Their eyes met. What Charlotte had thought was a dying fire was simply banked embers, roaring back into life. The next moment, their mouths met in a bruising kiss that tore a deep sound from her throat, one she hardly recognised or thought she’d been capable of making; something closer to a feral animal’s snarl than a delicate, feminine moan of appreciation. Mary’s hips bucked in response, and it was the most natural thing in the world for Charlotte to mimic the action, to let her own hips cant forward, bringing their bodies flush.
“Charlotte,” Mary breathed. “I would like to touch you again.”
She was ready for it. Had been ready since Mary’s first sweet kiss, reassuring her that no matter how violent her inner turmoil, someone was there, ready to stand as anchor and hold her fast. “Please,” she begged, and Mary obeyed.
The next few minutes—or were they hours? she could not tell—were lost to sweaty, rapturous entanglement. When they finally finished, Mary collapsing spent beside her, Charlotte was exhausted from the vigorous activity. The light outside had dimmed, the sunset shimmering a brilliant orange through the gaps in the curtains.
“Are you well?” The question was evidently meant sincerely, though Charlotte could not help laughing. “What?” Mary demanded. “What’s so funny?”
It took long seconds before Charlotte could compose herself enough to get coherent words out. “I cannot remember a time I felt more well,” she managed, before descending into laughter again.
She had expected, now the business was done, that Mary would leave, but Mary seemed content to stay where she was, embracing Charlotte and kissing every part of her she could reach. In turn, Charlotte couldn’t get enough of Mary’s kisses, trailing her fingers over the smooth, soft skin of stomach and hips, feeling muscles twitching under her ministrations. It was everything she’d dreamed and much, much more, and she felt quite love-drunk.
I shall allow myself the pleasure of being weak for a while. Just until I leave,she promised herself.Then it will be over. She will find some other woman and probably never think of me again. It will hurt her far less than it will hurt me, and that is for the best.She hated the thought, but it allowed her to sober up a little.
Mary rolled away and stretched languorously. “It is probably almost time for dinner. Could you eat?”
“Lord, yes,” Charlotte agreed. “I am famished. I had no idea that making love could make one so hungry.”
* * *
Dinner was white soup followed by a roast ham. Charlotte ate ravenously, as if it were her first meal after a long time shipwrecked, and helped herself to warm rolls with extra butter. By the time they’d finished and the footmen had cleared the plates away, Charlotte heaved a long sigh of contentment.
“A package arrived this afternoon from Ashbrook’s, ma’am,” Pitt announced, wearing his politely blank expression.
“Oh, it must be our dresses. Please have one of the boys take them to Charlotte’s room, Pitt, and we shall try them on later.” Mary paused, watching the butler leave the room. “I ought to apologize for snapping at him this morning. He did not deserve it.”
“Did you ask him this morning to send over something to Miss Highbridge?”
“What? Oh—no, I quite forgot. Thank you for remindingme.” Mary rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry I was in such a mood. I was entirely out of line.”
“No apology necessary,” Charlotte reminded her.
“Would you excuse me a moment?”
“Of course.” Charlotte waited until Mary had exited the room before wandering upstairs, wine glass in hand. Dessert could wait—she was far too curious to see what the dress looked like.
A large, white box lay on one of the armchairs. Charlotte hesitated, wondering whether Mary would mind terribly if she peeked at the contents, and decided that even if Mary did, she was now certain she could charm her out of a scolding. Charlotte slit the seal and opened the box, which was full of carefully folded tissue paper. Peeling back a layer, she gasped; her dress lay on top, and the dark blue material had been exquisitely embroidered with a hundred tiny stars. No, they were not stars at all—Charlotte bent closer, examining the dress—they were lilies, a ghostly silver shade that made them look like glittering stars. White lilies, she guessed, meaningbeing with you is heavenly. How on earth had Mary known?
She lifted the dress out of the box and held it up. It was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen, and her breath caught at the idea that she might actually wear this someday, might look as pretty as any lady at any society ball.
Charlotte unbuttoned her own dress, discarding it over the back of the nearest armchair. Slipping the new dress over her head, she eased into it, finding the buttons at the side, hidden under a thin flap of fabric she hadn’t even noticed. She undid her hair and ran her fingers through it, letting it lie loose around her shoulders.
Footsteps on the stairs, light and quick, heralded her lover’s arrival. Charlotte turned, anxious, wondering if she ought to have done something to her hair to make the ensemble appear more impressive, but there hadn’t been time.
Mary stopped in the doorway, her mouth hanging open. “Good Lord,” said she, after a moment. “Charlotte, you look magnificent.”
She blushed. “You flatter me.”
“With good reason.” Mary’s gaze travelled up and down, noting the full sleeves, the silver-edged hem, the way it clung to curves Charlotte had barely known she’d had. “You’re a vision. Would you like to go somewhere wearing it?”
Charlotte blinked, surprised by the question. “I’m supposed to be in mourning, remember? Though I suppose that went out of the window the moment I started kissing you, it would not do to let down appearances in public. People would talk.”
“You will not see anyone you know in the place I’m talking about,” Mary promised. “Apart from Delia, that is. We could even dance together, and no one would blink an eye.”
Does such a place really exist?Charlotte smiled. “I thought you did not dance.”
“I did not say that I never danced. I said I was not a terribly good dancer, and unfortunately that is the truth.”
