Almost a Virgin (Virgins No More) Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2011 Berengaria Brown

  ISBN: 978-1-927368-29-9

  Cover Artist: Jinger Heaston

  Editor: Kimberly Bowman

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Ellis Peters with grateful thanks for her Brother Cadfael books which have given me endless hours of reading pleasure.

  ALMOST A VIRGIN

  Virgins No More, 2

  Berengaria Brown

  Copyright © 2011

  Chapter One

  Her breasts were beautiful. Alabaster globes, so very white and smooth with no bumps or defects at all, just a rosy nipple at the peak like a berry on top of a blancmange. And just as delicious.

  He sucked first one then the other into his mouth, not just the tip but as much as he could take, reveling in her sweet womanly scent and taste. Loving the way she shivered under him as he teased those delicious tips with his tongue.

  He licked a line between her breasts, tasting the faintest hint of salt on her skin and rubbing his cheeks and chin over the silky softness of her womanly flesh. A man could spend all night with his face buried between mounds such as these. Well, he could if his cock wasn’t so eager to bury itself in her depths. One day soon though, he’d fuck her breasts as well as her pussy.

  Careful not to put his complete weight on her, as he was a big man, he trailed kisses across her belly and down to his heart’s desire. But first, he needed to worship her belly adequately. It was slightly rounded, soft and smooth just the way a woman should be, accentuating her differences in bodily stature from a man.

  At last he could wait no longer, licking up her slit, sucking on her nubbin, running his fingers through her curls to expose her core to his eager mouth. Her honey had coated her inner lips and he tasted her. Just as he’d hoped, smoother and richer than French brandy. And headier too. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  He pushed his tongue right inside her, scooping her flavor to savor it even more. Then he nibbled his way along her outer lips before tasting her nubbin yet again.

  She was hot, wet, and ready for him, wiggling under him and raising her hips into his touch.

  He held his aching cock at her entry then thrust deep inside her in one smooth stroke. Ahh! She was so hot, gripping him so hard, coating him with her essence. He held still, willing himself to go slowly, to make this evening something truly unforgettable, to show her the devotion she deserved.

  It took every ounce of restraint he could command, but he managed to withdraw from her then slide in again, pull out, then drive in, slowly, so slowly, only gradually building up the speed his hungry cock demanded.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him deeper into herself, digging her heels into his ass, forcing him to stop, once again, lest he spill his seed before she achieved her pleasure.

  In desperation he pulled out of her welcoming heat and flipped her over onto her face then lifted her hips up high. He held her firmly and drove deep inside her from this angle, plunging into her right to his balls. As soon as he was seated as deep as he could get, he took one hand off her hips and rested his longest finger on her nubbin.

  Now, at last, he could slam into her as hard and fast as he wanted, his fingers, stroking her hot little pearl nestled at the top of her slit.

  She was moaning now, very softly, her cries muffled by the pillow as she pushed back into his strokes. His balls had drawn up hard and tight against his body. His seed was building up, needing to be freed, to spurt inside her. But her pleasure had to come first. He could tell she was close but he needed her to reach the peak.

  Using his fingernails, he gave her button a little pinch. She shook under him, her body flushed, and her pussy grabbed hold of his cock, milking it hard. With relief he relaxed his iron control, pulled almost out of her, then slammed inside her.

  His cock exploded, jetting stream after stream of his essence into her as his hips pumped and his finger continued to stroke her nubbin.

  For long moments she shook and quivered under him as he thrust into her again and again, his cock gradually emptying and his muscles relaxing. He dropped onto his side, holding her body hard against his, loving the contrast of her softness against his hardness, her skin so white and womanly against his more olive-toned flesh.

  He rested his head on her shoulder, his hands cupped around her breasts, his cock still snug inside her hot core, and pressed soft kisses to the back of her neck.

  John Smith woke up, his hand on his dick, his seed all over his hand and his belly. Such a thing hadn’t happened to him since he was a young man at Oxford. Damn these social rules that kept a man away from eligible women. He didn’t want to visit a bawdy house and take a whore just to ease his aching cock and balls. He wanted a wife and soon. But which wife.

  Sapphira, her eyes the color of the summer sky, her hair so gloriously fair, the perfect contrast to his dark hair and eyes? She was sweet and good-natured, well enough born, with a more-than-adequate dowry. Not that money really mattered. He was very nearly as rich as Golden Ball himself. Sapphira. He’d danced with her often, met her at every rout and ball and soiree. She would make him a very good wife and he’d be the envy of every other man with her at his side. No other woman could compete with her incredible beauty. Her face and form were absolute perfection.

  Or Theodora? Soft and gentle, yet with a sharp brain and clever wit well hidden under good manners. The daughter and sister of a vicar, and the girl he’d once expected to marry when she was old enough. Now she was eighteen, he was twenty-six, and Sapphira’s stunning beauty had confused him. How could a man even consider gentle, unobtrusive Theodora when the brightness of Sapphira was an option?

  He was wealthy. Very wealthy. Well born even though he had no title. His mother was the youngest child of a duke so no one could find fault with his lineage. His face and form were pleasing enough. His tailor had no need to pad his coats or fit him with a corset. He had no limp, no stammer, no squint. He could have any woman he wanted. But which one did he want? The sister of his best friend, or the catch of the season? Dammit how was he supposed to choose? Even his dream was no help. He hadn’t seen the face of the woman in his dream.

  Dammit! Now what was he supposed to do?

  ****

  The Season had barely begun, so the ballroom was not overcrowded. That was one thing Theodora had not enjoyed last Season when her Mama had brought her out. Some of the Ton parties they’d been invited to were the ones to which every man and his second cousin twice removed had received a card, so the heat and noise had been awful. But since her brother, Barnabas, had not received any offers for her hand, Mama had insisted they attend every event for which they had an invitation, in the hope of her making a match.

  Now that Barnabas and Georgina were married, Georgina’s grandmama, the Dowager Lady Arnott, ensured they were all invited to every party of note, so mayhap someone eligible would offer for her this Season. Not that she wanted just anyone. Oh no. She was sufficiently foolish to want only one man. One big, tall, handsome, incredibly rich man. Theodora sighed quietly behind her fan and gazed at the delicious Mr. John Smith. She’d loved him for years and years. When she was a child, he�
�d always been polite to her, indulging her childish whims, claiming her little girl’s enduring devotion.

  As a grown woman, she still loved him. No other man measured up to his kindness, intelligence, grace, and perfection of form. Unfortunately his large fortune almost guaranteed he would wed someone of much higher birth than she. No reasonable papa would discourage his suit despite his lack of a title. After all, his mama was the daughter of a duke. That connection, added to his immense wealth, would overcome any barriers.

  Whereas she was the daughter of a vicar. Admittedly he was the third son of a nobleman, so her birth was acceptable. But still, as the daughter and sister of a vicar, she was no great catch. Her dowry was more than adequate. But once again, it didn’t compare with the stupendous sums available to Mr. Smith. As for beauty, her looks were well enough, but she was no diamond of the first water. Or even the second or third water. Not like Sapphira. Theodora gazed across the ballroom at Sapphira Arnott. Blonde, with brilliant blue eyes, a neat figure, and the sweetest person imaginable. I can’t even hate her she’s so friendly and caring! she thought as she watched the Earl of Mitcham and Mr. John Smith vie for Sapphira’s attention. But how I wish she’d accept the earl and leave Mr. Smith for me.

  Sadly, even if Sapphira did accept the earl, it was most likely that Mr. Smith would still marry someone titled and more beautiful than she. Like Lady Mary Featherby for instance.

  Theodora sighed again and fell to thinking about Mr. Smith. He’d kissed her once. She’d been about ten years old. He and her brother Barnabas were young men about to begin reading the classics at Oxford. She’d fallen from her horse when she’d tried to follow him and Barnabas on one of their rides. Barnabas had been angry at her for following them, but Mr. Smith had picked her up, kissed her forehead, and gently asked if she was hurt. All the breath had been knocked out of her lungs by the fall, but the only genuine injury had been to her pride. She’d wanted his admiration at her skills, and his company, not his sympathy that she’d taken a tumble trying to leap a fence.

  Theodora’s dance card was filled. That was another change since her brother had married. Although Georgina’s oldest brother and the head of the family, Simeon, liked to spend as much of his time at the family estates as possible, the next to eldest brother, Amos, took every opportunity to escape from his studies at Oxford and spend time in town. And Amos made sure all his friends danced with her at least once. The young men laughed and entertained her, never treating her as a chore, but inevitably making the balls and routs she attended far more diverting than they had been last Season.

  Their flirting and flattery, oftentimes completely over-the-top, invariably made her smile. None of them was serious, and most were far too young to be thinking of marriage, but they all were excellent dancers and good company. It’s just that they weren’t Mr. Smith. The one person whose company and smiles she craved.

  The musicians were tuning their instruments and the dancing would begin shortly. Mr. Smith had engaged her for the first cotillion and the second waltz. The waltz alone was worth coming to this ball for. The feel of his big, strong hand on her waist and his assured, confident leading as they whirled around the dance floor would give her many happy memories. Somehow she was always disappointed if he danced a country dance with her. And the worry of him not dancing with her at all was the stuff of nightmares. It was so unfair a lady had to sit and wait to be asked.

  ****

  Theodora laid flat on her back in her bed late that night, her night rail pulled up to her waist, one hand on a breast and the other touching her nether lips. Lightly she flicked her nipple, enjoying the slight pressure on the sensitive tip. She alternated the touches there with her palm stroking across the rounded skin of her bosom, cupping the weight of the globe then touching the nipple again.

  Her other fingers slid through the curls hiding her womanhood. Her longest finger traced the length of her opening before retreating to circle her nubbin. Again and again her fingers traced their movements, as the warm feeling deep inside her became warmer, then hot, then a fiery ball of need. Theodora concentrated on the image of Mr. John Smith in her mind. John. His shiny, dark brown hair, his sparkling brown eyes, his deep voice that made her shiver with excitement. And the heat of his hand as it touched her back or even her gloved hand. His very touch sent her pulse pounding and her heart beating fast.

  Her fingers delved inside her woman’s place now. First one finger, then two, stroking deep and firm, feeling for the slightly rougher patch of skin that always led to her fulfillment.

  She widened her legs, her hips moving up and down in time with her busy fingers. Now she tweaked her nipple, elongating it, pulling on it, giving it a little twist. Down below her fingers moved faster, stroking over that special place, curving up to press there. She pictured John’s hands on her, his lips on her lips, not on her forehead this time. He’d kiss her mouth, maybe even put his tongue in her mouth the way the dancing master had done with Amity right before she was sent home from the Academy for Young Ladies of the Nobility that they’d both attended.

  She pictured John’s eyes gazing into hers as his lips descended, touching her mouth so softly and sweetly yet with manly passion. The peak burst through her, making her woman’s place clench on her fingers as her body shook and she slammed her mouth closed so as not to groan out loud.

  She touched herself gently as her body relaxed, became soft and limp. What would it be like to have a man there? Would he take the time to make it enjoyable for her? Or would he just take his pleasure then roll over and snore as gossip said most men were want to do?

  John would be considerate. I know he would be.

  Yes, but your husband is more likely to be Squire Nobody from Nowhere in Particular, the voice of cold reason replied.

  Her pleasure fled. Patience had been a bright and happy, buxom young woman just five years ago when she’d married Farmer Entwhistle. Now she was a thin, pale, exhausted woman who looked forty instead of twenty-one, and she had four little children always pulling on her skirts and crying.

  There must be a way to avoid giving birth to a child every year. If that starts happening to me, I’ll find out how to space the children. And when I find out, I’ll tell Patience.

  Theodora rolled onto her side, thinking about marital relations. For a start, her parents had only had the two children, and Barnabas was seven years older than her. Yet Mama and Papa had been happy together. There were other families in the parish as well with only two or three children. Then again, there were families where the woman had endless miscarriages and infants that died. That would be horrible, to lose a baby. But surely mistresses and women in houses of ill-repute didn’t have a child every year. That would be very bad for business to have them off work half the year. Theodora giggled. So that proved there was a method to avoid pregnancy.

  With her problem well on the way to being solved, Theodora buried her face in her pillow and fell asleep.

  Chapter Two

  A week later, Theodora, Barnabas, their mama, and Georgina were enjoying a late and leisurely breakfast. As always The Times was spread out beside Barnabas’ plate and his eyes and mind were more on the newspaper than on the chit-chat of his womenfolk. Not that their conversation was particularly important. Their new Season’s clothing had all been ordered. Their plan was to attend most events, and no new potential husbands had appeared in Town as yet.

  Into this placid scene burst Amos, Georgina’s second brother. “Georgina, you and Barnabas need to come with me right away. Deborah has run away from school.”

  “What?”

  “Deborah? Not Joel and Micah?”

  “Yes, sweet, innocent, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth, nine-year-old Deborah.”

  Mama, with years of managing a busy parish behind her, said, “Georgina, Barnabas, go and get ready. Theodora, tell David to harness the blacks to the carriage and prepare for a journey. Amos I’m assuming you rode here?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Ridley.”
>
  “Did you bring a change of clothes for Deborah?”

  “No, I—”

  “She may well need them. I shall send a groom to your town house to have them brought here.”

  “But it’ll take too long.”

  “Nonsense. Tell Barnabas the roads you mean to take and go ahead on your horse. He and Georgina can follow in the carriage with some supplies for Deborah. I expect by the time you have extricated her from this exploit they will have caught up to you.”

  Theodora discharged her messages then asked Amos, “Have you sent a letter to Simeon?”

  “Yes but it’ll take hours for the groom to ride to Kingsdene and even longer for Simeon to get here to Town and out to Deborah’s school. She must have left very early this morning, although the headmistress had no idea of where she’d gone or why.”

  “What did the headmistress’s letter say?” asked Mama.

  Amos took a deep breath and visibly slowed himself down to answer Mrs. Ridley more moderately. “When Deborah didn’t appear at breakfast one of the mistresses went to wake her. They were surprised because she’s not usually a slug-a-bed. Her bed had been slept in, but she was gone. A search of her closet showed her cloak, several changes of undergarments, some books, and all her pin money had been taken.

  “Are the twins at school or has Deborah planned something with them?” asked Theodora referring to the three children’s trip to an illegal boxing match some months before.