An assignation?
Envy spiked in Violet’s blood, violent and sharp, like she had poked herself with an embroidery needle. Charlotte kept talking, not taking notice of Violet’s discomfort, and Violet was glad for it. She needed to gain control over her emotions.
Perhaps Ravensthorpe would not go. He would reconsider and decide—
Her stomach sank as he excused himself and followed the countess out the terrace doors. Definitely an assignation. She could hardly catch her breath; jealousy lodged in her lungs. She longed to beckon him to the gardens where she could touch and kiss him, explore that generous mouth and bask in his stern gaze . . .
Violet fanned herself vigorously as she burned with curiosity. What would Ravensthorpe and the countess do in the gardens, kiss? Fellatio? Sexual congress?
There was so much more she needed to know. For example, was Ravensthorpe a bold and demanding lover? Selfish? Or was he eager to please, as many of the erotic photographs she’d seen depicted? Perhaps if she learned more about what he liked, then she stood a better chance of getting him to notice her.
Charlotte must have perceived that Violet’s attention had wandered. “Violet? One minute you are flushed and the next, pale as flour. What is wrong with you?”
She had to go. She had to see what was about to happen in the gardens. There wasn’t a moment to lose.
Gripping Charlotte’s arm, she kissed her friend’s cheek. “I apologize. I’m not feeling well. I think I shall tell my father I’d like to go home.”
Charlotte nodded, her expression brimming with affection and concern. “Excellent idea. Go on, then. Rest. I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
Violet bid Charlotte good night, then wove through the crowd, pretending to search for her father. In reality, her goal was to lose Charlotte and blend into the crush. With a final check to ensure no one was watching, she slipped through the French doors and onto the terrace.
The night smelled of lilacs and fresh dirt. Only a sliver of moon added to the soft torchlight along the edge of the garden path. Lifting her skirts, she moved carefully, desperate to not make any noise. She had been to this house before and knew the garden was designed as a large square, with a fountain at the far end. Tall hedges surrounded the path, high enough to offer cover to any couple. Her guess was that Ravensthorpe and the countess would meet near the fountain, farthest from the house.
She found a break in the bushes large enough to slip through and continued along the outside of the hedges bordering the lawn. Likely her slippers were ruined but she could not stop, not when she was close to discovering more about the duke. Sartorial sacrifices were necessary in the pursuit of all things Ravensthorpe.
Silent, she made her way along, allowing the hedge to be her guide in the dark. Near the final corner, she heard a lady’s light laughter and a deep chuckle.
Ravensthorpe.
She crept closer, hardly daring to breathe. She needed to hear and see it all, so she bent and peered through the branches. After some maneuvering, she finally located the perfect vantage spot. Two figures were locked in an embrace, one of them clearly the duke.
Light from the house provided enough illumination to see that Ravensthorpe was kissing the countess, her body pressed tightly to his long frame. He clutched her waist with one hand while his other hand massaged her clothed breast. Violet’s own nipples stiffened to peaks under her corset, the crisp air a delicious torture on her hot skin. The couple was ravenous, their mouths attacking one another between gasps of air.
In a flash, Ravensthorpe spun the countess so her back rested against his front, with both of them now facing Violet. He wrapped one set of his long fingers around the woman’s throat as he shoved his other hand into her bodice. He lifted her breast out of her dress and undergarments, exposing it before caressing the plump flesh. His mouth slid along her cheek as the countess’s lids fell shut, her lips parted with her rapid breathing.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice like smooth silk. “A dirty girl with your gorgeous tit out. Ask me nicely and maybe I’ll play with you.”
“Please, Ravensthorpe,” the countess whispered on a groan. “Oh, please.”
Violet swallowed, her throat clogged with desire. Could they hear her heart pounding inside her chest? She would give anything to trade places with the older woman. Had the countess any idea of her good fortune?
“How pretty you are when you beg, Louisa.”
Using the pads of his fingers, he stroked the taut bud at the tip of the countess’s breast, pulling and pinching it. Louisa writhed, rubbing her body along his as he continued to work her, his other hand never leaving her throat.
Blood pooled between Violet’s legs, her quim pulsing in time with her heartbeat. He was beautiful and compelling, an angel of sin and lust. Light reflected off the threads of silver at his temples, the effect like a match to her insides. She had never wanted anything or anyone more in all her eighteen years.
“If I lift your skirts, will I find you wet?” he asked.
Yes, Violet wanted to answer. So very wet.
The countess panted. “Oh, God. You . . .”
“Yes?”
“I cannot think. Please, do not stop.”
“Do you need my cock, Louisa? Shall I place you over the end of that bench there and fuck you?”
Violet pressed her thighs together to ease her aching flesh. Sweet mother of mercy, he was potent. The angles of his face were harsh and unforgiving, his mouth almost cruel in its lasciviousness. Again she longed for her camera, wishing she could capture him in this stolen moment.
The countess shuddered at his words. “I cannot. As much as I crave you, I must return.”
“What is another moment when I can make you come so hard?”
“Oh, you devil.” She drew in a deep breath and covered his hand to stop his movements. “Unfortunately, I need to get back. I’ve been away too long. My husband will be wondering where I’ve gone.”
“Hmm.” Shifting her clothing, he tucked her breast away. Then he released her. “I suppose we will need to pick this up later, then.”
The countess turned and bit his jaw, then drew her fingertip along the heavy ridge in his trousers. Ravensthorpe sucked in a breath, and she smiled. “Tonight, Ravensthorpe. Leave your side door unlatched. We’ll play one of our naughty games.”
Without waiting for his agreement, the countess hurried along the path toward the house. Ravensthorpe stood unmoving for a long moment, his chest rising and lowering in his evening clothes. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead, a stripe of ink slashing his perfect skin. Violet could not look away, completely entranced.
He finally raised his head—only to pin her with a dark stare. “You may come out now, little mouse.”
Violet froze.
Little mouse?
Was he talking to her? She had been so quiet, completely concealed by the hedges. Heavens, she was standing on the lawn. He couldn’t possibly know she was there.
Cold terror filled her lungs as he walked directly toward her. She considered running, but where would she go? He’d see her for certain the instant she took off.
Bending, he came eye to eye with her from the other side of the hedge. “Come out of there, Violet. Now.”
The tone was decidedly ducal, one used to being obeyed, and dread and embarrassment washed over her entire body. Violet prayed for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. She’d wanted him to notice her, but not like this. Never like this. She’d only wished to watch him with the countess like a voyeur hidden in the dark.