Lucien’s hand left his shoulder. “I’m going now.”
Constantine nodded and was glad he’d taken that long drink of his brother’s smuggled whisky on the way upstairs. The snick of the door latching sounded like a pistol shot. While he couldn’t see anything, his other senses had become more, greater. He smelled the wax of the candle burning, and the gentle heat of the low fire in the hearth warmed him.
What in the hell was he doing? Did he really need this? What he needed was for this woman—or someone else—to sit down with his wife and talk to her about what happened in bed and how she ought to respond. Presuming she liked what was happening. Perhaps she didn’t. Which meant he needed the damn tutor.
Swearing softly in frustration, he lifted his hands to the buttons of his waistcoat. The latch clicked, and he froze. His breath caught and held as he pivoted toward the door. It was a silly movement since he couldn’t see anything.
The air in the chamber shifted, thickening and beguiling him with the scent of an exotic flower his father grew in the hothouse at Woodbreak.
“Good evening.” He sounded foreign, as if there was a gravel-voiced stranger within him.
“Good evening.” Her voice was soft and melodic, a vaguely southern Welsh accent, if he had to guess. Yes, his other senses were working very hard to compensate for his lack of sight.
He still didn’t breathe, nor could he move, his body rooted in disbelief over what was happening. Or about to happen. “Why are you here?” He blurted the question despite Lucien telling him she only wanted to help. Why would she?
“I went to Lord Lucien in search of a discreet lover,” she said simply and without hesitation. “He has a reputation for helping people.”
Constantine finally exhaled. “Did you hope to become his mistress?”
“No, why?”
Because most women would. “He also has a reputation for, ah, libertine behavior.”
“What about you?” She’d moved closer, the air moving again, as her tropical scent enveloped him. “You look to be a very attractive gentleman.”
“I am not like Lord Lucien.” There was just something about Lucien that attracted the fairer sex. Even when they’d been boys, the maids had doted upon him. Not that they’d ignored Constantine, but it was different. Lucien always smiled and charmed. For him, it was as easy as breathing—and Constantine was even having trouble with that at the moment.
“I can see that.” She was behind him now, circling him, taking stock.
His muscles stretched taut, as if he were being pulled in multiple directions, drawn and about to be quartered. “This was a mistake.” He reached up for the blindfold, intending to leave.
“You can’t do that,” she said quickly, the pitch of her voice rising. “The blindfold stays on. That’s one of the rules.”
“I can’t leave if I can’t see.”
“Then I suppose you can’t leave.” She stood in front of him now, close enough that he could feel her heat. “Do you want me to go?”
Yes. But the word lodged somewhere on the way from his brain to his mouth, stuck in a battle now being waged between his mind and body—what he believed he should do and what he wanted to do.
“I am conflicted. You are not my wife, and that…distresses me.”
“But you are here for your wife, are you not?”
“Yes.” It was more than wanting her to desire him. He wanted to give her pleasure, to show her how passionate things could be between them. But he supposed he needed to believe that for himself. Until she’d arrived and done things like masturbate, he never would have imagined passion and pleasure between them was possible.
“She would understand, I think.”
Would she? Perhaps one day he would tell her the drastic measures he’d resorted to in order to give them what he thought—or hoped—they both wanted. Or not. He didn’t want her to feel bad, not when she was already so apprehensive about nearly everything.
“You were a courtesan?” he asked, taking a half step back to try to cool the air between them. He was too aware of her proximity.
“I was, but not for a few years now. I prefer my independence. I enjoy the ability to do some of the things that men do.”
“Such as take a lover.”
“Yes.”
She wanted to have sex for the purpose of having sex. Not to have a child and not out of some sense of duty. And she was no longer a courtesan, so there was no financial incentive.
She’d moved closer again because he felt the whisper of her breath against his jaw. A shiver of need tripped up his spine, awakening his body. “Tell me about your wife. What do you think she would like?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. I don’t even know if she wants me. She wants a child, but that can be accomplished without, ah, fanfare.”
“Fanfare? What an interesting way to describe it—pleasure, I think you mean?” She didn’t wait for him to respond before continuing. “You could keep things simple and straightforward, lackluster, if you will, but if you were content to do that, you wouldn’t be here. Have you spoken to her about what she wants now? Lord Lucien indicated you aren’t newlyweds.”
“Our relationship is a bit, er, strained.”
“I gather that’s why you’re here.”
“I’m here because apparently I’ve got the completely wrong idea of how to behave with my wife. In my defense, she is incredibly reserved and apprehensive. At least she used to be.”
“She’s not anymore?”
“She’s trying not to be, but when it comes to the bedchamber, I have no idea. We, ah, shared a bed the other night and I think she orgasmed, but I can’t be sure.”
“Why not ask her?”
“She seemed alternately horrified and…responsive during the act. Honestly, it was incredibly confusing.”
“Perhaps she simply didn’t know what to do,” she said softly. “That’s possible, isn’t it?”
It wasn’t only possible, it was probable. He couldn’t expect that her mother had discussed the matter with her. Who else would teach her then, but him? “I’m going to have to talk to her to make seduction work, aren’t I?”
“I think you must, yes. Would that be so bad? Talking can be somewhat…arousing, can’t it?”
“I hadn’t considered it, actually. But I will, if it will help my wife relax.”
“Oh my.” She laughed softly. “If you wish your wife to relax, perhaps you should offer her a glass of sherry or port. And if a modicum of pleasure is all you desire, we can be finished in short order. I would assert, however, that you try for something more than a modicum. Why not aim for a satisfactory amount? Or, if you’re feeling adventurous, you might even set your goal at, say, an excess.” She hissed the last word, and another frisson of need danced across his flesh.
Constantine wanted an excess of pleasure. So much.
Her fingers grazed his hand, and she abruptly withdrew. “My apologies. May I take your hand?”
He wanted to say no, to deny the burgeoning desire igniting inside him. He did not. “Yes.”
She curled her hand around his. “Sometimes it’s nice to just touch someone like this. No expectations, only an intimate moment shared between two people. Perhaps you could hold your wife’s hand.”