“If you use a sheer material, the woman’s lover will be tantalized by the sight of her naked skin.”
The pen fell from her fingertips, and she looked appalled by his words. “I should not be having this conversation with you. You shouldn’t even be in my bedchamber.”
“To be precise, I am not in your bedchamber. I am in the hall.” He was beginning to enjoy her discomfiture.
“Please,” she begged. “Just go away and let me finish. I can’t think properly when you’re here.”
“Do you want me to look at the drawings and offer my opinion?” he asked. He doubted if any of her designs would be daring enough for her intentions.
She was aghast. “No, you will not.”
“I’ve seen unmentionables before, Victoria. In fact, I have a particular preference for—”
“You needn’t say it.” She buried her face in her hands, too embarrassed to even meet his gaze.
“But you’ll wonder about it, won’t you?”
He felt no remorse for teasing her. A woman like Victoria Andrews, innocent and unknowing of the ways between men and women, shouldn’t even consider designing intimate undergarments. He hoped she would abandon the idea and return to sewing gowns. Or better, if she didn’t have to sew at all.
She was bent over her work, her brow furrowed as she sketched. If he did nothing to stop her, he feared she’d remain in her room for the rest of the night, caught up in the drawings.
Before he left, he said, “Come downstairs in an hour, won’t you?”
She sighed. “Why? So you can tease me further?”
“Because it’s Christmas.” He had no desire to remain alone downstairs, not when he had other plans for them.
She tilted her head back to look at him, her expression softening. “All right. In an hour.”
It was well past the hour when she finally set her drawings aside. Victoria studied each of them. She’d created a chemise and corset designed for a woman like herself, modest and feminine. Then she’d designed a different set of garments meant for a married woman. The cut was more daring, with bolder colors designed to attract a husband’s notice. The last drawing made her blush simply to look at it. It was a garment that could only be worn by a courtesan.
She was ashamed to admit it, but Jonathan’s advice had been accurate. Her earlier drawings had been far too demure. His suggestion, that she use a sheer fabric, had inspired a corset and chemise reminiscent of a sultan’s harem. The design was almost entirely transparent, one that would reveal a woman’s breasts instead of cloaking them. A layer of padded silk beneath would lift up the curves, offering light support. The garment was sinful, baring everything.
It was scandalous. She couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to buy it. But then, the crofters’ wives had suggested it earlier, laughing that it would encourage a man. Victoria touched her hands to her cheeks, not truly understanding what they meant.
Inside, she grew apprehensive about joining Mr. Nottoway downstairs. She’d given the servants their holiday, without truly thinking of what that meant—being by herself in the house with a man who had kissed her. It was dangerous, not at all proper.
And yet, she was grateful not to be alone on Christmas.
She folded up the drawings and put them inside the drawer of her desk before she rose to go downstairs. She searched the parlor first, then the dining room, before she finally found Jonathan seated before the fire.
He’d discarded his tailcoat and his cravat was loose. In the warm light, his sun-darkened hair gleamed and he stared into the fire as if searching for answers. At his feet rested a pile of packages, wrapped in brown paper.
“What are these?” she asked, interrupting him as she moved closer.
“Gifts for you,” he said. “It wouldn’t be right to celebrate Christmas without them.”
A startled warmth stole through her heart at the sight of the presents. “But how? You couldn’t possibly go out with your leg.”
“Some were borrowed,” he admitted.
She sent him a chiding look. “You stole my belongings and wrapped them up?”
“It isn’t stealing when you haven’t removed them from the house,” he pointed out. “But if you don’t want them, I’ll put them back.”
In spite of herself, she was eager to see what he’d selected. “There seem to be quite a few of them.”
“Oh, I took the liberty of wrapping gifts for myself, as well.” He gestured toward the dining room. “Go and fetch a chair. We’ll open them together.”
She turned from him, unable to stop her smile. She’d never imagined that anyone would go to such trouble for her. As she pulled the heavy chair across the room, an inner voice reminded her to guard her feelings. She couldn’t allow her heart to soften, not when he was leaving. He might have shown her a kindness, but in the end, he would go, just as he’d said he would.
“Open this one first,” he instructed, handing her a slender object.
She untied the string and slid off the paper, revealing a spoon. Mystified, she asked, “What is this for?”
“It’s for the cup of hot tea I’ll make for you later this evening.”
His matter-of-fact tone made it seem as if the gift was of little importance. But it touched her that he’d thought of it. She held the spoon, studying his face. He’d taken some time to shave, and she wondered what it would be like to touch his smooth face.
“Now choose one for me to open.” He pointed to three misshapen packages that were set aside from the others.
Victoria selected a package slightly smaller than her hand and passed it to him. When he unwrapped the ivory queen from her father’s chess set, he sent her a wide smile. “An excellent gift, Miss Andrews. I would enjoy playing another game of chess with you.”
She suppressed a groan, for she disliked the game thoroughly. “I don’t know if I would have given you that gift, had I known what it was.” But she accepted the next gift he passed to her. Inside the brown paper, she found a piece of currant cake that Mrs. Larson had baked only yesterday. “To go with my tea?” she predicted.
“Yes. And if you’d like to share it with me, I wouldn’t complain. It is the last piece, after all.”
“You are most generous,” she teased, breaking off a piece and passing it to him. Instead of taking it from her, he guided her hand to his mouth, his lips brushing over her skin as he took the cake.
The touch of his lips made her smile fade. He was playing a game with her, one she couldn’t hope to win. In his eyes, she saw a shadowed desire, a hunger that made her long for far more.
To distract them both, she reached for the second, larger package. “I suppose this is for you.”
Jonathan tore off the paper and revealed his own shoe. She hadn’t even noticed he’d taken it off. At her confused expression, he explained, “It will be quite useful. Especially when I’m dancing with you.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t danced in years.” She didn’t even know if she would remember how.
“It’s a gift for both of us,” he offered. “You’ll be in my arms.”
She stared at him. “You’re making fun of me.”
He leaned forward, his wrists upon his knees. There was a flare of intensity in his green eyes, of a man who saw far more than she wanted him to. Without responding to her accusation, he demanded, “Open the last gift.”
Victoria reached for the small packet he gave her and found a pair of her own gloves inside. “What are these for?”
“They’re to keep you warm, when you step outside for the first time.”
She clutched the gloves, glancing over at the window. Flakes of more snow fluttered against the glass, outlined by the glow of the candle upon the sill. She still didn’t believe it could possibly happen. Though she’d made it as far as the front door, she’d gone no farther.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just thank me.” He reached for the last package and shook it slightly. It was small, barely
the size of her palm. “I wonder what this could be.”
At first, she didn’t recognize the piece of greenery. But when she spied the telltale white berries, she went still.
“Now this,” he said in a deep voice, “is what I wanted most.”
“Mistletoe,” she whispered. She didn’t know where he’d found it, but she knew what it meant.
It was dangerous to kiss him again, for with each gift he’d given, he’d broken down another barrier to her heart. When he left, she would be more lonely than ever before. It hurt even to imagine it.
Jonathan reached out to her hand. “Our time grows short.” Holding up the mistletoe, he added, “There’s no one to see us. No one to criticize or tell us it’s improper.” He stood up, pulling her close as he tucked it into her hair. “The question is, do you have the courage?”
Fear rose in her eyes as she stood staring at him. “I don’t know that it’s a matter of courage anymore.”
He rested his hands upon her shoulders. “You don’t want to kiss me again?”
She lowered her face, resting the top of her head against his chin. “You’re going to leave Scotland. If I kiss you again, it will only make me dream of things I’ll never have.”
He sobered, for he’d not thought of it that way. With her standing so near to him, he moved back to look into her gray eyes. He glimpsed the brokenness in her expression and her fears.
Jonathan cupped her face, moving his hands up through her hair. He couldn’t explain what it was about Victoria Andrews that attracted him. But he’d glimpsed the unfulfilled longings in her, desires echoed within himself.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured, his mouth barely above hers.
Her hands covered his, her eyes closing. “I don’t want you to break my heart.”
“That isn’t what I want either,” he confessed. Her warning pierced through him, even as he lowered his mouth to hers. Whether or not she knew it, she’d captivated him. He wanted her to feel something, to care.
In his mind, he imagined her soft skin beneath him, her hair spread out upon the sheets as he touched her. Her mouth surrendered to his, and in her kiss, he tasted the sorrow of a woman locked away from the world. A woman who held dreams but not the courage to reach for them.
Her hands threaded into his hair, pulling him closer as if she needed him. As if she craved him as badly as he wanted her. Her kiss was like water, slowly washing over the stone of his heart.
And God help him, he couldn’t stop himself from touching her. His fingers moved down the back of her gown, opening the buttons, one by one. As he bared her back, he warmed the cool skin with his palms, traveling lower until he reached the tightly laced stays.
He slid his tongue into her mouth and Victoria gave a quiet moan, as if startled by the intrusion. But as she grew accustomed, she tentatively touched his tongue with her own.
Her arms wound around his neck as she succumbed to the mindless pleasure that took both of them. Jonathan went rigid, hissing as her hips pressed close against him, reminding him of how badly he wanted her.
He dragged his mouth away from hers, nibbling at her earlobe, kissing the soft part of her neck. “Tell me to stop,” he ordered. “Tell me that I should leave you alone and this isn’t the kind of woman you are.”
“I don’t want you to stop.” Her hands gripped his head, arching back, while he kissed the bared skin above her square neckline. “Not yet.”
“You deserve better than a man like me,” he murmured against her skin. “And I think you know it.”
Warnings roared through his mind, but he ignored them, savoring the warmth of her skin and the soft catch in her breath. He could imagine laying her back upon her bed, kissing her breasts while sliding inside her wetness. He wanted to be the man to take her, to teach her the pleasures of becoming lovers.
Victoria took his face between her hands and guided him back to her mouth, kissing him as if it were the last time. He gloried in the roughness of the kiss, and knew that her mouth would be swollen red after this. His hands were moving down her shoulders, edging the unbuttoned gown to expose the breasts he wanted to touch.
And when he revealed her corset, her breathing was hitched, her hands frozen upon his arms. In the flickering firelight, her skin was golden, the tops of her breasts covered by a layer of white lace.
He drifted his knuckles over the soft mounds, waiting to see if she would pull away.
Victoria didn’t move. With a stricken face, she watched him as if uncertain what was happening between them.
He touched the back of the corset, sliding his hands lower, until he reached the laces. His fingers rested upon the ties, while he kissed her throat.
“I know you think I’m trying to seduce you,” he murmured upon her skin. “And though I would welcome you in my bed, that isn’t my intent this night.”
Her hands froze as he lowered his mouth, unlacing her corset as he kissed the soft swell of her breasts.
“If you say the word, I’ll stop,” he told her. But her eyes closed and her face grew taut with unspoken needs.
“I want to lower this gown right now,” he said against her throat. “If I could, I’d free your breasts and take them into my mouth.”
She shivered, as if imagining it. He wanted to draw out her arousal, tormenting her with words. “But this corset won’t allow it.”
He continued freeing her from the laces, talking against her skin. “But imagine another garment. One where your breasts would rest upon a bed of satin, barely covered by a sheer lace. I could see your nipples through the fabric, watching them tighten while I touched them. I could taste them through the lace, stroking them with my tongue.”
She forced herself to pull away, though he could see the flush of arousal upon her face. “Is that what men desire?”
“No,” he said, loosening the corset until he could slide it lower, baring her breasts. “This is what I desire.”
And with that, his mouth closed over her nipple. She let out a shuddering gasp, her hands moving through his hair as he tasted the soft flesh. Her breasts were smaller than he’d thought, but the intensity of her reaction made him grow harder. She was moaning with every flick of his tongue, her body trembling.
He was aching for her, wanting so badly to take her into his bed. Instead, he moved toward the wingback chair, sitting down as he pulled her to sit on his uninjured leg.
“Take it off,” he commanded, raising her arms above her head. She didn’t protest, but let him free her from the whalebone cage, granting him full access to her naked skin.
He didn’t ask why she’d allowed this, but he suspected it had everything to do with his impending departure.
Once more, he took her mouth, kissing her hard as he caressed her breasts with his fingertips. “Imagine a man and a woman, slipping away from a ballroom,” he said in a low voice. “In the garden, with her gown the same as yours.” He bent lower, taking her breast in his mouth again, laving the tip. “With one of your new corsets, he could pleasure her… and no one would ever know.”
His hand moved down her skirts, lifting beneath the petticoat, until his hand touched her leg.
“What are you doing?” she asked, fear guiding her voice.
“Should I stop?” He trailed his bare hand against her thigh, and she went motionless, as if unable to speak. He moved his palm higher, and against the back of his hand, he could feel the silk of her intimate hair.
Her head fell back, and he took her breasts into his mouth again, using his tongue to torment her. A flush covered her skin, and he could feel her body heat rising. Though it was another form of torture to him, he didn’t want to stop.
She was wet at her slit, and he teased her with his fingers. “Ohh,” she breathed as he slid one finger into her moist entrance. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her body shaking at the intrusion.
Jonathan was lost in his own haze of need. The touch of her body, the taste of her skin, was driving him beyond the ab
ility to stop. He used his hands to touch her, to caress the hooded flesh that guided her pleasure.
She arched against his hand, convulsing as he entered her with a second finger. No longer were either of them thinking, but he was determined to take her into her own ecstasy. He wanted to be the man to watch her shatter, to see the languid pleasure take her.
“Victoria, open your eyes,” he demanded.
She did, and in the clouded depths, he saw a woman of passion awakening. She bit her lip as he plunged and withdrew, her wetness coating his fingers.
“If I could, I’d be inside you right now,” he said, using his thumb against her swollen flesh. “I’d lift you on top, and I’d feel your wetness surrounding me.”
He quickened his strokes, kissing her hard as he guided her closer to release. “I’d thrust inside you, over and over.”
She leaned into his touch in a counterpressure, her breath gasping until he deepened the touch of his thumb in throbbing circles until she began to sob, her fists clenching as she bucked against him.
An agonized moan broke forth when at last she seized her release, crying out as he took her past the brink. Her hips pressed against his hand as she trembled, and he caught her in a kiss, cutting off his own groan as his own release struck without warning. She kissed him with the full intensity of a woman well-pleasured, and he cupped her warm breast, rewarded when she let out another shudder.
Jonathan cradled her in his arms, reaching for the mistletoe in her hair. Slowly, he lowered the sprig of berries down her face, over her throat, to the swollen breasts bared before him. He circled one nipple, then the other, before it fell to the carpet when she pulled him into another dark kiss.
In that moment, he realized that he would allow no other man to have her. The fierce possessiveness was undeniable. He wanted Victoria Andrews in his bed, to spend each night touching her in this way.
To awaken with her beside him.
He held her in his arms, his hands passing over her back as he breathed in the scent of her hair. All too well, he understood how impossible this was. Victoria didn’t belong with a man like him, caught in an aristocracy where only money had saved him from becoming an outcast. She knew nothing of his world, and he couldn’t imagine subjecting her to it.
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