Darius: Lord of Pleasures

Five

Several hours later, Vivian was debating her fate from the soapy, fragrant confines of a steaming-hot bath.

The bath Darius Lindsey had ordered for her.

The knowledge he had of women was… disquieting. Vivian considered his insistence that she join him here in Kent as her menses began, and realized from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, he’d known something more personal about her than her sister generally knew. More personal than William ever knew, except this once.

From the moment Darius had laid eyes on her, the exact cycle of her body had been shared between them. Such knowledge was appallingly intimate, the sort of thing Vivian suspected Jared and Angela might both know but never discuss.

With Darius Lindsey, whom Vivian had known less than a week, the topic had been discussed. Everlasting God.

She rinsed her hair a final time and stood, letting the water sluice off her body as she reached for a thick, warm bath sheet.

He understood a lady’s comforts, and the idea made her shiver in anticipation. She hadn’t known this about him when she’d chosen him. She’d known he was fierce, discreet, and in need of coin. William hadn’t questioned her choice though, and that had to mean something.

A knock on the door as Vivian shrugged into a dressing gown had her heart speeding up, but it was only Gracie, the maid of all work. She seemed to manage easily despite a slightly withered arm, balancing a tray on her hip while she pulled the door closed.

“Master Darius sent you up a toddy,” Gracie said. “I’m to brush out your hair so it dries before bedtime. If you’re decent enough, I’ll have the tub taken away.”

Vivian took a seat at the vanity, trying to recall the last time somebody else had brushed out her hair. Her lady’s maid—formerly Muriel’s maid and not a young woman—had never volunteered for the task. “Why do you call him Master Darius?”

“Habit,” Gracie said, turning down the sheets on the bed to warm, then going to the door. “Come on, you lot, and step quick, as there’s leftover toddy still on the hob in the kitchen.”

A procession of servants—the scullery maid, the boot boy, a footman, and the groom from the stables—made quick work of removing the tub, buckets, and screens, leaving Vivian to sip her toddy before the fire.

“Let’s get you seated,” Gracie said, pulling the dressing stool over by the fire. “And my heavens, you’ve more hair than I’ve seen in a while.”

“Are there footmen in this household?”

“Oh, sometimes.” Gracie started gently toweling Vivian’s hair dry. “Master Darius hires us and gives us coin for our labor. We don’t fret too much about who wears which jobs when the work piles up. The grooms will help out with the chimneys. The footmen will muck a stall come summer. We do pretty much as Pitt directs us.”

“Mr. Pitt is the butler?”

“On his good days.” Gracie switched to brushing, starting with the ends of Vivian’s hair. “Pitt used to work at Wilton Acres, but he got too old, and Lord Wilton turned him off, so here he is.”

The toddy was wonderful, another comfort, courtesy of her… of Darius Lindsey. “Wilton turned off a loyal retainer without a pension or character?”

“Wilton’s like that. We’re not to speak ill of our betters, but that Wilton is a scandal. Let’s turn you a bit, shall we?”

“What about the other brother, Lord Amherst?”

“Master Dare dotes on him,” Gracie said, expression brightening. “Loves those kiddies, too. A child never had a more devoted uncle than Master Dare.”

“John loves him,” Vivian said, sipping her toddy.

“And we all love our Master John. Turn again, milady.”

“Did you all work at Wilton Acres?” This was prying, shameless, unladylike prying, but no more personal than having to tell a man about the very rhythms of one’s body.

Gracie paused to work at a tangle. “We don’t all come from Wilton, but we worked somewhere, and most of us were let go through no fault of our own. Word gets out, though, when a man’s willing to take a chance on people. Master Dare puts us to work, and if we’ve a mind to move on, he writes the best characters and lets us know he appreciates our loyalty.”

This toddy had a particularly lovely mixture of spices—something blending the cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg together. Something subtle and exotic—cardamom? Allspice? An extravagance, surely, and one Darius Lindsey had expended on her. “How long have you worked here, Gracie?”

“Years. Most wouldn’t hire me, ’cause of me arm, but it hardly slows me down a’tall, and Master Dare knows that. Turn.”

Vivian sipped her drink in silence, considering what Gracie had said. It was true. Servants in the better homes were expected to be attractive—whole, fit, and comely. She’d not considered this before, because William’s residences had been fully staffed before she’d married him.

But in five years they’d had some turnover—and the butlers or house stewards had hired the men, while housekeepers hired the maids.

And the lady of the house did exactly… what?

“There you go.” Gracie stepped back. “Can I fetch your book, milady, so you can stay here by the fire while your hair finishes drying?”

“I’ll get it.” Vivian took one last, scrumptious whiff of the dregs in her glass and stifled a yawn. “Are there really leftover toddies in the kitchen?”

“Master Dare’s toddies are legendary. I had a taste as he was putting in the spices, to make sure he got it right.”

“It was lovely,” Vivian said, handing over the glass. “No more for me, or I’ll be asleep on my feet.”

“Good night, then, milady. Pleasant dreams.”

“Thank you, but, Gracie?” Vivian hoped neither her tone nor her expression gave away the depth of her curiosity.

“Milady?”

“Does Mr. Lindsey have other guests here, other ladies?”

Gracie met her gaze for the merest instant. “Never overnight, milady. You’d best be asking him about that directly.”

Vivian nodded, understanding that Gracie had just passed along a tidbit, one woman to another, that came up against but did not cross the boundaries drawn by a devoted employee. Vivian was still sitting on the hearthstones, trying to puzzle out if she wanted to know of Darius’s other associations, when he knocked once and stood in her doorway.

“You’re letting in the cold air,” she said.

He pulled the door closed behind him. “Your hair is even more lovely than I’d imagined, and longer.”

“You’re not supposed to see it down,” she groused, stifling another yawn. “And the toddy was a masterful touch. Should I take my clothes off? I’d rather climb under the covers first.”

He smiled slightly as he prowled into the room. “Are you tipsy?”

“Maybe a little. I drank it quickly. I don’t do this sort of thing, ever, you see, and… what are you doing?”

He’d picked up the hairbrush and was advancing on her, but she kept scooting around to face him.

“Vivvie, I can’t brush your hair if you won’t give me your back.”

“Oh.” She angled slightly so he could sit behind her on the raised hearth.

“One braid or two?”

“One, over my left shoulder. How did you bathe if I had the use of the tub?”

“You can tell?” He smoothed her hair over her shoulders, and Vivian shuddered at his touch. He repeated the gesture, making it even more of a caress.

“Your hair is damp and you smell good,” she said. “Maybe I am tipsy.”

“You’re nervous.” His hands settled on her shoulders and kneaded slowly. “It’s too soon to be nervous, Vivvie. Nobody will be taking any clothes off tonight except possibly myself.”

“Why would you do that?”

“If you asked me to, I’d do it.” His thumbs traced circles on her nape then up the sides of her neck.

“Do you do this to other women?”

“Massage their necks, no.” His hands disappeared, making Vivvie want to curse her tongue, but she felt a need to drive him off, to establish some breathing room. “Nor do I allow them coitus, but I do enjoy the company of the occasional understanding woman, and I’ve been known to allow ladies other privileges for sufficient consideration.”

“Allow them coitus.” Vivian said the words, frowning but not arguing, because she had to conclude that, very likely, coitus with Darius Lindsey would be a privilege.

An expensive privilege, and it hurt to think about that.

“I have many faults, Vivian.” His voice was tired as he put the brush to her hair. “I do not lie.”

“My stepfather lies,” she said, wondering where the words had come from. “He’s like a little boy, expecting me to believe he cares for my welfare, when in truth, it’s his purse he’s concerned about.”

“Which is how you ended up married to William?”

“Oh, that…” The rhythm of the brush was soothing, and Vivian closed her eyes, to rest them at the end of a trying day. “Muriel made me promise I’d look after him, and I suspect she extracted the same promise from William, and so there we were. That feels good. I loved Muriel. William did too. Still does.”

Behind her, Darius said nothing while his hands were in her hair, dividing it into three thick skeins.

“I think William misses Muriel more than he wants to live,” Vivian went on. “He thinks of death not as the end of life, but as the way he can be with her again. It’s sweet.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Darius countered softly. “William can be with you, and he’s pining for a dead woman.”

“They were married forever. Are you going to take your clothes off now?”

“What is this obsession you have with disrobing, Lady Longstreet?” He flipped a fat rope of brown hair over her shoulder. “Would you like me to take off my clothes?”

She shook her head but kept her back to him, and when the silence stretched and stretched, she felt her nerves humming.

“Darius?”

“Come to bed, Vivvie,” he said. “You’re tired and the sheets are warm and it’s too late to argue with me.”

His voice was no longer directly behind her, so Vivian rose and turned, only to see him stretched out on the bed.

Without a stitch on.

Vivian abruptly turned her back to him again. “You are unclothed, sir.”

She put a load of consternation into four words.

“You were going to ask me but lost your nerve.”

“I was?”

“Vivvie.” Darius sighed mightily and not entirely for effect. “You are making this far too complicated. Your clothes are on, and I expect they’ll stay that way for tonight, while mine are off. You might as well see what you’re getting.”

She peeked over her shoulder, face flaming, and Darius wanted to laugh, except that would unnerve her further.

“I can’t be such a horrendous sight as all that,” he said, holding out a hand. “You’ll make me lose all my manly confidence if you stay over there much longer.”

“You want me only to look?”

He nodded, holding her gaze. “For starters.” She crossed the room, step by step, never taking her eyes from his face. “The dressing gown can come off, madam. Your nightgown could house regiments.”

“It’s warm,” she protested.

“So the nightgown stays on,” Darius said, “but I’m warm too.” She stood by the bed, unbelted her robe, and then carefully folded it at the foot of the bed. When she looked like she was planning on blowing out the candles, Darius circled her wrist with his fingers.

“Come here, Vivvie, now. Please.”

She nodded, swallowed, and climbed on the bed, then settled back against the bolstered pillows, keeping her eyes front. “Now what?”

The possibilities were myriad, though none of them exactly in keeping with his preferences. “I don’t know. I could discuss with you the Christmas traditions at Longchamps or maybe exchange childhood Christmas memories with you? But if that holds no appeal, there’s a spot on my back…” He sat forward and crossed his legs tailor fashion. “I can’t reach it, and when the weather is cold, it itches damnably.”

“I know the one.” She risked a glance at him, and when he felt her looking at him, Darius slid over onto his belly.

“Maybe you’d give it a scratch, hmm? Ladies have the most effective fingernails for that sort of thing.”

He lay there, facedown, naked as the day he was born, offering himself to her in a way he’d never offered himself to her more avaricious predecessors. Offering himself and hoping she’d accept what he offered.

“Here?” Vivian’s nails raked lightly in the middle of his back.

“God, yes, and a little higher.”

She obliged, her touch becoming more confident. “Like that?”

“And lower.” She moved her hand down the length of his back. “Lower still.”

“But that’s your…” Her hand fell away. “Does somebody beat you?”

“Regularly.” He shifted up onto his side and cursed himself for being forgetful. “You very nearly had your hands on my backside, Vivvie. Well done.”

“Get back on your stomach.”

He obliged, slowly, dreading what was coming but unwilling to dodge it.

“This must hurt,” she said, her hand skimming over his buttock. “And these are not fresh marks. Darius, why does someone beat you?”

“For diversion.” He rolled to his back, wishing she weren’t who she was, not wanting her to be anybody else. “For profit. It isn’t something you need to fret about, and they never go at me very hard—they haven’t the strength to do real damage. How about if I tell you I have an itch on the front of me, Vivvie?”

“No doubt you do,” she said with some asperity. “You’re a man, after all.” But her eyes strayed—finally, finally—to his groin, where his parts lay quiescent against his thighs. “You don’t.”

“I have a lot of control.” He smiled at the puzzlement on her face. “I have enough control that you can tell me, at any time, for any reason or for no reason, to leave you in peace, and I will. Touch me.”

“I just did,” she said, her gaze remaining on his genitals.

“Touch me where you want to, not where you feel safe touching me.”

She shook her head.

“Pleasure, Vivvie. It takes a little courage to allow yourself pleasure, and all I’ll do is lie here.” He folded his arms behind his head to emphasis how harmless he intended to be—for her.

“I’d rather you were blindfolded.”

He considered her words and understood them. She was not asking to control him, so much as she was asking to protect her own privacy and dignity.

“So blindfold me. The belt of your robe will do, or there’s a handkerchief in my pocket.”

“You’d let me do that?”

He got off the bed, fished in the pocket of his discarded breeches, and handed her the handkerchief. She took it, frowning, but when he sat on the edge of the bed, she tied it securely over his eyes.

“On my stomach or my back?”

“Your back. May I touch you?”

He climbed across the bed and settled on his back. “Wherever you please, however you please, but if I feel you get off the bed, I’ll know you’re blowing out the candles, Vivvie, and that’s not allowed.”

She went still and muttered something in unladylike tones under her breath.

“Naughty, naughty, Lady Vivvie. Give me your hand.”

She did, and he placed her palm on his chest.

“Consider this an adventure,” he suggested, finding he considered it an adventure. Of all the times he’d been in bed, with all the bored wives, merry widows, and fast ladies, they’d none of them required coaxing or reassuring or any real thought. Vivian was genuinely shy, and the novelty of it was peculiarly challenging—almost touching, in fact.

Still, he’d not permitted himself even the beginning of an erection, lest he spook her. He was generously endowed, he knew it, had heard it from too many pleased women to doubt it, and took perverse glee in denying both Blanche and Lucy the use of his cock.

“Your chest is so different from mine.” Vivian’s palm smoothed over his sternum then up across his collarbones.

“Not so different.” He exhaled slowly. “I can’t nurse a child, but my nipples are sensitive, just as yours are.”

“Sensitive, how?”

He trapped her fingers in his and used the tip of her third finger in a light, glancing circle on one nipple.

“Give me your other hand,” he said, arching up into her touch. Her fingers laced with his. “Keep touching me.”

He settled her free hand on his groin, over the soft length of his cock, and held it there when she would have pulled away. In silence, she slowed the movement of her finger on his nipple, and he knew she was watching his flesh contract.

“Don’t stop, Vivvie,” he whispered. “This is merely another little experiment.”

“Can I switch sides?”

“Switch sides, use your tongue, bite me, but don’t stop yet.”

Under her hand, his cock was coming to life, filling and lifting, becoming sensitized just from her single finger circling so lightly on his nipple. He felt her breath on his chest and wondered if she were having a closer look or considering the use of her…

Oh, Jesus. Her tongue, soft, warm, wet, swiped over his other nipple.

“Did I hurt you? You gasped…”

“Again,” he whispered. “Nice and slow, take your time.”

She took direction well, to his consternation and delight. Her tongue was slow, sweet, and tentative at first, then bolder, and then—holy, ever-loving Christ—she suckled at him, gently, curiously, and Darius felt his pulse begin to beat steadily in his cock.

“Look at this.” He shifted her fingers, to wrap her hand around his length. “You did this, with your mouth and your hands, Vivvie. You gave me this much pleasure.”

She sat back, and the loss of her attention to his chest was a grief, but he could feel her gaze on his cock, so he let his hand fall away and he lay there, keeping his hands at his sides by sheer will.

“May I touch you—here?” She did not address him by name, a minor, telling frustration he stored away for further study.

“You may touch me if you bring the candles closer to the bed first.” He felt her hop off the bed and congratulated himself on a second lucky guess.

“How does this feel, to you?” She was sitting at his hip, and though she wasn’t touching him, she was arousing him with her curiosity.

“I’m blindfolded, love. You’ll have to touch me if I’m to know what part you’re asking about.”

“This.” One whisper-light drawing of her finger up the length of his erection. “It can’t be comfortable.”

“The feeling is one of yearning. It can be sweet or sharp, it can be nearly soothing, or burn. Touch me more, and I’ll tell you how it feels.”

She held still for a moment, and then around the edges of his blindfold, Darius felt the light get stronger.

Her fingers circled him, measuring his girth.

“I like that,” Darius said. “I like a firm touch, especially around the base. Move your hand up, along the shaft, and just there, under the tip. The tip is particularly sensitive, and that spot, more sensitive still.”

“What do you mean, sensitive?”

“Easily aroused.”

“Like your…”

“Nipples,” he said the word slowly, teasingly. “My balls are sensitive too.”

“These.” She slipped her hand down, and he raised his knees and spread his legs to give her room to maneuver. He did not dare tell her he was proud of her boldness.

“Those.” Darius sighed at the pleasure of it—she was unfailingly, beguilingly gentle. He’d missed gentleness in bed desperately and not even known it. “One good, hard squeeze, and you’d have me retching on my knees. They’re that sensitive.”

She didn’t squeeze, she caressed, a soft, fondling pass of her fingers that learned the shape of him as it pleased as it… stirred.

“So odd, your manly bits.” He couldn’t see her smile, but he could feel it. “This is all very interesting, but now what do we do with it?”

“We needn’t do anything.” He lifted his hips though, for she’d gone back to sleeving his cock with her fingers. “I just wanted to acquaint you with my equipment, so to speak.” Because William, in five years of marriage, apparently hadn’t bothered.

“I have a question.”

“I won’t hurt you.” He found her hand and brought it to his lips. “You’re wondering how this will fit, how it will work, and I can assure you, you’ll enjoy it.”

“Give me leave to doubt,” she said, wrapping her hand around him. “I think your dimensions have increased even while I’ve been touching you.”

“You’re built for bearing children. I won’t hurt you.” He was taking a vow, whether she comprehended it or not.

“I’m built for bringing forth children in pain,” she reminded him. “Angela says Scripture does not exaggerate.”

“And how many children does your sister have?”

“Three.” Her hand paused. “With another one on the way.”

“This won’t be awful, Vivvie.” He arched into her touch again. “I’m not moving my hands.”

“I didn’t say you were.” She stroked him again while her other palm passed over his nipple, and he had to fist both hands hard to keep from dragging her over him. “Why do women spank you?”

“How do you know it’s women?”

“All right.” She caught a rhythm, her hands synchronizing on the respective parts of his body. “Why do you let anybody hurt you?”

His wits had been ambushed by honest arousal, and he lacked the mental focus to dodge her question. “It makes them feel good, and it’s profitable. And it doesn’t hurt that much.”

She fell silent, thank a merciful god.

“If you keep that up,” he whispered, “I can spend, Vivvie. You don’t have to do this.”

She didn’t stop, so he tried again.

“If you just want to play”—his hips were moving in counterpoint to her hand—“I can hold off, but…”

“It’s sharp now, isn’t it, the yearning?” she said, her tongue grazing his nipple.

“And sweet.” His hand ached to caress her hair, to smooth the curve of her shoulder, to guide her breast to his mouth. “Very sweet.”

“Spend,” she whispered the word just before she passed her tongue over his nipple once more, and though he forced himself to hold off a few moments more, that was truly all he could manage. His balls drew up tight, his spine tingled, and pleasure, hot, fierce, sweet, and achy welled out from his groin as he came.

“Jesus… God…” He shivered with it, bowed up, pushed hard against the snug pressure of her fingers, and let it drown him, the sheer relief of it bringing a lump to his throat even as his body went limp and sated against the bed. “For that, you have to kiss me.”

She let go of his cock. He felt her balance on her hands and knees over him then give him her mouth. It was good this way, with her above him so he could sip and kiss and take from her while his heart slowed its pounding and his breathing calmed. And the blindfold comforted too, giving him a kind of privacy, keeping his eyes and the secrets they’d reveal safe from her scrutiny.

“Darius, are you all right?”

For that question, he gave her a little of his heart. There was concern in her voice, and her hand smoothed his hair back, the first spontaneous caress she’d offered him. God, she was dear…

“I’m undone. Wonderfully undone, but my blindfold could be put to use elsewhere, if you’ll allow it.”

“Of course.” She sat back, and he missed the proximity of her without even being able to see her. He sat up and felt her untying the knot at the back of his head.

“Water?”

She passed him a glass from the night table, and he dribbled some onto his stomach then used his handkerchief to wipe himself clean.

“That’s your seed?”

“It is,” he said, recalling that he was abed with a curious, wonderfully ignorant woman. “And I’ve lost my erection, thanks to you.”

She looked worried, and he had to smile. “Don’t worry, Vivvie, it will come back any time you want it to.”

“That’s normal, isn’t it?” She worried her lip, regarding the softening length of him with a frown.

“Of course.” He kissed her cheek, just because he could. “And it’s normal to cuddle up for a bit afterward.” For some lucky people, in any case.

She looked uncertain, and Darius had to wonder what was wrong with William Longstreet. Even if the man couldn’t get his wife pregnant, even if his elderly vanity required the candles snuffed on every occasion, surely he wasn’t denying the woman all the marital intimacies?

“Normal for me,” he clarified, and her expression eased, then her brow puckered again. “No.” He drew a finger down the middle of her forehead and over her nose. “I am not going to get dressed just to climb into bed with you, silly woman. Let me bank the coals, and we’ll talk, if that’s what you want.”

He hoped she wanted to talk, wanted to have discussions with him she’d not had with anybody else, including her brilliant statesman of a dim-witted husband.

She shifted to let him off the bed. He knew she was watching him as he hunkered naked before the hearth, poked the logs to the back of the andirons, and secured the fireplace screen. She was watching as he ambled back across the room, and she watched him as he blew out the candles one by one.

“I can hear you thinking,” he mused as he blew out the last candle. “I’m not a diviner of thoughts, Vivvie. What has your mill wheel turning at such a great rate?”

“Do you intend to sleep here?”

“Ah.” He scooted across the bed and drew the covers up over them both. “We can negotiate this if it bothers you, but yes, I think that makes the most sense.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to go to sleep with you here.”

“Naked, don’t you mean?”

She yelped as he drew her into his arms and hauled her back against his chest.

“You’ll sleep,” he assured her, kissing her nape. “You’ll sleep a lot better without this lawn tent between us.”

“I get to keep my lawn tent for tonight,” she replied. “What are you doing?”

He’d spooned himself around her, settling one hand over her breast, snugging his groin up to her buttocks.

“Cuddling.” He bit her neck this time. “And, my God, you are a delight to cuddle with.”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?” He gently squeezed her breast again. “This?”

“That.” But she sighed after she said it, giving herself away.

“All right.” He relaxed his grip. “You’ve had an adventure, after all, so I should let you get some rest.”

“Yes, you should.”

He took pity on her, rubbing her back, her neck, even her scalp and buttocks until he felt her slipping away into sleep. He lay with her in his arms for the longest time, marveling at the peace he felt, in his body, and in his mind—and a little wary of it too. Sex had become a commodity for him, something he traded in, up to a point, for gain. Vivian couldn’t approach it like that, hadn’t the sophistication to see it thus—yet.

But she felt wonderful in his arms, her curiosity and inherent integrity a refreshing change to a man too used to trading in dark and spoiled emotions. She was right: Duty and pleasure could overlap, delightfully so.

In the morning he might pleasure her, he thought as he drifted off, might bring her the same glorious relief she’d given him. It would be his duty, and the sporting thing to do.

They passed the night easily enough, sleeping in tandem, with Vivian sometimes burrowed against his back, sometimes cradled against his chest. She was a natural at sharing a bed, another thing to like about her. He drifted off on that thought and slept for hours, peacefully for a change.

As a cold, gray light filtered through the curtains, Darius rose to awareness slowly, feeling the heaviness in his groin he usually began his day with, but also a sweet, feminine warmth against his body.

He propped himself on one elbow, brushed the hair back from Vivian’s brow, and kissed her cheek. “Arise, Lady Vivvie. Sweet Philomel calls us from our beds.”

Vivian’s eyes opened, focused, then narrowed. “What, may I ask, are you still doing here?”