Reaching her door, they both halted. Neither grasped the latch. Bastian, because it wasn’t his place, and Chastity…he wasn’t sure why she didn’t beat a hasty retreat to do away with her muddy and soaked clothes. They shouldn’t be in such a compromising position—with the opportunity for far more. Bastian shouldn’t want her to open the door and invite him inside, yet the feelings swirling within him screamed for the invitation.
Finally, she sighed.
“What is it?” he asked, his previous musings fleeing at the depth of emotion in the sound. He’d been thinking about time alone with Chastity behind the closed door of her private chambers, all while she was very likely in pain at his side. Where had these roguish wanderings come from? “Are you hurting? Shall I collect the physician?”
“It isn’t that.” Her stare narrowed on her closed door, and she nibbled her lip.
It was the same action as when she’d made her confessions the night before.
“Tell me, I am at your disposal.”
“I cannot undo the buttons down the back of my riding habit.”
Bastian’s gulp was audible in the deserted hallway, and Chastity turned to look up at him.
“Prudence and I usually assist one another in and out of our gowns, but she remained with the others.”
Was that…invitation he saw in her eyes?
Bastian was not versed in such things, and never had he been in a position where he’d been offered an invite into a lady’s private chambers.
The words hung between them—she hadn’t actually asked him to enter her room.
They both seemed to hold their breath.
“Will you unbutton my riding habit, Bastian?” Her expectant question was like an unsung melody to his ears.
This time, it was Bastian’s hand that trembled when he reached for the door latch.
Chastity waited for Bastian to open her chamber door, her shaking hands grasping the blanket tightly to her shoulders at the same time her knees trembled. It wasn’t the cold. No, that discomfort had receded the instant Bastian swept her in his arms and had completely fled when she looked up into his eyes a moment ago. She hadn’t been in the moat for more than the blink of an eye before he was at her side, rescuing her.
She hadn’t needed saving, certainly, but he’d given her the opportunity to mask her embarrassment from the gathered guests.
As he opened the door, Chastity sighed with relief to see the chamber was empty. No footman was tending the fire, no maid tidying the room, and the draperies were closed tightly to keep in the heat from the hearth and ward off the winter weather from outside.
She stepped over the threshold, but Bastian hesitated to follow.
If she were going to be anything like her mother—bold, adventurous, and take control of her future—it was time to start. It was true, her mother had made mistakes: allowing herself to wed Downshire when she was possibly in love with another. That was an error Chastity was not willing to fall prey to. She could possess all her mother’s strength without giving up who she was at her core. The circumstances surrounding her birth may one day come into question, but it did not define her.
“Come in, Bastian,” she said with a coy grin over her shoulder as she moved toward the hearth. “The warmth of the fire will do us both good.”
She’d failed to notice previously that his Hessians sloshed, and his trousers were soaked from the knees down and utterly ruined. His shirt and jacket hadn’t fared much better. He’d risked his safety to collect her from the moat. No one else had leapt into the water so readily for her. In fact, not a single person in her life had taken the time to risk anything for her. Everything about Bastian aligned: his actions, his words, and his…feelings. Or at least she hoped his attraction to her was not only her imagination.
Taking her time, Chastity walked to the hearth, allowing the blanket to slip, inch by inch, from her shoulders as she made her way across the room. When she was a few feet from the flames, she let it fall completely to pool at her feet, exposing the back of her riding habit and the long line of brass buttons.
When he stood directly behind her, it wasn’t the buttons he set to undoing.
With deft fingers, Bastian untangled her hat and pulled the pin to free it.
“You can—”
Before she finished, he’d slipped the pin into the hat and tossed it onto the chair near the fire.
“Face me,” he commanded, his deep voice echoing in the large room.
With aching slowness, not wanting the moment to end, Chastity did as he instructed, entranced, while he removed his gloves, tucked them into his coat pocket, and held out his bare hands. They were powerful and strong, callused on the palms as if he were not merely a lord of leisure. She knew what he wanted without him speaking. She raised her gloved hands one at a time, and Bastian slipped the muddy, stained material from her arms, rolling them down and off her fingers. The wadded garments found their way to the pile, joining her hat.
The heat from the crackling fire met her bare skin a moment before Bastian took both of her hands in his and rubbed them gently together. The numbness in her fingertips faded, and a new warmth spread through her.
All too soon, he released her hands and gently turned her back to face the open flames, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. Droplets of water fell against her bodice, soaking greedily into the material.
The shiver that ran down her spine had naught to do with her tumble into the moat, however, and everything to do with the anticipation of Bastian unfastening the row of buttons down her back. She held her breath, her breasts suddenly straining at the front of her gown to be freed.
As if sensing her need for his touch, Bastian lightly trailed his finger across the skin at the nape of her neck, just above her gown.
His warm breath caressed her skin next before he took to the brass buttons, his movements frenzied yet unhurried at the same time.
It was so inherently…Bastian.
He was never who he seemed, at least not with others.
During their short acquaintance, Chastity had come to understand that there was more to Bastian than anyone saw or assumed. Ruthven and his cohorts jested at his dedication to his mother, yet she’d seen, firsthand, that he was dedicated to every person he cared for…including her. Her brother had attempted to intimidate him but had learned quickly when Bastian remained seated during charades that Mansfield was not easily flustered. Heavens, he’d lived through many of his mother’s attacks and still sought out ways to help her heal and move forward.
Bastian unfastened the buttons one by one, causing the velvet covering her shoulders to loosen until it slipped down her arms, exposing yet more chilled skin.
Chastity’s eyes drifted closed, and she pictured Bastian pressing his lips to the bare skin, trailing kisses up her neck, nibbling at her earlobe.
There was nothing Chastity wouldn’t give for this moment with Bastian, alone in her bedchamber, to last forever.
The overwhelming connection between them, this breathtaking moment, the feeling of truly joining with another—mind, body, and soul…Chastity realized it was what her mother had sought all those years ago.
She hoped that her mother had found it, no matter what that meant for her and the future. Even if her time with Bastian lasted no longer than their time at Oxburgh Hall, she’d sampled enough to know that life as a forgotten wallflower, a soon-to-be spinster, did not suit.
As if reading her mind from earlier, Bastian trailed his finger along her shoulder and down her exposed arm, pressing his lips in gentle, nipping kisses in its wake. Her wet dress slipped farther down each arm, stopping at her elbows because her hands were clutched tightly before her. If they weren’t, she’d have turned and reached out for him. Drew his lips to hers. Pushed her gown to pool on the floor with the blanket.
Suddenly, Bastian stepped away from her, his fingers no longer caressing her skin, his lips gone. The flames at her front still warmed her, but Chastity’s exposed back, with nothing
except her shift and corset for coverage, grew chilled.
“Bastian?” She turned to face him, and he reached out, righting her habit to cover her shoulders.
His touch was as tender as before, but he did not meet her stare.
Confusion filled her when Bastian retreated toward the door.
Shame flared in her cheeks, heating her skin to the point of burning, her wanton behavior likely to blame for Bastian’s sudden distance.
“Someone is coming.” The door at his back stood open, and as the haze from the feel of him at her back faded, Chastity heard footsteps down the corridor. They grew closer with each passing second. “I should go. Please, send for me if you need anything else.”
How was she to tell him that she needed much more from him? That she’d likely never stop needing him.
Instead of anything of the sort, she simply nodded, not saying a word as he inclined his head, pivoted, and stalked from the room. His boot falls halted briefly in the hall, and she heard him mumble a quick greeting to someone before continuing on. Had he returned to his own chamber or returned downstairs to tend to his mother?
Chastity begged her feet to move. To rush to the door and close it.
She did not want another to see the hurt in her eyes, the desolation she felt at Bastian’s departure, the confusion that still coursed through her.
Before she could bring herself to cross the room, however, a task she’d relished not long before, Prudence entered, leaving the door open wide behind her. Her glare traveled the length of Chastity, noting nothing and everything all at once.
Gown unbuttoned, hat and gloves discarded, red-tinted flesh…
Defiance coursed through her. Chastity would not shrink from her sister’s perusal.
In another time, she would’ve felt only shame and confusion at being discovered in such a state; however, she simply lifted her chin, daring Prudence to ask the question likely burning within her.
Chastity would speak the truth, her truth.
Her sister, nearly her twin, scrutinized her even more.
Something had changed within Chastity. Had been changing for some time if she were honest, but it was as if Prudence were only noticing it now.
“You care for Lord Mansfield,” Pru said the words as if they were the deepest, darkest sin. A betrayal.
No part of Chastity felt that her attraction to Bastian was wrong or a betrayal of any kind.
“He has changed you—for the worse,” Prudence hissed. “Caused a distance between us that we promised never to allow. It has always been you and I—against Esmee, our father, the ton.”
Chastity shook her head, denying Prudence’s claims. “I have changed, yes, but not because of Bastian.”
“The letter then?” Pru snapped. “That foolish, irrelevant letter. I should have taken it and burned it before we read it.”
“Nothing about our mother and her life could be foolish or irrelevant.” Chastity’s heart hardened more and more with each word. The one person she’d always thought to stand not behind her but beside her was determined to chastise Chastity for finding something—someone—who made her heart soar. “She should be celebrated, not buried and forgotten.”
“What if you discover your father is Dearest Cam?” Prudence demanded. “What then? Will you share with Lord Mansfield your illegitimate birth? Our mother’s faithlessness, and your adulation of her?”
Chastity had thought of little else since finding the letter. It was likely why she’d not dedicated herself to discovering more: about her mother, the missive, and her past. She wanted nothing more than to learn everything, but fear of how it would change her life, her sister’s life, and her family had kept her from the task. Had she been fooling herself? Her determination to live life in a manner more fitting of a lady had been a ruse she’d never wholly embraced. But what of the draw between her and Bastian? That was something true—and pure.
Bastian was true and pure. He had no reason not to be.
“None of that matters, not to me or to Bastian.” Even as the words passed her lips, she knew she could not know this. Not truly. Bastian had shared some of his past with her, but Chastity hadn’t done the same with him, in any regard.
Prudence scoffed and crossed the room to stand before Chastity, remaining silent as she stripped the wet gown from her sister’s body and flipped her around to unlace her underpinnings. Chastity froze as her sister cared for her. Next, Pru rolled down her stockings and unlaced her boots. It was Prudence’s way, scolding one moment and caring for Chastity the next. This push and pull between them had become startlingly apparent to Chastity over the last several months, yet she’d missed the signs that Prudence had taken notice, as well.
The more Chastity strived for independence, the more Prudence had latched on to her.
It was only after the wet clothing had been stripped away that the cold set in—as did the meaning behind her sister’s actions, or at least the budding of understanding.
“Do you not ever long to wed, Pru?” Chastity whispered, her head hanging.
“No, as you well know.” Prudence tensed with her answer.
“What of a family?”
“I have you, Father, and Triston.” Prudence lifted Chastity’s feet one by one and removed her boots, gently setting them on the floor next to the discarded blanket. “We are well taken care of and beholden to no one. We can do what we want, travel where we want, and explore whatever hobby we enjoy. I need nothing more.”
Chastity felt a raw stab of guilt, not for doing what brought her happiness, but for never pushing them to do it together. If they’d both applied themselves like other young debutantes their age, they might have both met gentlemen to their liking—or at the very least discovered what brought them each happiness and pleasure, including the sense of adventure that Chastity longed for.
“What if I do need more?” Chastity wrapped her arms around herself, pressing her damp shift to her skin. “Will I disappoint you?”
“I’d rather you tell me than go about hiding it from me.” Prudence stood, lifting her chin but holding Chastity’s gaze. Their eyes were identical. Their height nearly equal. But beyond that, they were two distinct women.
Different.
Individual.
And that was something to celebrate, not mourn.
“I still love you, Pru. I will always love you and be by your side.” Chastity owed her sister that much—reassurance. Perhaps it was the unknown that kept her sister from seeking out her own happiness, while it was that same mystery Chastity craved. “You will always have me. No matter where our futures lead us, we are sisters…no one can take that away, and I will never give it up.”
Just as Chastity was struggling, so had Prudence—and Chastity had been too distracted to notice. The more Chastity changed and her feelings of being stifled increased, the more Prudence held on. Their connection had weakened to the point of nearly breaking, and Chastity hadn’t realized it was Prudence’s insecurities that fed her need to hold so tightly to Chastity, not Chastity’s longings for change. If Chastity discovered they did not share a father, what would that mean for them? Chastity would have something—possibly a whole new something—that her sister, the closest person to her, could never be a part of.
Family. Identity. Future.
“I cannot lose you,” Prudence whispered.
In that moment, a rare second of utter honesty, Chastity remembered lying awake late at night as she and Prudence dreamed of their future. It was always just the two of them—together in a tiny cottage by the ocean or a grand manor house in Bath. Once, they’d even considered a move to Paris where they could live a small flat above a bookstore or bakery.
Had Prudence held onto those dreams all these years?
“And I will never walk away from you.” Chastity prayed her sister heard the sincerity of her words.
The truth and openness flowing between them was startling, and at the same time, foreign to both sisters. Their mutual understanding o
f one another through the years had left so many important things unsaid.
“I want you to be happy, but…” Prudence looked over Chastity’s shoulder, focusing on something beyond the two of them.
“As I want you to be happy. You are my sister, and I love you.” Chastity was unwilling to allow their bond to become any more strained. “But?”
“I do not know how to let you go, to explore what you want in life, without the void between us growing.”
“Mayhap we need to trust one another to know that neither of us wants to be apart,” Chastity said. “If we speak of it, decide it won’t happen, we can move forward. Confident that our bond can only strengthen.”
In unison, they reached out, clasping hands and staring into each other’s eyes.
It was something they’d done for years whenever they were scared, sick, or excited.
“Promise me you are not taking to Lord Mansfield to escape our life.”
Chastity smiled. “I think I am drawn to him because he is so much like you, Pru. He is loyal and compassionate but steadfast in his beliefs. He cares naught of what others think of him and his life. I cannot say our attachment will last past our time at Oxburgh, however. We have spoken of nothing serious.”
Prudence’s chin trembled, and Chastity saw her naturally strong sister deflate. She’d always been the one to take charge, to make things right, to tell Chastity everything would be okay. But somehow, that strength had morphed into a tight grip that had left Prudence feeling that if she loosened her hold, her life and everything she loved would slip away.
“I cannot think of my life without you, Chas”—Prudence squeezed her hands—“but I will never forgive myself if I make you continue on a path that does not bring you happiness.”
Chastity’s throat closed with relief. “Just as I will never force my decisions on you.”
Tears ran down Pru’s face and dripped off her chin, mirroring Chastity’s own tears.
“I love you, Chas.”
“And I, you, Pru. But we both have enough love to go around.”
To further instill her words and their meaning, Chastity gripped Pru’s hands tighter.
The Season of Lady Chastity (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 4) Page 14