The Countess Conspiracy

“I once drank half a bottle of thistle spirits,” she informed him. “If you think an inch of brandy will do me in, you are sadly mistaken.”

She tilted back the glass. The liquor burned her tongue—a pleasant burn.

He wasn’t drinking.

It took the smallest cues to understand Sebastian. He wore his smiles and his jokes as assiduously as another man might wear a cravat—an item of apparel that was not to be taken off except among his most intimate acquaintances, and even then, only under great duress.

He’d related the story about his brother offhand, glossing over the argument and what had been said with a simple, “He was angry and had every right to be,” and then mentioning that he’d ended the visit by fetching the doctor. He’d made no comment about his feelings, as if he didn’t want to share his worry.

“You don’t have a glass,” she informed him.

“No. It’s a wicked trick on my part.”

“Oh?” She looked at him. He was smiling as if nothing were wrong, as if he had not a care in the world. As if he expected to lift her burdens and his own, too. She curled her finger at him. “Come and join me.”

He came to sit beside her.

Violet took another sip of the liquor—a longer draft this time—and set down her glass. Before she could lose her nerve, she kissed him. Their lips met. His mouth opened to hers, and she traded him that sip of brandy. Their tongues met in a heady mix of warmth and spirits. His hands pulled her close. She could have lost herself in the taste of him, the warmth of his hands sliding around her waist, but not this time.

This time, she wanted him to lose himself. She let it start as a soft, sweet, comforting kiss, and then let it grow, her hands running down his chest, until what arced between them was headier than the brandy they shared. The kiss went back and forth between them until she felt almost tipsy.

When the taste of brandy dissipated, she pulled away.

“You see?” He was breathing heavily. “It’s a wicked trick. That’s what happens when you kiss a rake of my stature; I scarcely have to do anything, and you seduce yourself.”

Violet leaned forward. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she said. “I was already seduced.”

She was close enough to see his pupils expand, to hear his breath hissing in. That first involuntary reaction, though, was soon covered by a wide smile. “And all it took was two sips of brandy? I should have tried that years ago.”

It should have put her in a panic, the thought of what she was about to do. But the fact that she was doing it—that he was not demanding it of her—made all the difference. She put her hands on his shoulders and then slid them down, down his chest. He let out another exhalation.

“And yet here I am,” she said. “I let you hold me. I shiver when you kiss me. When I tremble at the thought of talking to my mother, you are the one who makes me laugh.” She sat on his lap and leaned down to brush his nose with hers. “When I smile, I look to you first, because I know you’ll understand the joke. So, yes, Sebastian. I’ve been seduced.”

He drew in another deep breath.

“All these years,” Violet said, “I never understood how much it meant to me when you made me smile. But now it’s my turn.” Her words were turning fierce. “You deserve to be seduced.”

“It…won’t take much effort, I can promise you that.” He gulped. “But Violet, are you sure…”

“I’m sure of this.” She slid off his lap onto her knees on the floor in front of him. Her hands sought the buttons of his fly. She knew as she undid it that she wasn’t as practiced as he. But judging by his indrawn breath, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if she fumbled with his trousers, or if her hands were inexpert as they drew the fabric away. It didn’t matter if it took her a minute to find the right position, if he had to guide her into place or shift on the sofa.

What mattered was this: that Sebastian had been giving to her all these years, supporting her when she needed it, loving her—and if she were deserving of such depth of emotion, surely, so was he.

When she finally had his trousers pooled at his feet, she could concentrate on the prize: rakus erectus. His penis was hard and thick, jutting out at an angle. His breath came in ragged gasps as she ran her hands down him, lightly exploring the surface—deceptively soft at first brush, hard when she probed a little deeper. That dark head, even softer.

“Violet.” The words seemed drawn from him. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Of course I don’t,” she answered with some asperity. “I want to.”

He let out a gasp. And then—before she could lose her nerve—she took him in her mouth.

God. She had never understood the idea of this before. It had seemed a pale imitation of sex when she’d first heard the whispers among married ladies. But in its own way, it was even more intimate than intercourse. Her tongue could explore the vein down the underside of his penis, the softness of the head. She could squeeze him and hear his breath go ragged.

He touched her head, his hand tangling in her hair.

“Tell me,” she said, murmuring around him in her mouth. “Tell me what you’d think about, if you were using your good left hand.”

“You.” His voice was hoarse. “You, always you. You have no idea how many times over the years I’ve thought of you. Wanting you.” A pause. “God, that—that right there. Do that.”

She sucked the head of his penis again, letting her tongue swirl over the tip. Feeling his whole body tense in response, his hands squeezing her shoulders.

“Sometimes I’d imagine sweeping away all the plants off of one of your worktables in your greenhouse. Setting you on the edge and then lifting your skirts and having you.”

She paused and lifted her head. “Wait, you thought of doing what with my plants?”

“It’s a fantasy!” he protested. “If we’re really going to pick it apart, I don’t think that a table made of wood planks and sawhorses could withstand the torque exerted by pounding at that particular angle, either.”

She sniffed. “Well. I suppose. But pick another one. I’ll get distracted thinking about the details.”

He laughed softly. “Do you remember our train ride out to New Shaling for Robert’s wedding?”

She nodded.

“You were ignoring me. Talking to Minnie the entire time. The only time you weren’t talking to her was for about ten minutes, when you stood up and went to the hall. I think you said you wanted to stretch your legs. I could see you every minute or so, as you paced in that corridor. I thought about getting up. Going to you.”