Now Amelia seemed uncertain, angling this way, then that, apparently at a loss as to how to undertake the maneuver. Caleb couldn’t blame her. Dressed as she was in proper, ladylike fashion with petticoats and a long heavy skirt, it was a wonder she could scale anything—a man’s lap…a ladder to reach some interesting artifact…Oxford University’s male-dominated professional ranks. Even climbing the steps of the Ashmolean, which he himself ran up in seconds, must have been a trial. Leaning forward again, he placed his hands on her hips and arranged her to face him. He could feel that she was trembling, but it did not seem to be in fear, so he continued.
“Lift up your skirt and sit astride.”
She did so.She did so. Caleb begged himself not to panic. The soft cotton of her drawers felt like angel wings, even through his trousers’ heavier fabric. Did they have an open seam? Should he ask her to move forward, to where his arousal was beginning to strain against his own pants’ seam?
No, that was crude, and he wanted every moment of this experience to be exquisite for her, so that later she could remember it like a string of tiny, glimmering stars, each electrifying her in the most delicate and perfect way.
For the sake of friendship, of course.
Looking carefully into her eyes, he checked for any sign of anxiety. But she was all Amelia: calm and composed, despite the unorthodox seating arrangements, and perhaps just the slightest bit impatient. Caleb dissolved into a grin. Mouth, heart, all of him, grinning like an idiot.
“What?” she asked.
“You,” he said. Her hair was tied back severely in a knot, as usual, with a few fine strands drifting against her neck. Caleb wanted to play with them, stroking and tickling her bare skin with them, making her shiver. He wanted to kiss the small pearls in each of her earlobes, and follow the trail of her pulse with his lips all the way down her throat. But she was wearing a shirtwaist with a satin bow at its collar, and the temptation of it kept him focused. With a slowness that felt like sweet torment—and that Amelia hopefully felt too—he pulled on the hanging ribbons of the bow until it unraveled, then drew the loose knot apart.
“All right?” he asked as he began unbuttoning the shirtwaist, for she’d stiffened, and while he thought it was anticipation rather than discomfort, he wanted to be sure.
“Yes,” she said in her clipped schoolteacher voice, the one that had always made doing such things as discussing lecture schedules, concentrating in faculty meetings, and unbuttoning a blouse without lustily ripping it off her rather difficult. Caleb willed his fingers not to tremble as he continued with his task. Coming to the last button above her skirt’s waistband, he spread open the blouse. What he discovered beneath it nearly stole his breath.
A chemise of the finest white lawn and Irish lace lay beneath a silk corset embroidered with flowers and decoratedwith a tiny pink bow that threatened to send Caleb into an outright swoon. He’d never expected such dainty prettiness beneath the solemn practicality of her outerwear. Her skin was so perfect, so creamy, dotted here and there with freckles, that he considered abandoning his plan altogether, since how dare a man such as he despoil her with his touch?
“You’re poeticizing, aren’t you?” Amelia said dryly.
“A little,” he admitted.
“I don’t wish to be rude, but this seat is somewhat uncomfortable. Might we progress at a swifter rate?”
He quirked his lips. “You want me to tear your clothes off you, is that it?”
“I’m not saying that,” she replied in the haughty manner he knew meantbut I would if I weren’t too dignified to utter such a plea.
As much as Caleb liked the idea, he had no intention of giving her what she wanted so easily. Setting one finger just beneath her throat, he slid it down, watching as her pupils dilated in response. Lowering the trim of her chemise, he set one hand against her back to ensure her safety, then bent to kiss her, right at the border of lace and bareness, above her fast-beating heart.
His own heart ached with happiness. She tasted of lilac. She was warm and soft and, for just that moment, all his. He kissed her tenderly, as one might the heart of an angel. Then straightening, he looked into her beautiful, beloved, slightly stunned face.
“Two.”
“Oh, my,” Amelia breathed.
Caleb tried not to let smug triumph swagger across his lips(albeit not very hard, it must be said). “We all know I’m an antiquarian genius, but who knew math would also be my forte?”
For once, Amelia did not roll her eyes. They were glimmering like a night strewn with quiet, silvery rain, and Caleb frowned slightly.
“You’re going to cry again,” he said. “Am I making you unhappy?”
She shook her head and scrunched her eyes closed for a moment, and when she looked at him again, her eyes were—well, a little red, to be honest, and hazy, but she held his gaze with impeccable calm, so he decided to let the subject go. “What about three?” she asked.
He grinned. “Three will be your most favorite.”
And the world turned to sweet, shimmering magic.
Chapter Sixteen
Nature is to be treasured. After all, it is where battles
take place, determining the fate of kingdoms.
I, on the Past, Cornelius Ottersock
