Saffina's Season (3 page)

We were traveling slowly. Late merry-makers still filled the streets.

He purred low in my ear, “Forgive me, my sweet. I need this. Do you permit?”

To my surprise, the plea in his eyes was urgent and raw. I felt a twinge of alarm. Had something happened at the club? A loss at cards, maybe? Rare, but possible, even for him.

Normally he took his pleasures slowly. This urgency was new. I sensed his pain, but full bodily pleasure in a slow-moving carriage? Not his usual style in places as crowded as this.

With a last, lingering touch of my lips on his delicious mouth, I slipped to my knees, took his cock in my mouth and began to suck.

He watched as I did it, his look sultry and focused. As I rode him to release, I was surprised to feel him take hold of my head and pull me clear.

He was so close.
How could he do this?

“Now in your breasts.” He sounded husky with emotion. “I want to watch.”

Why so urgent?
Why now? But my own need was building. When he wanted me this hard and this fast, I found him irresistible. Giving him pleasure was all my joy, as well he knew. And he always repaid me in full and with interest, as scrupulous in love as he was at cards.

With a surge of heat deep in my groin, I eased off him and pushed up my breasts, freed now but still bulging from the pressures of my bodice. They jiggled invitingly in the moving carriage. Holding them firmly, I rode his cock with them, feeling the hot, glossy shaft swell and tighten where it bulged purplish and dark between my paler globes, pushing hard to set up a satisfying friction.

“Take it in your mouth for the finish. I want to see you swallow.”

As the coach rattled along the uneven street, I obeyed, forcing my eager mouth along his rigid column as far as I dared. I worked him again with my tongue, keeping my eyes on his to guess his reaction. But in the carriage, the light was dim and the movement around us rough. I dreaded any moment scraping him with my teeth or biting him—if the wheels hit a pothole. He’d punish me, for sure.

But soon I got into my stride. He was very near to spending. I could see him strain. But as the carriage slowed, my mouth already aching, he’d still not come yet again. I glanced up in alarm, wondering if I was doing something wrong. His hooded gaze gave me no clue, but his brief smile gave me hope.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “You always astonish. Your mouth is a work of art in itself.”

I pulled away quickly as the coach slowed to a halt.

“And you make me work
with
it, sir. I thought you’d come two miles back.”

“So impatient then, for us to finish? I could watch your mouth for hours. Come. We’ll have a nightcap in the salon then to bed. My room tonight.” His eyelids lowered. “And take care to be on time, or you may find you’re in for a longer night than you’d thought. I have a surprise for you.”

He took something from his pocket and tucked it into my bosom.

“A rose made of leather? Is this my surprise?”

In the dim light from the lamplit street, I saw his eyes glitter.

He placed a fingertip on my lips.

“Wait and see.”

The twinkle in his eyes left me in no doubt of his meaning.

Whatever had happened at the club, he was angry that I’d made him wait. And the revenge he was planning would leave me waiting too, possibly for hours, if he was in the mood.

I bit my lip. I’d made him wait already this week, longer than I should. But tonight, for some reason, I’d gone too far. Just this once I’d better set aside my finer feelings and allow him full access, if only to keep the peace.

It would be a long night indeed.

* * * *

Marriage and the arrival of Jasper, our gorgeous baby son, had done little to cool Jacquard’s hunger for me. With baby Jasper now into his second year and safely back at Endale Hall in the loving care of the housekeeper and a bevy of nursemaids, Jacquard was set on giving me the Season in London he’d promised on our first journey together.

Except that now we were no longer looking for my husband. I’d found one, and a glorious, stunning, crowd-stopping being at that. But he had a murky past—had made some enemies—and his vast wealth earned him little respect because it came, through no fault of his, from doubtful sources.

We never spoke of this. I carefully ignored the seemingly unending sessions he spent in his study with Madame Junot, my one-time governess, poring over accounts from the handful of exclusive establishments she managed for him. All I knew was that his properties were lavish and widely scattered, and he insisted all ran smoothly, so we traveled often.

In matters of my personal pleasure, he was as efficient and thorough as in business and the management of his estates. And unlike most wealthy wives, I still had full control over my money. For once, the gossips were right. He refused to touch a penny. I could spend how and how much I pleased.

* * * *

After a session with my maids and a careful but refreshing wash, I entered his rooms with all the excitement of a schoolgirl. My hair had been brushed to a shine, my body washed and scented with rose water and essence of jasmine. And my flowing lace robe, newly arrived from Paris to cover my shift while my maid dressed my hair but wickedly showing more than it hid once my shift was removed, should surprise him out of his gloom.

Thinking to please him, I tucked the leather rose carefully back into the bow at my bosom, still puzzled at its meaning.

“Jacquard?”

At first I thought him still with his valet. I wandered from room to room, but there was no sign of him.

“Are you hiding?”

I looked all around, suppressing a smile. Our games often started this way. But this time all was silent.

“Jacquard?”

Still no sign. At last I tried a door that I’d never used at the end of his suite of rooms. I’d thought it merely a cupboard for the maids, but as I tried the handle, it opened. And now I got a shock.

This was no cupboard. This was a room fitted out for pleasure—
Jacquard’s
pleasure.

I’d used the Jade Room. I’d sampled the Amber Room. Those hidden areas of Endale Hall had been an essential part of my education. But this was something else. And the stern, powerful being seated on the imposing chair at one end of the room gave me no time to ask questions.

The dim lighting hid most of the torments ranged around the walls, but I guessed at some of them. The smell of polished leather and oiled wood filled me with a mixture of raw hunger and deep-seated, primitive fear.

And his steady look, like the sheen of his oiled chest and the menacing bulge at his hips, told me I’d strayed into his clutches at a dangerous time.

For some reason I was in trouble. And the thin, braided leather whip balanced across his knees was not just for ornament. I had the nasty feeling it was about to get some energetic and carefully aimed use.

On me.

Chapter Three

“Welcome to the Leather Room, my sweet. Our sessions in here will be short and sharp.”

I swallowed. I knew his tastes and shared many of them. His pleasures were varied, verging on the exotic. But this room looked positively workmanlike.

I trembled.

“You kept this a secret, my lord?” I stared up at him, eyes wide.

Does he bring other women here?
The idea was new and terrifying.

The capital offered many pleasures and seethed with beautiful women. Great gentlemen like Jacquard, stunningly handsome and immensely rich, drew them like flies. Competition was fierce, and morals—from what I’d seen so far—loose.

Among the
ton,
a new wife was no bar to a gentleman’s fun.

He held my gaze. “We’re sharing it now. Surprised?”

“That depends on why I’m here.” I gave him a coy look. “For punishment, sir, or pleasure?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Your choice, my love.” His mouth twitched. “And sometimes mine.”

I’d thought his leather rose a simple token of love. Now I saw it also as a threat. It stood for a darker side of love—a side we’d neglected lately.

I licked my lips. “What pleases you, sir, pleases me. You know that.”

I was more than happy to play his games, as long as I knew the rules. And if he missed giving me discipline like he used to, then now might be as good a time as any to submit, time of the month or no. I was clear enough and had meant only to tease. What did a few hours matter either way?

Back in his great estate at Endale Hall, we were parents and landowners first, lovers second. Here in town, well away from the cares of family and business, we were simply lovers.

I caught a ripple of muscle across his broad, oiled chest as he leaned forward. In the flickering light from the candles, his stern face relaxed briefly into a smile then, startlingly, grew stern again.

“Come over here and kneel. Put your hands behind your back. Keep your eyes on my face.”

Slowly I did it, already regretting my hasty decision to take what came.
Was
this a game?

This is a punishment room.

The forest of implements bristling on rails around the walls clearly said so. The sheen on the furnishings, the absence of fabric, frills or any feminine touch, meant business.
Male
business.

The bench at the far end of the room, and the straps and buckles attached to it, were for one person—me. Chillingly, the comfortable chair facing it was also for one person—
him
. The bed, padded in dark, murky leather, had no pillows, but stout posts at each corner—and chains.

This is not a bed for sleeping.

As I knelt, I looked up at him with pleasurable horror. But my eagerness was mainly for show. Deep down I felt scared.

“This is very sudden. Why am I here, my lord?”

His eyes narrowed. “When you are in here, you speak only when I tell you. You just earned a stroke of the whip. Hold up your left breast.”

Startled, I did so. Usually he took charge with a suede flogger or a light crop. But the whip in his hands looked tough and efficient. My mouth felt dry.

“Must I, my lord?” For once my husky tone was real. It was a while since we’d done this. Motherhood and the warm glow of his constant approval had softened me up.

Not him, it seemed.

“I’m
waiting
.”

Knowing he liked to see my breasts full and pink, I worked both my nubs for a moment. They stiffened quickly, partly from excitement, partly in fear. Taking a calming breath, I closed my eyes tightly and waited.

“Open your eyes. I want you to watch.” His murmur made me shiver. His tone had an edge I’d not heard in a while.

Quivering, I did so. The snap of the whip was worse than the sting, but I jumped as it landed, startled by the flick.

His reactions had lost none of their speed, nor his wrist its force.

I licked my lips as arousal burned.

He frowned. “Easy. You seem edgy. What made you so late?”

Relief pounded through me. So
that
was all?

“Why, when I left Lady Carstairs, I…” I broke off in confusion. I was forgetting something.

I’d stayed to look at Martin’s paintings.

My mind raced. I was looking at paintings because a young man had saved me from a gang. And I’d run into a gang because Jacquard’s coachman was comforting Pérot, my footman, in tears over a kitten.

If Jacquard learned all this, he’d very likely send them both packing. For all his respect for his staff, Jacquard’s concern for my safety was absolute. The risk I’d taken, lingering in the street, could lose them both their positions.

Worse, if I mentioned paintings, Jacquard might wonder why, then recall his coming birthday and suspect I planned one for a gift.

Best say nothing.

“I…came out early for some air, sir. The street was filled with other coaches waiting for the ladies to leave. I…missed our coachman.”

He frowned. “Why come out early? Did you upset someone? Did they upset you?” His expression grew serious. His quiet murmur was a shock.

“No, sir. I heard a few catty remarks.” I fought back a smile, still full of my triumph. “I laughed it off.”

“You must take care. These evenings are for more than our amusement. We need to build some social standing while we’re here. Think of our son.”

“I think of him all the time.” I frowned. “But surely the Endale name—”

“What? Opens all doors? Far from it. It closes many, including the most important. And Lady Carstairs’ door is usually one of them.” He fingered the whip. “And I still want to know where you went.”

“Why, sir?”

He leaned forward, his face close to mine. “Because I think you’re lying.”

I held his gaze, fighting the urge to shrink back. “I trust you in all things, sir. And now you must trust me. I did lie, just a little. But I have my reasons, and I must ask you not to press me on the matter.”

He met my statement with startled silence. When he spoke, his tone was soft. “As you will. But in the Leather Room you have a lesson to learn, and I mean to apply it. Get up. Take hold of the bedpost.”

Slowly I did so. On the polished wood, my hands felt sticky. As I gripped, he came up behind me and stooped down, pulling my ankles wide apart.

“Bend over.”

As I did it, he leaned over me, his face close to my skin, and he dropped a long, hot kiss on my neck. The heat of his mouth made me throb. He pulled back my hair and left more hot kisses in the curve of my neck and a little way down my spine. With a final, cruel nip of his teeth on one side of my quivering rump, he straightened up to pronounce my doom.

“Six strokes. And if you cry out, two more. The capital is no place for a wealthy woman to roam the streets at night, unless she’s a harlot. And next time you wander the streets alone, you can expect even worse. If you get back here in one piece, that is. Let this be a lesson.”

As each stroke fell, I jerked hard against the posts, biting my lip to stop crying out. I managed it—just—but it took all my strength. The whip fell with a harsh bite that I’d missed for months. The sting flared and spread, firing dark, disturbing flames in all my tender places, setting up a fierce, harsh glow that I’d missed also.