Did he not recall formal etiquette? There could be no handholding between them. Ack, he might not have learned it yet given his youth. Well, this she could handle. She glanced down at it, then pointedly back up at his face.
Dropping his hand between them, further pinning her skirts, he did not seem to realize that it brushed her thigh.
The audacity of the puppy! Straightening her spine an inch, she raised her brows at him.
“No apology is needed, to my mind. However, if you feel it necessary, my response is that allowing me to sit and bask in your beauty erases all memories of faux pas from my thoughts.” He smiled, leaning in.
She snorted, ignoring the spurt of pleasure in her chest to shake her head side to side. “Oh, please. Try that on someone your own age.” Had she thought him audacious? Impertinent was more like it.
“I beg your pardon, my lady. I was being truthful. I could stare at you all night.” His hair flopped onto his forehead again, as he leaned toward her.
Charlotte remained silent, staring at him and trying to ignore the thump of her heart and spurt of heat between her legs. Nor did she want to catalogue the pull of his jacket over his muscled shoulder and biceps as he twisted, or the strain of his breeches around powerful thighs. His eyes were deep pools of liquid darkness, his lips plush and parted.
He moved his hand on the bench an inch, the pinky pressing against her then retracting. “May I…may I hold your hand please, Lady Peterborough?”
The impact radiated down to her toes, curling them in her slippers, and up, tightening her nipples and bringing heat to her cheeks.
Oh my, he is potent.
Belle’s wager came to mind. Of course, her first challenge had been to re-enter society and renew the friendships she’d ignored the prior year. In one of her darker moments, Charlotte had bemoaned her belief that she’d never find another man who fit the needs that Charles had introduced to her, and Belle had promptly bet she’d find someone to pass a miniature bondage test within a year.
She did not answer William, instead turning her head away with another snort.
Her skirts loosened and she caught his hand lifting out of the corner of her eye.
Snap. She smacked his knuckles with her folded fan. Impertinentandaudacious, she amended her earlier thoughts. At least she wasn’t the only one being inappropriate this evening.
“Lord Stanton. You do not have permission to touch me.”
“Lady Peterborough. ’Tis William please.” He rushed on, “You have my apology. Will you forgive me? Please?”
She gave a small sniff, still fighting with her conscience over Belle’s suggestion. Did she dare?
His next question answered that. “How may I make it up to you?”
At his words, the devil in her reared its head, overriding her conscience. She’d been lonely this past year and a half. While Belle insisted that she could meet someone who fit her sexually, she was not so sure.
Belle had pointed out that she had not had, or at least known of, her own inclinations when she’d married. Belle ought to know, as she had been the one to train Charlotte at Charles’s request.
She’d met him at a musical soirée at some earl’s home. The performance, given by the earl’s daughters, was terrible, and they had both chosen to linger at the back of the room near the punch bowl. From that evening on, he had wooed her with art and music dates, with offers of books and scientific presentations. They shared a quest for knowledge and culture, and she had quickly fallen in love.
Their first months of marriage were as expected. She ran the household and helped with correspondence, he managed the earldom and all its holdings and participated in the House of Lords. She found their bedroom activities nice, albeit not quite as exciting as the romantic novels she occasionally read had intimated. Her experience also did not quite match with her friends’ newlywed tidbits, either. But she was happy, and Charles was the kindest, most loving and encouraging partner she could ask for.
Until he came to her with a request. Would she be so kind as to visit with someone from his past? Someone who might help them find more excitement in the bedroom. He confessed that he wanted her to take the lead in their intimate relations, he loved feeling as though he was doing exactly what a woman wanted. But as a new wife, she might not have the repertoire to draw from that would benefit them both. And while he could tell her whatheliked, he preferred to attend to whatsheliked. A woman’s perspective might help.
He assured her that his relationship with Isabella had ended before he met Charlotte, and that she was a good person, courtesan or not. Charlotte was intrigued and curious. Thus, Charlotte’s sex education began, and now here she was, contemplating something wild and foolish. Of course, her little test would not work on such a bold and brash young man, but it could be a good rehearsal for when she met someone who might suit.
The breeze shifted, and his scent floated to her. Tempered sweetness of spiced rum with something else she couldn’t name after being alone so long. No matter, it was delicious.
She tilted her head and ran her gaze up and down his form, her pulse racing. Lingering for a moment on his lap, she licked her lips before forcing herself to continue searching. Her gaze settled on his neck, before raising to his.
“Remove your cravat.”
“Charlo—Lady Peterborough?”
“You heard me. And you do not have permission to use my given name. It is Lady Peterborough. Or—” she sucked in a breath, trying not to pant as she attempted to rein in her inner devil. But it had slipped its lead and was running wild. “—Mistress P.”
His eyes bulged and his throat moved on a swallow. He lifted his hands hesitantly to his cravat.
