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Page 19 of When the Marquess Needed Me (The Rake Chronicles #4)

Chapter Seventeen

B eatrice hardly knew what to think.

It had occurred to her that Lord Leith— Thomas , she supposed, as he insisted upon being called—would have tried to demand she stay on her previous terms. She had agreed to those terms, after all, and it made sense he would try to hold her to them.

She had not expected that he would offer to pay her double. Or to learn from her in the bedchamber.

Beatrice still felt perturbed that her time with Lord Leith was not going according to her plans. She had had a set notion of what would transpire between them. She would have a pleasant time learning what he had to teach and then leave, knowledge enhanced, to become the true mistress of another rich gentleman. Now she was not at all sure what she was doing with him, when she was the one doing the teaching.

But she supposed that it didn’t matter. Even if she learned nothing from their time together when it came to her erotic skills, perhaps the next man would be just as odd and idiosyncratic as this one. She had come to London to make money as a courtesan and, with Lord Leith, that was what she was doing. One thousand pounds was a sum that she simply couldn’t turn down. If a future protector was unhappy with her lack of specialized skills, then he would just have to teach her himself. Perhaps Lord Leith was right and there were more wealthy London gentlemen looking for a mundane or, at least, not relatively specialized, experience in the bedchamber than she thought.

And he had asked her to stay, nearly begged her, so sweetly, that she found herself unable to say no. After all, it was not as if her experience with him had been truly bad. Only strange. He was clearly a passionate man who, for reasons that remained unclear to her, had gotten stuck in rigid patterns.

Furthermore, the prospect of turning to a Stratton or a Pennington held no appeal—she would much prefer Lord Leith, for all his foibles. And while she could have bought time throwing herself and Sally on the kindness of Lord Montaigne, that hardly seemed an attractive option either.

No, she had resolved, she would go forward with Lord Leith. Whatever happened, at least she would have one thousand pounds at the end of it. It was roughly a tenth of what she owed her father’s creditor, after all. Even if he had proposed no alteration to their erotic relationship, it would have been unwise to refuse.

Thus, now she found herself on the boat to Vauxhall with Leith, his footman, Charles, and Sally.

The truth was that Beatrice was not that curious about Vauxhall.

But Sally had been dying to go. It was the one thing she wanted to experience in London. Beatrice had promised her that they would find a way to see Vauxhall, but she was uncertain of when or how she would manage it.

So, when he had asked her, after already giving her so much, what she wanted, this answer had popped out of her mouth.

He hadn’t seemed surprised, which made her think that he had heard the request before from his mistresses.

But, gazing out at Vauxhall now, as their boat approached the shore, Beatrice could not imagine that Lord Leith— Thomas —liked Vauxhall.

The grim set of his mouth confirmed her suspicion.

She sighed. She still found the man very handsome, even when he was glowering in his dark evening suit, clearly irritated by his current situation.

His countenance formed a ridiculous contrast to the expression of absolute glee on Sally’s face. She literally had her hands clasped together and was barely containing what Beatrice knew to be her signature squeal of delight.

And even Beatrice, who had never been particularly intrigued by Vauxhall, had to admit that the sight of the lighted trees, the pretty supper boxes, and the fashionable revelers flitting along the pathways created a striking tableau.

“I have engaged a supper box for us,” said Leith, when they had all disembarked. “From there we can enjoy the revelry.”

His dry tone announced that he would do anything but enjoy the commotion around him.

An attendant led them to their box and Beatrice took in the orchestra, which currently played at full bore. She also spied the mouths of winding paths that led in all different directions, deeper into the gardens.

“Have you been to Vauxhall many times?” she asked Leith, when they were seated.

“Indeed,” he said, his tone bored. “Once, it was a favorite haunt of my friends. But I have not been here in years.”

“It is beautiful,” Beatrice said, trying to cut through the din around them. The other revelers were extraordinarily loud and seemed to be, largely, quite drunk. Talking soon proved to be impossible.

Instead, they ate their sliced ham and champagne in silence, with only Sally’s frequent oohs and ahhs and various expressions of elation forming any kind of conversation.

Beatrice was beginning to find the entire situation quite trying. For reasons she struggled to name, she did not enjoy sitting next to Lord Leith in silence.

Once Beatrice could bear it no more, she turned to Lord Leith. “Shall we walk into the gardens? The noise is quite—”

“Yes,” he said, immediately. “It is unbearable.”

“Sally, would you like to walk?”

“Oh, but the fireworks will be starting soon! And they can be best seen from here.”

Beatrice glanced over at Lord Leith. His expression looked vaguely seasick. She sensed that he very badly wanted to escape from the supper area.

Was it irresponsible to leave Sally? she wondered. Would she be safe?

“But you walk,” Sally said, as if reading her mind. “I have Charles.”

Charles nodded at her. He seemed a responsible young man. She couldn’t imagine Leith employing him otherwise. In fact, on the carriage ride over, Leith had chanced to mention that Charles was the son of his butler and housekeeper. He had known the young man his entire life.

“Very well. We won’t be long. Don’t leave the box.”

Sally gave her a little smile. “We won’t move an inch.”

They left the supper box and went down the path that seemed the darkest and quietest. As the din faded behind them, she could see the tension about Leith’s shoulders easing.

“You don’t like Vauxhall, do you?”

“Is it that obvious?” he said, with a small smile.

“Yes. Why did you agree to take us here if you loathe it so much?”

He shrugged. “You wanted to come.”

She shook her head. “Sally would have died of disappointment if she didn’t get to see it. I can’t say I am much fond of the noise, either, although the lights are very pretty.”

They wended down the path, the noise growing fainter with each step.

She stopped before a little garden right off the path, obscured largely by high hedges. She had to step forward in order to see it all.

It was a pretty inlet, furnished with a stone bench.

It was perfect for her purposes.

“I have heard,” she said, “that lovers tryst at Vauxhall.”

He stiffened beside her.

She knew that yesterday he would have refused her intimation outright. At least as it concerned him. But now he was silent. That was progress, she supposed.

She had walked to the center of the little garden. She turned now and found him only a few paces behind her. He was staring at her. She could not see him particularly well. The light overhead was faint. Nevertheless she could make out a terrified hunger in his eyes.

“It’s true,” he said. “But I needn’t tell you that I’ve never done such a thing.”

“Not even once?”

“No. Not even once.”

“Kiss me, then.”

He groaned. “Beatrice.”

“What are you afraid of? I know you want to.”

“I do—I—”

“Then do it, Leith. There is no one else here to see us.”

“Thomas,” he corrected. “You said you would call me Thomas.”

“Kiss me, Thomas.”

He leaned forward, slowly, and took her mouth. The kiss was searching, tentative, but she could feel his cockstand pressed against her thigh.

It thrilled her that he wanted her.

She let him explore her mouth, however, not rushing him. He grew bolder there, bringing his tongue to her lips, and she let out a sigh of satisfaction at the pleasure. He took her waist in his hands and pushed her so that she was leaning, lightly, against the hedge. She could feel his cock more clearly now and the greater heat of his kiss, the passion he began to let into it, had her wanting.

She brought her hands to his shoulders, interlocking them behind his neck.

With that encouragement, he kissed her more deeply. She let her tongue slide over his lip and he gave a little sound of assent. He then reciprocated the motion, opening his mouth to her.

“That’s good,” she sighed.

He said nothing in response.

“Thomas,” she repeated. “That is good .”

He stilled.

She drew back. “Don’t you like praise?”

“Not if it is only to flatter me.”

“It’s not. Why would you assume such a thing?”

“I am paying you, if you had forgotten.”

“I cannot enjoy a man’s kiss, even if he is paying me for the pleasure?”

He scoffed and looked away from her.

“Explain,” she urged, taking his hand and interlacing his fingers with her own.

That simple motion seemed to work. He looked back at her.

“Beatrice, I’m used to being with courtesans. They know how to feign pleasure. No, in fact, they are paid to do it. I’ve been on the receiving end of plenty of it. I am sure you are doing the same right now. And I suppose you regard it as your duty. But I don’t need it. It just reminds me of what you aren’t feeling.”

“I am not being false,” she protested. “I will never pretend to enjoy what I don’t. Or that you are making me feel better than you are. I was genuinely enjoying your kiss.”

“So you say.”

She gave a sigh of exasperation. “Come here.”

She took his hand and dragged him over to the low stone bench. Then, she straddled his legs with her own, but remained standing herself.

“What are you doing? Someone might see.”

“No one is on this path. And if they were, and they saw us, they wouldn’t care.”

She took his hand and directed it under her skirts. She touched it to her core.

“Do you feel? How wet I am for you?”

He looked up at her. “Is that really for me?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s for the other gentleman I am kissing in Vauxhall Gardens at present.”

“God, Beatrice,” he groaned.

“You are a very handsome man, Thomas, and I like kissing you. But you needn’t believe me. You can feel that evidence for yourself.”

His fingers slid tentatively over her sex, as if he were testing the veracity of her claims. As he did so, he grazed her clit, which only made her wetter.

“That feels good, too,” she panted.

“Truly?” he said, looking up at her as if she were a miracle.

“Yes, Thomas. Women like to be touched in such a way, especially how you are doing it. So gently.”

He continued stroking her, moving from the very entrance of her channel back to her clit, clearly reveling in the feel of her.

“Do you want to make me spend, Thomas?”

“Yes,” he said. “Very much.”

“Then keep doing that.”

Moments later, she came apart on his fingers, shuddering as she steadied herself on his shoulders.

“That was very, very good,” she said, looking down into his amber gaze. He was looking up at her like she was some kind of goddess, some sort of marvel of the world, when all she had done was what a thousand tarts had done before at Vauxhall.

She kissed him anyway, because he seemed so sincere, so unlike the man she had only met days ago.

“Now,” she said, ending the kiss. “We are not finished.”

She moved to unbutton the placket of his breeches.

One brush told her that was very, very hard indeed.

“Beatrice—what on earth—”

“Shhh,” she said. “Let me take care of you. Trust me.”

“I don’t have a letter.”

“Thankfully, I have a letter. I thought of that.”

She felt him relax a bit under her touch.

“Do you want me to ride astride you? That is what I want.”

“It’s—I—yes. Yes, please. It’s not what I usually do. God, I haven’t done anything like that in years. But I want you so badly. And there is no other way here—” He looked around, as if hoping to find a bed.

“No.” She laughed. “It is the only way.”

She moved to free him from his breeches, but he sprang back, making the movement himself. From her vantage point above him and with her skirts, she could not see much of what he did. Or his cock.

“Shall I place the letter on you?”

“No,” he panted. “Please. Let me.”

She reached into her pocket and handed him the letter, which he quickly donned.

“Are you ready?”

He nodded.

She felt for his cock, now wrapped in the letter, and then lowered herself on him slowly.

She slid down his shaft and the sensation immediately sent a bolt of pleasure through her quim. His hardness was impressive, and it created a heavy, full sensation inside of her. Even though his cock was not large, it pleased her greatly. Truthfully, she had never cared for a large cock and preferred her lovers more compact. Something about the sensation of a large cock was never quite right for her.

“Christ,” he panted. “God, it’s too good.”

“Shall I move?”

“I don’t know. I will not last either way.”

“I don’t care about that. You’ve already given me plenty of pleasure.”

She moved upwards slightly, using his shoulders for leverage, and he whimpered.

Trying to have consideration for his sensitivity, she found a gentle motion, up and down, that she thought might prolong their experience. It seemed to work, because although he cried out, he didn’t come.

The sensation began to tantalize her as well. With each movement, his cock was brushing that place inside of her that, without fail, brought her to the brink.

“I can’t bear it anymore,” he said, once she had been at it for a moment. She could feel her orgasm rising.

She halted her progress. And he moaned.

“Why did you stop?”

“You’re going to make me spend again, Thomas,” she said, low and intimate in his ear. He let out a whimper. “Is that what you want?”

“God, yes.”

She still didn’t move, however.

She wanted to know more of what he felt.

“Do you like my pussy, Thomas?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes. You’re so tight, so perfect. I’ve never enjoyed bedding any woman so much.”

That surprised her. That surprised her greatly. But she wasn’t about to let her shock show in such a moment.

After all, for the Marquess of Leith, Beatrice reflected, such words counted as ranting and raving.

And she had begun to find her own lack of movement rather trying.

She eased back up again and then back down.

Then an explosion rent the sky. She startled, nearly losing her purchase on his lap.

For a moment, she was merely terrified.

Blue and green light sparkled above them.

Fireworks.

“Bloody hell,” he swore underneath her, moving as if to stand.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, pushing him back in place with her hands.

“You expect me to fucking tup you with bloody fireworks going off above my head?”

His body was completely tense once more, his shoulders rigid beneath her hands. Another blast lit up the sky.

“It is rather apt, don’t you think?” She laughed.

He was still hard inside of her. He hadn’t been that startled, she was happy to see.

“What bollocks. Completely absurd.”

“I’m worried about your bollocks. Given your current suspended state. Quite uncomfortable, I would wager.”

He groaned.

“You are still hard.”

“Of course I am, damn you. I am inside of you.”

She flexed her pelvic muscles and he cried out once more. “Holy fuck.”

Another starburst sounded above them, illuminating both of their faces almost completely.

“Too much light,” he grumbled.

“I think it’s just enough. I like to see your face when you’re inside of me.”

He gave another incoherent groan and closed his eyes.

“Open your eyes,” she said. “Look at me.”

He followed her command.

His eyes were open, vulnerable. As open and vulnerable, she was sure, as she had seen any man.

And she began to move again, going up and down in the gentle rhythm, and he was moaning underneath her, clearly unable to control his reaction.

He closed his eyes again and she allowed it. He couldn’t change all at once, she reasoned, and anyway she was too close herself to think of much else.

A firework boomed above them, and he jerked underneath her, swearing incoherently. She found her own release a second later. The pleasure was more intense this time, because of his hardness and the resistance it offered as she spasmed around his cock.

She gasped and clutched his face, panting.

Fuck , she thought, that was good.

Beatrice looked down at him, where he had his head buried in her bosom.

Yes, she thought, smiling, that had been quite good.

Much better than satisfactory.

Perhaps the Marquess of Leith could be made into a very good lover, after all.