She nodded, holding his gaze.
He gestured back toward the curtain. “After you.”
“Thank you,” she replied, and turned toward the drawing room, not looking back as she slipped through the curtain, the heavy dark folds enveloping her, swallowing her like the throat of a great beast. He stared at the spot where she disappeared, but soon the chill seeped through his coat and he rejoined the other guests, watching the seconds tick by on the clock until they would pretend to retire and he would see her again.
Alone.
Patrick waited in his room until the house was quiet. He journeyed to the library in darkness, and when he stepped inside, the fire had been banked for the night. He hadn't changed his clothes. He didn't want her to think he had assumed this was some sort of illicit tryst. She was an innocent, after all. He lectured himself all evening not to expect too much from the encounter. There could be a dozen different reasons she was asking to meet alone, and none of them could be construed as attraction or flirtation.
But he did bloody hope.
He saw no sign of her in the library, so he moved his chair closer to the fire after stoking up the flames and settled in to wait. He folded his arms, crossed his ankles, and got comfortable. Watching the flames, his eyes grew heavy, and he was almost on the verge of dozing off when he heard a telltale creak from the floor above. It was either a ghost or Josette, but from the tension in his body, vibrating like a rope pulled tight, lashing a sail battered by gale force wind, he knew it was her.
He did not leave his chair until he heard her steps on the wrought iron spiral staircase as she descended to the lower library floor. He stood, measuring his breathing as she drew closer, wearing a royal blue wool cloak over a simple day gown of robin’s egg blue muslin.
“Good evening, Miss Josette,” he said, unable to disguise the grate of need in his voice. He cleared his throat.
“Good evening, my lord,” she replied.
“I think we should dispense with such formality given the nature of this meeting.”
“And what do you think the nature of this meeting is?” She tilted her head in challenge.
He could see a light blush spreading across her cheeks. She might speak with bravado, but he would bet she was just as nervous as he was.
“Whatever the reason, let us not stand on formality. I would be honored if—when we are alone—you would call me Selhorst, as my friends do, or if you are so inclined, Patrick.”
She licked her lips. “Patrick,” she said, her tone soft.
He tried not to let the sound go to his head like a shot of good whiskey, deceptively powerful, melting him from the inside.
“Well, it is late. Why don't we get down to business,” he said.
She folded her hands before her, and he waved her toward a chair that he had dragged closer to the fire. There was no reason they shouldn't be comfortable. She nodded her head in thanks and sat in the chair, crossing her ankles and tucking them to the side demurely, entangling her hands together in her lap.
She swallowed and licked her lips again before meeting his gaze.
“Forgive me, I don't know how to begin this conversation. Since the day we bumped into each other here in the library, I've had some unusual experiences, new and rather invigorating.”
Patrick gripped the arms of the chair. New and invigorating? What could she mean?
“Go on,” he said.
“What I'm about to ask you cannot go beyond this room. You must swear to me on your honor that you will not repeat what I say or tell anyone we've had this conversation at all.”
He nodded “Of course. You have my word as a gentleman,” he assured her.
“Now, first I need you to understand that my questions and my requests are purely for academic purposes. I seek knowledge and I don’t have any other avenue for receiving this knowledge, or I would not ask it of you.”
The earlier chill of warning returned. He didn't know what it meant, but it was too late to back out now. He had to see this through.
“I myself am a seeker of knowledge, and I prize it in all forms and encourage it.”
“Coming from a family of so little, knowledge was a luxury we didn't have. No governess, tutor, or books. I had to fight for it all, teaching myself, teaching my sisters. I know that the key to overcoming the restrictions of my gender are through knowledge.”
“I understand,” he said
“I beg your pardon but I don't think you do,” she returned. "You've never been deprived of anything, have you? You've never been starved for anything, let alone knowledge, the pleasure of reading a book, the thrill of expanding your mind. All those things would seem insignificant to most. Not to me. And I very much doubt you have ever been denied any of those things. For you, for a man, they were an assumed right.”
The ferocity of her words stunned him. “I suppose you're right,” he said. His response sounded pathetic to his own ears.
She looked down at her lap, her hands fidgeting. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I just need you to know how serious I am.”
He nodded. He didn't have anything to say. Mostly, he didn't want to say the wrong thing.
“I asked you here in part because of the books I saw you carrying but also because of the effects our encounter had on me.”
He sat up straighter “Effects? I hope you weren't hurt?” he asked.
“No, I wasn't hurt. It was the way you made me feel afterwards.”
The bands of muscle across his abdomen tightened. The way he made her feel? Now he was intrigued, ravenously so. He couldn't put together the pieces of the puzzle she presented. Things he'd made her feel? Knowledge she did not yet have but sought?
“The books you carried… I saw some of the titles. It made me curious...”
The books he’d been carrying? He recalled the events. He’d been carrying a large stack of books that Roderick had purposefully left in his room. Ridiculous books about sex. He stilled. He could feel a blush of embarrassment climbing his neck.
“You mean the books that Roderick left in my room?”
“Yes.”
“Those types of books are not to be taken seriously.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Why not? Someone took the time to write them.”
“Men wrote them purely out of obsession, and like most men, they shouldn't be taken seriously.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?
“They are frivolous. They are theories based on nothing more than the wish to be provoking.”
“And yet they were published?”
“Provoking things are often quite profitable. So yes, they would be published but they are in essence, rubbish.”
Emotions shifted across her expression. She did not like what he was saying one bit.
“What do these books have to do with your desire for knowledge, Josette?”
She shook her head, raising one hand to her mouth and biting her knuckle. He could see the flash of two little white teeth digging into her skin. He waited while she worked through her thoughts.
At last her gaze met his, but she still frowned. “Never mind the books then. Though I have found some that are quite intriguing, though not as provoking as the titles you had been carrying.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed that she'd seen the titles at all. What did this have to do with the present?
She fisted her hands in her lap. “I want to perform an experiment and given your interest in me after our little collision, I wish to do it with you.”
“An experiment? What kind of experiment?”
She took a deep breath. “I want you to kiss me.”
All the wind wheezed out of his lungs like shredded bellows. He sucked in some much-needed air but half the blood in his body had already abandoned his brain.
“Josette, you can't be serious.”
“I did not give you leave to use my given name. And I already told you how serious I am in the pursuit of knowledge.”
“You jus
t asked me to kiss you. I’ll use your name any way I want to.”
She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “Don't be a child.”
“It's madness. No one embarks on kissing as an experiment.”
“All great discoveries start somewhere.”
“What is it you hope to discover other than scandal and poor judgment?”
She gasped. “How dare you judge me? No doubt you've already kissed dozens of women. I'm only trying to kiss one man, you, for the sake of my personal knowledge. This is my one chance.”
He stood in aggravation. “What do you mean this is your one chance?”
She stood too. “It means this party may be my first and last chance to explore the intricacies of things like desire and lust and pleasure before I become a spinster, and I am far too busy changing the fates of girls and young women like me to bother with it.”
“You can't be serious.” None of what she was saying made sense. This party was for her and here he stood, standing before her, arguing about kissing her. What was he doing? He wanted to smack his own head.
“What is it you hope to gain?” he asked.
She folded her arms. “I told you, this is an experiment to gain knowledge. While men can run around, kissing, chasing desire merely for the pursuit of their own pleasure, I want something the same. I want to know why I feel like this.”
“Feel like what?” he asked, the rate of his pulse increasing at a dramatic speed when she used words like pleasure and desire. His mind grew hazy, his skin hot, the constriction of his clothing bothersome. And he realized, this was what she’d meant. She was feeling these things too, and she wanted to know why.
“It is for your own protection that you not know about these things except when married,” he argued.
“Don’t you see how unfair that is?” she returned.
“It may not be fair, but it's what both sides have accepted in order to keep you safe.”
“Safe from what, from who?”
“From men, disease…bearing a child out of wedlock. From being scorned by polite society, disowned by your parents. Do you need more reasons than that?” he asked in exacerbation.
“Yes,” she said emphatically. Then she paused and frowned. “Well, except for the part about disease and unplanned pregnancy. Those two things are very real.”
He scoffed. “But the other two aren't?”
“No, those are societal pressures forced upon women as a way to oppress and to control us. It's not fair. My body was made to feel pleasure just like yours.”
Patrick had to stop and take a deep breath and wait for the roaring in his ears to quiet. There she went again with words like pleasure. Lust pierced him so acutely he had to take a moment to gather his thoughts before he could look at her again.
“What is it you think you can learn from a kiss?”
She shrugged. “I don't know. That's why I need to experience one. I thought I wouldn't have to explain it to you.”
A huff of laughter escaped him. “You definitely need to explain to me again and again because I'm either the luckiest man in the world or this is a trap. Will one of your sister’s conveniently come searching for you with the duchess in tow or, God forbid, the duke? We will be forced to marry. Is that your aim?”
She gasped in outrage. “I would never stoop to something so devious. This is about me and no one else. How dare you even suggest such a thing?”
“Believe me, if you were standing in my shoes, it's the only rational explanation. And though I can admit I have been blessed in my life even though I lost my parents as a young boy, this is too good to be true.”
She fumbled for words, making cute little squeaks and muffles in agitation. “Well, consider yourself lucky then that you've met a woman with no ulterior motive other than to experience something I might never get to experience.”
“Without the benefit of marriage, you mean.” His pulse leapt. He hardly had enough time to think of this, but it was the perfect solution to his feelings, to her feelings. Maybe this was fate. Maybe this was meant to be. She'd chosen him. She was trying to understand what she was feeling because of him, and he could show her. He could also protect her, give her his name, help her family escape the clutches of poverty.
“I don't plan to marry,” she said.
Just like that, his theory was shot to hell.
“What do you mean you don't plan to marry? This house party is in your honor so that you might find a husband.”
“That might be well and good for my sisters. But I know my path is taking me in a different direction. My purpose is greater than just becoming someone's wife, a broodmare.”
He was too stunned to speak at first but then he found his voice. “Are you saying if I propose to you right now, with all you've already admitted you feel, you would reject me?”
She drew back as if he’d pulled a gun. “Don't you dare propose to me.”
He barked with laughter.
“Quiet, you fool,” she hissed at him.
Patrick continued to chuckle behind his fist, albeit quieter. “You'll have to forgive me,” he said, “but either I or both of us have lost our minds.”
She scowled at him. “I think it's just you. So you won't help me, then?”
“Oh, I will. But only on the condition that we marry.”
Her expression blanked. Her mouth fell open. It was actually quite cute, and he could almost laugh except he’d just uttered a proposal, his first, and quite possibly the worst proposal in history.
“And you think I'm crazy?”
“I'll take your answer as no,” he said, “and I will also answer your proposal in the negative.”
“Why would you think that I would marry you? I barely know you.”
“Forgive me, you came to this party at least knowing that the singular goal was for one or more of you to marry. I came here thinking I'd be hunting and riding and drinking until the wee hours of the morning.”
She was muttering things under her breath, but he continued on, “And yet here I stand, finding myself so infatuated with you, that yes, I think we would suit as husband and wife.”
Her muttering stopped. She just stared at him, her eyes wide.
“But if you don't feel that way and your only interest is in the physical, perhaps you should consider taking up a certain profession.” He wanted to kick himself as soon as he said the words. Fine, he was angry.
She folded her hands before her. “And the promise you made before?”
He strode forward, stopping right before her. “None of this happened. We did not meet here tonight, we did not speak, neither of us proposed anything.”
She sucked in a breath, nodding her head in agreement. “Fine,” she said tersely.
“But… Should you see reason and you find that marriage to me might be favorable to you, my offer stands until the end of the party.” He sidestepped her and didn't look back as he walked through the library doors, but he wanted to. Part of him wanted to see if she looked after him. The other part of him wanted to see if she was still so stunned by his proposal that she hadn't moved at all. Either way, as he entered the darkened hall, shaken to his marrow, he couldn't help be a bit more fascinated by her—terrible proposals notwithstanding.
Chapter 7
Josie entered the drawing room after breakfast, jittery after not eating enough food. Her stomach was unsettled. She claimed a spot on the settee, farthest from the hearth, which gave off obnoxious waves of heat. The others seemed comfortable near the inferno, but Josie was already on fire.
She stole a glance at the thick velvet curtain that separated the Queen's drawing room from the cavernous King’s Hall. She could almost reach out and touch it. Memories of their conversation last night filtered through her mind, mocking her. She mutinously looked away from the curtain, but it only brought him into her focus.
His hair seemed more rich and a deeper red than brown this morning and damp. Had he been out riding before breakfast? She ground her t
eeth and forced herself to look away, but that didn't remove him from her sight. His image was burned into her brain. After their argument last night, her dreams had tortured her.
They had not argued about kissing, as they had discussed in the library, but about Achilles and his disastrous heel. It was the most absurd dream. Josie had never cared about Greek mythology. In her dream while they argued, they had moved closer and closer together. Josie could still recall the pounding of her heart, the roar of the fire in the hearth as if it too participated in their fighting. In the next moment, his arms were around her, and he was on top of her. Just like when they'd fallen the day before, but only this time there were no books. His hands were underneath her, touching her everywhere, and she was as squirmy as a fish out of water.
She'd woken from the dream startled, her cotton nightgown sticking to her sweaty skin, and the private place between her legs throbbing with what she would now assume was her body's own arousal. She'd gotten out of bed and doused her face with cool water. Then she climbed back in and mercifully was able to go back to sleep.
But she'd returned to her dream, only this time things were less frantic. He moved over her slowly, looking down into her eyes. There was no fire, no library, just darkness all around them, but she could see him clearly but she couldn't feel him. He moved on her—against her—but she couldn't feel a thing, not the weight of his body, not the cradle of his groin against hers, and she became just as frustrated as when they had been fighting. She'd woken from the dream to find her nightgown bunched around her waist, her skin cold and clammy.
It had taken a while for her to go to sleep after that dream, leaving her a disgruntled bundle of nerves come morning. A bushel of fireworks ready to be set off at any moment. She tried to rationalize her dreams, but as she sat there in a vain attempt to ignore Patrick—no, Lord Selhorst, she corrected herself—it was as though a string connected them and everywhere he moved in the room, she found her attention following.
But he refused you.
No matter how many reminders she gave herself, these feelings weren’t leaving. In fact, they were getting worse. She couldn't even bear to listen to her own thoughts. She might have to try her experiment with one of the other gentleman, but the thought revolted her.
The Five Second Rule For Kissing: The Northumberland Nine Series Page 6