Read Online A Baron for Becky by Jude Knight - Free Book Online Page B

breathed out slowly.
    “A bath first,
I think, one large enough for two, my dear, waiting, piping hot and
perfumed. You will stand by the fire, Becky, where it is warm, and
I will be your maid. Or perhaps not quite, for would a maid, as she
loosened and removed your stays, brush your arms with feather-light
touches? Would she gently and tenderly caress your lovely thighs as
she rolled down your stockings, running her fingertips up, oh, so
softly, almost, but not quite, to your most secret treasures?.
Would she, when she lifted your chemise, cup your beautiful breasts
and run a thumb over your nipples?”
    She could feel
them contract and harden under his intent gaze.
    “They tighten
and pebble. Is it the cold, Becky, that makes them so hard? Let us
have you up and into the bath, then.
    “Now, your
turn. I have gazed upon your glories. Lie back and soak up the
heat, and I shall disrobe for you. Will you be pleased with what
you see, I wonder? Ah...” she was about to speak, but he put his
finger just above her lips, still not touching. “Yes, you saw me
before, by the light of one candle. But my room shall have many
candles, Becky.
    “Where were we?
Ah, yes, you are lying in the bath, all relaxed in the hot,
perfumed water, waiting for me to serve at your pleasure. Picture
me at your feet, dear Becky, soaping my hands. We will order your
own soap, the softest, finest soap money can buy, and you shall
choose the perfumes to scent it with, but tonight, we shall use
mine: bergamot, almond, a touch of wintergreen.
    “What shall I
wash first, I wonder. These?” He reached out again, this time
shaping her breasts, his hands a bare inch from the dress that now
felt tighter against her skin.
    Step by step,
he described how he would bring her to completion in the bath, and
then what they would do afterward, “on the rug by the fire, dear
Becky, this first time, if you will allow,” and then how they would
sleep and wake again, for another encounter he had also planned,
and described in detail.
    By the time the
servant returned with Sarah, Becky’s eyes were glazed and her
thighs slick with arousal.
     

     
    If it was
revenge, it was a good one. She’d spent the rest of the trip in
high suspense, struggling to respond to her daughter, grateful when
Sarah fell asleep for part of the afternoon and she could spend the
time imagining the night to come. Aldridge seemed as interested in
her response as his own, which was outside her experience.
    Still: make her
burn, would he? She’d done her best to serve him likewise at every
post change along the way, stroking her hands down his arms when he
lifted her from the carriage, whispering suggested amendments to
his erotic plans when they were in company and he could not
respond, leaning towards him so her breasts lifted in her loosened
dress, licking her finger and sucking it into her mouth, lifting
her skirt so he (and only he) could see her ankles. Only Sarah’s
presence, she was sure, prevented him from following her into the
carriage when, his body screening her from view, she brushed her
thumb up his fall and wondered out loud whether her mouth was big
enough.
    By the time
they arrived in the mews behind Haverford House, she was beyond
worrying about propriety. Aldridge assured her the heir’s wing was
quite separate, he did what he wished there, and his servants were
paid to make no comment and pass no judgement. And, in any case,
the duke and duchess were not in London.
    “You will stay
here till we find the right house,” he insisted. “And no one will
say a word.” Because no one of any importance would know, she
thought. But he didn’t say that, and certainly, when he escorted
her through the private entrance to the left side of the massive
house, the servants were everything polite and deferential. In
short order, she and Sarah had been introduced to the maids
assigned to look after the little girl, and whisked up to a
freshly-aired nursery.
    Becky gave
Sarah her