Page 46 of The Season of Lady Chastity

“Face me,” he commanded, his deep voice echoing in the large room.

With aching slowness, not wanting the moment to end, Chastity did as he instructed, entranced, while he removed his gloves, tucked them into his coat pocket, and held out his bare hands. They were powerful and strong, callused on the palms as if he were not merely a lord of leisure. She knew what he wanted without him speaking. She raised her gloved hands one at a time, and Bastian slipped the muddy, stained material from her arms, rolling them down and off her fingers. The wadded garments found their way to the pile, joining her hat.

The heat from the crackling fire met her bare skin a moment before Bastian took both of her hands in his and rubbed them gently together. The numbness in her fingertips faded, and a new warmth spread through her.

All too soon, he released her hands and gently turned her back to face the open flames, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. Droplets of water fell against her bodice, soaking greedily into the material.

The shiver that ran down her spine had naught to do with her tumble into the moat, however, and everything to do with the anticipation of Bastian unfastening the row of buttons down her back. She held her breath, her breasts suddenly straining at the front of her gown to be freed.

As if sensing her need for his touch, Bastian lightly trailed his finger across the skin at the nape of her neck, just above her gown.

His warm breath caressed her skin next before he took to the brass buttons, his movements frenzied yet unhurried at the same time.

It was so inherently…Bastian.

He was never who he seemed, at least not with others.

During their short acquaintance, Chastity had come to understand that there was more to Bastian than anyone saw or assumed. Ruthven and his cohorts jested at his dedication to his mother, yet she’d seen, firsthand, that he was dedicated to every person he cared for…including her. Her brother had attempted to intimidate him but had learned quickly when Bastian remained seated during charades that Mansfield was not easily flustered. Heavens, he’d lived through many of his mother’s attacks and still sought out ways to help her heal and move forward.

Bastian unfastened the buttons one by one, causing the velvet covering her shoulders to loosen until it slipped down her arms, exposing yet more chilled skin.

Chastity’s eyes drifted closed, and she pictured Bastian pressing his lips to the bare skin, trailing kisses up her neck, nibbling at her earlobe.

There was nothing Chastity wouldn’t give for this moment with Bastian, alone in her bedchamber, to last forever.

The overwhelming connection between them, this breathtaking moment, the feeling of truly joining with another—mind, body, and soul…Chastity realized it was what her mother had sought all those years ago.

She hoped that her mother had found it, no matter what that meant for her and the future. Even if her time with Bastian lasted no longer than their time at Oxburgh Hall, she’d sampled enough to know that life as a forgotten wallflower, a soon-to-be spinster, did not suit.

As if reading her mind from earlier, Bastian trailed his finger along her shoulder and down her exposed arm, pressing his lips in gentle, nipping kisses in its wake. Her wet dress slipped farther down each arm, stopping at her elbows because her hands were clutched tightly before her. If they weren’t, she’d have turned and reached out for him. Drew his lips to hers. Pushed her gown to pool on the floor with the blanket.

Suddenly, Bastian stepped away from her, his fingers no longer caressing her skin, his lips gone. The flames at her front still warmed her, but Chastity’s exposed back, with nothing except her shift and corset for coverage, grew chilled.

“Bastian?” She turned to face him, and he reached out, righting her habit to cover her shoulders.

His touch was as tender as before, but he did not meet her stare.

Confusion filled her when Bastian retreated toward the door.

Shame flared in her cheeks, heating her skin to the point of burning, her wanton behavior likely to blame for Bastian’s sudden distance.

“Someone is coming.” The door at his back stood open, and as the haze from the feel of him at her back faded, Chastity heard footsteps down the corridor. They grew closer with each passing second. “I should go. Please, send for me if you need anything else.”

How was she to tell him that she needed much more from him? That she’d likely never stop needing him.

Instead of anything of the sort, she simply nodded, not saying a word as he inclined his head, pivoted, and stalked from the room. His boot falls halted briefly in the hall, and she heard him mumble a quick greeting to someone before continuing on. Had he returned to his own chamber or returned downstairs to tend to his mother?

Chastity begged her feet to move. To rush to the door and close it.

She did not want another to see the hurt in her eyes, the desolation she felt at Bastian’s departure, the confusion that still coursed through her.

Before she could bring herself to cross the room, however, a task she’d relished not long before, Prudence entered, leaving the door open wide behind her. Her glare traveled the length of Chastity, noting nothing and everything all at once.

Gown unbuttoned, hat and gloves discarded, red-tinted flesh…

Defiance coursed through her. Chastity would not shrink from her sister’s perusal.

In another time, she would’ve felt only shame and confusion at being discovered in such a state; however, she simply lifted her chin, daring Prudence to ask the question likely burning within her.