by Lavinia Kent
“Your duty?” Linnette appeared slightly put off by the term. “Your duty with Robert? Oh, I am not the one you should be talking to about this.”
Kathryn wasn’t sure which surprised her more, Linnette referring to her husband by his Christian name, although the two had known each other from childhood—Linnette had actually introduced him to Kathryn—or Linnette not wanting to discuss marital rela . . . to discuss sex. Linnette had always had a bawdy sense of humor and seemed willing to discuss anything. It was always Kathryn who found a reason to leave the room when the conversation grew naughty. “Who else can I talk to?”
“Your mother?”
Kathryn stared back at Linnette, the ache of despair growing again in her chest.
“No, I suppose not. And not, I imagine, his mother either. Heaven forbid. One of your aunts? No, not them. Is there no other friend?”
“No one I can imagine discussing it with. I considered discussing it with Annie, but I am not sure she knows any more than me—despite having a son. Until this last year she lived at Hargrove’s estate while Lord Richard stayed in Town.”
Linnette leaned back and stared at the ceiling, her toe tapping. “I am still not sure that I am the right person for this.”
“Why? From what I’ve heard, and what you’ve implied, you do know the answers to my questions.”
“What do you mean?” Linnette sat back up and stared at her, eyes locked on her face, lips suddenly pale.
She couldn’t believe this. Kathryn had never felt so mortified. Even her best friend wouldn’t discuss this with her. She must be doing something really wrong. Maybe she should just let it go. “Just that, and I can’t believe I am saying this, you’ve had several lovers since the duke died, and they always seem—well, they seemed happy, very happy.”
“I cannot deny that. I have never even tried to deny it.”
“Then why don’t you want to help me?” She had to be brave, show courage. She had no choice. If Linnette would not help her, then there was nobody left to ask—she’d be completely alone.
Linnette leaned back again, her shoulders relaxing. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that—Oh, never mind. Ask me anything and I will do my best to answer.”
“I am not even sure what questions to ask.” Kathryn glanced down at her hands. Why was this so hard? She trusted Linnette—completely.
“You mentioned duty,” Linnette said slowly. “Is that really how you regard it?”
That was a hard question. In her mind she’d always thought of it as duty, but sometimes she wondered if her body wasn’t seeking more. She did find it agreeable when Robert touched her. “I don’t find it unpleasant.”
“And does your husband know that you feel this way?”
Was she really going to have to talk about this? How was she to know what Robert thought other than that he clearly found her wanting in some way? “He knows that I don’t mind it when he visits me. Sometimes I even find it pleasant. My mother told me it would be awful and I’ve never found it so—not even the first time. It was only a little painful.”
Was that a rude noise? Kathryn glanced up at Linnette. It was impossible to tell.
There, that was definitely a sigh.
Linnette reached over and took her hand. “Do you know that many women enjoy sex—some quite a lot?”
“But surely not ladies? I’ve always been told that relations are for men—and for having children.”
“I am sure that is what your mother told you. Do you believe that I am a lady? I have not taken those lovers that you mentioned because I needed a man as an escort. The best men in bed are always the hardest to force to attend balls and musicales. Even my first time I found pleasure—great pleasure.”
“Oh.” Kathryn supposed she had known this, but it was still strange to hear it put into words. Ladies enjoyed bedsport. Was it possible that she could enjoy it? She closed her eyes and tried to imagine, to imagine Robert’s hands moving across her . . . and hers on him. Was she allowed to touch him? She opened her eyes as real questions finally started to form in her mind. “You found pleasure with the duke, even that first time?”
“You will find this shocking—I do not even believe I am telling you this—but the first time was not with the duke. I had a young love, a great love and with him I found true delight—even that first time.”
“You—you . . . Before the duke?”
“Yes. It was a relationship that could not work at that time. He needed to leave, but it was wonderful for all of that.” Linnette looked down. “And now I have hopes that it may happen again. I have become reacquainted with him and I have hopes that . . . Oh, never mind. Let us discuss your problems. That is what is of importance now.” Linnette leaned forward, speaking softly. “Did Rob—your husband never try to give you pleasure?”
God, did she have to answer that? “I don’t know. How would he do that?”
Linnette stared straight ahead, not looking at her. “Forgive my bluntness, but does he touch your breasts, put his hand between your legs, perhaps kiss you there?”
“His mouth there? Of course, he doesn’t.” That was a little too far for her to imagine.
“None of it?”
Think carefully. Take it step by step. “He touches my breasts, sometimes. He even puts his hand under my nightdress.”
“Your nightdress? You wear a nightdress?”
“If it’s hot, I may simply stay in my chemise.” Why did Linnette seem so surprised?
“And what does your husband wear?”
“He comes into the room in his banyan.”
“And then?”
“Well, he does take it off once the candle is blown out.”
Linnette swallowed visibly. “Robert blows out the candle.”
“Oh no. I do. My mother was most explicit on when I should do it.”
“And Robert has never asked to leave it burning?”
“Why would he?”
“How old are you, Kathryn? Oh, don’t answer. I know very well that you are two years younger than me, although you also came out a few years late.”
“Yes. What is your point?”
“You sound like a seventeen-year-old debutante who has never even been alone in a room with a man who was not her father—not a woman married over two years.”
“I know.” Her voice came out as the barest squeak.
“I would have thought better of Robert.”
“You confuse me again.”
“It is the job of the husband to school his spouse in what he likes in the bedroom and to be sure that she also experiences pleasure.”
“I often find it pleasant.”
Linnette laughed, low and soft—but without malice. “There is a big difference between pleasant and pleasure.”
“So there is something wrong with me.”
Blowing out a long breath, Linnette answered. “I would doubt that. What I fail to understand is why Robert let this situation develop.”
Kathryn thought back to the early days of her marriage. Was it possible that Robert had asked about the candle? She wasn’t quite clear. The whole experience had still been quite shocking. Her father had occasionally kissed her forehead and the grooms had helped her onto her horse, but those were the only times she’d ever really been touched by men before Robert. She’d been twenty-one when she married, not the seventeen that Linnette referred to, but she’d been incredibly sheltered for all that. Her mother had never allowed her to waltz. The only dances she was allowed included little more than the brushing of hands.
“You seem suddenly lost in thought,” Linnette said.
“I am just trying to consider if it could possibly be Robert’s fault. I still don’t see why you should think that.”
“I think that because you should be having this conversation with him rather than me. He is not that frightening unless he has changed greatly in these last years.”
“Have it with him? I mean, no, he is not frightening. But—but have
it with him? I don’t think I could do that.”
“I think you may have to. If you want to please him, you will have to use words to make him understand what you want.” Linnette sounded very sure.
“But I don’t know what I want beyond that I want him back in my bed at night.”
“And why do you want that if you only find it pleasant?”
“He needs an heir.”
“Oh.” That seemed to flummox Linnette for a moment, but she recovered quickly. “And is that truly the only reason?”
Kathryn allowed the question to play through her mind. Did she want Robert in her bed for reasons other than creating an heir? She stared down at her hands. Every time she thought this conversation could not grow more difficult it did. “No, I miss him. I don’t know why it makes a difference in the rest of our lives, but it does. I feel like he doesn’t really see me anymore. Sometimes, I think he deliberately looks anywhere but at me.” She gripped Linnette’s hand, which still rested on her leg. “He used to even spend the entire night in my bed. It was wonderful waking up to his smile in the morning. I felt like singing all day long.”
A soft smile lit Linnette’s face. “Yes, I know that feeling well. And did he seem to feel the same?”
That was harder to know. “I believe so.”
“Then I think you need to work on capturing those feelings again. You say that right after your marriage he would come by regularly, but that after you lost the baby he stopped coming?”
Had Linnette really just said that? Nobody mentioned the baby, the tiny boy born months too soon. Kathryn didn’t know how to respond. It felt for a moment like the heart had been ripped from her chest—and then—and then she felt fine, well, not exactly fine, but the world had not ended and life went on.
“Did I say something wrong? You look like I just ground my heel into your toe.” Linnette squeezed her hand anxiously.
“No, nothing wrong. It’s just that nobody ever mentions my son.” It felt so good to say that, to say it out loud. “I sometimes wonder if he ever really existed, except in my mind. I mean, I know he did. I don’t think I imagined the whole thing, but it feels as if he was just erased.”
“Surely Robert—no, I could see that he might not. He always did have a knack for avoiding anything too unpleasant. It is often a problem with men. I wish I had known. I thought I was doing the correct thing allowing you your privacy.”
“And you were out of London at the time. I believe you were seeing to the estates for the new duke until he could return from India.”
“And then he never did return—and now there is another new duke.” Linnette took her turn being silent. Then, forcing a smile on her face she looked straight at Kathryn. “But, let us return to your original question. You wish to seduce your husband. Is that correct?”
She’d never thought of it that way. Kathryn let the thought turn over in mind. Seduce. Seductive. Seductress. Could she be a seductress? She drew her shoulders back. “Yes, that is what I want.”
“Good. It should not be difficult. Men are very easily led by a beautiful woman.”
Kathryn felt herself blush again.
“Now, tell me what happened last night—when he refused you,” Linnette asked.
“I saw him in the hall before dinner—his mother had just gone into the parlor. It was clear that he was heading out, not joining me in the dining room. I told him Mr. Johns had purchased some new port and that Robert could come by my room later to sample a glass.”
“And?”
“And he said that he would probably have quite enough to drink while he was out and that he expected to be back late. He told me that I should not wait up.”
“Hmmm. He may not have realized what you were inviting. Had you ever asked him to your room in such a manner before?”
“No. He always told me when he would visit, but he hasn’t recently and so I . . .”
“I understand perfectly. I am afraid that you must be much more direct. Can you do that?”
“If—if—if I have to.” Kathryn could not believe she was stuttering.
“You will need to be direct with your posture and demeanor, not just your words.”
“I will manage if you tell me how.”
Linnette dropped her hand and stood. “I can tell you how. I can show you how. But that will only go so far. You must believe in yourself, believe that you want your husband—and that he wants you.”
What exactly did that mean? She had certainly wanted Robert as her husband, but to want him?
Walking across to the window, Linnette drew back the curtains so that the light flooded in behind her. She turned back to Kathryn and began to stroll slowly forward. Her eyes met Kathryn’s and held, the barest hint of a smile turned up the corners of her mouth, her breasts pushed against the neckline of her dress which suddenly seemed inches lower than it had before, her face shone with an inner knowledge of desire, and her own desirability.
Kathryn swallowed. “How did you do that?”
“Mostly it is in the mind. I thought about my lover and what I would like to do to him, to have him do to me. And I thought about how much he wanted to do it to me, how all he desired was me.”
Oh dear. “I am not sure I can do that.” Kathryn dropped her gaze back to her hands. “I don’t know what those feelings are like, so how can I imagine them?”
Linnette chewed on her lower lip. “It is a difficult problem.” And then she smiled. “I think you do have those feelings and you just don’t know it. Tell me, did Robert ever kiss you before you were married?”
“Of course.”
“And did he really kiss you? Not just a peck, but a kiss in which your mouths met and sought to become one?”
“Maybe once.” Kathryn looked up considering. “Right after I accepted his proposal he kissed me and he—he put his tongue in my mouth.”
“And did you like it?”
“It was shocking.”
“But did you like it?”
She had to be brave, to confess. “I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to go on, to see what would happen next. He sometimes nibbled my ear—even before we were engaged. I liked that.”
“And how did your body feel, your breasts feel?” Linnette came and sat beside her again.
“I’ve never even thought about that, about my breasts.”
“Well, think about them now. In fact that may be the secret you need. When you look at Robert and invite him to your bed, stop and think about how every inch of your body feels at that moment—and remember that kiss, that wanting more.”
“I can do that.” At least she thought she could.
“I am sure you can. The hard part will be that I want you to tell him. I want you to invite him to your bed and I want you tell him how you feel, physically and emotionally. Describe every tingle.”
“But what if I don’t tingle? What if I only feel frightened and embarrassed?”
“Then tell him that.” Linnette reached over and squeezed her hand again. “Robert is a good man. If he knows you are uncomfortable, he will try and help, but you have to let him know—otherwise he may just think you cold.”
“Cold is that what . . .”
“Enough of that. If you spend your time worrying, this will not work. I should not have said anything. Now, if your ears are ready, I have some things to say that may shock you—but you do need to listen.”
Kathryn leaned forward, strangely eager to hear each detail.
Linnette hesitated, and then began, “Men like breasts—at least most men. I believe they may even love them. I have it on some authority that almost every time a man sees a woman, any woman, he wants to see her breasts.”
“That cannot be true, can it?”
“I have been assured that it is—and that the woman does not even need to be attractive.”
“Oh.”
“So—assuming that Robert is no different, which I think is a fair statement—give him peeks at your breasts, wear something low, b
end over—and when you do, when you catch his gaze falling, smile—not a big smile, but a small, mysterious one—the type of smile you give when you know a wonderful secret that nobody else knows.”
Kathryn considered. “I can do that.”
“I know you can. Now this may be the harder part—when you catch him looking, when you are alone, trail your fingers down your throat across your chest, draw his gaze, and hold it.”
“That is not difficult.”
“It may be harder than you think—and then run your finger along the top of your bodice, slip a finger underneath, let him imagine that it is him touching you, feeling you—and keep holding his glance, let him know that you are thinking the same thing, dreaming of him—let your nipples harden and think of him.”
Kathryn swallowed, hard.
“And if you really want him, really want him to want you, lick your lips and leave them wet and shiny. You can even wet your finger before you touch your breasts, slip it between your lips, and . . .”
Oh heavens, Linnette could not just have suggested that, could she? Kathryn squeezed her legs tight and listened.
Chapter Four
Kathryn stared up at the elaborate plasterwork on the ceiling. The center medallion truly was a masterpiece, a monument to some long-dead craftsman. Her gaze dropped to the flowers on the table, a wonderful collection of cut tulips and hyacinths set in a shining crystal vase. Perfect. Even the scent was perfect. The hyacinths practically screamed of spring.
Today, however, she couldn’t even pretend that she was perfect. The megrim that had taken hold of her last night, when Robert had missed dinner yet again, had made a home in her temples, her color was off—no amount of pinching her cheeks was going to bring them color. She’d done her best with her dress, or at least Mary had. The soft linen swept about her body and transformed her wan appearance into one of more delicacy.
And she had guests. The ladies were about to arrive.
The tap on the door sounded like a fist pounding. She pasted a smile on her face as Mr. Johns entered and announced Lady Richard Tennant and the Dowager Duchess of Doveshire.
