What Not to Bare: A Loveswept Historical Romance (14 page)

He choked. Given that he wasn’t eating or drinking anything, it was quite a surprise.

“Linen or cotton?” he repeated. “I—I honestly haven’t thought about it. I don’t know.”

“Hm,” she said. She held a crumpled piece of paper in her hand and looked down at it. Then she tilted her head and caught his eyes with her own horse-brown ones.

Eyes, he was beginning to realize, that were lovely in their own way.

“Do you know what your chemise is made of?” he said in retort.

She did not respond as he’d thought; instead, her eyes brightened and she smiled. “That is an excellent question. Let’s see, shall we?”

She was not going to—oh yes, she was. She turned her back to him and pointed over her shoulder at her buttons. “Undo me, and let us have a look. This will be very useful,” she added, even though he had no idea what would be useful. Though her tone certainly sounded enthusiastic.

By this point, actually, he felt as though he were in a muddle entirely of his own making. Well, and hers; she was the one who kept asking him questions and kept wearing these gowns that made him practically forget his own name. Yet he couldn’t resist the allure, either of her questions, or the finger beckoning him to remove the clothing that was so befuddling, to reveal the woman within.

Was there even a question?

Oh, yes, there was. Related to chemises.

He stepped forward and brushed his fingers against the back of her neck, right above where the buttons started. She shivered and glanced back at him, desire mixed with apprehension in her gaze.

“My buttons?” she said, almost hesitantly.

“Yes,” he answered. “If you want me to.”

There was a pause. She cast her eyes down, as though considering. Her cheeks were flushed. Then she raised her gaze back to him and he knew. And his body knew as
well. “Yes. I want you to.”

Suddenly his throat felt thick, not to mention other parts of him growing thicker. Her skin felt so soft and smooth under his fingers. He slid one button out from the buttonhole, his fingers trembling.

And another.

And another.

And still she stood there, both of them breathing more rapidly. It was the only noise in the room.

“Almost done,” he said in a low voice as he reached the second-to-last button. On impulse, he lowered his head and kissed her there, at the base of her neck.

He kept his lips pressed against her skin, moving his mouth lower so it reached just where the gown was gaping open. He kissed her again, right between her shoulder blades, and slid his hands around her waist and drew her body up against his.

Her back pressed up against his chest, her rear pressed into his groin.

He had an image of her on one of the fragile chairs, kneeling, with him standing behind her, thrusting into her, her chemise flung up over her back.

It should have been a demeaning image; with any other woman in his thoughts it would have been, but he just knew she would revel in it, would turn her head to the side to look at him as he took her, would giggle as the chair creaked and he found himself unable to get the proper angle.

And they’d have to tumble onto the carpet where he’d take her there as well.

“Are you going to remove it?” she asked. Her voice was low, laced with desire.

“What? Oh, the gown,” he said, drawing his hands back and putting his palms on either side of the fabric. He tugged, and the whole hideous gown slid off her body to fall in a pool on the floor.

It clashed horribly with the carpet.

The chemise, he could safely say, was made of fabric so fine, it was almost translucent. The effect made it very hard to discern precisely what fabric it was made of, because his brain wasn’t able to focus on such details.

All he could see was her body, revealed tantalizingly through the fabric, the curves and femininity of her easily apparent. Even if he couldn’t make out the details.

“Is it … Am I?” She stopped speaking, and she turned around to step into his arms.

She didn’t try to complete her thought, just raised her face to his and smiled, her eyes focused on his mouth.

For once, he could answer her question.

“Yes,” he murmured before claiming her mouth.

***

It was beyond delicious—beyond the most delicious thing she had ever had in her mouth before—to be kissed by him. To be kissing him. He had his hands at her waist again, and was gradually moving his fingers so they rested at her back.

Pushing her entire body into his.

Their height discrepancy, a small part of her brain noticed, wasn’t as bad as she’d theorized it would be when she was pondering kissing him.

And if it were, she’d just make sure she brought a small stool next time she visited.

His chest pressed against her breasts, and she was acutely aware of the contrast between his body and hers. Of course, he didn’t have breasts in the first place, but it was beyond that reality. His chest was hard and solid against her, and she felt as though her body was being pushed and pulled to accommodate his. As though his body was a part of hers that was being returned.

As a proper young lady, a lady with limited experience with men—as it should be—prior to this, she should have been horrified at all the new, intriguing sensations coursing in and around her body.

But she was not horrified. She was the opposite of horrified. Happy-fied? And so, when one of his hands reached lower, to slide over the top part of her behind, she arched up into him even more, noting the change in his body in the lower region also.

Well. Wasn’t this interesting?

Meanwhile, he was kissing her with a ferocious, but delicate, intensity that made her quiver. She felt her skin prickle all over, even as her mouth and her breasts and even
farther down felt hot and sensitive.

Goodness.

She had instinctively closed her eyes, but she opened them for a moment to peek at him. His lashes—really, was it fair his lashes were so long, on top of everything else—lay against his skin, a tiny furrow between his eyebrows showing his concentration.

He was concentrating on kissing her.

That felt lovely.

She’d figured out how to breathe while kissing, which was a bonus, given that they really did seem to have breathing in common. She didn’t have to lie to her mother about that, at least. Her nose rested against his, and she felt the rough rasp as his stubbled cheek grazed her skin.

And he was caressing her bottom, running his palms over her, sliding them back to her waist, and then beginning again.

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.

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 chair 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.