly not an item he’d expect Sally to launder with Thursday’s linens.

The grate had been stocked with kindling but hadn’t been lit. He removed a box of matches from the hearth and saw to the task. Once the blaze roared in earnest he tossed in the shirt, his thoughts wandering as he watched the flames lick the edges of the cloth.

He’d bed skilled lovers before, but none had had the effect on him that Kate had. It was almost too much for a man to take. The feel of her silken masses of hair against his chest, the incredible softness of her skin, the delectable curve of her hips, the juxtaposition of the heaviness of her breasts against the delicate lightness of her frame. All of that, combined with her magnificent carnal curiosity.

No dainty, simpering embraces for her. Kate liked it rough and wild, coupled with a touch of sin. Thank the Lord Almighty. Here was a woman who could meet his passion with her own. His cock swelled again just thinking about it. The games they could play…

He contemplated the fire, wishing he truly could have thrown her starched cap in the hearth. Her dress should have joined the flames as well. He’d seen more attractive smocks on scullery maids. The thought troubled him. While he understood that in her position as a nurse she wouldn’t want her to draw undue attention to herself, there existed a multitude of demure things she could wear.

Women had invented all manner of horrid fashion for the sole purpose of hiding the beauty of their bodies. Starched aprons, thick muslins, hems that dragged past their ankles and collars that buttoned up to their ears.

But the frayed, outdated clothing Kate wore bore the mark of neglect. Indifference. If he had a sister, which he didn’t, he certainly wouldn’t permit her to leave the house dressed in rags. Kate had two brothers, both surgeons, presumably capable of providing better. So why did they allow her to dress in such a fashion?

Kate had too much spunk and intelligence for him to risk asking her directly—no doubt she would be mortified if she even guessed his thoughts. But it bothered him, and he resolved to discreetly look into the matter.

The sound of wheels against the crushed gravel of his drive alerted him to the arrival of guests. His footman, Owen, appeared in the doorway moments later. “The viscountess has arrived,” he said.

James let out a breath. His mother. He gave Owen a curt nod. “Show her into the library.” He waited for his footman to return with a fresh shirt and jacket, then went to join her. He found her pacing back and forth in a state of high agitation.

“It is simply not conceivable,” his mother said without preamble, “that Miss Kittworthy should have been so duplicitous. She knew the ball I’m throwing was meant to be an announcement of your betrothal. The invitations have already been sent. Now word is all over London that she has broken off with you and taken up with the Duke of Ellerbee. It’s humiliating, that’s what it is.”

“Humiliating to whom?”

“Why, to you, of course. And to me. I will not be trumped in my own home.”

James set aside his crutches. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorway. “Do I look humiliated?”

His mother stopped pacing, truly looking at him for the first time since she’d entered the room. Her face suddenly softened. A tremulous smile curved her lips and her deep blue eyes glistened. “You look like the old James,” she said. “The way you did years ago, before you left for the war.”

“The rake and the cad who was forever embarrassing you?”

“Exactly.” She released a shaky laugh. “My incorrigible youngest son. How lovely to have you back.” She moved to James and wrapped him in a tight embrace. Not a woman normally given to displays of emotion, she pulled back forthwith and dabbed at her eyes. “You shall have to double Dr. Michaelson’s fee.”

“I’ve already decided to do exactly that.”

“Then you are not upset that your relationship with Miss Kittworthy—”

“I am exceedingly grateful to be relieved of that commitment.”

His mother eyed him appraisingly. “So it would appear.” She glanced away, feigning casual disinterest as she brushed her palms against the silk of her skirts. “And the lucky woman who has taken Miss Kittworthy’s place in your affections?”

James arched a dark brow. “That’s a rather large assumption, isn’t it? Why are you so sure there’s a woman involved? Perhaps my physical progress has brought about my miraculous recovery.”

The viscountess rolled her eyes. “I know my son. You only get that cat-in-the-cream look when there’s a woman involved. Now, I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me who she is?”

“No, I don’t suppose I would.”

“You know I’ll learn anyway. I have my sources.”

James gave a short laugh. “I hope there will be no formal inquiry. In any event, I doubt you travel in the same circles.”

“Is that right?” His mother frowned, then squared her shoulders and began to pace again. “In that case, the only issue before us is the upcoming ball. It will be most uncomfortable with His Grace and Miss Kittworthy in attendance.”

“Then inform them they are no longer longer invited.”

She sent him a withering glare. “Really, James. One simply cannot disinvite a duke.” She thought for a moment, then announced, “Since it is no longer a betrothal party, we shall let it be known that the ball will be held to raise funds for the brave men fighting in the Crimea. That’s the perfect solution, isn’t it? Lord Ellerbee and Miss Kittworthy will appear petty and self-absorbed, while I will be patriotic and humble.”

“Humble?” His lips quirked. “Not a word that’s often used to describe you.”

“We will gather to celebrate the glorious victories of the Crimean campaigns—”

“There haven’t been many of those.”

“Do be quiet, James.” She drew on her gloves. “I’ve far too much to do to waste another minute here. I shall have to change the menu entirely. And the decorations. And the music. Oh, and the members of the War Office will have to be invited...”

“Dr. Michaelson will need an invitation, as well as Nurse Riley.”

“Humble is one thing. We don’t want to be common.”

“There is nothing common about either one. Send the invitations here. I will deliver them personally.”

The viscountess looked up in surprise at James’s tone. A slow smile curved her lips and she inclined her head. “As you wish.”

James’s driver had been instructed to deliver Kate and Dr. Michaelson to their respective homes, but she asked to be taken to St. Thomas instead. She needed time to think, and the walk home from the hospital would provide exactly that.

After her mother’s death she had leapt into the role of family caretaker with childish eagerness. She took care of the men in her family, and she’d been proud to do it. Proud to use the skills her mother had taught her before she died. Proud to darn her brothers’ socks, cook their meals, make their home warm and presentable.

But somewhere along the way what had begun as a labor of love had simply become labor. Perhaps it wasn’t intentional, perhaps it wasn’t planned, but there it was. Bertie and George had made her a slave, and she had made them simpering idiots either incapable of taking care of themselves, or just unwilling to.

The worst of it was, she couldn’t entirely blame them. Hadn’t she felt needed? Hadn’t she been the dutiful sister, the dutiful nurse? One didn’t simply wake up one morning and find oneself in the predicament she was in. It took years of practice and experience to achieve such heights of stupidity.

Years of loving sacrifice. I’ll take the burned end of the meat. I don’t mind.

Praise. I say, no one can scrub the commode the way you can, Kate.

Expectation. If you don’t help me pay my gaming debts, we’ll all be ruined.

Humor. Can you imagine Kate at the ball? Not our plain little peahen.

Her rebellions—daring to scrimp and save a portion of her salary to splurge on an item of lingerie, or occasionally loitering near the hospital’s garden wall—were so minor as to be almost meaningless. She’d fallen into a fog of obedience and lived her life in a stupor. It had taken James to finally shake her awake. To make her realize she wanted so much more.

A misty rain had begun to fall as she’d walked home. She’d barely noticed it at the time, but as she climbed the stairs to the third floor garret flat she shared with her brothers, her sodden skirts dragged behind her. She opened the door and stepped inside. A puddle pooled beneath her.