How to Treat a Lady

by Karen Hawkins

  He dumped it all, the coldness cascading over their heads, shoulders and back.

  Water clung to her lashes and bathed her cheeks, cooling their hot color to pink. She tilted her face up, a chuckle escaping her wet lips. “That was divine. You’re worse than Stephen, you know. He is forever pouring water over poor Derrick when the poor boy least expects it. It makes Derrick furious for there are times his beloved books get a good splashing, too.”

  “My brothers and sister were much the same,” he murmured, pulling the pins from her hair.

  Her breathing came a bit quicker, but she managed to ask, “What did your brothers and sister torment you about?”

  “I’ll never tell.”

  Harriet knew a challenge when she heard one. “Won’t you?” She leaned against him, her wet dress pressing against his soaked shirt as she traced a finger down the side of his throat. “Not even if you have inducement?”

  His gaze glittered then, a sudden heat that quite took Harriet’s breath away. “What kind of inducement? Would you…take this off for me?” His finger traced the neckline of her gown.

  Harriet drew a quick breath as his fingers slid near her breast…then away. “In exchange for what?”

  He dropped his hand from her gown. “For something my brothers and sister used to torment me about.”

  She considered this a moment. “How much did they torment you?”

  “Every chance they got.”

  She eyed him uncertainly. “I don’t know.”

  “One of my brothers even carved my nickname in the headboard of my bed. I thought my mother would explode into flames when she saw what we’d done to that bed. It was four hundred years old and had been in her family for centuries.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “She was not pleased, to put it mildly.”

  “Whatever your secret nickname it must be something horrid. Hmm. That is tempting indeed.” She looked down at her gown. It was a round gown. Like all round gowns, it had a large neckline through which a ribbon was threaded, pulled tight, then tied, making for a modest appearance.

  All she had to do was untie the ribbon, give a slight tug, and the entire gown would fall off her shoulders. Harriet’s body tightened at the thought. Chase made her feel…freer somehow. Rich like a plum pudding, and as decadent as ice in the middle of summer. “Tell me your secret.”

  “And?”

  She swallowed, aware of a trembling in her limbs. “Tell me your secret and I’ll show you mine.”

  He grinned. “They called me the Frog, which was pure mockery since I have never managed to learn to swim.”

  “The Frog? That’s it? That’s your horrid secret?”

  “I was six. It seemed horrid at the time.”

  She had to grin.

  He reached out and traced the line of her gown with his fingertips, his skin brushing hers. “Now you owe me.”

  “So I do. But…it doesn’t seem fair that I might be the only one without any clothing.”

  He pulled his soaked shirt over his head before she could draw a breath.

  Harriet chuckled. “A man of action. I like that.”

  Chase’s grin broke through, and he leaned against one of the large poles that held the loft as he pulled off his boots. “I’ve never been one to linger except, of course”—he flashed a smile, wickedly intent—“in certain instances. And then I can stay till dawn.”

  “Braggart.”

  “That’s for the lady to say.” His gaze dropped across her, as if seeing through her gown, brushing her breasts, stomach, and thighs. Each place his gaze touched, a shimmering of heat was left behind, like a dusting of hot ash.

  She shivered. The fine hair on Harriet’s arms were all on end, her nipples pebbled into hardness. He was the most sensual man she’d ever met. Even something as simple as talking became a heated dance, a silky waltz of entendre and double entendre.

  And she loved it. Savored it. Reveled in it. Harriet found the ribbon that tied her gown. She laced it between her fingers and tugged ever so gently. Chase’s gaze followed her every move even as he threw his boots into the corner of the barn and undid his breeches.

  Harriet’s breath grew rapid. The air was warm and sweet, the scent of cut hay and feed tickling her nose. Every day she walked into this barn; every day she saw the piles of hay, the empty stalls, the plain plank walls. The shimmer of the tin dipper that hung from the bucket of water on the loft pole.

  She saw every detail each and every day and yet she didn’t see a thing. But now, after this, she had the feeling that from now on, the inside of the barn would be firmly fixed in her mind, and she’d see it with startling clarity.

  Chase gave a tug and his wet breeches were off. He tossed them aside with the same careless disregard he’d thrown the old worn boots and the shirt. Now he stood before her, unclothed, his black hair falling over his brow, his blue eyes devouring her as if he was already touching her, his well-muscled body glimmering in the golden slants of light that cut through the barn.

  Oblivious to her gaze, he pulled an old blanket from the tack room and tossed it over the hay. Then he turned to face her, a devilish glint in his gaze. “It’s not as luxurious as I’d like, or you deserve, but it’s ours.”

  Ours. There was something indescribably beautiful about that word. Harriet tried to swallow, but couldn’t. He was so beautiful. And for this one precious moment, he was hers.

  She knew as certainly as she stood before him, her fingers threaded through the ribbon that held her gown closed, that this moment was ephemeral, as substantial as the golden dust motes that trickled through the air and disappeared once they floated out of the light.

  Her gaze dropped to her hand where the talisman ring glistened, a silver stripe across one finger. Harriet knew the day would come when Chase St. John, the arrogant scion of a wealthy family—perhaps one of the wealthiest in the land, would discard his Captain John Frakenham disguise forever and rejoin the real world—his world. A world that had nothing to do with Harriet or the Wards, or Garrett Park.

  But it didn’t matter, she decided, closing her hand tight about the ribbon, the ring pressing into her skin. All that mattered was him, the feel of him, the taste of him. Harriet tugged the ribbon and her gown loosened. She slipped it from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then stepped out of it.

  Chase had never seen anything so beautiful. Harriet stood in the center of the barn, clothed only in her shift. It was a plain shift, with far fewer buttons and ribbons than Chase was used to seeing. The material was thin, but as was all the clothing worn by the Ward family, it was neat, tidy, studiously clean, and in this instance, driving Chase St. John wild with impatience.

  There was something masterful about the way the fabric hugged Harriet’s slender body. It clung lovingly to the gentle slope of her breast, fell in delicate folds to her flat stomach, then smoothed across her hips before falling to a narrow froth of white lace at her knees.

  “You are beautiful,” he breathed. “So beautiful.”

  In answer, she placed her hands on his chest and tilted her face to his, stepping closer. Her hair curled wetly about her shoulders and clung to the shadowed hollows of her neck. The warmth from her palms sent a tingle of heat through him, the hot white band where the talisman ring rested seeming to burn a mark in his skin.

  Chase reached for her, his heart racing. He would never remember unlacing her shift. Or taking it off and tossing it aside. All he would remember was the feel of her beneath him when he joined her on the blanket. She reached up and pulled his mouth to hers even as she locked her legs about his hips.

  Chase was lost, awash in instant heat and welcoming wetness. He closed his eyes, his entire body aflame, his muscles tightening as he moved inside her. Harriet was made for him. The thought was both a revelation and a calm, orderly fact. An icy certainty in a heated moment that cooled and calmed even as it invigorated his spirit, fueled his pounding pulse.

  He would be leaving soon. It
was inevitable. He simply could not stay. There was no place for him at Garrett Park, or there wouldn’t be once Harriet knew of his past mistakes. There was goodness here, with the Wards, but most especially with Harriet herself. And he was far, far less than he should be.

  The thought made the moment all the more sweet. And he knew that in a way, he was trying to leave her with something, a memory of himself that might never fade. He thrust into her deeply. She gasped, her legs tightening about his waist as she moved beneath him.

  Chase tasted her neck, her throat, his hands never slowing, never still. He wanted her to remember this moment, this second for the rest of her life.

  Suddenly, she arched against him, her cry of pleasure ringing through the air. Chase gritted his teeth as she clenched about him. God, she was sweet, but he would not release. Not yet.

  After an agonizing moment, she relaxed beneath him, her breathing ragged against his neck.

  “You are divine,” he managed to say, feeling her breasts against his chest, her hips firm with his. She was a conundrum, this woman. Strength mixed with curves.

  He bent down and kissed her, capturing her water-sweetened lips with his.

  Harriet didn’t move—she couldn’t. For an instant, she thought her heat-sizzled mind had finally let go of the last vestiges of sanity. Surely this was a dream of some sort, induced by the heat and the strain of the last few days.

  But…his lips felt real as they closed over hers, warm and insistent.

  His hand, before gently resting on her elbows, slid up to her shoulders as he pulled her close, her chest against his.

  She was encircled, captured, held in place as if spellbound. The kiss deepened, and Harriet leaned into the embrace, completely lost to his touch. A shiver of heat prickled up her spine, all thinking coming to an abrupt halt.

  Heaven help her, but he was delectable. Every handsome, frustrating inch of him. She wanted this. Wanted him to kiss her. Wanted, for one moment, to be the only woman that Chase St. John thought of.

  The thought spurred her on. She ran her hands up his chest, marveling at the tautness of his stomach, his shoulders. A new need grew within her. She wanted to drive him as mad with desire as he had driven her. She wanted to give back what he had already given. “What—” She bit her lip, searching for the words.

  He kissed her cheek, her neck. “What’s what?” he asked.

  “What do you like?” Her whisper was broken, hesitant.

  He stopped then and lifted his head, his eyes dark, questioning.

  She placed her hands on either side of his face and drew him forward until he was looking directly into her eyes. “What do you want?”

  A slow, masculine smile touched his lips. “With you—everything.” His smile faded, his eyes burning brighter. “Absolutely everything.”

  He kissed her again, but this time with heart-stopping urgency. Harriet melted beneath his touch, her heart taking wing and soaring with her spirit. His lips trailed delicate fire down her throat to her neck, and lower. She arched as his mouth closed over one nipple, then the other, before he returned to her neck and the delicate spot behind her ear.

  “Do you know,” he asked as he nuzzled her neck, “my favorite place to kiss a woman?”

  It was difficult to think clearly enough to talk with her heart racing so. “Where?” she managed to gasp.

  He lifted on one elbow to gaze down at her. “You’ll have to turn over.”

  Turn over? A raw shiver traced over her skin. Without a word, Harriet turned onto her stomach.

  For an instant, she felt exposed in some way that she hadn’t before. Perhaps it was because she could no longer see his face. Perhaps it was the newness of the situation. Whatever it was, her entire body trembled. She could feel him moving to one side, and then down.

  His voice brushed her lower back. “My favorite place to kiss a woman…is here.” His lips brushed her back at the base of her spine.

  Harriet arched at the sensation. It was unsettling to be naked before a man, especially like this. She couldn’t help but feel vulnerable, exposed. But he didn’t slow down long enough to let her react to that feeling; his lips were traveling a delicately tortuous path, leaving a trail of heated kisses all the way from her lower spine up to her shoulder, to her neck.

  His weight pressed against her and she could feel his hardness pressing against the backs of her legs.

  “My beloved Persephone,” he whispered in her ear, “I want to show you something.” His lips trailed down the side of her neck.

  Harriet could barely think. She wanted him so badly, her entire body was aflame now. She wanted to roll over, to lock her legs about him and let him fill her. But instead she was held, stomach down on the blanket as he tortured her with long, slow kisses in the most indelicate places.

  “Lift your hips,” he whispered.

  Harriet frowned. “How can I turn over if—”

  “Lift for me, sweet.” His hands about her waist, he tilted her hips up.

  She did as he asked. If she’d felt exposed before, now she was indecently lifted, her butt cheeks arched in the air.

  Chase lifted himself above her and found her wetness. She was moist, swollen, squirming ever so slightly beneath him in a way that was driving him mad with lust.

  He splayed his hands over her back, marveling at the muscles that were displayed there. She was beauty and feminine strength, delicacy and exotic enticement. He lifted himself and pushed into her wetness, his mouth never leaving the back of her neck as he nipped and teased.

  “Oh my—Chase!” She arched beneath him, lifting her hips higher, pressing back against him. God, but she was hot and tight and ready for him. Her hot wetness held him in a velvet-sleeved grip, tormenting him mercilessly. Beads of sweat dotted his upper lip and brow as he moved into her, slid deep, then withdrew to the tip.

  Harriet groaned and pressed back as if eager for him to resume his pace. He thrust again. And again. And each time she met him, writhing enticingly beneath him. He could feel the excitement building inside her, feel the tremors of her as he thrust deeply. He fought for control, but the more he fought, the more she drew him onward. Finally, with a gasp, she said his name and broke his tenuous control. She swept him with her over the edge of passion and beyond.

  Chapter 24

  If we go to all of this trouble just to find Chase snuggled between the sheets with a woman, I will personally haul him outside and beat him to within an inch of his life.

  Marcus St. John, the Marquis of Treymount, to his brother, Mr. Devon St. John, as they climbed into the Treymount coach

  Chase collapsed, cradling Harriet in his arms as he fought for breath, for the ability even to think. In all of his days, he’d never experienced such a sensuous woman. Never.

  He pressed a kiss on her neck and then turned her so that she faced him. She had her eyes tightly clenched, her breath ragged between her lips.

  “Harriet?” he whispered against her bare skin.

  A shiver trembled across her.

  Chase took her hand and threaded her fingers with his, then leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. “You are magnificent.”

  Her eyes cracked open at that and to his relief, a faint smile touched the corners of her lips.

  He smiled and pressed another kiss to the spot below her ear. “And I think I lo—” He stopped.

  Had he almost said—it was impossible! Why the hell had he almost said that?

  She blinked, her eyes now wide open. “What…what did you say?”

  “Nothing,” he said hastily. He pushed himself upright and raked a hand through his hair, unwilling to admit how shaken he was that he’d almost let such a thing slip. “I was going to say that I…love the way you kiss.”

  She arched a brow in disbelief. “My kisses are nothing special.”

  “Oh yes, they are.” He smoothed the hair from her forehead, noting how the sun had kissed her cheeks with even more freckles. He traced a path from f
reckle to freckle with the tip of his finger. It would soon be time for him to leave, and yet here Harriet would be, fighting to make Garrett Park a working, living estate for her brothers and sisters. “I worry about you.”

  “Me? Why on earth would you worry about me?”

  “You work too hard.”

  Her smile disappeared. “I don’t work any harder than the others. Chase, don’t make me out to be a saint. I’m afflicted with far too many faults to be considered anything other than human.”

  “What faults do you have?”

  She snorted. “Well, let’s see. I’m short-tempered. I have a dislike for doing anything whatsoever inside the house; Mother despaired of my watercolors and embroidery years ago. Oh and…” She peered up at him, a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m apparently not a woman of virtue, either.”

  He winced.

  “Not that I mind,” she added swiftly. She placed her hand on the side of his face. “In fact, I’m glad we’ve had this time together. I’ve enjoyed every second of it. Especially today.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes, the last round left me feeling quite…exuberant.”

  Despite his misgivings, he found himself smiling down at her. “I feel the same way.”

  “I know. I could tell.” She eyed him for a moment. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “I confessed my shortcomings. What are yours?”

  God, what he would give to be able to answer that question. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”

  She glanced up at him, curiosity bright in her brown eyes. “You sound almost…sad.”

  He was sad. And sorry. He had to move, to get up. He pushed himself to his feet. “Harriet…I’ve done things I’m not proud of. One…one thing in particular.”

  She met his gaze solemnly, and to his surprise, there was no condemnation in her expression. “What?”

  He opened his mouth to tell her, but no words would come out. All those months of not saying, of not facing the truth, seemed to have melted into him until he could not break free.