“Yes, my lady.”
She finally got the dratted hat pin out and took her hat off. Of course, some strands of her hair came loose at the same time. “Oh, goodness.”
“May I be so bold as to congratulate you on your engagement, Lady Phoebe?”
“Oh, yes, of course, you may, Wynn. Thank you.”
Phoebe looked at herself in one of the mirrors in the hall. Not only was her hair hanging down, but her whole face was red. She bit her lip as she stuffed the wayward hair into the pins that still clung to her head. She shouldn’t have spent all of Sunday afternoon practicing her archery when she knew the bow did not allow her to wear a wide-brimmed hat that would shade her face. Thank goodness, she had two more days before Thornwick would see her again. Maybe the redness would fade before then. And she didn’t need to worry about how she looked this evening. It was just George.
Phoebe took one step down the hall toward the staircase that would take her to the kitchen. Then she hesitated. She always went to see Mrs. Hay before going to play chess with George. But when she went to see Mrs. Hay, she inevitably ate biscuits. And she had thought perhaps she had better stop eating biscuits, at least until the wedding. Thornwick himself was so perfect. So tall. So trim. Surely, he wouldn’t want a plump bride. They would look so odd together. And her own mother had clucked her tongue over the size of Phoebe’s hips only two days ago.
She turned. “Wynn, will you give my regrets to Mrs. Hay tonight? Please tell her I am too afraid of the temptation of her biscuits. I’ll go right to his lordship’s study instead.”
Wynn bowed. “Yes, my lady, I’ll tell her.”
Outside the door to George’s study, Phoebe felt even hotter than she had felt on the street. Sweat was beading between her breasts. She so very much needed a cold cloth right now. And to be out of her stays. She was so sticky.
She stepped into the study without knocking. She never knocked on the study door. George knew to expect her. But George was not in the study.
She called out, “George? I’m sorry I’m late.”
“In here.” His voice sounded far away, coming from his bedchamber.
She crossed the study, noting the chessboard was not even set up yet. How very strange.
She came into the brightly lit bedchamber. George was sitting on the edge of the bed in just a shirt and trousers.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you weren’t dressed—” She turned to go out.
“No, wait, Phee, don’t go.” He must have bounded off the bed because she felt his large hand with its square fingers on her forearm, arresting her movement. For some reason, she was nervous about turning and looking at him. But she forced herself. His eyes, round and deep like his sister’s but ever so dark, stared down at her. He looked almost feverish. Distraught.
“Are you not well, George?”
“I’m well, I’m well. Now that you’re here, I’m well.”
This was so unlike him. “You are usually waistcoated and tailcoated and cravated when I come for chess.”
“About that. I wondered if we might not play chess tonight.”
“Not play chess?”
George’s shirt was unbuttoned at his neck and she could see a hint of the muscled chest he had shown her three days ago. And now with him so close, she could smell that wonderful George smell. That musky, cedar wood smell. Despite having pleasured herself only an hour earlier, she began to feel a pulse and a slickness down below and quite without meaning to, she put her hand up to the opening in his shirt and lightly touched his warm skin and the dark hair there.
His voice was a little strained. “I realized maybe I hadn’t really taught you everything you needed to know. About bedding.”
She brought her fingers down the midline of his chest until she hit a button on his shirt. She undid that button and could slide more of her hand under his shirt, feel more of his chest.
“What is left, George?”
“I think it’s better if I show you rather than talking about it.”
The pulsing down below had become a horrible throb. A maddening second heart. She unbuttoned another button on his shirt. “Should I undress you?”
“In fact, no, Phee. You shouldn’t. I’m going to stay dressed.” He captured her hand in his own. “But I would like to undress you.”
Despite her throb, her mind protested on several fronts. First, she was so sticky and sweaty. Wouldn’t she be disgusting to George? Second, she didn’t need practice in being undressed by someone else. Wasn’t that what her lady’s maid did for her every night? Third, she wanted to learn how to touch a man. How could she do that if George stayed dressed?
“Will you teach me what to do to your organ tonight?”
