by Emma V Leech
“I know,” he said, smiling as she flashed him an indignant glance. “I like it!”
“Oh, you can’t,” she protested. “I’m horribly gauche.”
“I like it,” he said again, his voice firm. “It’s honest. You are honest about what you feel, and you say what you think. I admire that.”
She was silent for a moment, considering. “Do you remember the Peculiar Ladies and their hat?”
“You mean our mothers’ friends and their hat of dares?”
Lottie nodded. “Cat found it, and Eliza and I took one. Mine… Mine was to be wicked. That’s why I undressed for you. Well, partly why. It was wicked, wasn’t it?”
Cassius grew very still, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob.
“Yes,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.
Lottie became aware of a shiver running over her, excitement stirring in her belly.
“I’m not sure it was wicked enough, though. You know… to complete my dare.”
She held her breath, watching him watch her.
“Was it not?”
Lottie knew she ought not, it was… well, it was wicked, but that had been the dare, had it not? And what was the point of accepting a dare if one was going to be hen-hearted about it?
Eliza paced her room. There was something going on, something she was not being told and it was making her wild. Everyone had known about Cassius not wanting to marry her and she was dashed well not going to be taken unawares again. This time, she would be the first to figure it out.
When she had seen Mr Demarteau and Cassius together earlier in the evening, they had been perfectly amicable. They had escaped the ballroom together with Louis César, no doubt after she’d been so shockingly rude to Mr Demarteau. She still could not quite believe she’d done it. Worse than that, she’d enjoyed it. She had wanted to provoke him badly and it had been… liberating. After years and years of being polite and nice and holding her tongue, she’d been deliberately rude and… and it had been marvellous. She wanted to do it again. As soon as possible, and preferably to Monsieur Demarteau. Her breath caught as she remembered the look in his eyes.
Stop that.
Not now.
Now she wanted to know why he’d attacked Cassius, when they’d been so friendly just moments earlier. Mr Demarteau had been in the summerhouse alone, so it could not have been something Cassius had said, unless perhaps it had been written down or….
Eliza stopped her pacing as she considered this. Could it have been a drawing or a painting that had lit his temper? But what could possibly…?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
Cassius was about to suffer a heart attack. This beautiful, dreadful girl would kill him, and even if she didn’t, if anyone found out about them, the duke undoubtedly would. The duke would rip off his head and stick it on a pike outside the front door of Beverwyck as a warning to any other presumptuous fool who thought to dally with one of his daughters. Bedwin was notorious for being protective of his girls. Only the rules had never applied to Cassius because he was family. They’d all grown up together, squabbled and rough and tumbled and climbed trees, and… and how was that girl with scabby knees and a gap between her teeth the same as the siren calling to him now, tempting him to dash himself to pieces on the rocks when he fell? He would fall, it was inevitable. Hell, he’d already fallen, he’d tumbled head over ears into whatever this was the moment he’d laid eyes on her again.
Again.
How could it be ‘again’ when it was like seeing her for the first time? Yet it truly was Lottie, yet not Lottie. She was still in there, that mischievous girl playing hide and seek, and peeking out of the eyes of this new creature she’d become, this unholy temptation. He could see the devilish glint in her eyes, see the naughty tilt to her lips, tugging at the corners. Cassius wanted to kiss her there, at the corners of her mouth, along the elegant line of her neck, the swell of her breasts….
“Not wicked enough?” His voice was deep and rough with desire, his breathing picking up.
She shook her head, making the golden curls bounce. As if of its own accord, his hand lifted to take a hold of one, tugging it lightly and watching in fascination as it sprang back again.
“You took all your clothes off,” he said, remembering the scene with far too much clarity for his peace of mind. “Every stitch.”
“It wasn’t difficult,” she said. “I was only wearing my night gown and wrap.”
He nodded. “Barely. They were see through.”
“Were they?” she asked, her eyes wide.
He nodded again. Speech was becoming complicated and needed far too much brain power when his blood was being redirected to deal with more pressing demands.
Lottie sat up, getting to her knees on the sofa beside him. He ought to leave. Oh, Lord he’d been here before, with what he ought to do and what the devil on his shoulder knew he was damn well going to do. Her dress rustled as she moved, the copious layers of petticoats and tulle and silk and those provocative flounces beckoning him, tempting him closer, tempting him to touch.
“Teach me something wicked,” she whispered in the darkness. “Teach me something those foreign girls liked, for I am horribly jealous of them.”
Cassius was aware of his heart picking up speed, anticipation working on him as his body grew tight and visions of everything he could teach her danced in his mind.
“You’ve no need to be jealous,” he said, meaning it. “They were lovely and fun, and we enjoyed ourselves together but… but it wasn’t… it wasn’t you, Lottie, it didn’t mean….”
He hesitated and then blurted the words out.
“I love you. I think I must have done for a long time, but I didn’t know it. How did I not know it?”
He knew he sounded bewildered, and he was. How could this feeling, that had swallowed him whole the same way the whale had swallowed Jonah, possibly have escaped his notice? How could something so overwhelming not have been blindingly obvious? He had no illusions about his intellect. With a mother like his, he was too aware his mind was nothing out of the ordinary. He had inherited his father’s artistic skill, but he’d not been blessed with his mother’s brains. Nonetheless, he was intelligent enough, he certainly wasn’t a bloody idiot, nor a halfwit, or at least he’d never thought so before now. Yet the most important thing that had ever happened to him seemed to have done so without him knowing it. This vast emotion had settled inside him and lay there like some sleeping beast, only to leap out and shake his heart in its slavering jaws when he was least expecting it.
“You don’t need to, Lottie,” he said, though the little voice in his head was threatening to beat him with the nearest heavy object if he didn’t shut up. “You don’t need to do this, to do anything, I….”
But before he could say anything more, she had leaned in and kissed him and his brain turned to mush, whilst it had quite the opposite effect on other parts. She pulled back and he was falling into her eyes, which glinted like a moonlit sea in the darkness, and into the scent of her: some teasing mixture of jasmine and that beguiling thing he could not identify, something green and herbal that made his mouth water.
“Show me something wicked.”
“Come here,” he rasped, his voice cracking, tugging her towards him, urging her to straddle his thighs. She did and layers of fabric billowed up as she sat, making him feel as if he’d embraced a cloud, a sensation not helped as her scent grew stronger and mingled with the warm, fragrant perfume of a woman, of her. It invaded his senses, potent as opium smoke, diminishing what little ability remained for rational thought.
“Cassius,” she said, looking down at him, a little daunted but determined too, and it was so like her to push herself into something reckless for the sheer hell of it, because she was more alive than anyone he’d ever known.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he promised, praying she’d not tell him to, as he reached beneath the acres of fabric.
But beneath the dress
were too many layers, layers and layers with lacy edges fluttering as he tried to find his way in and was foiled, each time discovering a new level of torment as her skin was kept from him. The provoking fabric rustled as he tossed each petticoat aside, his hands frantic to find a path beneath them.
“God above, Lottie, what manner of devil’s device is this?” he demanded, laughing in frustration as he tried in vain to bury beneath them. “Are you trying to drive me out of my mind?”
“It’s the fashion,” she said with an impatient sigh. “It’s such a nuisance too, they’re so heavy and difficult to walk in, let alone dance and… Oh!”
Finally he made it, and felt a surge of victory as great as if he’d climbed a blasted mountain range. He was certainly just as breathless. How could he not be, though, as his hands encountered warm, slender limbs as satiny as the finest silk? His hands lingered on the delicate skin behind her knees, trailing his fingers back and forth. Lottie shivered.
“I’ve longed to touch you,” he said, struggling to speak, for his breath was coming so fast. “The image of you laid out on the daybed is etched on my mind. I see it constantly, it’s a torment to me, to have you so close and—”
He didn’t get another word out. Lottie had clearly decided he’d said enough. She bent her head and pressed her mouth against his and Cassius sighed. He gave himself over to her, allowing her to take the lead, as she was wont to do. She kissed him, tentatively at first and then with growing confidence. Their tongues tangled, sliding and playing together, and all the while Cassius allowed his fingers to roam up and down the backs of her thighs, each time venturing a little higher. Her breath caught as his palms slid over her impeccable bottom and she drew back, staring at him.
“This is certainly perfect,” he said with a grin, squeezing an agreeably plump handful as she giggled and then rearranged her face, looking down with a haughty expression.
“I’m so glad you approve,” she muttered tartly, though laughter danced in her eyes.
“I don’t approve,” he said with a tut, making her narrow her eyes at him as he trailed one finger down the crease of her bottom.
She shivered.
“Surely a goddess seeks more than mere approval? You require worshiping at the very least. When we are married, I shall lavish such attention on this exquisite piece of art that you shall have no doubts of my devotion.”
“Married?” she repeated, a little breathless.
“Of course, married,” he replied gazing up at her. “You cannot have believed I would dally with you for sport? I love you, and so we must be married. Well, that is… if you’ll have me?”
She stared down at him, her eyes very bright. “Yes! Yes, please. Of course, I will, but….”
“But?” he repeated indignantly. “There’s never a but!”
“Well, there is this time.” She tsked and pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. “But… you must help me accomplish my dare first.”
He relaxed, delighted by her. “Ah, yes. Something wicked.”
“Yes,” she breathed rather than spoke the word and Cassius moved, finding her hips beneath the layers and layers and tumbling her sideways onto her back. She squealed and he hushed her as he lay down alongside her. She sniggered, covering her mouth with her hand.
“You are quite dreadful,” he said, shaking his head as his hand slid up, up, over her knee, over her satiny skin.
“Yes.”
“Don’t ever stop being dreadful,” he murmured, as his palm found the tender skin of her inner thigh, impossibly soft.
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” she said, and then gasped as his fingers trailed through the little triangle of curls that he knew to be a glorious shade of gold.
“Oh,” she said as his delicate touch explored, moving lower, seeking the place he had longed for. “Oh, Cassius, that… that is wicked.”
He chuckled, burying his face against her neck and laughing for the pure joy of it, of her, intoxicated by her scent, by the feel of her, by the sheer brilliance of being in her presence.
His fingers caressed, seeking the place that was the centre of her pleasure, and teased her gently, slowly, circling and sliding deeper, dipping into the heated core of her as he muffled a groan of wanting. He imagined the night when he could do more than this, take more than this, as he pleasured her, revelling in the soft sounds she made until he had to make himself stop painting such wanton pictures in his mind before he came undone. Her breathing hitched and she grasped at him, her hips canting towards his touch, seeking more as she chased the sensation. Cassius watched her, overwhelmed with love, with desire, humbled by her trust in him, knowing he was a wretched devil for taking this before they were even engaged, and all the world knew of his intentions. Yet she had asked, and he could deny her nothing, least of all something he wanted so desperately too.
She cried out, her body arching and trembling and he hushed her, soothed her, easing her through and helping her find every last tremor of pleasure until at last she was still. She gazed up at him, her expression soft and hazy and she gave a sigh, her warm breath fluttering over him.
“That was… splendid,” she said, a satisfied smile curving over her delicious mouth.
To his amusement, she looked smug, the little devil.
“I’m glad you approve.”
“Oh, certainly. A goddess always approves such shows of devotion. Didn’t you know?”
Cassius snorted, pulling her against him as he leaned down and kissed her.
“Wretch,” he said affectionately.
“Well,” came a cool voice from the doorway as they leapt apart to see Eliza staring stonily at them. “At least I’m not the last person to know this time.”
With that, she flung the leather portfolio to the floor of the school room and turned and walked away.
Chapter 16
Dearest Eliza,
I am so profoundly sorry. Please, won’t you come out and talk to me?
―Excerpt of a note from Lady Charlotte Adolphus to her sister, Lady Elizabeth Adolphus, slid beneath her bedroom door.
The afternoon of 15th July 1838, Holbrook House, Sussex.
“Come in and sit down, please.”
“But, Mama, I….” Lottie began, frantically searching for a reason to escape as her instincts prickled, telling her that her mother wanted to speak about something very specific.
“Now, please,” the duchess said, her tone brisk and no-nonsense as she opened the door wider and gestured for Lottie to go in.
Lottie’s instincts proved to be spot on as she took a reluctant step inside the room and stopped. Cassius was standing by the fireplace, looking about as awkward as a man could, and Eliza sat in the chair by the fire.
“Now, then.” Mama closed the door and ushered Lottie to the chair opposite her sister. “I think we need to have a little chat, don’t you?”
“Really, Mama,” Eliza said, her most polite expression fixed on her face. “I do not see—”
“Elizabeth Minerva Adolphus, unless you are prepared to speak honestly and openly to me, you may sit there in silence and listen.”
Eliza gaped at her mother, colour burning high on her cheeks.
“Now,” the duchess said, folding her arms. “You may think me a witless old woman, but I assure you I am not. I was young once—and not so very long ago as you may suppose—and I am well aware of all the recklessness and idiocy involved in affairs of the heart.”
“Really, Mama,” Eliza protested, shifting in her seat. “I do not think that I need—”
Her mother sent her an incinerating glance and Eliza snapped her mouth shut.
“This morning, Cassius called on your father,” she continued, addressing Lottie. “And asked for your hand in marriage.”
Lottie gasped, her hand moving to cover her poor heart which was beating erratically now. Her gaze flew to Cassius, who sent her a small smile and then they both glanced at Eliza, who was very
carefully not looking at either of them.
“W-What did Papa say?” Lottie ventured.
For a moment her mother’s face softened. “He said yes, of course, you little fool. We have long hoped that Cassius would be a part of our family, only….”
Eliza gave a mirthless snort and they all turned to look at her. She put up her chin, folding her arms and glaring back.
“Quite,” their mother said. “It has come as something of a surprise to all of us, I think, that it is not Eliza he is marrying.”
“I don’t wish to marry him either,” Eliza retorted.
The duchess gave a wry smile. “I’m sure that is a relief to everyone. The problem is, I’ve suspected that for some time and it does not seem to account for the fit of dismals Eliza has been experiencing. I have been trying to discover this past week or more what is making her so out of sorts and this morning I discover her in the midst of a temper fit, the likes of which I have never seen before.”
“Mama, I apologised for that already….” Eliza began, her mortification obvious.
“Stuff!” her mother said crossly. “It was about time. I’ve long despaired of you, my girl. I have never liked nor understood the passive face you show the world. It may well be the fashion for young ladies to act like a cross between a martyred saint and pretty watercolour painting, but I do not subscribe to it. Such behaviour will attract entirely the wrong sort of man, for one thing, one who expects docility and a woman who never challenges him. Where in heaven’s name was my temper, my defiant spirit? You’ve spent your entire life trying to please the world, Elizabeth, and it is about time that stopped. I was never more relieved to see anyone indulge in a fit of pique than I was this morning.”
Despite everything, Lottie giggled at the look of astonishment on Eliza’s face.
“Oh, shut up,” Eliza snapped at her.