“Precisely.”
“I don’t understand what you mean by that.”
“You will.” His mouth ghosted across the path his fingers had taken across the back of her neck. “It is an important step in any lady’s education in pleasure.”
“I thought you were new to this.”
“Why, so I am, but that does not change the facts. Every lady’s body is different. Once you understand your needs, you can better guide me towards providing for them.”
Her insides tightened at the thought. “Will you . . . instruct me?”
“That’s what I’m here for, Evie.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Evelyn watched him go, her usual composure splintered and cracked in a hundred different places. The way Charles made her feel almost hurt her, yet she would not have exchanged that pain for the world. It was a lady’s privilege to have her heart broken at least once in her life, and at least the man in question was dashing enough to do the thing properly.
Chapter Nine
To Evelyn’s relief, Charles arrived promptly the next afternoon, forgoing whatever his pleasures might have been in order to join her.
“You do me unwarranted credit,” he said lazily when she asked if he had intended to spend his day in any other way. “I am a man of such idle disposition that I rarely stir myself for anything other than pure necessity.”
“You stir yourself for me.”
“I do. Take that as the compliment it is.” He grinned, the expression rakish and a little overwhelming. She was not a woman often given to fancy, and she knew that Charles was not handsome beyond the common way. Yet when he smiled like that, so that a dimple appeared in his lean cheek and his eyes danced with such hidden, unrestrained mirth, she felt as though he could have no equal.
Her chest felt oddly tight, and she hesitated a moment before leading him upstairs.
“I thought we might be less likely to be disturbed in my dressing room,” she said. “And it leads rather conveniently into my bedroom, which has a bed. I can only assume—” She drew a deep breath. “My maid has been sworn to secrecy, and she is the only one who knows.”
“My dear, if such subterfuge were necessary, would it not have been better for me to have hired a hotel for us both?”
“A hotel?” She glanced at him, startled. “Why would we do such a thing?”
“I believe it is often customary if a gentleman and lady are wishing to remain undetected.” He slid a hand through the crook of her arm, and although she knew they had done far more intimate things, she could not erase the feel of his fingertips pressing against her bare skin. “But no matter. We’re here now, and I doubt anyone will think anything of me treating the house as though it was my own. I’ve been coming here since I was a lad, after all.” He smiled at her reassuringly, and her courage, which had faltered at the mention of hotel, gained in strength once more.
While she was not in the habit of receiving callers in her dressing room, she had done on occasion, and Charles had been one of them. Her father, knowing of their longstanding friendship, had not demurred. And Charles had never overstepped any boundaries.
This time, they intended to overstep them all.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, shutting the door firmly behind him. An adjoining door led to her bedchamber, and she turned the handle, feeling foolish, though she had nothing particularly private on display. He caught her arm as she made to walk inside. “We don’t have to get straight to business, you know.” His fingertips trailed from her jaw down her neck to her pulse-point. “Seduction is not all about how quickly one begins the act.”
“Do you want to kiss me again?”
He smiled down into her face. “I do. Very much. But I thought we might have some conversation first.”
“About what?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she thought she saw his eyes darken. His fingers still rested lightly against her pulse, his touch neither clammy nor too hot, and she wished she could keep his hands on her forever. Everything he did, when it came to her, was just right.
“About what you want,” he murmured, the sound lower and gruffer than before. “With our hands, we will give one another pleasure, but we can do so with our words, too.”
She frowned. “How so?”
“For instance.” He half-laughed, then brought her face up to meet his, his eyes heavy with raw, naked lust, potent as a draught of whisky—perhaps even more so. “I want you, Evie,” he breathed, and the words crackled over her skin, addictive and terrifying in equal measure. “I have thought of nothing but you since last we parted. You consume me, and I burn for you. Every second I’m not kissing you is a torment, and I implore you . . .” He bent lower, so his mouth almost grazed hers. “Ease my suffering.”
An odd sort of heat rose in her. Embarrassment at being addressed in such a way, and more of that empty feeling inside her, that achingwantingthat had assailed her before.
Words. She liked words. She enjoyed the way they tasted, the way they made her feel, as though she was for once powerful. In a world that seemed designed to strip women of their autonomy, this sensation of power was intoxicating.
