Page 7 of My Lady Rake
His ardor had already cooled in frustration. With a gentle hand pressed to her back, St. Ervan led Verity inside. They parted without a word at the hallway which led to the guest bedchambers where she was staying.
* * *
Alone in her bed,Verity rolled to her side and punched her pillow, trying to get comfortable. Was it possible for a woman to feel the same sexual frustration that men complained of? Her ego was still reeling, bruised. No man had ever turned down a tryst with her.
Well, she must admit she’d never offered herself to a mature gentleman, but she never would have put St. Ervan in the gentleman category. His name appeared often in the newspaper gossip, and he usually had a different woman mentioned each time. He wasn’t a rakehell, from the way people talked, but he wasn’t celibate.
The grownup inside her, that part she often tried to ignore, spoke up. The man was treating her with respect, something she should insist on. Her lordlings didn’t disrespect her, but they were more than eager to take what she offered, no questions asked. No demands made of her heart.
Her need was too strong to let her fall asleep. With a sigh, she rolled on her back, drew up her nightgown, and slid her fingers between her legs. As she found the demanding spot, she pictured Levi, his sweet smile and loving hands.
And when his face changed into St. Ervan’s in her mind, she was too close to release to stop pleasing herself. She rubbed faster, dipped her fingers into her moist opening, and shattered as the sound of her name in St. Ervan’s voice filled her head.
* * *
When she wokethe next morning, Verity had a headache, feeling much as if she’d drunk too much the night before. Yet she hadn’t been drinking. She was exhausted, and she hadn’t done anything but toss and turn in between the few hours of sleep she’d managed to steal. Guilt weighed heavily on her for betraying Levi’s memory. She’d never thought of any other man while pleasuring herself, or when being pleasured. Levi was the only man in her bed, even when he wasn’t.
Until last night.
She needed to return to London as quickly as possible. Between avoiding Miles and now St. Ervan, her stay had lost any excitement. When the young maid peeked into her bedchamber to stir the embers in the fireplace, Verity asked for word to be sent to the butler that she required a ride into the village. There, she’d buy a seat on the coach to Town.
She knew Abingdon would have his carriage take her home, if she asked. St. Ervan would also offer, she knew that much about him. But she didn’t want to explain her reasons for returning home three days before the others left. Hopefully, St. Ervan’s butler was discreet enough to not inform his master of her plans. She’d leave the earl a note thanking him for the lovely visit and make some vague excuse about being called home.
As she feared, the butler was diligent in his duties, and when Verity followed the footman carrying her bags downstairs, she found St. Ervan waiting at the door. He smiled that polite way he had, and took her arm to escort her outside where the carriage waited.
“I’m sorry to see you go,” he said softly. “I want to see you again.”
“I’m sure we’ll cross paths at Tantalus.” That was the most she was willing to give him in the way of hope. He wasn’t a spoiled young swain pouting over the loss of a plaything.
“You know that’s not what I meant. I wish to call on you in Town.”
They reached the carriage door and she turned to face him. She searched his eyes for the longest moment. Any lessons she’d had in her youth about letting a man down gently were long gone from memory. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Is there someone you are attached to?”
“No, no one.”
“I believe we’d get on well together, Mrs. Stanhope.” He stroked her arm, leaving gooseflesh in the wake of his touch. Then he moved in and brought his fingers to her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze.
St. Ervan brushed his lips across hers, and another light touch, then sucked in a deep breath and captured her small gasp. His tongue slipped in to dance with hers. He tasted indefinably sweet, not the bitter breath of coffee at breakfast. Heat shot through her.
His hands grasped her arms, and she didn’t pull away, didn’t even register they were visible to anyone who looked out a window. He deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking hers. The blend of his light scent and sweet taste drove her on.
Verity’s fingers curled around his biceps, neither drawing him in nor pushing him away. She stretched on her toes, allowing him deeper in her mouth. His breathing became shallow, short panting bursts. She needed to stop this before either of them lost control.
He lifted his head and pulled her tighter against his chest. His hand tangled in her hair. “I shouldn’t have done that, but I couldn’t resist. Say you’ll allow me to call.”
She nodded against his chest. “Okay.” Then, realizing what she’d done, she turned and nearly jumped into the carriage, pounding on the ceiling to signal the coachman to drive away.
As she rocked on the carriage bench, tears spilled from her eyes, and she tugged her handkerchief out of her reticule. “I’m so sorry, Levi. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to allow this…”
No comforting words filled her head.
St. Ervan would be forced to remain at his house until his guests left, which gave her three days at the very least to find a way out of this mess she’d created. The simplest answer would be to inform her housekeeper to turn him away when he called. But that wasn’t her style. She should write him a note saying she’d changed her mind and wish him well.
A horrible realization struck her at that moment. She didn’t want to change her mind.
She wanted to see St. Ervan again, even if only to satisfy her need to know what sort of lover he was. His kisses told her everything she needed to know—he would be a thorough, thoroughly satisfying lover. All she needed to do was allow him to believe she could form an attachment with him, and worry about how to end things later on.