Not Quite a Lady

by Loretta Chase

  The thought warmed him.

  It warmed him quite a bit.

  “I’d better go back,” she said. “If they’re going to talk to Mrs. Endicott, Molly might decide she isn’t wanted and will come looking for me.”

  She started to get up, then paused, a comically baffled look on her beautiful face. She twisted to one side, her hand searching among the linens. “I’ve lost my shoe,” she said.

  She turned about onto all fours, and started crawling about over the sheets and pillowcases. “I can’t believe this,” she said. She turned her head to throw him an exasperated look. “Don’t just stand there. Help me. I can’t leave without my shoe.”

  He knelt upon the tangle of laundry. He began looking for the shoe.

  This would have been easier if she hadn’t been crawling over piles of bed things and bath things and kitchen things and stray underwear, her derrière swaying as she moved.

  Don’t look, he told himself.

  He tried not to look but he couldn’t shut out the teasing rustle of movement nearby.

  “I cannot believe I lost my shoe,” she muttered. “The curst things tie!”

  He tried not to look but he could see, out of the corner of his eye, the light muslin dress with its feminine froth of ruffles. He recalled then, vividly, her sitting upon the desk last Friday, in her too innocently feminine dress. He saw her hands pulling the skirts up to her knees and telling him to touch her.

  “I thought you sent your laundry out,” she said. “I cannot believe your valet would let your drawers be jumbled among the bed linens.”

  Darius could almost feel the slope of her insteps under his hands, the slender ankles, the elegant curve of her legs.

  “Charlotte,” he said, “you have to get up. Now. And go to the other end of the laundry.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Why?”

  “Because,” he said.

  “Because…?” She waited for clarification.

  “Because Mrs. Badgely is right. Laundries are dens of iniquity.”

  She started to get up. Then she sank back onto her haunches. “Did she put indecent thoughts in your head?” she said.

  “No,” he said. “You put indecent thoughts in my head. And it won’t do. I made up my mind to woo you properly. I made up my mind that the next time we made love it would not be furtive and hasty. The next time we made love, we would be wed, and have all the time in the world, and we would take all the time we needed. I would undress you, slowly, and learn every inch of you.”

  He heard her breath coming faster, as his did.

  She folded her hands against her stomach, as though she must hold herself back. “I love when you touch me,” she said. That was all.

  He remembered how she had touched him. His body remembered, in a rush of heat that thickened his mind.

  “We’d better find your shoe,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. “You’re right.”

  She never moved, though, only sat looking at him, her folded hands tight against her belly.

  He crawled to her, over the discarded sheets and towels and aprons and underwear.

  “I think about you all the time,” she said. “I can’t help it. Last night, I lay in bed—”

  He put two fingers against her lips. “Don’t tell me.”

  She took his fingers away. “Is it wrong?” she said. “Am I a hopeless wanton? Am I too bold?”

  “No,” he said. “Oh, no. Not for me. With me you need never hold back.”

  “Then I won’t,” she said. She put her hands up and cupped his face and kissed him, sweetly, lingeringly.

  His arms went around her, helplessly.

  He leaned in, and she fell back, and he with her, onto the heap of laundry.

  He felt her laughter against his lips, and he was laughing inside, and laughter should have been enough to keep desire at bay.

  But the laughter was pleasure, and from one pleasure to the next was all too easy.

  Her hands moved over his coat, then under, and under again. Heat rippled wherever she touched him.

  Your hands, your hands.

  It was the same for him: At the touch of her hands, feeling stirred and built and roiled through him, wave after wave. He couldn’t name what it was she awoke in him. It didn’t need a name.

  Call it hunger.

  He kissed her throat and dragged his hands over her. She sighed and squirmed under his touch. He let his body sink onto hers, and their legs tangled. They kissed, rolling over mounds of bedclothes, until she was on top of him, straddling him, her core pressing against his arousal.

  He dragged his hands up under her skirts and petticoats. She tugged at his trouser buttons, quickly, impatiently. Her hair was tumbling about her shoulders.

  Wild and so beautiful.

  “I want you,” she said. “I want you inside me.”

  “I’m yours,” he said raggedly.

  She pushed his clothes away, setting him free. Her gaze locked with his, she caressed him. “Like this?” she said. “Is this right?”

  “Whatever you do is right,” he said. He brought his hand to her core, brushing over the downy curls. He was awash in pure hot pleasure, simply touching that warm cloud of femininity.

  “Your hands,” she said. “Oh, your hands.”

  “Come to me,” he said.

  She understood, and rose a little. He guided himself into her, and she gasped. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, this is…good.”

  “Yes,” he said. It was good, so good.

  He reached up and cupped her face and brought her lips to his.

  A long, aching kiss, while their bodies joined in simple, primitive rhythm. He felt her pleasure peak, her body vibrating. He rolled with her onto his side, and she pulsed with every movement, yielding utterly to him, to herself, to feeling, pure feeling.

  Yes, this was right and good.

  She was right and good.

  He pressed his mouth against her neck to muffle his groans as his body pumped with hers, and fiery happiness coursed through him. He heard her muffled cries, too, as she went with him this time to the pinnacle of all the human body could give in pleasure.

  Then, when at last they began to quiet, he wrapped his arms about her and kissed her neck, again and again.

  He kissed her and laughed, for delight—of her, of the two of them, joined, the two of them as one.

  It was so easy then, to understand what was in his heart, and easy, too, to say it. He murmured the words against her silky skin: “I do love you, I do.”

  Chapter 13

  Of course she couldn’t believe her ears.

  A wise woman would not seek confirmation.

  A wise woman would hold her tongue, and not risk spoiling the fantasy.

  Charlotte wasn’t wise.

  “Say that again,” she said.

  He lifted his mouth from her neck. “Say what?”

  “What you just said.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  She heard laughter in his voice. “Yes, you did,” she said.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  A long pause. “Must I say it again?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I forget,” he said.

  “Say it,” she said.

  He chuckled softly.

  “Say it,” she said.

  He put his mouth close to her ear. “I love you,” he said. “Now are you happy?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I am very happy.”

  This lovemaking was even better than the previous, and that had been a sort of miracle. She hadn’t thought she could be happier. She’d been unaware of the weight remaining on her heart until he uttered the words, and it lifted.

  “Now you may say it,” he said.

  “Say what?” she said.

  “I know you better than you think,” he said. “You act upon feeling, and you would not make love without feeling it. Or something close. Say something.�
�

  “If we stay like this for too long, will we be stuck?” she said. “Dogs get stuck sometimes, I know.”

  “You are an abominable tease,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. “And sometimes I wear underwear on my head.”

  “Come, Charlotte,” he said, “Say something.”

  She gave a soft laugh, dislodging him slightly.

  “Be kind to your besotted lover,” he said.

  She drew in a long breath and let it out. “I love you,” she said.

  He gazed at her, his golden eyes glowing like candlelight. “Do you, indeed?”

  “I can’t seem to help it,” she said. “You have become another habit.”

  “I don’t mind being one of your habits,” he said. “And I think you are charming wearing my drawers on your head.” He kissed her. “But we had better separate. I’m too excitable today, and I can’t become aroused again. We haven’t time, curse it.”

  Gently, he eased away from her.

  “I am not sure this long courtship idea is going to work,” he said. “If we keep on like this, we’re going to set off a scandal. It’s amazing we haven’t been caught yet.”

  “Oh, you’re right,” she said. “It is so easy to be foolish. No wonder long engagements are not encouraged. If you care for someone, it is very difficult to keep a proper distance.”

  She found a towel and cleaned herself. He did the same, with a brisk efficiency that made her smile.

  “Mrs. Badgely was right,” she said. “Laundries are practically Sodom and Gomorrah. It’s too easy to be tempted. Heaps of soft things to lie or kneel or sit on. Then all the towels and such to clean with afterward.”

  “We’d better not come here again,” he said. “At least not until after the wedding.”

  “We should have to chase the laundry maids out first,” she said.

  He growled. “Laundry maids,” he said. “Don’t remind me. Laundry maids and milkmaids—but I shall do it.”

  The estate, she thought. She’d let herself forget why he’d come here in the first place.

  “Mr. Carsington,” she said.

  While they spoke, he’d put his clothing back into order and helped with hers, all with the same smooth economy of movement. Now he stood and helped her up. Hauled her up, rather. The lovemaking had left her limp as well as stupid.

  “Darius,” he said. “In the circumstances, I think we may be a bit more informal together.”

  “Darius,” she tried softly. She shook her head. “Not yet. That makes it even harder to keep a proper distance—and I am sure to slip and say it in public. I’d better wait. After we’re officially engaged, perhaps. Or after we’re married. And as to that—the courtship, the wedding—”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m not sure we can wait a year. I seem unable to exercise even a modicum of restraint.”

  “It takes two,” she said. “And I seem to be the instigator.”

  He smiled. “I like that about you,” he said. “The way you instigate.”

  “Perhaps we need to reconsider our plan,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said. “But that will have to wait. Once again, we have lost all sense of time as well as restraint. You’d better get back before—”

  “My shoe,” she said. “I forgot about my shoe. I can’t go back wearing one shoe.” She started to kneel, to look for it.

  “No,” he said. “That’s how the trouble started. You must stay exactly where you are and let me look for it.”

  He knelt and systematically went through the linens, tossing them into a separate heap as he went along. Near the bottom of the mass, the shoe appeared, its ties tangled, as she had guessed, with the button of one of his shirts.

  He quickly untangled it, his big hands swift and capable. Those hands.

  “Give me your foot,” he said.

  She braced her hand on his shoulder and slipped her foot into the shoe. He quickly tied it. Then he patted the shoe. “Good shoe,” he said. “If you had not gone missing, this would not have happened.” He looked up at her. “It was foolish but it was good.”

  Charlotte lifted her hand to his head, and dragged her fingers through his thick, sun-kissed hair. “Yes,” she said. “It was good.”

  “You’d better get back,” he said. “We’ll have to find a time tomorrow to talk.”

  She shook off the remaining afterglow of lovemaking.

  The house. She must get back. Yes. Soon.

  Good grief. Mrs. Badgely was there.

  That meant closer inquiries about her whereabouts than usual.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said. “The crocodile.” She ruffled his hair, then hurried away from him and out of the building, her mind so busy formulating an explanation for her absence that she utterly forgot about asking him where he needed to go and why.

  Lady Margaret’s magnificent old gowns proved so fascinating that the ladies hadn’t noticed Charlotte’s extended absence.

  Molly noticed her return, though, and promptly devised an urgent question for Charlotte to answer in another part of the house.

  “Oh, your ladyship, your hair,” she said, as she pushed Charlotte into a chair and quickly set about restoring it to rights. “I was frantic when you came through the door. If Mrs. Badgely had looked up from those gowns—well, I’m afraid to think what she would have said. Oh, you’re all wrinkled, too, and what am I to do about that? Shall I say you’re feeling poorly and need to go straight home?”

  “I don’t want to worry Stepmama,” Charlotte said. “Is it that bad?”

  “It’s dreadful,” Molly said. “I’m sure Lady Lithby noticed, and I expect she’ll be talking to you later. But meanwhile, you can’t go back in that room with them.”

  “Very well. Tell them one of the shoulder straps of my stays has given way,” Charlotte said. “Or the busk has snapped. A dress emergency of some kind.”

  Lizzie, bless her, led Mrs. Badgely to speculate about Lady Margaret. Charlotte escaped without an interrogation.

  One would come later, from Lizzie, but Charlotte would deal with that when the time came.

  They soon returned to Lithby Hall, and while Molly stripped off the wrinkled dress, she told Charlotte the latest servants’ gossip: The footman had reported that Pip had sported a black eye this morning when he came to collect the dog.

  Charlotte froze where she was, her hand over her fast-beating heart. “Someone’s been beating him?” she said.

  “More like he beat someone else,” Molly said. “He got into a fight with one of the carpenter’s sons over to Beechwood, I heard. Rob Jowett. Stouter than Pip but got the worst of it. They say Rob’s face is swelled up like a balloon, and his own mother wouldn’t recognize him. Everyone here says young Jowett had it coming for provoking Pip. But they say the Tylers say it’s the last straw, and the boy’s going back to the workhouse.”

  “That’s absurd,” Charlotte said tightly. “Mr. Carsington wouldn’t permit it. He’s taken an interest in the child. Was he not the one who found a job for Pip when the workmen were making trouble about him at Beechwood?”

  “Mr. Carsington will have to get the boy back from the workhouse, is what I heard,” Molly said. “Something to do with the articles of indenture. I don’t understand it, but they say the boy has to go back to the workhouse first, then Mr. Carsington must go to the law about it.”

  Charlotte knew nothing about the legal details regarding apprentices. But some official arrangement must be made, she was aware. For a journeyman, an apprentice was an investment of time as well as money.

  She didn’t care what the law said. She remembered the tone of Pip’s voice when he spoke of the workhouse. He could not go back there, even for an hour. It was too cruel.

  She shook her head at the frock Molly had taken from the wardrobe. “I must go to Beechwood,” she said. “Find me a habit—and have someone ready my horse, right away.”

  Though Molly looked worried, she did as Charlotte commanded, and the horse was read
y by the time Charlotte was dressed. Tom Jenkins was there, too, which surprised her. He was head coachman now, and accompanying the ladies was a task given to lower-ranking grooms. At her look of inquiry he said, “I heard it had to do with Pip, your ladyship, and I knew his lordship wouldn’t be wanting me at present. I wanted to let Mr. Carsington and the rest of ’em know the lad was provoked. I heard Jowett’s boy and the others plaguing Pip, calling him names, time and again.”

  She doubted Mr. Carsington needed a character reference for Pip, but she was glad of Jenkins’s company.

  She had not yet left the park when she encountered Colonel Morrell.

  She had to struggle to keep her greeting cordial and not impatient. “I’m sorry I can’t stay to talk,” she said. “I have an errand at Beechwood that can’t wait. But my father is expected home soon, and Lady Lithby arrived a little while ago.”

  Charlotte had hurried out while Lizzie was changing into afternoon dress.

  “It was you I wished to see,” he said. “I had hoped to speak to you privately. Perhaps you would be so good as to spare me a moment of your time.”

  Charlotte remembered what Mr. Carsington had said, and her heart sank.

  She had rarely allowed men to reach the point where they’d make her an offer. She did not relish rejecting them. She much preferred to deflect them before matters reached that stage.

  Still, she could read the signs as well as any other woman. If a gentleman who was not a rake wanted a word in private, he wanted to make an offer of matrimony.

  Oh, why now, of all times? she thought. Why couldn’t he have given her some warning and spared them an unpleasant conversation?

  It couldn’t be helped. She nodded, then glanced at Jenkins. He frowned but dutifully dropped behind them, out of earshot.

  “I shall come quickly to the point,” Colonel Morrell said. “I am a plain soldier and an unpolished sort of fellow, I suppose, by Society’s standards. Yet I am not without sensibilities, and mine were touched, deeply, from the moment I met you.”

  She said nothing. He had a speech prepared, and the kind and proper thing to do was to let him say it, and do him the courtesy of considering it. Or at least pretending to consider it.

  Oh, how she hated this! How she hated to disappoint them, hurt them.