No Mistress of Mine

Chapter 18

Lola knew this was a mistake, one that would probably wreck him, and her, and everything both of them were trying to achieve, but with his mouth on hers and his arms around her, she just couldn’t summon the will to stop it. When he dragged her onto his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and when his tongue touched her lips, she parted them in willing accord.

The kiss was full and lush. His tongue caressed hers with carnal strokes, sliding deeper, then pulling back. Her body was flushed with heat, aching with need.

He broke the kiss, but she had time for one gasp for air before he was tilting his head the other way to kiss her again. This time, it was a slow, drugging kiss that seemed to go on and on as he explored her mouth, tasting her, rediscovering her. It’s been so long, she thought, and moaned against his mouth. God, Denys, it’s been so long.

He broke the kiss again, and pulled back. Afraid he was calling a halt, she grasped the soaking-wet lapels of his jacket. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

“Who’s stopping?” he muttered, and his hands came up between them. He pressed kisses to her face as he began unfastening the buttons of her jacket, waistcoat, and shirtwaist.

He yanked apart her necktie, then pulled apart the edges of her garments, and bent his head to trail kisses along the side of her neck.

By the time he slipped his hand inside the placket of her shirtwaist, her breathing was quick and shallow, and her body was flushed with heat, and when his fingertips caressed the swell of her breast above her corset cover, she moaned, sinking back against the carriage seat, her weight on her elbows.

He followed the move, undoing more buttons as he came over her, and she closed her eyes, tilting her head back, arching her breasts upward as he pressed kisses along her collarbone. He worked his hand beneath her chemise, to touch her bare skin, and the heat in her grew stronger, hotter, pooling in long-forgotten places—her breasts, her abdomen, and between her thighs.

His free hand grabbed handfuls of white silk and lawn, pulling up her skirt and petticoats, getting beneath. Then his hand glided up her thigh, and the heat of his palm burned through the thin nainsook of her drawers.

Suddenly, he withdrew his hand from her bodice and sank to his knees beside her, then he was shoving her skirts up against her stomach. He pinned them to her waist with his forearm, as his other hand spread across her belly.

And then he went still.

“Denys?” Panting, she opened her eyes to find him hovering above her, breathing hard, but other than the rise and fall of his chest, he did not move. In the last vestiges of daylight that peeked between the carriage curtains, she could see the desire burning in his eyes. “Why did you stop?”

“I want to be sure you really want to do this,” he said, his voice ragged, his countenance harsh with the effort of holding back. “If you don’t, then for God’s sake, stop me now.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to go out on a limb, didn’t you?” she panted, sucking in air, unable to get enough into her lungs, given the tight confines of her corset. “This is about as far out on a limb a girl can go, don’t you think?”

“Is it?” His hand slid down over her belly an inch or two, then stopped again.

“Don’t tease,” she groaned. “Don’t tease me.”

“Go out a bit further on that limb,” he coaxed, moving his hand closer to the apex of her thighs. “Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me,” she gasped, parting her thighs, but it wasn’t much access, for her bent knee hit his arm. She jerked her hips, urging him on. “Touch me like you used to do.”

He complied, his finger sliding between her thighs and into the gusset of her drawers. Sharp sensation speared her, and she cried out.

He began to caress her with the tip of one finger, light, delicate circles that spread pleasure throughout her body, the delicious pleasure of so many summer afternoons. “Denys,” she moaned. “I remember this.”

“So do I, Lola,” he murmured, and leaned down to kiss her mouth. “You are still every bit as soft as I remember. And so, so wet for me.”

He deepened the caress, sliding his finger between the folds of her feminine opening, overwhelming her with sensations she’d never thought to feel again, and she bent her arm to stifle her own panting sobs, for she didn’t want the driver to hear. “Denys. Oh, God, Denys.”

“Yes,” he coaxed softly, “That’s it. You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, yes,” and then she did, climaxing in exquisite waves, again and again. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his fingers continuing to caress her, wringing the last shards of orgasm from her until she finally collapsed, panting, against the seat.

“I’d forgotten, Denys,” she whispered in amazement. “I’d forgotten how it feels.”

She opened her eyes, but it was dark now, and no light peeked between the curtains. But though she could barely see the outline of him in the darkness, she could hear the harsh rasp of his breathing.

“I want to be inside you,” he muttered.

“Yes.” As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she watched him slide his trousers and linen down his hips, and when he did, she sat up, reaching out to take him in her hand.

He groaned, tilting his head back, and she stroked him just as he’d shown her how to do so long ago. He was thick and hard and scorching hot, and she relished the velvety feel of him in her palm. But when she caressed the cleft at the tip with her thumb, he groaned again, and her enjoyment of this particular activity was abruptly stopped as he grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away. “Now, who’s teasing?”

His grip tightened around her wrist, and he leaned back, pulling her with him.

He didn’t say anything, but she knew what he wanted. Bunching up her skirts around her waist, she eased herself onto his seat, straddling his hips, her knees sinking into the cushion as he settled back against the roll and tuck leather behind him.

“Take me,” he ground out, grasping her hips. “Take me inside you.”

She smiled, savoring the order, for she knew it was also a plea. Holding her skirts up out of the way with one hand, she took his erect penis in the other and guided the tip through the slit of her drawers and between the folds of her opening. As the tip of his penis entered her, she slid her hand out from between their bodies, and the moment she did, he thrust his hips upward, his hands tightening as he entered her.

She cried out, her fingers grasping for the seat back on either side of his shoulders to steady herself as he pushed into her.

“Do you remember this, Lola?” he asked, going deeper, pushing harder.

Yes, she remembered this, the hot sweet fullness of him inside her. How could she ever have forgotten it? With him inside her this way, it was as if no time had passed, as if their last afternoon in the house on Circus Road had been only yesterday. She gave a frantic nod, rolling her hips, rocking to accommodate his shaft, working to take him fully.

But he seemed to want her to say it aloud, for his hips flexed, pulling back. “Do you?” he asked, and thrust again, harder, the head of his penis touching that exquisite place deep inside her, a place that she knew could bring even more intense pleasure than the one he’d caressed with his fingers moments ago.

“Yes,” she panted, her hips working as she felt the pleasure rising, thickening, and she knew she was close to climax. She widened her knees, pressing down, trying to work her hips and bring that completion.

But he didn’t let her have it. His hands tightened on her hips, pushing her back a little, making her groan in protest.

“Denys!”

“What about this?” he asked, his voice ragged. He flexed his hips, touching her deep, then he pulled back and flexed again in a teasing, tormenting caress. “Do you remember this?”

She began to sob, for she was hovering just on the edge, and this sweet, drawn-out pleasure was agonizing. “Yes, yes, I remember, Denys,” she sobbed. “Finish it. Oh, please, finish it.”

He kissed her mouth, hard, then he obeyed her frantic plea. His grip tightened, his fingers pressing hard against her buttocks as he brought her down to him, and he thrust upward.

She came in a rush so intense it made her dizzy, and her fingers clenched convulsively over the seat back as her body pulsed with wave after wave of pleasure.

Even awash in the sensations of her own climax, she knew he was close to his. “Come, Denys, come,” she begged, tightening her inner muscles around his shaft, working her hips to bring him to the peak. “Take your pleasure.”

With a hoarse cry, he let go of her hips, and his arms wrapped tight around her, as if even now, she wasn’t close enough. He buried his face against her neck, and his breathing was hot and quick against her exposed skin. A violent shudder rocked his body, he thrust into her twice more, and his body went rigid as the warmth of his climax pushed into her.

He relaxed against the seat, and she collapsed against his chest, her body still impaled, as she slid her arms around his neck.

His hand slid up her back, his fingertips caressed her neck. “I remember, too, Lola,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I remember every moment.”

She closed her eyes, her cheek against the wet wool of his jacket, and she wished they could stay like this forever. The rain had stopped, and the only sound was the grating clatter of the growler’s wheels and the other carriages on the street. A moment later, the carriage turned, and Denys pulled back the curtain a bit to look out. “We’re on Charing Cross Road,” he told her. “Just past Soho Square. We’ll be at Trafalgar in a few minutes.”

Disappointment pierced her, for she knew they were almost out of time. She willed herself to pull back, easing away from him into the seat opposite, pulling down her skirts as he fastened his trousers, and she grimaced a little at the wetness between her legs, even as she longed to have him inside her again.

That, she told herself as she began refastening her garments, was a foolish thing to wish for. Everything that was true six years ago was still true and would always be true. This story, no matter how many times they relived it, would always have the same ending. And the same heartbreak.

Her hands began to shake, and when she tried to form the knot of her tie, she couldn’t seem to manage it. Her fingers fumbled, and she stopped, fighting back the sudden, stupid urge to cry.

“Allow me,” he said, and turned to kneel in front of her. Grasping the ends of her blue silk necktie, he began to form a four-in-hand knot.

He was so close that as he worked, she could feel his breath warm on her face. She lifted her gaze to his eyes, and though the light was dim, she could see their steady, dark brown depths. She wanted, so badly, to kiss him, but she couldn’t. That blissful moment had passed, and she knew it couldn’t come again.

“There,” he said. His fingers shifted the knot, settling it against her throat, but though his hands stilled, he did not pull away. He leaned forward, his forehead pressed to hers. “I want to stay with you tonight. Let me come to your room.”

“At the Savoy? Are you mad? It’s impossible to get you up to my room without being seen.”

He lifted his head, exhaling a sharp sigh, acknowledging the hazards of such a plan. “I suppose you’re right. Still . . .” He paused, toying with the lapels of her jacket, smiling a little. “There are other hotels. More discreet hotels.”

“And then what?” she choked, forcing out the words. “A discreet house? In a discreet neighborhood.”

His smile vanished. “No, actually. I’m thinking of a different sort of house.” His gaze was unwavering as it met hers. “A pretty little place in Kent called Arcady.”

She felt as if there were a fist around her heart, squeezing tight. “We’ve been through this before.”

“You mean, you have. I was never given the chance to air my views on the matter.”

“Talking about this won’t change it. I’m not the woman for you, and we both know it. Didn’t what happened this afternoon prove that?”

His palm tenderly cupped her cheek. “I think what happened this evening proved the opposite.”

Inside, she began to shake. She could feel hope rising, cracking her resolve, but she thought of what had happened earlier that day, of how it had felt to be in the glare of society’s hostile scrutiny, and she reminded herself that hopes about a future with Denys were futile. In the eyes of his people and the society he moved in, she was, and would always be, a slut. If she married him, the only revision of their opinion would be that she was a jumped-up slut. But she wasn’t the only one who would pay the price. “We lost our heads tonight and had a tumble. It’s hardly reason enough to join for life.”

“Is that all this was to you? A tumble?”

Another crack fissured her resolve, and she knew she had to get away from him before she broke completely apart, and her heart and her resolve were in pieces. Desperate, she reached up, tapping her knuckles hard against the roof of the carriage. “I won’t do this,” she said as the vehicle began to slow. “I won’t ruin your life again.”

“Lola,” he began, but she cut him off.

“You’ve repaired your relations with your family, earned their trust, and made good. I won’t destroy all that a second time.” She took a deep breath. “I’m no good for you, Denys. You need to stay away from me, and I need to stay away from you.”

“That’s going to be difficult, I’m afraid.”

It would be impossible, and she knew it. Looking at him, she knew that he knew it, too.

“You managed everything on your own before, and you can do so again. Make whatever decisions about the Imperial you like. I won’t fight you.”

“So that’s your answer? Running away again?”

That hurt, like the flick of a whip, but she couldn’t deny the pattern of her life. “I don’t want to run out on the play. If you and I can stay away from each other, I’ll be able to see it through to the end of its run.”

“And then?”

“And then . . .” Her voice wobbled, and she paused, swallowing hard, willing herself to remember the goal she’d set for herself long before she’d ever met him. “If I do well, I’ll be able to gain another dramatic role. Perhaps I’ll join a repertory company in the North—Manchester or Leeds. Or I may go to Dublin, or back to New York.”

“Still sounds like running away to me,” he murmured. “I see why you’ve had so many fresh starts. And what about what happened here tonight?” he added before she could respond. “You’re thinking we’ll just forget about it, I suppose?”

“Yes.” She managed to hold his gaze across the carriage. “We will.”

“I won’t forget, Lola,” he said. “I’ll never forget.”

The tenderness in his voice was almost her undoing, but she knew she could not destroy his life again. For the second time, she was in love with him, and for the second time, it was going to break her heart. She could already feel it happening. Not in a Paris dressing room this time but in a dingy growler on a London street.

The driver opened the door, but when he pulled down the step, Denys didn’t move to exit the vehicle.

“Go, Denys,” she said, striving to keep any hint of the pain out of her voice. “Please, just go.”

“I’ll go if that’s what you wish, but this conversation isn’t over.” He reached for his hat. “Not by a long chalk.”

He stepped out of the carriage, donned his hat, and pulled his notecase out of the breast pocket of his jacket. “Take her to the Savoy,” he ordered the driver as he pulled a note from the case in payment of the fare and put it in the man’s hand. Then he bowed to her, turned away, and began walking across Trafalgar Square.

The driver folded up the step and closed the door. But Lola leaned forward, her nose pressed to the rain-streaked window glass, her eyes on Denys as he started across the square. Then the carriage jerked into motion and pulled forward, and he was gone from her view.

Desperate, she shoved down the window and stuck her head out, craning her neck, wanting to watch him as long as possible. “I love you,” she whispered, but he had already vanished behind Nelson’s Column, and her soft confession was lost in the mist.