How to Please a Lady

by Jane Goodger

  He looked at her innocently, the same expression her chocolate-stained brothers would give Cook when she accused them of pilfering cocoa.

  “It is important that you refrain from lustful thoughts,” she said primly, to which Charlie burst out laughing.

  “Then you shouldn’t have worn a gown that makes you look like that,” he said, waving his hands to indicate her entire body.

  Rose lifted her chin imperiously. “Think of me as your business partner. You wouldn’t look at Mr. Morgan like that—” He was doing it again. On purpose. “Really, Charlie, don’t be so ill bred.”

  Instantly, his expression changed, hardened. “But I am ill bred,” he said silkily. “And vulgar and all those words swimming around your pretty little head right now.” He cursed beneath his breath and clenched one fist, knocked it once, hard, against his thigh, then was still.

  “I didn’t say you were ill bred,” Rose said softly. “I merely cautioned you not to act ill bred.”

  “Hardly any difference, is there.” He didn’t look at her for the rest of the short ride.

  The two waited silently in the carriage for a short queue of vehicles to release their passengers. Rose couldn’t imagine what was going through Charlie’s mind. His mood was mercurial, one moment worried, the next teasing and fun, and now he had slipped into a dark place that was almost frightening.

  When it was time to disembark, Charlie got out first, then turned to hold up a hand to assist Rose, his face expressionless.

  “You should escort me to the dressing room, go to the men’s dressing room, then return for me,” Rose said, and Charlie nodded. “Then we will go find Mrs. Tattering and you will thank her for inviting you.”

  “You’ve met?”

  “Yes. Briefly. So you could still say, ‘You remember Mrs. Cartwright.’ And she’ll give me a sour look and say ‘Of course. How wonderful you were able to attend.’ And I will smile politely and make her think I’m ever so happy to see her. You must not hint, even in the smallest way, that you have anything other than a passing acquaintance.”

  Charlie looked at her from the corner of his eye and his mouth curved up slightly. The cad.

  “I can’t whisper in her ear or brush a hand against her waist?”

  “Most certainly not.”

  “Or invite her for a night of opera after the ball?”

  Rose stopped midstride, fighting a smile. “No, Charlie. And you know it. Stop teasing me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding nothing of the sort. “You should know that Mrs. Tattering and I are nothing but acquaintances.”

  “I don’t see how that concerns me.”

  She could feel more than hear Charlie’s chuckle, and had to use all her restraint not to let him know how very miffed she was at the moment.

  When they entered the ballroom, the strangest thing occurred. Perhaps it was her imagination, perhaps it was simply her heightened awareness of how important this evening was to Charlie, but as soon as they passed the threshold into the glittering room, it seemed as if every set of female eyes looked at Charlie and stared. He was a stranger, no doubt, but it was not curiosity Rose saw in their gazes, it was admiration. And when they looked at her—if they looked at her at all—their expressions were either dismissive or hostile.

  Once they were announced, she and Charlie made their way toward Mrs. Tattering, who watched their progress with interest.

  “Mrs. Tattering, a pleasure.”

  “Yes, it is,” she said, smiling like she held some sort of secret, and Rose wondered if, indeed, Mrs. Tattering and Charlie were more than acquaintances.

  “You have met Mrs. Cartwright, I believe.”

  “I have. It is lovely to see you out of mourning so quickly, Mrs. Cartwright.”

  Rose nearly gasped at the insult. “It has been nearly a year and a half since Mr. Cartwright passed. Time does seem to shorten as one ages, I know.” Mrs. Tattering’s eyes narrowed and turned instantly cold. Oh, what have I done? Rose thought desperately. How could I insult the one woman Charlie needs to impress most of all?

  “You’re not that old, Mrs. Cartwright,” Charlie said with a good-natured laugh, and when Mrs. Tattering joined in, Rose relaxed a bit.

  And that set the tone for the rest of the evening. Charlie was charming, Rose realized. Both men and women sought his company, and he might have been born into elite society, so effortlessly did he navigate the ballroom. He danced only twice, once with Rose and once with Mrs. Tattering, and held his own both times. Rarely, she would whisper something in his ear to remind him of polite behavior, but for the most part he did well on his own. When he disappeared with some of the gentlemen for a time, she did worry, but when he returned, he was smiling, so she imagined all had gone well.

  The evening could not have gone better. The only thing that could make this the perfect night was having Rose in his bed, and he knew that could never happen. All evening, even when he was not by her side, he was aware of her. She had that indefinable quality that so many women wished for that set her apart from the ordinary. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, it was the way she was so attentive to everyone she spoke with, whether it was a young debutante or a doddering old man. The doddering old men seemed particularly captivated by her, Charlie noted, hoping they were as doddering as they appeared.

  He could not remember being so happy that an evening was over, yet he still felt on edge, as if he should run a mile or go to his gym and pound a bag until he was exhausted. He knew it was partly because he was suffering, being so close to Rose, loving her and wanting her, and not being able to do a thing about it. He wished they were a married couple, that they were headed, happy and tired, to bed to make love before falling asleep together in his large, comfortable bed. Instead, he would bid her good night at her door, perhaps kiss her hand if he were very bold, and walk away, aching from unsated desire.

  By the time they arrived home, a fine mist had begun to fall, creating a soft light on their avenue. Everything glistened in the gaslight and it was such an unexpectedly pretty sight, Charlie smiled as he lifted his hand to assist Rose out of his carriage.

  “Why are you smiling, Charlie?” Rose asked, taking his hand. He’d removed his gloves in the carriage and he wished she had done the same. Just imagining touching her flesh made him hard.

  “This mist reminds me of home,” he said. “I think I don’t miss it, and then I see a glimpse of something and I feel it. I wonder sometimes if I’ll return for good.” He walked her to her gate and lifted the latch to escort her in. “Why did you not return when Mr. Cartwright died?”

  Rose looked up at her home and shook her head. “I don’t know. I did think about it; my mother wrote and invited me. She was quite adamant, said she couldn’t understand why I would stay here. But that’s not my home anymore, and yet this doesn’t quite seem like home either. I’m afraid I’m a bit adrift at the moment. I could go anywhere, do anything, but I just don’t know what to do and so I stay. Sometimes I picture myself an old lady still trying to decide.” She let out a sad little laugh. They stood at her front door, hidden from the street by the thick hedges, and it seemed as if they were the only two people in New York still awake. The silence was interrupted only by a slow drip from a nearby gutter.

  Charlie looked down at Rose, and not for the first time he wished it was in his power to make her happy. The gaslight from the street lit the entry just enough so that Charlie could make out her features. “I should like to kiss you good night,” he said softly, touching the bottom of her chin with his forefinger. He surprised himself with his boldness, but Rose seemed to accept this request easily. She lifted her head, a small smile on her lips, which he took as acceptance. “There is something you never answered, Rose.” He kissed her, softly, briefly, just a touch. “Did Mr. Cartwright never kiss you?”

  Rose grew still and looked at him, seeming to hold her breath, and Charlie was afraid his question angered her or would cause her to flee into the house. “No.�
� So softly, he wasn’t even certain he heard the word.

  He kissed her again, this time longer, deeper, and when she let out a small sound of pleasure, he pressed his tongue against the seam of her lips and she opened willingly, meeting his tongue with her own. Oh, God, she tasted so good. He felt her hands on his shoulders, kneading, frantic in a way, and he put two hands at her waist and drew her to him, letting out a low moan when she came willingly.

  Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, and Charlie couldn’t stop himself from bringing one hand up and cupping a breast, moving his thumb unerringly across her nipple. She gasped, so completely responsive, and he brought up his index finger to apply more pressure, squeezing gently.

  “Oh,” she said, pressing her head against his collarbone, almost as if the pleasure of him touching her nipple through the layers of her dress and underthings was more than she could bear.

  “Did Mr. Cartwright never touch your nipple, Rose?” he breathed, softly squeezing her nipple, then rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

  “No,” she gasped, pressing her forehead harder against him. He kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes at the softness of her hair against his lips. In one swift move, he tugged her bodice down, exposing the breast he’d been torturing with his touch.

  “Charlie.” She sounded shocked, yes, but she also sounded like a woman who was highly aroused. He touched that same nipple, now hardened from his caresses, and let out a deep sound of male satisfaction. She arched against him, unwittingly pressing her body against his erection, and this time it was Charlie’s turn to let out a gasp. As if driven by some force he had no control over, he dipped his head and took her nipple in his mouth, drawing it in, relishing the pure sound of female pleasure that came from her throat. He licked and suckled until she literally melted in his arms, unable to hold herself up any longer. He pushed down the other side of her dress and lavished the same attention on the other nipple, listening to her sounds, knowing she was so close to coming from these simple caresses, he need only touch her a few more minutes and she would shatter.

  He stopped, lifted his head, and kissed her mouth again, ignoring her soft sound of protest that he had stopped his ministrations to her breasts.

  “Charlie, now I know why those women seemed so . . . happy.”

  Charlie laughed, then kissed her deeply, pulling her against his erection, moving in an ancient rhythm, torturing himself. His hands were at her hips, drawing her close, as his mouth ravaged hers. They were unaware of anything but their mouths and hands and the pleasure they were giving one another. A carriage drove by the house, invisible behind the hedge, and Charlie had only the vaguest comprehension that it passed by.

  “Rose,” he said, breathing heavily. He placed one hand at the juncture of her legs, and she stiffened slightly. He pressed the heel of his hand where he knew it would give her the most pleasure. “Did Mr. Cartwright ever touch you here?”

  Rose’s breath caught in her throat and she swallowed. Charlie was making her feel things she’d never felt, sensations she hadn’t even known she could feel, making her thick and drowsy with sexual need. He kept his hand hard against her, moving only slightly, allowing her to get used to the feel of a man’s hand there. He knew. He must know that no one had ever touched her as he was touching her. She shook her head, at first unable to move the word past her throat, and he let out a deep groan and pressed a bit harder and it felt so good. Nothing had ever felt as good as Charlie’s hand between her legs. “No.” Now he would know and she didn’t care, not with his large, warm hand making her want to press against him to relieve some of the exquisite pressure that was building there.

  “I’m not going to ask you why. I’m not, Rose. That’s for another time, another night. But right now, I’m going to touch you.” His voice was low and filled with need. Did he mean to make love to her now? Out here on her front stoop? She wasn’t worried anyone could see, for her hedges gave them complete privacy, but it did seem rather indecent of her to allow such a thing. She felt the cool night air on her legs as he lifted her skirt, and knew she should stop him just as she knew she would not. She ached for him. It was the strangest thing; no man had ever touched her body the way Charlie was touching her, but it seemed right somehow. Or perhaps he had drugged her with desire.

  His hand moved up her thigh, and he kept saying things in her ear, how soft she was, how beautiful, how he would die if he didn’t touch her.... And then he did, and Rose tried not to cry out.

  “My God, Rose,” he said when he felt how slick she was. She knew what that meant; she wasn’t a child, after all. He found her most sensitive spot unerringly, and he let out another guttural sound that she now knew meant he was pleased. Charlie kissed her deeply as he began moving his hand against her, expertly teasing her, making her body sing, as if every nerve in her body were centered there, in that one spot. Her breasts ached, her knees were weak, her mouth swollen from his kisses. Her hips began to move and he made an encouraging sound as she clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “Yes, love,” he said, just as she began to pulse, just as a bit of lightning went through her body, making her stiffen and jerk and nearly die from the feelings that coursed through her. She clung to him, fighting for breath, as her body came down from heaven.

  And then, as reality returned, she realized, with no small amount of horror, that she was standing on her front steps, her breasts exposed, a man’s hands up her skirts.

  “Oh,” she said, alarmed as she tried to right her clothes.

  “It’s all right, love, let me,” Charlie said gently, pushing her shaking hands away. “I’m a cad. I never should have allowed myself to get so carried away. I’m so sorry, Rose.”

  “It wasn’t as if I was struggling to stop you,” Rose said. “It wasn’t like . . . It wasn’t, Charlie. It was lovely. I’m rather surprised that I was so completely, utterly, taken with things that I forgot where we were. You are quite talented. As you well know.” It sounded like an accusation, even to Rose’s ears, and Charlie stiffened.

  “I was not taking advantage of you, if that’s what you are implying, Mrs. Cartwright.” He stepped back, swiping a hand through his now mussed hair. When had that happened? Oh, yes, when he’d been licking her breasts as she’d held him there, pressed him against her, as if she were afraid he would stop.

  “No, no, no, Charlie. That’s not it. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m shocked, that’s all. Here,” she said, stepping up to him and kissing him softly. “Good night, Charlie. Would you mind calling on me tomorrow? Perhaps for tea?”

  He let out a low chuckle. “Of course, my lady,” he said with a little bow, making Rose giggle.

  “I did sound rather prim and proper, didn’t I?”

  “You did. Good night, Rose.”

  “Good night, Charlie.”

  She slipped through her front door, then leaned against it, letting out a long breath. “I’m afraid you are in very big trouble, Mrs. Cartwright,” she said, then slapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. From laughing. My God, she hadn’t been this happy in years.

  Chapter 17

  His position as a man in society obliges him to call upon any lady who has accepted his services as an escort, either for a journey or the return from a ball or evening party; this call must be made the day after he has thus escorted the lady.

  —From The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness

  “Mrs. Campbell is here to see you, madam,” Brady intoned.

  Rose looked up at him through her lashes, her eyes twinkling, for her butler rarely bothered to sound so formal, and when he did it was just a lark. He usually put on his butler air, as Rose liked to think of it, when someone important was already visiting.

  “You may see her in, Brady,” she said, just as Genevieve whisked by him.

  “You must tell me everything about last night.”

  Of course, Rose blushed, which, of course, delighted
her friend. “I knew there was something more between you.” Genevieve clapped her hands like a child about to receive a much wanted present.

  “It was a very pleasant evening,” Rose said sedately, trying to keep the image of Charlie ravishing her nipple out of her mind. “Truly, it was lovely to see some friends I haven’t seen since Daniel’s death. Everyone was quite solicitous.”

  Genevieve rolled her eyes. Having been brought up in a cabin in the woods, her friend was lacking a certain refinement, which was one of the reasons Rose so adored her. It was good to have someone who could be completely honest without using politeness as an excuse to avoid the truth. “Do not prevaricate, darling. You know why I am here. Our lovely neighbor, Mr. Avery. Was he good company?” She raised one delicate eyebrow.

  “He was perfect company,” Rose said cautiously, willing the heat in her cheeks to dissipate. Just hearing his name brought back the moments they’d shared on her front stoop. She still couldn’t quite believe she’d allowed him such liberties and then invited him for tea. All day, her stomach had been filled with butterflies, the anticipation of his visit growing with each passing hour. It was now three, and as much as Rose adored Genevieve, she did not want her friend still in her parlor when Charlie arrived. Feeling as she did, she was not sure she would be able to hide her infatuation.

  Infatuation? No, this was more and she knew it. She’d loved Charlie when she was a girl, at least she’d thought she might have, and it was likely she still loved him. Over the years, she’d wondered about him, thought to find out where he was, what he was doing, but as the years passed, Charlie slipped further and further away from her consciousness. Until the day he stepped from his carriage and all those feelings came flooding back.

  “Is it because he was your servant? You can be such a snob, Rose.”

  Rose’s mouth opened in shock. “Can I?”