Page 15 of The Baroness of Sin
“For my sake then,” she insisted in return, “please, let me speak on the matter, My Lord.” She waited a moment for him to nod before continuing. “My husband was not... satisfied with our marriage. He had been a rake before, if a discrete one. Afterward we married, he found that I could not keep him occupied and sought a mistress for himself. The woman he wanted was my younger sister. Unfortunately for him, my sister became engaged, so My Lord Husband decided that he would kidnap my sister’s betrothed in an attempt to pressure her into becoming his mistress.” She took a deep shaking breath, her voice mixed with anger and sadness. “He was found out, though. When he attempted to flee by jumping into the river, he drowned, and I was left a widow.”
James didn’t hesitate to reach out and grasp her hand, squeezing it firmly. “I’m so sorry. You deserve so much more than that. I promise, as your friend and confidant, that I will never let anything like that happen to you again, as long as I am by your side.” James cleared his throat, realizing he was swept up in his emotions. “If the lady would allow as such, of course.
The look on Lady Carrington’s face could only be described as one of relief. “You speak like it will be such a long arrangement,” she said with a smile. “You like to stay in my company that much?”
“Yes, yes, of course, My Lady, almost more than I care to admit,” he reassured her, his tone urgent and compelling, insistent that she knew the truth of the matter.
“Will you do something for me then?” Her voice was still shaky, but she spoke more softly as if the uncertainty had changed positions within her.
“Anything, My Lady. I am twice over now in your debt for a breach of conduct that has caused you such distress.”
“Please, My Lord, I humbly request that you touch me,” she said, her voice even softer this time as if all the embarrassment and shyness she had blocked came up in that moment.
Chapter Twelve
To Martha, it seemed like the words hung in the room, like they echoed off the library shelves despite the fact that she had spoken them just barely loud enough to be heard. There was a weight to them. Perhaps it was the weight of regret. As much as Martha had been trying to run from the past, maybe it had finally caught up to her. Had she crossed that line?
James stood across from her for a long time, saying nothing. He seemed to be struggling with something. What to do next? Had she offended him so that he didn’t even know what to say?
When he finally moved, it was so sudden that it actually made Martha jump in surprise. He crossed the library in three great strides and was upon her before she knew what was happening. Lord Barristen was so gentle with his daughter that it was easy to forget what an intimidating figure he bore.
He pulled her close, and she found herself pressed against him, feeling the taut musculature that strained his tailored clothing. His hands felt large, one completely encompassing the small of her back. She was thankful for the support as her knees suddenly felt very weak.
They were close, closer than they ever should have been. Their bodies tangled together as they clung to each other. Everything met but their lips, and that was glaringly obvious to the both of them, begged of them in each moment. Their lips were meant to meet, but this last gesture was held back.
“I have wanted to hold you since we first met. I can’t explain it, but it is a burning need,” he told her, the earnest emotion in his voice overpowering the touches of shame mixed in with it.
Martha tried to collect her thoughts. She was a widow, no blushing bride. This felt unbecoming of her, even if she couldn’t explain why. Witty, she had to try and be witty.
“Is it so surprising that I would be attractive enough to tempt you?” She tried to tease him, but the tone was hindered by her trying to catch her breath.
He smiled at her quip, and she thought she was going to melt into his arms, but he certainly felt firm enough to catch her if she fell.
“Take no offense, My Lady. I have known attractive ladies, but none have managed to lure me, even with the lack of fairer company in my life.” He looked away, and for a moment Martha was afraid she had spoiled the mood.
He returned to meet her gaze, and one of his hands left her hip to move to the side of her face. He gently traced the curve of her cheek with the edge of his thumb. She felt a shiver travel up and down her spine. She was wise enough to not say it aloud, but a touch from her late husband had never made her feel this way.
His hand rested under her chin, and he gently lifted her face, so their eyes met. “My Lady, perchance your request to touch meant only my hands, my fingertips?”
“I… I believe that is what I meant, My Lord.” She felt her face burn crimson at his suggestion that he might touch her with something else despite desperately wanting to know more. Was she ready for something like that? Not enough to say so aloud.
“Of course. I apologize for presuming otherwise,” he said with a smile that was surprisingly confident. “Still, they look so soft, it would be a shame not to feel for myself.”
Martha was about to ask what he meant when she felt the tip of one of his fingers trace along her top lip then move to her bottom one slowly. His face was so concentrated as he did so; it would have been amusing if it didn’t feel like her mind was outside her body, and her skin was aflame.
His hands were already dangerous in what they awakened in her, but then she felt them begin to wander. To grip her tightly and pull her even closer. She shivered in anticipation, longing for him to touch her elsewhere.
Despite the fact that she knew where a gentleman’s hands would want to wander, each new brush and squeeze was a delightful surprise to her. James put on a gentle act before, but in each firm touch she could feel his lust. That delighted and excited her in a way she never felt before.
“Touch me anywhere you want to. I am yours to explore,” she felt herself say in his ear, almost unable to believe that such heated words could be provoked from her lips.
Then his hand pressed over her skirt, flush to her leg, and slowly slid up to caress her tight buttocks. She let out a small moan of desire. This was how she wanted to be touched.
He suddenly pulled his hand away, and the spell was broken.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His grip loosened a little but tightened once again when he felt her start to tip. He cleared his throat. “I... that was too far. I’m sorry; I should have controlled myself.” He felt himself twist inside. He couldn’t stop now; this is what they both wanted. Why torture himself? This was a question he couldn’t answer but an impulse he was forced to obey.
Martha’s own more delicate hand shot forward and grabbed his before he could fully pull it away.
