But before that, he’d need to get a pianoforte delivered to Green Park Buildings.
Chapter Eight
After a session before the mirror to restore her calm—only in the bedchamber could she permit herself any emotion—Diana arrived at the townhouse in Green Park Buildings. So great was her nervous anticipation she’d had to exercise great self-control not to arrive very early, so she might have time to position herself before Alastair arrived.
She’d filled some of the waiting time reading to James. During a walk down Milsom Street this morning, they found a picture book of soldiers. She’d enjoyed reading to him, and he seemed to like it, too. The interlude had been...pleasant. Perhaps she would be able to revive the tenderness she’d once felt for him.
Precisely at the agreed hour, she knocked at the door of Alastair’s townhouse. The same expressionless manservant—having been spied on by her husband’s retainers for so long, she was inured to expressionless servants—showed her into the parlour where, this time, Alastair waited to greet her.
Swallowing hard over a renewed attack of nerves, she made herself walk calmly over to him. He rose, and when he angled her chin up for a kiss, she let him.
Feathering her eyes closed, she opened herself to sensation. The soft pressure of his lips brushing against hers was gentle, sweet, and sensual, setting all the nerves of her mouth tingling. When he broke the kiss, she was disappointed—and eager for more.
‘I brought you a little something,’ he said with a smile, motioning across the room.
So preoccupied was she by this bold new venture of responsiveness, she’d noticed nothing in the chamber but Alastair. Following the direction of his hand, she uttered a gasp. ‘Alastair! That’s hardly “little”—it’s a pianoforte!’
He grinned at her, and a sharp stab of...something struck the barrier she’d erected to restrain her emotions, already shaken by his kindness in remembering how much she loved music. As he stood smiling, the harsh, cynical edge to his expression gone, he looked like the boyish young man she’d once given her heart to.
Good she was about to sweep all thought away with passion, else he might tempt her too much.
‘Play for me.’
‘I haven’t played in years!’ she protested. ‘I’d likely sour milk and set all the cats on the street to squalling.’
He chuckled. ‘I’ll risk it. If it’s been that long, all the more reason to begin again immediately. It’s like riding a horse—you never truly forget.’
‘Who told you that?’ she asked, swallowing a laugh. ‘Certainly no one who played well! Daily practice is essential to remain truly proficient.’
‘And you were wonderfully proficient. There might be a few cobwebs to brush off, but I wager that won’t take long. So, play for me...please.’
She wanted to refuse, get right to bedroom matters; straying on to the topic of music could bring the dangerous possibility of more prying. But even from across the room, she could tell the pianoforte was a beautiful instrument—trust Alastair to choose only the best. She’d missed music almost as much as she’d missed Alastair, the love for it, like her love for him, suppressed but never extinguished.
‘Very well,’ she capitulated. ‘But you might want to leave the room. I expect I shall be dreadful.’
He merely smiled and gestured towards the instrument. Eagerness bubbled out before she could restrain it as she ran her fingers experimentally along the keys. As the bright tones issued forth, her much-denied, atrophied heart gave a feeble pang.
And so she played, slowly at first, then faster, with more assurance. During her clandestine midnight forays at Graveston, before the instrument had been taken away, she’d memorised many of her favourite works, not wishing to risk leaving sheet music about. She found her fingers returning to one piece after another.
Soon she lost herself in the music. Time ceased to matter, and when the final movement ended and she lifted her hands from the keyboard, she wasn’t sure how long she’d been playing.
She looked around to see Alastair in a wing chair by the fire, wine glass in hand, watching her.
Contrition seized her. ‘I’m sorry. I...I lost track of the time. So sorry to keep you waiting.’
‘Not at all. That was lovely. I’ve missed hearing you play.’
He looked as surprised as she was by that remark. Not sure what to respond, she rose and came over to him. Now to put her plan into effect before he could initiate any more conversational delays.
‘You should have a reward for your patience.’ She leaned down to kiss him, her tongue outlining the edge of his lips.
With a murmur, he set down his glass, pulled her into his lap, and deepened the kiss. This time, she let herself respond to the warmth and heat of him, opening to him, fencing back as they tangled tongues, the soft moist heat stoking the passion rising within her.
She brought his hand to her breast, and he caressed her through the material of her gown and stays. Luscious sensation sparkled and shot through her body, setting off a throbbing at her centre as she envisaged how much more acutely she would feel his touch, once his clothes and hers were removed. Revelling in his caress, she rubbed herself against him.
He broke the kiss, his eyes blazing and his breathing unsteady. ‘Upstairs, now,’ he urged, setting her on her feet.
She wanted to finish undressing him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Rising, still almost fully clad, he slid back to the pillows and lay back, holding her in place astride him.
‘What would please you most?’ she asked disjointedly, hardly able to formulate the sentence for the pressure of him moving inside her, creating little eddies of pleasure.
‘Watching you again, as you ride me. But first, this.’
He pulled her close, kissing her—throat, shoulders, silky skin of inner arms, down to her breasts. Though he’d pleasured them before, he began again, even more slowly, a meticulous caress of every surface, licking the pebbly nipples as he massaged the full softness.
By now, her core was throbbing again, too. Murmuring encouragement, he lay back, urging her to move on him. Balanced better on the bed, she could spread her knees wider and take him deeper still. The thrust of his hardness along the whole of her passage, from the depths to the tight nub at the peak, elicited a whole new range of sensations.