Wait. She could do the same, couldn’t she?
She placed her hands at his waist—they’d been on the side of his jacket, of all places; hardly intriguing at all—and slid her fingers underneath the fabric to rest on top of his shirt.
She’d have to find out what fabric his shirt was made of, also.
She spread her palms out against him and ran them up over his chest, up to his shoulders. And back again.
His chest was, indeed, very hard. She felt his muscles flex under her fingers, and she heard herself moan, low and deep in her throat.
And her spine tingled as she heard him make an inarticulate noise as well. That she could have this effect on him was astonishing, and it made her feel absolutely powerful.
He broke the kiss, and she heard herself make a murmur of disappointment, but then he put his mouth—that luscious, sensuous, absolutely delicious mouth—right below her ear.
Apparently a sensitive spot, judging by how it kindled something low and warm and heated. Even more so than she was already.
And then, when he moved his mouth to her ear, and licked it, she nearly jumped. Only if she had jumped, he would have thought something was wrong and would have stopped.
When everything was absolutely, perfectly right.
“So what is it made of?” he whispered, right in her ear.
“What?” she said, drawing away from him … but keeping her hands on his shoulders. Just so he couldn’t get away.
His fingers plucked at the straps of her chemise. “This. What is it made of?”
“Oh, of course.” They both looked down at the garment, which, Charlotte noticed, was quite sheer. Oh, dear. He could see—
Of course he could, since he was taller than her by a lot, and her chemise was sort of falling open at the front, and there she was, and her breasts, not to mention her nipples, and—
“You are so lovely, Charlotte,” he said in a low tone. His voice resonated throughout her entire body.
“Well. Thank you,” she replied. “Well, I’m not entirely certain what the fabric is; it might bear further study.” With your hands, she wanted to add, but didn’t, because that sounded forward, even for her, who was being absolutely forward at this moment.
“We have to stop.” Now his voice sounded strained, and she knew, without hesitation, just why.
He was afraid of losing control. With her. With her nearly undressed, and with him just inches away from her, all still fully clothed—which wasn’t fair, come to think of it.
She would have to change that the next time she visited.
“Yes, we probably should,” she agreed, letting go of his shoulders. Their breaths came loud and fast in the quiet room.
He stooped and picked her gown up and held it out to her, one eyebrow raised as though he were sharing a delicious joke with her.
Which he was, wasn’t he? This was delicious, and fun, and worth sharing.
“Thank you.” She took the gown and turned her back as she stepped into it. “If you could,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders to indicate he should button her up again.
“If I must,” he replied. His fingers touched her backside briefly before making their way up the buttons.
When she was finally put to rights—with him wincing as his eyes absorbed her clothing—she smiled and stuck her hand out. “Thank you for all the information, Lord David. It was most enlightening.”
His mouth curled in that lopsided quirk again, and her heart fluttered. “It was indeed, Lady Charlotte. I look forward to sharing information with you again in the near future.”
Even though he had answered hardly any of her questions—not really—she felt as though she’d learned a lot. Information she would utilize the next time she visited.
What Not to Bare
Dear Ladies:
Do you have a friend in need of fashion advice?
Of course we would advise you to find our columns and guide her eyes to them, so you need not say the words yourself.
But what if, for some reason, you are not able to get your idea across?
That is a difficult problem. You might want to make gentle suggestions—not the fluffy orange ribbons with the green gown, perhaps, as you will look like a bilious caterpillar—and also make certain you accompany her when she shops, so you can steer her away from unfortunate choices.
If she continues to persist in her poor taste, accept that you cannot change everyone.
You cannot make her change (her clothing) either.
The Fashionable Foible
Chapter 15
She shut the door as she left, and the room was suddenly so empty. Although it was a lot easier on the eyes.
David sat down in the chair—the less rickety one; he’d checked—and raked his hands through his hair. His heart was thumping in his chest, and as for the rest of him—well, there were parts that were demanding assiduous attention that he couldn’t do anything about, not at this moment, not without risking embarrassment.
And they never did actually figure out what her chemise was made of. But now he certainly had a lot more information than he had prior to her arrival. He knew, for example, that her figure was curved and lush, and that her bottom was round and full and felt luscious under his hands.
That she’d learned plenty since they started kissing, and that she responded to him as keenly as he did to her; surprising, since she’d said he’d been her first kiss.
He ached to be more than her first kiss. Literally ached, in fact.
He shifted in the chair and dug his hand over his erection, wishing it would just subside already. What if Gotam came in, or one of his brother’s servants? He’d have to quickly remove his jacket and drape it over himself, or something equally ludicrous. As though he were a callow boy again, not a man who had never had a problem finding sexual satisfaction.
But his cock’s enthusiasm did not show signs of abating, not when his mind replayed every single sigh she made into his mouth, or how she arched into his body, or how her breasts—that he hadn’t even gotten to touch—pressed into his chest.
He was doing a terrible job of settling himself, wasn’t he?
Think, David, think. Think of treaties, and negotiations, and long, dusty rides over miles of unforgiving Indian countryside.
Better. A bit.
And women who dressed as they pleased, and were totally without artifice, and whose softness and—
There was a knock on the door before he could wind himself entirely back up again. Gotam didn’t wait for his response. He opened the door and poked his head just inside. “She’s here.”
His heart leapt. So soon?
Gotam rolled his eyes as he shook his head. His friend was quite adept at doing multiple things at the same time. “No, not her, idiot. Lady Radnor.”
Oh. That was something else entirely. “Can’t you—”
Gotam shook his head again. “I tried. She’s insisting she see you.”
“Fine.” David rose and smoothed his jacket down where her hands had been. “Show her into the library.” He didn’t want Louise here, not so soon after Charlotte had been. He still felt as though he could sense her presence, and her warmth, although that could have been just the residual effects.
Speaking of which—he glanced down at himself, grateful to see things were back to normal. Or normal without Charlotte around, at least.
Giving his jacket one last pat, he strode out of the salon and walked across the hallway to where Gotam was holding the door open for him. “Thank you. Tea, please.”
He left the door slightly ajar. Not that it would dissuade Louise if she got it in her head to act improperly, but it at least indicated they were in a different setting now, in different circumstances.
She frowned at the door, then kept the frown on her face as she looked at him. “I saw someone leaving as I was arriving. A lady,” she clarified. “Who was that?”
“Do sit down. Gotam will bring tea in a moment.” He gestured to the c
hair facing his brother’s desk and sat in the chair behind it.
She sat with an exhalation that sounded strongly like a harrumph. “You have not answered my question. Who is she? And what is she to you?”
What was she to him? She was his assignment, initially, but had become more, even as she wore less. Because she wore less, in fact.
But he couldn’t get distracted with thoughts of Charlotte.
“I have to make a few things clear.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “This—this cannot continue.”
She blinked, and then shrugged. Not the reaction he’d expected. When she spoke, her voice was almost placating. “Of course we cannot cause a scandal. You are so gentlemanly, not wishing to sully my reputation.” She got a gleam in her eye he was very familiar with. Uncomfortably so, now.
“But we can sully other things, now that Will—now that I am a free woman. And then, after enough time has passed, we can make things official.”
Why didn’t she just leap across the desk and punch him in the throat? That would be far less painful.
“I don’t think you understand.”
The door opened to reveal Gotam with the tea. David had never been so torn between wishing his friend were less prompt and grateful for his interruption.
They sat in silence as Gotam laid the tea things out.
When everything was placed just so—Gotam had been observing just how it was done in English households—he spoke. “If there’s nothing else, my lord?”
“No, thank you. Thank you, Gotam.”
The door shut.
Leaving them alone.
“What don’t I understand, David?” She’d clenched her jaw, so perhaps she was on the way to understanding.
He swallowed hard and spoke. “I will not continue our liaison, Louise. I will not marry you. Not now, and not later.”
She half-rose from her chair, and he speculated as to whether she was actually going to leap across the desk.
The tea things might prove to be an impediment, however.
“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” She thrust an accusing finger at him. “Whoever that … that person was who left here, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for his response. She stood up and folded her arms across her chest.
Her impressive chest, as she well knew. She watched his eyes and smiled, that self-confident smirk that seemed to say “I am stunning, so is my bosom, and everyone agrees with me.”
Did his face ever have that particularly smug smile? He would have to ask Charlotte. At last! A question he could ask her!
She nodded, as though confirming what she already knew. “You haven’t thought this through properly. We belong together. You will see that, in time.” She slid around the desk and reached her arms around his neck, pulling his face toward hers.
“Kiss me, David.” Her mouth was inches from his, her body—her alluring, curvaceous body, he had to admit—was pressed against his, and her voice was low and sultry. Nothing had changed from the first time he had been with her, and yet …
Everything had changed. He had changed.
“No.” He drew her arms from around his neck and held her away from him. “I don’t regret what happened between us, not for a moment, but it cannot continue. It will not continue,” he added, in case he wasn’t absolutely clear.
She bit her lip as she gazed up at him, and he could almost see the gears in her brain whirling away—How can I persuade him? What are my other options? How should I respond?
And then she shoved him so he stumbled back, and turned on her heel, stomping—in her tiny little slippers, so they hardly made a sound—to the door. She reached for the handle, then swung back.
“I know you better than you think. You think you can do without me? Without this? That you’ve found someone else to be with?” She flung her head back in disgust. “I don’t think so.”
She yanked the door open and flew through it, slamming it behind her. It was an impressive exit, barring the fact her shoes didn’t make a sound.
As soon as he heard the front door slam, he dropped into his seat.
Gotam walked in a few seconds later.
“That went well, didn’t it?” David said with a wry smile.
Gotam advanced into the room and sat down in Louise’s recently vacated chair. “Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but. Gotam always did take a certain pleasure in watching David suffer—he said it was just payment for sailing through life as easily as he did because of his looks.
Whereas David would usually point out that it was his face that brought him the trouble in the first place.
David picked the teapot up from the tray on the desk and poured tea into his cup. “It went as well as it could have.” He raised his eyes to Gotam. “She saw Ch—Lady Charlotte leaving.”
Gotam sat up straighter in his seat. “Did she recognize her?”
David plucked a lump of sugar from the bowl and put it in his cup, then considered and added another lump. “No, I don’t think so. But given what the lady normally wears, I think it’s only a matter of time before she figures it out. Likely they will encounter each other.”
He took a sip. Too much sugar.
“And what will you do?”
Protect her.
Where had that thought come from? “I think Lady Charlotte can handle Lady Radnor perfectly well without my assistance.”
“You hope,” Gotam said, helping himself to tea he poured into the cup meant for Louise. “Or you will face certain scandal.”
Gotam didn’t need to say the rest.
What Not to Bare
Dear Ladies:
Ladies’ fashions often reflect the events happening in the world around us; for example, a few fashions have evolved because of the war against Napoleon, and our hero, Arthur Wellesley (now Duke of Wellington).
Before you don one of these fashionable items, however, ask yourself at least one question: Would someone seeing you wish to flee into battle rather than having to regard you a moment longer?
If the answer is yes, unless it is a tactical battle plan, made to force a gentleman to fight for king and country, do not wear it.
Your country thanks you.
The Fashionable Foible
Chapter 16
Sarah kept up a steady stream of conversation as they walked home, but Charlotte didn’t hear a word.
Her mind was awhirl with so many different thoughts—annoyance, and more, that her uncle had thought she required being paid attention to; gratitude that he had asked; pleasure at how distraught David had seemed when he’d waited for her anger; and then …
Oh, and then.
How she felt with him was definitely something extraordinary. Likely when she was an old woman, she’d look back on her memories of this time and sigh, in that wistful, old-woman way. She’d never understood precisely why certain older ladies got that far-off gleam in their eyes as they reminisced about their romantic pasts, but now she definitely knew.
She almost felt like sighing now, and it was barely fifteen minutes after the event.
Of course her mind was already working on how to get to visit him again—she couldn’t go the following day, as her mother would suspect something; plus, it was her mother’s at-home day. Perhaps Lady Anne would come to visit with her mother, which would be nice.
Although how could she keep something so exciting to herself? But she didn’t think Lady Anne should have to be the keeper of such a secret. Her throat constricted as she thought what she might say. Yes, I visited Lord David on my own, with only my maid, and then we spent a significant amount of time in his salon, during which time my gown was removed. By him.
That was far too much to ask someone, even someone as kind as Lady Anne, to remain completely discreet about. She wished she had a sister, someone she could share these kinds of things with.
Although if she had a sister, probably the sister would be the Pretty One in the family, and Charlotte would be the Eternal Burden, and the Pretty One wou
ld not take it well when the most attractive man ever paid her sister such attention.
Or worse, he would pay the Pretty One such attentions, and Charlotte would be eaten up with jealousy.
Perhaps it was just as well she only had Christian as a sibling. She doubted he had any wish to be treated as David had just treated her, and as for recognizing how handsome the man was … well, he’d barely acknowledged Charlotte’s friend Violet was pretty, and it was understood between their families that Christian and Violet would marry.
No sisters was likely a good thing. But she still had the problem of wishing she could talk to someone about such things, if only to find out if it was natural for a lady to react so … so vehemently when kissed and touched by a man.
What if she was an unnatural woman? What if David was secretly appalled at her behavior? She felt her cheeks burn as she recalled just how eagerly she’d turned her back so he could undo her buttons. How she’d leaned into him as he kissed her. How she’d longed for him to touch her bosom and further explore her entire body.
Now it wasn’t just her cheeks burning. The rest of her felt aflame.
“Miss, are you all right? You’re looking quite flushed.” Sarah was looking at her with a concerned expression. No wonder; Charlotte probably looked as though she were about to catch on fire.
“I am perfectly all right, thank you,” Charlotte said, forcing herself to swallow to rid herself of the enormous lump that seemed to be in her throat.
“Do you recall where my mother and I are going this evening?” Perhaps if she changed the subject, she could settle herself.
Sarah peered more closely at Charlotte. Which Charlotte definitely did not want. What if her recent activity was written all over her face?
“Don’t you remember, you are staying home this evening. You said you had some correspondence to take care of, and your mother agreed to let you have an evening off.”
“Oh, of course. I had forgotten. Thank you.”
Tonight she had to write her column, perhaps about chemises. And what seeing them did to a gentleman.
She felt her heart beat faster as she recalled his reaction. How his eyes had darkened to those deep-lake-at-midnight pools. How he’d held her, and kissed her, as though they were the only two people in the world, and the holding and the kissing had to be done or the world would end.
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