Part of her wanted to push him away. The rational part. The part created from living years as one set apart from most of the world. These feelings could not be a good thing. They were primitive, foolish. A lady did not invite such cravings into her body.
But there was another part of her that rebelled.
She was not dead yet.
She was but barely forty years old. She might possibly be only halfway through her life. Was she willing to go on living it in this shell of a person she’d become?
“Thought I’d have to trap you beneath some mistletoe to get away with doing that.” When he chuckled at his joke, she felt all the vibrations in her own body. He stood so close. Prescott had never invited this sort of intimacy.
Who was she? Was she a duchess or a woman?
She pushed against those shoulders of his, and he only resisted for a moment before dropping his hands and stepping away.
She could not look at him.
She’d given him permission. She could not make excuses for such untoward behavior in herself. “That was a mistake.” She nearly croaked the words.
Because, although relieved, she already missed the feel of his touch. He’d unlocked a longing within her, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it now.
“Ready to finish the tour?”
She required a moment to comprehend what he was asking. The tour? “Of the manor.” She spoke aloud as it dawned on her. “Of course. Of course.” Head down, she returned to the front door, stopping only to wait for him to open it for her.
She wondered that he didn’t mention her jumpiness when his hand fell upon her waist to innocently usher her inside.
“There is an orangery in back.” Why did he not sound as unhinged as she felt? He likely kissed ladies all the time. “It leads to the gardens. And then a smaller quarters set apart from the house.”
Loretta barely comprehended her surroundings, somehow nodding and murmuring her approval, making the appropriate observations.
The kiss played in her mind, over and over again. How had she reached such a ripe age and never before experienced anything so carnal? So…sensual?
“Many of the plants have died, but a few are merely dormant.” He pointed to some vines that clung to the iron along one window in the warm, sunlit area.
She supposed that was the question she must ask of herself. Was she dead, or was she dormant?
Dormant. Only dormant. But what would happen if she were to be watered again, so to speak? If she were to bask in the sunlight of a man’s attentions.
She’d not even considered the possibility until today.
Not exactly true, she reprimanded herself. She had imagined a few scenarios with this man. How could a woman not?
Ah, so she was as much a woman as a duchess, the argument continued in her mind.
He’d kissed her. And he’d wanted her, she knew that much. She’d known that the prodding against her center had been his member.
Something she’d never experienced with Prescott. He’d required some time to prepare before accomplishing the deed.
She’d suppressed the memories of those occasions. They had been awkward, uncomfortable, and humiliating. They’d always created more distance between them than anything else. Those encounters had emphasized what was missing between them, rather than done anything to bring husband and wife closer to one another.
She’d felt closer to Mr. Findlay during that brief kiss on the front step than she’d felt to anyone, except for her children when they’d been babes.
Even that intimacy had been withdrawn from her.
What would it feel like to lie with a man like Mr. Findlay? To lie with Mr. Findlay?
“Watch your step, Duchess.” Again, he touched her protectively on the small of her back. Without him offering his arm, she drew hers through it. He glanced over and she saw satisfaction.
He liked her to touch him.
