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She smoothed an errant curl with a bit of gray in it back from her temple. “Well, young lady, you’ve caused quite a stir. No doubt that was your intent.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Ah, American,” the woman said. “No wonder no one recognized you.”
“Mrs. Carole Rose from New York.”
Instead of doing the obviously courteous thing—returning the introduction—her visitor pretended to look around. “Mr. Rose doesn’t seem to be in attendance.”
“He died several months ago.”
“My condolences. My mouth gets away from me sometimes. I’m Bertina Hammond, Lady Blakely, but my friends call me Bert.”
“I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Lady Blakely.”
“Well done, Mrs. Rose.” The lady’s smile broadened.
“Because I addressed you formally?”
“Because you didn’t assume I’m your friend.”
The music swelled as the tenor finished his aria. Applause rolled through the theater, as people jumped to their feet. Maybe some of them had listened to the singing. Carole also rose, as did her visitor. They clapped politely for a while and then sat back down.
“So, have you satisfied your curiosity, Lady Blakely?” Carole asked.
“Not entirely.”
“I’m not very interesting.”
The lady laughed. You couldn’t call it actual mirth, but it had a musical quality to it. “A woman alone in one of the best boxes? You had to know you’d attract attention.”
“I hadn’t counted on you to visit.”
“I daresay not, but ah, yes…here he is.”
Lady Blakely turned toward the back of the box, and Carole followed her gaze. Mr. Harthorn entered, went straight to her visitor, and placed a light kiss on her cheek.
“Hello, Bert,” he said.
“Hello, darling,” Lady Blakely answered. “I might have known you’d show up.”
“I can never stay away from you for long,” he answered.
“Liar.” Lady Blakely patted his cheek and rose. “Behave yourself with Mrs. Rose here. She’s American and doesn’t understand our ways.”
“No one understands your ways, Bert,” the man said.
“You’re such a bastard.” The lady rested her hand on Carole’s shoulder. “Watch out for this one.”
“Thank you for stopping by,” Carole said.
Lady Blakely left the box with an angry rustle of silk.
Mr. Harthorn sat in the now vacant chair next to Carole. “You mustn’t pay any attention to Bert. Her claws are sharp but don’t go very deep.”
“Do all people in England wander in without an introduction?” Carole asked.
“We’ve met.”
She studied him. His brown eyes sparkled with mischief, and his sable hair curled around his collar in a style too long for proper fashion. With his long legs and broad shoulders, he cut quite a figure. He was an indecently attractive man and obviously knew it.
“This afternoon, although we weren’t introduced,” he said. “I’m Roger Harthorn, as I’m sure your companion told you. She was quite scandalized.”
“You know Mrs. Carter?”
“I’ve observed her type often enough.” He gave her an insolent smile that dazzled, even in the near-darkness of the theater. “The posture gives them away as well as they way they pretend not to be staring. Dudgeon of the highest order.”
She couldn’t help but smile, too. He’d described the solicitor’s wife to a T.
“Do you enjoy the opera, Mr. Harthorn?” she asked.
“I tolerate it well enough,” he answered. “You?”
“I like it very much.”
“Don’t tell me I’ve finally met someone who comes here for the music,” he said.
“I’ll admit that wasn’t my only reason.” Her cheeks grew warm. They’d be quite pink now, but with any luck, he wouldn’t notice in the dim light. She’d never learned how to flirt, and at her age, she’d probably never catch up.
“You hoped to be seen, or you wouldn’t have taken a whole box for yourself,” Harthorn said. “I hope the person’s worth all the trouble and expense.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“A man. Of course. Give me his name, and I’ll arrange an introduction.”
Damn. What did she say to that? She didn’t have a name and didn’t want to meet anyone else, anyway. but she’d never find the nerve to tell Harthorn she’d come looking for him.
“A secret, eh? Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s seen you.” Harthorn rested his arm on the back of her chair and leaned close enough to put his lips near her ear. “He noticed you this afternoon well enough.”
Ah, yes. The brush of his fingers on her table as he’d gone by. “I don’t see how you could know that.”
“Mrs. Rose, let’s not toy with each other.” His voice came low and sweet, his breath tickling her ear. “We forged a connection this afternoon.”
“You’re exaggerating a bit, aren’t you?”
“Not at all. I haven’t reacted this powerfully to a woman since I was a lad.” He took her hand and set it in his lap, pressing her palm against the front of his pants.
Oh, dear Lord. She tried to pull her fingers away, but he held them there. “I got this way from simply watching you sip tea.”
Her heart hammered, and she had to remind herself to breathe. After all these months, she had her hand on a man’s member. Through his pants, yes, but the outline was unmistakable—long and thick and so very hard. Exactly what she craved. Deep inside, her own sex got the connection he’d spoken of. Despite the impossible situation, her pussy felt empty, begging for what it hadn’t had for so long.
No—had never had. Oscar was never like this.
“So, will you slap my face now?” Harthorn asked.
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “No.”
“By God, you’re direct. An Englishwoman would have dodged and dallied.”
“I’m too old to dally,” she said.
“And thank the Almighty for that.” He bent toward her again, this time placing a soft kiss on the naked skin of her shoulder. “May I know your first name?”
“It’s Carole.”
“Carole,” he repeated, before gently nibbling his way toward her neck. Her breathing grew labored as he left pinpricks of fire everywhere he touched her.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered against her throat.
“You’d better stop. Someone might see.”
He straightened and turned her head toward his. “You’re an innocent.”
“I was married for ten years.”
“But you’re still innocent, aren’t you?”
“I knew my husband on our wedding night.” She tried again to free her hand from where it rested against his crotch. He still didn’t release it.
“But you were a virgin then,” he said.
“That’s the way it’s usually done.”
“How sweet.” That delicious smile curled his mouth. “And you haven’t had a man since he died.”
Since some months before, but she couldn’t betray her husband by confessing it. Instead, she bit her lip and did her best to calm her trembling.
“That only makes me hotter, Carole. My cock’s throbbing now,” he said.
“Shall I stroke it?” Good Lord in heaven, where had that come from? “Through the fabric, I mean.”
A light of pure mischief entered his eyes. “You’d like to do that?”
“I find it fascinating.” She squeezed him, pressing the head with the tips of her fingers. “Could I make you spend that way?”
He sucked in a breath. “I daresay you could.”
“Would anyone notice, do you think?”
“They can’t see into my lap.”
“Will they see this?” She reached lower, between his legs where his sac would be and stroked it softly. That took the mischief from his eyes, but his lips still stayed in that lazy smile. He turned back toward the stage, pretending to follow the opera, but they both knew none of the music penetrated his brain.
What fun. She’d never, in her life, expected to do anything like this, but Thomas had opened her mind to all kinds of delicious possibilities. Thomas. Darling Thomas. Why had she never asked him if he liked opera? She’d have to do that in her next letter. Then, she’d have to ask if he’d like to sit in a public place with her hand on his cock. For now, she’d pretend he was here with her now as she used gentle pressure against the length of his shaft. Up, down, and up again to linger at the tip.
“You do that very well,” Harthorn said. “I wouldn’t think you inexperienced.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
He let out a soft moan. “This won’t take long at all.”
“You mustn’t give anything away with your expression,” she said. “Your friend, Bert, may be watching us.”
“She won’t tell. She likes her husband’s money too much.”
“And you know secrets he wouldn’t want to hear,” she said.
“I say…” His eyes drifted halfway shut. “Could we discuss it later?”
“Of course.” She moved her fingers faster, gripping him as tightly as she could manage through the wool of his pants. He sat rigidly, and his eyes went out of focus with pleasure.
“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Something filthy.”
“Would you like to fuck me, Roger?” There. She’d said it. The worst word she knew.
“God, yes.”
“I’d like that, too. My cunny’s getting damp for you.” That was no lie. Who would have thought that she, a virtuous widow with hardly a dirty thought until a few months ago, would find herself with a perfect stranger like this? Sitting in public, stimulating his sex and telling him she wanted him. “But you won’t have me, will you? No, you’re going to spend in your pants like a schoolboy.”
“Oh…ah…don’t stop.”
“No one can know what I’m doing to you, or I will stop,” she said. “Promise me you won’t make a noise when you come.”
He gritted his jaw. “Bloody hell.”
“Do it, or I’ll leave you hanging.” She paused in her work on his tool. She wouldn’t leave him this way. If nothing else, she wanted to see what he’d do when the climax hit him.
“I promise,” he said in a strangled whisper. “Have mercy. Finish me.”
She squeezed the tip of him and then stroked his length—hard and fast, all the way to the base. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as his body stiffened. His hips jerked as he climaxed, but he made no sound above a soft grunt. Such a sight he made—the male animal consumed by lust. She’d never watched a man’s face at the ultimate moment before. She’d see Thomas in this state eventually, and he’d witness her ecstasy, too. Right now, Roger Harthorn slumped against his chair, breathing heavily. She finally reclaimed her hand setting it in her own lap.
“That was extraordinary,” he said softly.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“Like? My dear Carole. The word is inadequate.”
Pride glowed inside her. The idea of taking other lovers had seemed silly and even morally bankrupt when she only wanted one man—Thomas. but she could learn so much before she joined him. How much better to go to him fully prepared to fulfill his wildest fantasies than to have to grope blindly for just the right caresses to make him wild with wanting her.
Yes, Thomas had had it right. She’d experiment with other men and give the benefit of her lessons to her ultimate lover.
“You’re grown pensive,” Roger said. “That didn’t repulse you, did it?”
“Not at all.”
“You seemed willing. Even eager.” His face showed uncertainty, even worry. For heaven’s sake, the scandalous fellow who’d bedded any woman he wanted, actually cared about her opinion of him.
“It was a revelation,” she said. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Nor have I. I usually entertain the lady.” The wicked heat returned to his eyes. “Would you like me to do the same for you?”
She nearly gasped with surprise. “Your hand under my skirts at the opera?”
“Not right now. It’ll be intermission soon.”
“You’ll have to rejoin your friends,” she said.
“Eyebrows will rise if I don’t.”
“Eyebrows have probably already risen.”
“No doubt about that.” He chuckled. “Still, I want enough time to do the job properly.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Will you be here tomorrow night?”
She smiled and nodded.
“I’ll see you then.” He leaned toward her again. “In the meantime, don’t touch your pearl. I want it hungry for my touch.”
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