Owen: Regency Rockstars Page 11

  Owen nodded, then got to his feet. He wasn’t going to respond to Reid’s declaration. His friend was in the main a sensible man, but their time in the army had shown that Reid was capable of the odd rush of blood to his head.

  “Good luck with the singing lessons,” he said.

  Just don’t fuck it up for the rest of us.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Amy waited until Colin had left the house that afternoon before venturing out. At half past four, Amy and her maid took the Perry family coach to the hire company on Oxford Street. Once the Perry conveyance was out of sight in the rear mews, she hired a plain black coach for the next two hours. By her rough calculations, she and Owen would have a full hour alone before she had to return the hired vehicle.

  From Oxford Street to Hyde Park was a relatively short distance. Once inside the park, she instructed the driver to stop the coach under some trees a few dozen yards inside Grosvenor Gate. A coin in the hand of her maid and the driver, with instructions for them to return at six o’clock, soon had her standing alone, waiting for Owen’s arrival.

  She pulled the red silk scarf out of her reticule and tied it to the door handle, then climbed aboard the coach. She drew the curtains closed and waited.

  In the dark of the coach she attempted to sit with her hands softly held in her lap, but her nerves soon got the better of her. She twined her fingers tightly together, then she released them before shaking them out.

  Amy took a deep breath, held it, then slowly let it go. It did little to calm her rapidly beating heart. It pounded hard in her chest.

  This is madness. What if it all goes wrong?

  She had thought that her sexual experience of the previous spring with the local minister’s son would have been enough for her not to worry about the impending encounter with Owen, but her dry mouth told her otherwise. When a knock at the coach door came a little while later, she roused from her thoughts with a start.

  Pulling the curtains back, she saw Owen standing outside. He gave her a wave and mouthed “hello.”

  She took another deep breath and opened the door. He climbed quickly inside, locking the door behind him. He held the silk scarf.

  “You do know that this is a symbol to let people know that a tryst is taking place within these four walls? It is not exactly being subtle and could attract the wrong type of gentleman. If you are worried about your reputation, Diana, we may need to find a more private place to meet in future.”

  She nodded. Already Owen was trying to find ways to take control of their arrangement. He didn’t need to know about the pistol she had hidden under the bench seat. That would be enough to dissuade any other gentleman who thought to approach the coach and sample her favors.

  Amy shifted across on the bench as Owen came and sat next to her. She was about to ask if he would be more comfortable on the other bench but stopped herself. He was here to get as close as he possibly could to her.

  “Where is the driver?” he asked.

  “I told him and my maid to go for a long walk. They are due back here at six. I didn’t know how long you wanted our time to be, so I guessed at an hour. I hope that is long enough,” she replied.

  He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “I can achieve a great deal in sixty minutes.”

  Amy held a hand against his chest. She was constantly having to remind herself that this was Owen, her illicit lover, not Owen, her fiancé. She was here with a purpose—to find out the sort of man he truly was and whether she could ever trust him.

  It hurt just a little to know that he had not already made mention of his being in possession of a fiancée, but she cautioned herself that a man looking to secure a new lover was not likely to disclose that fact. Or at least not this early in an affair with a married woman.

  This is an affair. I am cheating on my imaginary husband. And Owen is a willing adulterer.

  Her husband might not have been real, but Owen didn’t know that. He cared nothing for the fictitious Mr. William Smith who, for all Owen knew, was currently working hard in Stockholm. She wondered how many real husbands Owen had helped hurt over the years. The figure would no doubt be well into the dozens.

  “Diana is there something wrong?” he asked.

  She mustered a smile for him. “No. I am just a little nervous. I haven’t done this before.”

  And that is the truth.

  He brushed a kiss on her cheek, then took her hand in his. He said nothing as he began to pull on the fingertips of her soft cotton glove, slowly removing it. Lifting her bare hand to his lips, he placed a tender kiss in the middle of her palm. She pulled in a ragged breath at his heated touch.

  If this was what he could do to her senses by just touching her fingers, Amy dared not think what would become of her once he had his hands on other more sensitive parts of her body.

  “There is nothing to be nervous about. Trust me. I am skilled in the art of the discreet seduction,” he said.

  The endless ideas that were currently running through her head threatened to pull her in a thousand different directions. Amy forced as many of those thoughts away as she could. She could not allow her mind to focus on anything but Owen and her final goal—to get to the truth of this man.

  She let her hand fall and watched with fascination as Owen removed the second glove. Taking off a glove had never looked so sensual before.

  “Lie back for me,” he said.

  Amy did as she was told and laid back against the hard leather of the bench. It was not the soft padded fabric that she was used to in her family’s private coach, with leather being more practical for rental purposes.

  Owen lifted her chin and, leaning forward, placed a kiss on her mouth. It was a surprisingly gentle kiss. She had expected him to be all hard kisses and demands, but his lips held the promise of him being a thoughtful and generous lover.

  He ran his tongue along the top of her lip, a silent entreaty for her to offer up herself. She tentatively opened her lips a little more and his tongue swept fully into her mouth. Her fingers gripped the leather of the bench as best they could while she tried to relax into the embrace.

  Their tongues tangled in a slow dance. His kiss was warm, almost reverent. Owen had skills that the minister’s son could only have dreamed of possessing. Her earlier nervousness began to fall away as she gave herself up to his kiss.

  When he finally released her mouth, Owen placed a trail of soft kisses across Amy’s cheek and down to the base of her jawline. She shivered at the exquisite things it did to her body.

  Owen breathed into her ear, then whispered, “May I open your buttons?”

  His words sounded so prim and proper, but she was comforted by them. He was asking for permission. The choice as to how fast things progressed was entirely hers.

  Amy nodded. “Yes.”

  Nimble fingers worked at the opening of her gown. She sat forward and slipped her arms out of her spencer. Owen pulled it away and tossed it lightly onto the bench opposite.

  She was about to sit back, but Owen took a hold of the front of her gown. He drew the two sides open and revealed her naked breasts. A slow, languid smile crept to his mouth.

  “I am so glad you didn’t bother with any undergarments. I must say, I do heartily approve of this new French fashion for ladies to not wear anything under their gowns. It makes a gentleman’s life that much easier,” he said.

  Amy was too concerned about the fact that her breasts were on full display to conduct a discussion regarding the recent changes in ladies’ fashion. The truth was, she had been so nervous about this afternoon that by the time she’d gone to dress, she’d had bare minutes at her disposal in which she could put on a gown before having to leave the house. Her usual undergarments lay on her bed.

  His hungry gaze dropped to her peaked nipples and he licked his lips. Watching him react to the sight of her being partially naked only made her nipples harder.

  Owen bent his head and, taking a breast in his hand, lifted it
to his mouth. He took a nipple between his lips and gently suckled. Amy placed a tremulous hand on his shoulder and tried to steady herself.

  “Oh,” she sighed.

  When he drew harder on the rosy peak, she sobbed. Heat pooled between her legs. He took hold of her other breast and held it in the palm of his hand, dragging his thumb back and forth across the nipple. The contrast between the torture of his lips versus the soft flick of his thumb concentrated her mind. She couldn’t decide which was better.

  “Is that good?” he asked, releasing her nipple from his mouth.

  She managed a brief, “yes,” while praying he would go back to torturing her once more.

  “Will you let me lift your skirts? Let me touch you?” he asked.

  She swallowed deep. “But no further. Not today.”

  He chuckled. “I think you will find it plenty enough for our first time. We wouldn’t want to rush your education in wantonness, now, would we?”

  Owen began to fold up the skirts of her gown, working until he held the hem in his fingers. The cool late afternoon air made her shiver as he exposed the bare skin at the top of her stockings.

  “Oh, Diana, you are such a sweet temptation,” he muttered. His fingertips blazed a slow, tortuous trail from her knee to the apex of her thighs. Then, in one swift move which took Amy by surprise, Owen quickly gathered up her skirts and settled them to rest bunched at her belly and hips.

  He dropped to his knees before her. His face and the thatch of hair at the opening of her sex were now level. Placing his hands on her knees, he pushed her legs apart. Amy closed her eyes.

  When she finally dared a peek down at him, Owen met her gaze.

  “One of the things we need to discuss is your sexual history. I have to know what the man who took your virginity has taught you. Is your husband one of those who simply takes his pleasures while you lay back and think of England? Or is he someone whose skills in the bedroom are something I need to challenge and exceed?”

  “Um . . .”

  The fact that he was staring straight at her sex had Amy rather flustered. Her only sexual experiences outside of her own hands had been with the virgin son of a church minister. A summer of fumbling with one another on a handful of occasions had taught her a few things, but she suspected they had barely scratched the surface of what a man like Owen Morrison knew.

  A selfish husband with no regard for the orgasms of his wife seemed the safest bet; it would pair well with the lie of her looking for pleasures outside of an unsatisfactory marriage.

  “William doesn’t like to talk about sex. On the odd Sunday that he did ask me to open my legs, it was all over within a matter of minutes,” she replied.

  The lack of relations between her and her fake husband would also go a long way to explaining why there had been no children from the marriage.

  If she ever did meet the imaginary Mr. William Smith, Amy decided, she would give her bore of a husband a piece of her mind. Fancy neglecting his young wife in such a terrible way, and then skipping off to Sweden. Some men were impossible.

  “Good. Then may I suggest we begin with the basics? Your first climax,” said Owen.

  Without further ado, he set his mouth to her heated core. Amy’s eyes closed and all thoughts of asking him to stop instantly fled from her mind.

  His tongue flicked over her sensitive nib, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. Her fingers settled on the top of his jacket as Owen moved in closer, spreading her legs wide. When she thought that she couldn’t open them any farther, he lifted one and placed it over his shoulder.

  This change in position opened her fully to him. His thumbs held the lips of her sex apart as his tongue delved deep. Nothing she had experienced before came remotely close to this divine experience.

  It. Was. Heaven.

  Every so often he would withdraw his tongue, only to then pleasure her by blowing cool air on the tip of her clitoris, after which Owen would go back to licking her deeply.

  He worked her hard, increasing the tempo as her grip on the collar of his jacket tightened. Higher and higher she rose, headed for the peak.

  And then, he stopped. He withdrew from her and sat back on his haunches.

  “Look at me,” he commanded.

  She stirred from the haze of desire, on the verge of begging him to come back to her. She looked at him. His face was set with a hard, fierce determination.

  “I don’t take a woman’s sexual pleasure lightly. It is my duty to have you sobbing with need and then bring you to climax. When you leave here today, I want you to be only thinking of me. To long for the next time when I can touch you,” he said.

  Owen was a master at the art of seduction. Every word, every sensation was a gift she gratefully accepted.

  He climbed onto the bench next to her and slipped his thumb into her heat. Long, strong strokes quickly brought her back to the plateau where he had left her. “Give me your mouth.”

  She did as he asked, offering up her lips. His tongue now moved in time with his stroking of her clit. At one point, she pulled away, struggling for breath, but his mouth came searching. He claimed her once more.

  “Owen,” she sobbed.

  He withdrew his thumb, then pushed two fingers deep into her. She winced at the odd sensation of being stretched, but when he began to flick his thumb across her sensitive nib she was back fully with the pleasure. Harder and harder he stroked, pushing her closer to the edge.

  Amy broke on a cry, clutching at the lapels of his jacket. Her heated core throbbed as pleasure flooded her mind and body. Her head lay against his chest as he slowly continued to stroke her and bring her back down to earth.

  “Good. I promise you may set the pace of our future engagements from now on,” he murmured.

  She knew he was lying and that he would try and do exactly what he wanted, but her pleasure-addled brain couldn’t form any sort of coherent response.

  Owen had her right where he wanted.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The moment Diana broke, Owen felt himself close to tears. He had never before experienced such honesty in a lover. She was so different to the sort of women he normally bedded. There was an aura of naïve innocence about her, something which called to him on a primal level. If she had not told him she was married, he would almost have thought her untouched.

  He let her skirts drop and sat back while she fixed the bodice of her gown and put on her spencer. The air in the coach hung heavy with the scent of sex. Her sex. He took a deep breath. She was magnificent.

  “And what about you?” Diana asked, finishing the last of her buttons.

  Her hand reached for the front of his trousers, but Owen caught her wrist and held it. Their gazes met; her face was a study in confusion.

  Of course, she expected that he would want her to service him. It was only natural. The standard response to receiving pleasure was to return the favor in kind.

  But Owen was playing a long game. Sometime in the middle of giving Diana oral pleasure, he had decided on a different strategy to the one he normally employed with his lovers.

  Diana was different to other women. Not only was she mostly inexperienced in the ways of sex, something he intended to eventually fully rectify, but she also had an absent husband. With her, there wouldn’t be the risk of an axe-wielding maniac attacking the other side of her bedroom door when she eventually succumbed to his full seduction. He had time on his side.

  She was something to be cultivated. Tended and nurtured like a delicate flower. A long-term mistress he could keep all to himself, even after he had taken a wife.

  As far as Owen was concerned, the longer William Smith stayed away from England, the better.

  “Don’t you want me to do something?” she pressed.

  “Next time. Today is all about you. I wanted our first time to be your first time,” he said.

  They sat silent for the next while. Owen was keen for Diana to take the lead on the conversation. Giving her power wit
hin the relationship would only serve to strengthen it.

  She seemed shy, and he expected that she was still coming to terms with her first real climax.

  “Will you tell me a little about yourself, Owen?” she asked.

  “Of course. What would you like to know?” If she was as intelligent as she appeared, no doubt Diana would have made discreet enquiries about him and his background.

  “Whose idea was it to form the Noble Lords?”

  Owen smiled, happy that Diana was interested in the musical group. It would be refreshing to have a relationship with a woman that involved more than just bed sport. From early indications, he sensed that they could be very good together. “I think I can lay claim to that. I decided that we had to do something about Marco and his friends. They were making life difficult for me and the other Noble Lords,” he explained.

  “You mean they were stealing your women,” she replied.

  He caught the hint of a teasing laugh in her voice. She was perceptive as well as . . . wonderful. “Is it that obvious?” he replied.

  “You didn’t honestly think that everyone thought you had formed the Noble Lords for altruistic reasons, did you? Why, the ‘cock fight’ between the four of you and the Italians is all that is being talked about in the ladies’ retiring rooms at parties,” she replied.

  Her revelation had Owen sitting back and staring at her in disbelief. Hadn’t Reid made it clear at their concerts that the Noble Lords were a charitable effort on behalf of the war widows and orphans? So much for thinking they were being clever. The wicked women of the ton had not been fooled for one minute.

  Not what I wanted to hear. The others won’t be happy. But if it gets us sex, I can live with it.

  She laughed at him, and Owen found himself laughing back at his own sense of self-grandeur.

  “Really? So much for us being musical geniuses,” he replied.

  Diana took hold of his hand. “The women of London society thank you from the bottom of their hearts. You have added spark to the long boring summer nights. And I expect the other Noble Lords are reaping the rewards of your inspired scheme.”