Page 39 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

“Come here,” he said, and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling his arm curving around her shoulders. “Comfy?

Clementine nodded, though it was not entirely true.

Her body was fizzing, alive with sensation, like a champagne bottle that had been handled too roughly.

Her blood seemed to rush through her veins, hotter than usual, and her skin was oversensitive.

Suddenly she was very aware of her clothes, of the places where they were tight, and of the too many layers between her and her husband.

She fidgeted, conscious of the silk stockings and the garters that held them up.

Madame Auguste had been a wonderful help to her with her trousseau and persuaded her to buy all sorts of things she would never have dared to consider before.

But she was to be a married lady now, Madame had argued, and her husband would appreciate such things.

The garters were embroidered with little roses and ornamented with tiny pink silk ribbons.

They were the most frivolous and shocking thing Clementine had ever worn in her life, but she had seen them and wanted them, and now the knowledge they were there, hidden beneath her skirts, made her restless.

“Is something wrong?”

Clementine considered replying honestly, but discovered she was not that brave. “No. Not a thing,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

Beaumarsh shifted in his seat, so he was gazing directly at her. “Clementine?”

She huffed and shook her head. “I said there was nothing wrong.”

“Yes, and most unconvincing it was too. Are you uncomfortable?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Would you like to stop the carriage and stretch your legs?”

“No!”

He gave her a quizzical glance, and Clementine shook her head. “I’m fine. Truly.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t keep looking at me like that,” she said torn between laughter and exasperation, and then when he wouldn’t stop, she added, “Well, it’s your fault.

What were you thinking, going and kissing me like that and then…

then stopping, drat you! Aren’t you famous for your many mistresses?

Is that the sort of thing you would do with them? ”

For a moment he looked shocked, then his lips quirked. “Well, mistresses tend to have rather more experience than newly married ladies, and so it’s not at all the same thing. But I do apologise. What an ignorant brute I am not to have realised. I beg you will forgive me, my lady.”

She pursed her lips, attempting to look annoyed which was impossible when he was looking so pleased with himself. “I don’t see why I should,” she grumbled, which only made the corners of his mouth tug upwards another notch.

“Do I need to beg your forgiveness some more?” he asked, sounding serious but mirth danced in his eyes. “I could get on my knees if you like.” There was something about the way he said it that made her pulse quicken again. He knew it too, drat him.

Clementine huffed at his amusement. She ought to have known he’d delight in teasing her. Well may he find it funny, the wicked man. And then, an idea occurred to her. She moved suddenly, changing to the seat opposite his so she might face him.

“Clementine?” Beaumarsh said, a suspicious note as he spoke her name. “What are you thinking?” He did not sound displeased, quite the reverse, but she felt certain she would take the wind out of his sails.

“Only that I have something to show you. I bought them for my trousseau, so it only seems right you should see them,” she said, her tone guileless as she reached down and grasped the fabric of her skirts and pulled them up to the tops of her shins in one swift movement.

Then she lingered as the fabric exposed her knees, the soft slide of her silk gown quiet, but the rustle of her petticoat just audible in the rocking carriage.

Beaumarsh’s expression underwent a series of subtle changes as he realised her intention.

Delight shifted to intense concentration, and then he went entirely still, once again putting her in mind of that big cat in the moment before it pounced.

Deliberately, though her heart thundered, she drew the expensive fabrics further up over her knees, along her thighs, until her garters were on show.

Good God, Clementine, what are you doing , an internal voice shrieked, but whatever impulse had made her enact such a bold scene had taken control and there was no backing down now. She would simply have to brazen it out.

Staring at him, heat suffusing every pore of her body, she was relieved to see a slight tinge of colour crest his high cheekbones. Well, good. She was glad it wasn’t only her feeling so hot and bothered.

“You see, my garters are embroidered with pink roses, and there are pink silk ribbons too. Here, and here,” she added as she raised her leg, resting one foot on the seat beside him and turning her leg.

She pointed her finger at the tiny bow, watching his face. His attention was riveted to the place where she touched the silk ribbon. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“You are a very, very bad girl, Clementine, and I feel it only right to warn you that there will be retribution for this. Really, I cannot allow such a… a deliberate flouting of my authority.”

His voice was a deep growl, which seemed to light a fire beneath her skin, but his words only delighted her as she realised it was all part of the game.

Yet when he reached over and his ungloved hands took hold of her ankle and slid the shoe from her foot, her nerve almost failed her.

The urge to pull her foot back out of his grasp was tantalising, but she was not faint-hearted, and would not back down now, just when things were getting interesting.

“You must do as you see fit, my lord,” she said, her breath catching at the darkly amused glint in his eyes as his hand continued its path up her leg and he slid to the floor.

Clementine held her breath, suddenly wondering if she had bitten off more than she could chew, but it was too late now.

He pushed her knees further apart, making space for himself, one hand curved around each calf as it slid up her silk-clad leg and lingered beneath her knees.

Then he lowered his head and kissed her right garter, pressing his mouth to each little pink ribbon, then to each tiny, embroidered rose.

Clementine’s heart raced, picking up speed as she felt the touch of his lips through the silk of her stockings and wondered how they might feel against her bare legs.

She did not have long to ponder the question, for he shifted his attention to her left garter, and kissed the bows there too, and each delicate rose, before pressing his mouth to the place where her stocking ended, above the garter.

She gasped at the warmth of his mouth, and then again as he moved higher, his breath tickling the inside of her thighs.

Suddenly terribly aware of the private place hidden beneath her rucked-up skirts, she was torn between wishing she had never begun this ridiculous scene, and desperately wondering what he would do next.

His hands continued their path, pushing her skirts higher still as she watched, frozen, too shocked and intrigued to say a word.

He looked up then, his blue eyes blazing, yet the heat was softened by tenderness, and any fear she might have felt was gone. Beaumarsh held her gaze before lowering his head and kissing along and up one thigh, before repeating the action on her left.

“Well, Mrs Mabbs never said anything about this!” she exclaimed, the words startled from her as she felt his hot breath stir the place between her thighs.

There was a muffled snort, and his shoulders shook for a moment before he pressed his mouth there, and Clementine closed her eyes with a little squeak of surprise.

Sensation rocked through her, scandalous pleasure and disbelief and delight all melded together as he did the most wicked things with his mouth and tongue.

She felt as though he was unpicking all the tidy little seams that held her together, that made her who she was, and everything that was unruly and wild and unpredictable came tumbling out.

Abandoned to desire, she slid forward on the seat and sank her hands into his hair, holding on as if to anchor herself to a world that seemed suddenly very far away.

He took her higher and higher, far away from who she was and the place she knew, to somewhere at once bright and dark, until stars burst behind her eyes and a burst of heat and sensation rushed through her.

He drew back and Clementine knew he was watching her but could not bring herself to open her eyes.

She was still floating somewhere between the place he had taken her to and this world and she did not wish to return just yet.

Nor did she wish to look him in the eyes, suddenly afraid he might think her too bold.

Women were not supposed to enjoy such things, yet why else had he done what he had, if not to bring her joy?

Finding her courage, Clementine cracked first one eye, relieved to discover he was not staring at her in disgust. Rather, there was a look in his eyes that she could not quite read, but it seemed to be one of surprise and wonder, and he did not seem in the least bit displeased. Indeed, he looked rather smug.

Still, her cheeks, already pink from exertion, burned as she met his eyes.

He grinned then, such a boyish, pleased expression that it tickled her, and she laughed.

As that only made his grin wider still, she laughed harder and did not stop until he had rearranged her skirts and pulled her back beside him.

“Now, you dreadful creature, will you please sit still and behave yourself until we get home? You have done terrible things to my equilibrium, not to mention other places, and now I shall suffer until we get to Cavendish House. I hope you are proud of yourself?”

The way he said the words made her realise she was indeed proud of herself.

She had surprised him, and, in a way, he was clearly delighted with.

In that moment, Clementine promised herself she would always be brave with him, and perhaps if she was, she might encourage him to be more than just her friend.

For she wanted that, she realised, as her heart gave an uneven thud.

She wanted her husband to be everything to her, and to be everything to him in return, and she did not wish to settle for less.

It was foolish of her, when he had been very clear with what he was offering her, but Clementine was ready for the fight.

She was stubborn and clever, and more than a bit devious.

She would do everything she could to induce him to love her and, if he could not, she must find a way to live with that, for it was obvious to her now that she was falling in love with the man she had married, and she did not wish to be in love all on her own.

Perhaps sensing the turmoil of her thoughts, Beaumarsh frowned and lifted a hand to her cheek. “Clementine? Are you well? I did not shock you too badly, I hope?”

She smiled at the concern in his eyes and turned her face into his palm, covering it with her own as she pressed a kiss there. He looked far more startled by the tender gesture than she had been at his shocking intimacy. Tension sang through him, and he seemed not to know what to say.

“You did shock me, quite delightfully,” she admitted with a smile. “I hope you will continue to do so.”

The sudden tautness in him relaxed a degree, and his lips twitched. “Oh, I will do my best, love. You have my word.”

Before he could continue, the carriage lurched into a pothole, and he closed his eyes.

“Oh, this is going to be the very devil of a journey,” he said, sounding at once entertained and appalled.

Clementine’s gaze shifted, and she suddenly noticed why he was so uncomfortable.

Ah. Yes . That.

Curious, she reached to touch him. “Is there anything I can—?”

“You’ve done quite enough damage, I thank you,” he said, snatching hold of her wrist before she could get any closer.

He kept hold of her, lacing their fingers together and resting them on her knee.

“Just wait until I get you home,” he added, squeezing her fingers and looking at her with such a twinkle in his eyes Clementine could only settle back and feel exceedingly pleased with herself.

The journey could not go fast enough.