Page 41 of The Rogue’s Embrace

The passageway was empty. All was quiet, but for the low hum of the electrical lights.

Rockley paused before knocking. What was he about to do? He was far too attracted to the woman waiting for him. As for her interest, it could be in little doubt. She was a seductress, used to having her own way. He didn't intend to fall in line with those plans, but he was flesh and blood.

She might well be the one to find a solution—but at what cost?

Being at anchor, there was no noticeable movement from the ship. He might be in the corridor of any London hotel. An image assaulted him of a future in which he might stand many times as he did now. How often would he come to the door of someone who wasn't his wife, seeking comforts he couldn't ask for in the marital bed?

A knife twisted in his gut.

Was that how it would be?

For all Miss Maitland's decent qualities, his instinct told him he never would desire her in that way. Told him, too, that she felt no such attraction towards him. It was a miserable thought.

Hitherto, his life had been so full that he'd given little consideration to marriage. When it had crossed his mind, he'd conceived the idea through rose-tinted spectacles. Someone who shared his adventurous spirit, and was unafraid to stand her ground, yet was also loyal and compassionate. Someone with a wicked sense of humor, tenacity, and strength of will, but who was also softly compliant, letting him worship her in the bedroom. An enthusiasm to fulfil his every filthy fantasy would be the cherry he would eagerly consume.

Such a woman did not exist.

Even if she did, it didn't mean he deserved her. The nature of his work often took him from the country, placing him in danger.

Miss Maitland might truly be glad to be left to her own devices for months on end, but the woman he imagined as his soulmate would want to never leave his side. How then would she feel, seemingly abandoned?

Rockley rested his forehead upon the door.

These were idle daydreams. Moreover, he was procrastinating—putting off the moment when he intended to knock and give himself into the hands of the fascinating Mrs. Bongorge. Something told him she was his best hope and, if he walked away now, he would regret it.

He only hoped he could navigate the temptation she presented.

As the door opened, Rockley fell forward, finding himself almost nose to nose with the lady. He was steadying himself against Mrs. Bongorge's shoulder, which stopped him toppling altogether; his other hand had planted firmly upon her bosom. She was no longer wearing her jacket, so that his palm cupped her left breast through the thin muslin of her blouse.

"Rather forward of you, Rockley. It might be an idea to wait until I've pushed shut the door before greeting me quite so energetically."

A mischievous glint lit her eyes.

He retracted both hands, mumbling apologies.

It wasn't like him to be clumsy, or to be left-footed, but something about her set him off-kilter.

Ushering him in, she clicked the door quietly closed. She'd guessed, he could tell, that he'd been lingering outside.

"Do sit."

She indicated the chaise, while positioning herself opposite upon a padded stool.

The room was tidy enough, though filled with female paraphernalia. Bottles of fragrance and lotions ranged the dressing table behind her. Hanging from a hook upon the wardrobe door was a gown in some frothy stuff. He'd seen someone else wearing a similar gown of late, though he couldn't think where. The design must in vogue, though it was unusual in being such a dark shade of green.

To one side sat the hat she'd been wearing earlier, and the jauntily striped jacket.

There was a rustle of fabric as she arranged her skirts. "If you're hoping to spot a pile of underthings or a flimsy nightgown hanging upon the bedpost, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. My maid is quite meticulous."

Feeling himself color, he ceased bumbling on. He was guilty as charged.

He'd been reluctant to simply look at her, but he did so now, and felt his pulse rise in pace. The simplicity of the blouse, adorned only minimally with lace, only drew greater attention to the beauty of the wearer. Her complexion was that of an English rose, while the darkness of her hair, pinned in lush waves, spoke of more exotic heritage. As for those dancing eyes, which seemed always to be laughing at him, he could not exactly decide the color. Some shade of green, though flecked with warmth, as if from the shaded sun. With the voiles at her window being drawn, the room was bathed in filtered gold.

"Rockley?"

She summoned his attention once more. "Shall we begin? We have a lot of ground to cover. I suggest we begin with an assessment of the situation. I have questions, which I hope you'll answer candidly, before we move to a more practical approach."

If he was not mistaken, her gaze dropped by increments, coming to rest in the vicinity of his lap.

He adopted a business-like manner. "First, there should be rules. This being a highly unusual arrangement, we should both be aware of where we stand."

"If you wish."

She answered sweetly. "I'm content to be of use to you, however you might see fit."

"We are agreed then, for there to be no emotions involved? I know women like to have feelings."

"We do, but I promise not to run away with any notions of being in love with you. That would be quite contrary to my plans for this trip, not to mention my immediate and long-term future."

"Very good."

It was a relief, though her no-nonsense approach was rather more forthright than he'd been anticipating. "Nevertheless, it might be an idea to know one another's first names, don't you think?"

She rested one finger upon her chin. "A simple ‘Madame' will do for me, if my married name is too much of a mouthful. Otherwise, I am Estela. For my part, it suits me perfectly well to call you ‘Your Grace'."

"It does not suit me."

He couldn't help being abrupt. He was yet to become accustomed to his new status and took no pleasure from it. Hearing it only made him think of his brother, or their father. It was not an address he'd ever thought to associate with himself. Besides which, there was such a taunting to the way she spoke. "I prefer simply Rockley, or Theo, if you wish it."

"Theodore? A gift from god? How apt"—her lips twitched in teasing fashion—"all things considered."

"As I said before, I consider my condition more a curse than a blessing."

There was a great deal riding on whatever happened next in this room. She'd said she had some ideas to put forward. If they proved successful, it would be a great weight lifted. If not…

"You must know, a man does not like to consider himself a failure."

Resting his forearms upon his knees, he kept his gaze upon the soft pile of the Persian carpet. "If you are unable to solve this predicament—or to help me solve it myself, I should say—it is a cross I will likely bear forever more."

"I do understand."

Her tone was suddenly serious. She leant forward, touching his hand lightly. "Be assured, you shall have my advice, in all earnestness."

Taking a deep breath, he sat straighter again.

"Now, first things first."

She gave him a bright smile. "Much of what I shall teach you concerns your bride more than yourself. It is she who must be placed at ease. You must take time to prepare her, to seduce and to arouse, to make her feel cherished and desired."

He nodded. It would be no easy task, but he owed it to Marjorie to do his best. Above all, he could not risk doing her harm. To have even a chance of performing the act sufficiently to allow conception, she would need to allow him the liberties of the conjugal bed.

"It would help greatly if your bride also received some honest counsel. One would hope her mother would see to the matter but it cannot be taken for granted."

She looked thoughtful for some moments. "If there were some comprehensive manual on the subject, I would suggest its purchase but I know of nothing, as yet, which would do more than alarm her or confuse."

Rockley appreciated the conundrum.

For young men, there were any number of avenues through which to learn prior to meeting one's spouse in the marriage bed. Besides a wealth of literature, accompanied by detailed illustrations, there were opportunities for first-hand practice—and the conversation of one's peers. He'd been listening to others' boastful tales of conquest long before he was of an age to attempt anything himself.

"It may be possible for me to meet with your bride in person, after you are wedded but prior to any relations occurring,"

Mrs. Bongorge went on. "Though I would certainly not wish to intrude."

His first reaction was one of horror. It would not do, at all, for the two to meet. For all her innocence Marjorie would guess, surely, at something being amiss, and it would only create awkwardness.

"Let me think on that."

It would not do to offend Mrs. Bongorge by dismissing the idea out of hand.

"In any case,"

she continued, "there are other things Miss Maitland may do to ready herself for you, though I think these tasks will also need to wait until you are man and wife. One moment…"

Turning, she brought forward a box from her dressing table which he had assumed contained jewelry. Her opening of the lid allowed him to see exactly what was inside. It was not the first time he'd seen such objects, but he was taken aback by breadth of her collection.

"I assume you are familiar with such toys."

Matter-of-factly, she withdrew the smallest from where it nestled on its velvet bed. She looked at the column fondly.

"Finest Carrara marble. I've heard that our old Queen possessed a set just the same, gifted by her dear Albert. These were a wedding present from my third husband. They were custom-made, with the bulbous end designed to resemble his own anatomy. He did so like to watch me pleasure myself."

Rockley's sharp intake of breath brought on a coughing fit. Mrs. Bongorge jumped up in alarm, then hurried to the small room adjoining and returned with water.

"I'm fine."

He croaked, thumping at his chest. "It was only the surprise of…"

"Yes, yes."

She sighed wearily. "Men never expect women to speak plainly of these things, but it is quite silly to do otherwise. So much is wasted if one is circumspect."

He was in no position to argue. "If I may ask, why so many?"

"Even a woman of experience needs some time to prepare herself."

She picked up one of the columns from the center of the box. "It helps to work up to something of this magnitude."

She tapped it thoughtfully against her chin. "You might make a similar gift to your bride. She could practice with the smaller pieces, until she might be ready to accommodate you."

Rockley understood the concept well enough, but his spirits slumped. As worthy as Mrs. Bongorge's suggestion was, it highlighted her lack of appreciation for the proportion of the problem.

"If she needs persuading, you could turn this into an amusing diversion."

Lifting out the tray from the box, Mrs. Bongorge took out a long sash. "Restrain her a little, so that she may be permitted the fantasy of you obliging her in the game. Be gentle, but masterful. You may be surprised at her response."

With a playful air, she held up the sash like a half-veil, batting her eyelashes over the top in mock-allure.

His voice emerged somewhat higher than was usual. "I can't quite imagine Miss Maitland being comfortable… that is, I'm not sure it fits with what I know of her."

Mrs. Bongorge's laughter was immediate. "Come now. It's likely you don't know the first thing about what she's really thinking. I have no doubt your bride is a virgin, but this does not preclude her from having knowledge of her own body; more so than you may realize. Besides which, you must encourage her not to be ashamed of any part of her sexual nature."

With the sash replaced, she tipped forward the box again, so that he could see the contents clearly. Giving him another of her serious looks, she asked, "Which of these does your cock most resemble?"

Rockley swallowed hard. "I really don't think…"

"This perhaps?"

Mrs. Bongorge held up the instrument second from the end. "It is a great deal fuller in girth than most men possess, but not prohibitively sized, if the recipient is willing."

At the shake of his head, she raised an eyebrow. "Not this, surely?"

She lifted out the final tool, which had the girth of a particularly well-nourished leek.

"Something akin to it."

She would know the truth soon enough, for he could see where the conversation was leading. At some point, she would ask to see the scale of the obstacle, as it were. There was no way around the issue, for she could hardly be expected to help without all the facts.

"Goodness!"

Somewhat flustered, she snapped the lid shut and put the box aside. "To meet your aim, there is no need for you to achieve full penetration. An inch or so should be adequate. Then, it is only a matter of your bride elevating her hips, to allow the seed to flow naturally to its destination."

Despite her clinical way of talking, hearing Mrs. Bongorge speak of the act was arousing. As for Miss Maitland, he remained very much unsure of whether she could be persuaded to embrace the idea, though practicing with marble penises seemed to have some scientific advantage.

"Naturally, it will be prudent to let her become familiar with the real thing before you launch it at her,"

Mrs. Bongorge went on. "The act of looking at and touching a man can be very arousing for a woman, and it is your bride's arousal we must focus upon. Try to involve her as much as possible."

"Involve her?"

Did she mean, in making him hard? He couldn't imagine Miss Maitland wanting to. He'd always thought, if he allowed her a full viewing of what he needed to deliver upon her, that she'd be repulsed or horrified. Requesting that she stroke him to arousal seemed an unnecessary evil.

"Just remember to let her progress at her own pace and praise her efforts. That is the surest way to making her feel comfortable. Put aside your own eagerness to see the deed done and let her take the lead."

"I see."

Rockley couldn't help feeling a little incredulous. He'd been thinking the best way would be to conclude matters as quickly as possible. It had never occurred to him that Miss Maitland might respond well to being given charge of the situation.

"Let us change tack."

Mrs. Bongorge stood. "There are other things you can do to prepare your wife, which are just as important, if not more so. Please, let me demonstrate."

She motioned him to his feet. Reluctantly, he rose, aware that it was impossible for him to hide the swell of his arousal.

He observed her glance downward, taking in the sizable bulge now apparent.

Her eyes widened. "I see there is no hurdle to your achieving your own awakening but let us keep our concentration upon the more important aspect. We must ensure your partner reaches the appropriate mental and physical state to allow congress to occur."

She looked him in the eye. "Here is the scene. This is our wedding night, and I am your bride. I stand before you in my nightgown, trembling and fearful, uncertain of what is required of me, or how to please you. What shall you do, in this moment, to put me at ease?"

He felt himself sway, somewhat dazed, possessed by the picture she'd just painted—except that it wasn't Marjorie he was imagining!

"Rockley?"

Mrs. Bongorge snapped her fingers. "Are you paying attention?"

He made himself focus. "I am only thinking…of what would be appropriate…"

His voice trailed off. There were no words for what he was feeling in this moment or, certainly, none that seemed right.

Mrs. Bongorge clucked her tongue. "I see I must get you started."

Taking his hand, she brought it to her face. Her eyes she kept downcast, while turning her cheek into his palm.

For some moments, she did not move, merely resting there, with her head tipped slightly to the side. "Touch softly and I shall shiver. Trail your kisses and I shall melt."

He was very much aware of the movement of her breath.

His gaze fixed upon the pale skin of her throat. He wanted to tip back her head and bring his fingers into the thickness of her hair; to hold her thus as he pressed his lips to that sensitive place. He wanted to taste her skin and hear her gasp as he captured the lobe of her ear between his teeth.

She was guiding him lower, skimming the muslin of her bodice, brushing the outer swell of her breast, until he rested upon the crook of her waist. There, she held fast, so that his hand was captured beneath hers.

They were standing much closer.

Her head was bowed. "This night, you are the first to behold my body; your touch is the first to make me sigh. Whisper to me—that you have thought of nothing else, that you burn to taste and explore and to cherish. Tell me I am the only woman you shall ever desire from this moment. You wish only to protect, to nurture and to love. Nothing shall ever hurt me."

Her voice was mesmerizing, speaking of all that he desired to give, and the sweet, lush femininity he wished to possess.

Exhaled from a place deep within, his response was barely a murmur. "Yes."

When she raised her eyes, they held a look of faint surprise.

"I'm glad you approve. You see how easy it is to seduce a woman. You have only to speak tenderly and match your embraces to your words. Convince the woman in your arms that you are willing to wait an eternity, and she is sure to move along the pace quicker than you can imagine."

He took a ragged breath. "If I ever say such things, it's because I believe them true."

"Of course you do. I'm sure you can be very convincing when you put your mind to it."

Her lips quirked a little. "Now, we cannot have all our lessons in one go, but I do think it would be useful to establish what we're dealing with."

She let her gaze travel downward. "Don't be coy. You have given me some idea of what to expect, but the time has come to show the dog the rabbit, as it were."

Reaching forward, she ran her knuckle across the outline, so obvious, straining at the front of his trousers.

He sucked in his breath. The way she was rubbing, he'd burst the buttons if he didn't free himself. But if he allowed this situation to progress, there was every chance he'd be unable to contain himself. All this talk of penetration and tying up, not to mention the way she'd gotten him to touch her, and the things she'd said…

It was too much.

He'd known there was danger in coming to her cabin. If he let things proceed, he'd a good idea of what would follow. One caress of her bare hand upon his shaft or—dare he think it—her tongue licking at the purple head, and he'd be undone.

"Not bashful?"

She dropped her chin, looking up at him through those thick lashes. "I promise, I shan't be so overcome by the sight of you that I'll fall instantly in love. Don't you want to show me how magnificent you are?"

Again, she reached for him.

"Stop that."

He caught her wrist.

This had gone too far. The part of his brain that was hardwired for sexual pleasure was racing into overdrive.

Mrs. Bongorge, meanwhile, didn't appear the least deterred. Only when he relaxed his hold upon her did he discern a flash of disappointment.

"You mustn't think I'm ungrateful."

He made himself take a solid step backward. "You've given me much to think about."

She summoned a smile, though it did not quite reach her eyes. "There is a great deal more I would suggest, if you wish further enlightenment…"

She gave a small sigh. "You know where I am, should you desire me to be of further assistance."

He bowed in recognition of the offer. It was rather ridiculous under the circumstances, but observing the formalities allowed him to retain some belief that he'd acted within the bounds of ‘decency'.

There was nothing more to do; nevertheless, he considered throwing everything he'd just said to the winds.

If Frederick had never died, he would not be in this position with Miss Maitland. He'd be free to act as he desired, and what he wanted right now, more than anything, was this woman in his arms.

But how could he live with any degree of dignity, knowing he'd been so weak? His decisions affected others beyond himself.

It took the last vestige of his self-control to compel his departure.