Louisa shot him an admonishing look. “Then what does?”
Fletcher felt his will unraveling. He didn’t know if Louisa knew what she was doing or not—he suspected she knew the effect she had on him at least in part—but she removed her cloak reveal she was wearing the yellow gown Fletcher had mentioned he liked. And there were her breasts, straining against the fabric, on display and begging for him to touch them. He hesitated to make a move. She seemed to be pulling at him with some invisible force that made him want to put his hands on her, but he couldn’t… Not yet.
“Apologies, but it is quite warm in here. I am at least not wearing my stays.”
He groaned. “You are a wicked woman.”
She draped her cloak over a chair and walked toward Fletcher, kicking his door shut on the way. “Fletcher, let me make this plain. I came here tonight because I cannot wait any longer, because I am tired of the promise of kissing being snuffed out because of my existing engagement. That engagement is over now, and you and I are betrothed, and I see no reason to wait longer.”
“Your father would have my head if he knew you were here.”
She waved her hand as if this were of no import. “I’ll be home before morning, and they will never know. And, again, I repeat, what’s the worst that will happen? They will force us to marry sooner? That is fine by me.”
“You are reckless.”
“I amdetermined.”
Fletcher laughed, overwhelmed by her. “You don’t know what you’re asking me.”
“I wish people would stop assuming that I’m an idiot.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot. I think you are inexperienced.”
“Well, that may be true, but I have this feeling. It is…unsatisfied, I suppose. Itchy, a bit. You are standing there in your dressing gown, and I keep thinking about what your body must look like under it, and I feel like I am crawling out of my skin.”
Fletcher knew something about that feeling. “Louisa…”
“We are to be married, Fletcher. I do not see a problem with…getting ahead of ourselves.” She stepped forward, close enough to Fletcher to touch him.
“But—” Fletcher said, although his heart was not really in the protest. Here was the woman he loved, propositioning him, and he was trying to say no… Why?
She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned up on her toes to kiss him. Fletcher gave up; she was determined, and he was constitutionally incapable of pushing her away. He put his hands on her waist and kissed her.
She really wasn’t wearing stays. He was so used to grasping her and feeling the boning under her gowns that being confronted with the softness of her body surprised him. He moved his hands up her back to pull her closer.
“Show me, Fletcher,” Louisa said. “Take me to bed.”
She deserved everything, all the pleasure in the world. She started fiddling with the collar of his dressing gown, which was tied closed tightly, but he wore nothing beneath it, intending to sleep in the nude that night. Being this close to her, with such little clothing, sent a tingle up Fletcher’s spine. He wanted to touch her everywhere, to watch her fall apart, to have her writing in his arms. And even though everything told him he needed to wait until they were truly married, having her here, her body under his hands, dissolved any resolve he had.
As he felt the tie at his waist loosen as he and Louisa pressed together, he began to undo the buttons at her back.
“Are we to be naked?” she asked, in what sounded like a scandalized whisper.
Fletcher fought not to laugh. God, he loved this woman. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“It is. I don’t know what to expect entirely. That is, my mother sometimes speaks of marital relations as something to endure.”
“No,” said Fletcher.
“No?”
“Relations between men and woman can—nayshould—be pleasurable for both partners, and never something to merely endure, and I know you have your own strong desires. I look forward to hearing you tell me all about them.”
“I do. I profess to my first desire to be seeing what you are wearing beneath your dressing gown.”
“Nothing,” he said, kissing her neck.
“Nothing!”
