A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Shall I continue?” he asked. “Or would you care to join me?” His gaze stroked boldly down the length of her, then lifted again to her mouth. “Come here, Theresa,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that went all the way through her.

  This was the moment. The moment she could choose whether to stay in her safe, bright, proper garden, or climb over the fence to see what life might offer. And over this fence there waited a handsome, battle-hardened man who had been creeping into her heart for weeks. Since the moment they’d met.

  Taking a deep breath and holding it, Theresa slid down from the chair and sank onto her knees. “Are we going to be completely naked?”

  His lips curved. “Ideally.”

  “Then you should have your boots off.” She clasped the heel of his right boot and tugged. It pulled loose, and she set it down aside. “I’ll be careful with the other one.”

  Tolly cocked his head, leaning back on his elbows. “I know you will. And I’ll be careful with you, sweet Theresa.”

  Of course he would be. She’d never had a single second of hesitation about that. She trusted Bartholomew James. It was the rest of the world and their opinions where she had her doubts.

  Pushing against the top of his calf, she pulled the heel of his left boot. With a slight wince that he swiftly hid, Tolly shifted just a little and the boot came free.

  “Well done. I told you that you have the makings of a fine valet.” His smile deepened. “Come up here and kiss me.”

  Low excitement and arousal coursing through her, she glided up over him as he sank back flat onto the floor. Theresa lowered herself along his chest and touched her mouth to his. Tolly slid his arms around her back and shoulders, pulling her closer still. Slowly she relaxed against him, her world narrowing to where they touched, hips, breasts, and mouth. He felt warm, even through their clothes.

  His hands lowered to her bottom and he gently squeezed, in a way that felt very good and very naughty. Then he began pulling the hem of her gown up toward his hands. Nerves fluttered through her again. “You should be naked first,” she decided.

  “Then get to work,” he returned, amusement in his voice. “I can’t do everything.”

  “Well, I’ve never done this before, so you’ll have to excuse me.”

  He shifted again, taking her hands and placing them on the bottom folds of his fine linen shirt. “And I never thought to do this again.”

  That made her hesitate. When they’d first met, he had conducted himself like…like a dead man. He said she made him feel alive. Until now she hadn’t realized that he meant it literally. It was a very powerful feeling. Letting out her breath again, she slipped her hands beneath his shirt and pushed upward, unfurling like a cat as her palms caressed warm, soft skin and hard muscles beneath.

  Bartholomew groaned softly, lifting his shoulders a little and raising his arms so she could pull the shirt off over his head. With her hands on either side of his shoulders she sank down to kiss him again. This was absolute heaven, and she wanted more. More, more, more.

  “As you wish.”

  She hadn’t even realized she’d spoken aloud until he answered her. Tolly fiddled with the front of his trousers, tickling against her stomach, then lifted both her and his hips to shove his trousers down.

  “I’m naked now,” he announced, kissing all along the base of her jaw until she felt like nothing but a mass of aroused, lightning-tipped nerves. And she had her gown, her shift, and her shoes on. With a very handsome, very naked man beneath her. She shifted her hips, feeling the large, hard…thing pressed against her. And she wanted to see him.

  Theresa rolled off his right side, her legs tangling in her disheveled skirts. “Oh, my,” she whispered, looking down past his hips.

  “Turn around,” he said with a deepening grin, and made a spinning motion with his forefinger. “I don’t want to tear off any buttons.”

  Buttons. Oh, yes, her dress. Reluctantly lifting her gaze, she turned away. Tolly sat up behind her, and as she pulled his trousers the rest of the way off and then slipped off her shoes, he unbuttoned the back of her gown.

  Pushing the material forward, he kissed the nape of her neck. “Can you put your hair up on your own?” he asked, his voice not quite steady.

  “No. It took Sally twenty minutes to pin it up this morning.” And she’d been so impatient to be gone to James House the entire time.

  “Then I won’t take it down,” he breathed, sounding wistful. “This time.”

  His kisses continued along her shoulders, inch by inch as he bared her skin. She turned and caught his mouth for another kiss, their tongues dancing as she moaned helplessly. “This is very nice,” she breathed.

  Bartholomew pulled her arm to turn her back to face him. With his help she freed her arms from the dress, and he lowered it to her waist. “Very nice,” he echoed, brushing the backs of his fingers across the outside of her breasts and then drawing them closer and closer until he dragged his thumbs across her nipples.

  She gasped, jumping at the sensation. With a low sound, Tolly shifted her onto his lap. “Up,” he said, pushing her dress down her hips.

  Theresa lifted up, and a moment later she was as naked as he was. More naked, because he had a bandage around his left knee. With anyone else she would have been embarrassed—mortified, but Tolly seemed so…fascinated with her that she was too occupied with trying to remember his every touch, his every breath, that the thought didn’t even occur to her except in passing.

  “What should I do?” she asked, shivering again as a palm covered her breast.

  “Whatever you want. I, for example, intend to do this.” With a glance up at her from beneath his thick eyelashes, he dipped his head, his soft, warm mouth closing over her other breast.

  She dug her fingers into his ragged, mahogany-colored hair, throwing her head back as his tongue flicked across her nipple. Oh, good heavens. No wonder this wasn’t considered proper behavior. She didn’t feel at all proper. What she did feel was wild and wanton and very, very naughty. If he could put his mouth on her, she supposed she could do the same to him. In a moment, of course. She had no intention of stopping him as he turned his attention to her other breast.

  When he went after her mouth again, she pushed against his shoulders. She couldn’t possibly have budged him if he wanted to stay put, but he gave in and lay down flat on his back again. Mostly flat. The very interesting bit in the middle wasn’t at all flat.

  She kissed his mouth, then trailed her lips down his throat as he’d done with her, feeling his pulse and the faint stubble of beard beneath her touch, then the irregular pattern of the scar at the base of his neck. He jumped a little, but she kept kissing him. In a moment she felt him relax again. Now that she had something to compare it to, she could swear that she almost felt as drunk as she had last night—only more euphoric, less weighty. Floating, almost.

  “Straddle me,” he growled, lifting up to catch her mouth with his again.

  Oh my, oh my. Shivery and nervous again, she did as he asked, placing her knees on either side of his hips, that interesting part of his she’d most recently discovered brushing the inside of her thighs with a warm insistence that had her panting.

  “Tolly.”

  He sat up, putting them eye to eye. “I want to do this right for you,” he said, his fingers trailing across her skin as though he couldn’t help touching her. “But I’m a bit hampered at the moment.”

  “Are you? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you would.” Bartholomew kissed her again, one hand on her face and the other dipping breathlessly between her legs. “Follow me,” he murmured, drawing her down on him. “And not to make another excuse, but you’ll more than likely enjoy this more every time after this.”

  “This is very nice.”

  He smiled. “Just don’t yell, or we’re both in trouble.”

  Carefully she sank down on him, feeling the tip of his very large member sliding up inside her. The s
ensation was…indescribable. Why would this make her yell?

  Tolly put both hands on her hips. “There are better ways to do this,” he continued, “but I’m bloody well not willing to wait.” Slowly he pressed his hips forward, pulling her down on him at the same time.

  She felt resistance, then sharp pain. Before she could yelp, Tolly kissed her, muffling the sound. Theresa doubled her fists, clenching them against his shoulders. He kept very still, and after a moment the pain began to fade, replaced by…“Good God,” she muttered, arching her back.

  “Mmm-hmm. Move with me.” Tolly pulled her forward, impaling her more fully. Rocking back and forth, clinging to him, she couldn’t even speak as he filled her and retreated a little, only to return with a rhythm that had her moaning in time.

  Holding her around the hips again, he increased his pace, his heated gaze nearly as arousing as his body moving inside hers. The muscles across her abdomen tightened, bringing her closer and closer to the edge of something she couldn’t describe, but abruptly needed desperately. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, and then she gave way. With a keening groan that didn’t even sound like her everything went white and hot and pulsing all around Bartholomew.

  Bending his head against her shoulder, he held her hard against him, his breathing as ragged as hers. When he lay back again, he brought her with him, and she sank, completely spent, against his chest. And she’d thought riding horses the most delightful thing ever. Clearly though, she’d discovered something even better.

  “Are you well?” he asked into her hair, his arms loose around her, keeping her warm and close.

  “Yes. That was…extraordinary.”

  “I wanted that with you. I needed it, I think.”

  She lifted her head to look at him. “Because I make you feel alive?”

  Bartholomew nodded. “Yes. And because I am alive. I forgot that for a time.”

  Slowly and gently she ran her fingertip along the scar on his throat. He closed his eyes, but this time he didn’t flinch. It was a gesture of trust and surrender—and she realized that she was very likely the only person he’d ever surrendered to. “Tolly,” she whispered, sinking into his embrace again, “thank you. For trusting me.”

  His grip around her tightened a little. “All I can say to that, Tess,” he murmured, “is that I am likewise honored.” Tolly’s chest rose and fell beneath her cheek. “And speaking of trust,” he said slowly, “I think I can tell you now. About India.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “When a gentleman converses, a lady must listen, giving every indication that she finds his conversation interesting, his wit sparkling, and his company incomparable. Between you and me, she is lucky to find genuinely present one of the three, with two being a surprise, and all three something of a miracle.”

  A LADY’S GUIDE TO PROPER BEHAVIOR, 2ND EDITION

  He still didn’t want to tell her. But Theresa had shown her trust in him in the most telling way possible, and he needed to repay that very great honor.

  Her being there meant his plans had to change. Whether she intended to risk just one moment of impropriety or not, as Bartholomew buttoned his trousers and hauled himself to his feet, he knew he was looking at his future wife. And the prospect filled him with fear and excitement, apprehension and affection all at once. He meant to do right by her, but in the past he’d failed at that task miserably. And he was about to tell her all about it.

  And he’d already cheated; he’d meant it when he said he would stand by her, but this seduction had happened because he had a very good idea that after this she wouldn’t be too keen to stand by him. Having her only once would be torture, but not having her at all would be worse than death.

  “Are you going to keep looking at me, or are you going to talk?” she asked, looking very content sitting in his most comfortable chair and wearing nothing but her shift. She may have hesitated for far too long about her behavior, but she seemed very easy with her decision now. He hoped she wouldn’t regret it overly much.

  “I’d been in India for the past three and a half years, since the end of Bonaparte. I’m fairly fluent in Urdu, and so my commander, General Osprey, sent me out frequently to deal with local matters.”

  Still barefoot, he limped to the window and sank one haunch against the deep sill. He felt more like pacing, but after the several exertions of the morning, his leg literally wouldn’t stand for it.

  “All along we’d heard rumors of the Thuggee, how they would find men traveling on the road far from home, offer to keep them company, and then strangle or stab them to death in the night, dispose of the corpses, and make off with their belongings. Because the men were so far from home, it would be months sometimes before anyone even noticed they were missing. And by then, all traces would be gone.”

  “It’s very clever,” she commented quietly. “Horrific, but clever.”

  “The consensus at Fort William was that the Thuggee stories were exaggerated. After all, if they were so deadly and never left any survivors, who was carrying the tales? At any rate, four or five units would go out twice a week to patrol the roads and make the locals feel safer. Frequently the local Punjabis would hire us to escort them from their homes to Bombay or Delhi. It was good money, and fairly easy work, and it made for friendly relations with the natives.

  “I received orders to escort Aadi Surabhi, the eldest son of the local zamindar—chieftain—to Delhi. Aadi and I were about the same age, and we got on well.” They’d been friends, but dwelling on that fact wouldn’t change the outcome of the story any. “Ten days in, we caught up to a group of monks traveling in the same direction. They said they’d heard that the Thuggee were operating in the area, and they asked if they could camp with us.” He shrugged. “There were only eight of them, and together with Aadi’s men we were fifteen.”

  “A logical decision.”

  He sent her a brief, grim smile. “I thought so at the time. They were jolly fellows. The group’s elder had a fondness for tobacco, and he was really quite funny. He was called Parashar, after one of the Hindu saints. I liked him, as well. Another three days saw us into some very rugged country, and I kept scouts out looking for any signs of ambush.”

  Bartholomew took another slow breath. “As we made camp, the monks began talking about some sort of celestial event that evening. They were all quite excited, and delighted to see that the sky looked to be clear.” He glanced at her, taking in her rapt expression, then looked away again. “Do you know why they were so interested in the sky?”

  “No.”

  “Because they could sit beside us, pointing up. When we looked skyward, they threw the garrotes around our necks to strangle us. It was all very quiet at first, just them breathing and us flailing about a little. Then the others came out of the brush. Apparently they’d been following us for three days, and knew when the attack would take place.”

  “My God.”

  “I managed to reach my boot knife before a third man could come in to pin my arms. I stabbed him, and broke away. Then I grabbed for my pistol and started shooting.”

  “Tolly,” she breathed, horror in the sound.

  “They outnumbered us at least eight or nine to one. We had guns, but most of us never got to them. I remember being stabbed in the side, with a half dozen of them hanging on me and trying to drag me down again. One group of them was digging through our damned supplies while others were still murdering my men. I must have passed out, and when I opened my eyes I was being dragged up to an old well. I could see them tossing in my men, along with Aadi, his people—everyone. I kicked free, grabbed a rifle, and shot Parashar.”

  “Good for you.”

  “A bit late to do any damned good. I dropped him, but someone else put a bullet through my leg. They must have been angry with me, because I was rather thoroughly punched and kicked before they dropped me into the well. I remember falling for what seemed like a very long time. The landing at the bottom wasn’t so bad—until I realized that it was
the bodies of my men, my friends, that had cushioned my fall.

  “By searching them, I found another pistol, three knives, and a flint, along with a small bit of water in a canteen.” He closed his eyes for a moment, but the images were too close, things he would never tell her about the look of dead eyes gazing at him and the sound of the flies and the smell.

  “I don’t know how long I was down there, but by using the knives I finally climbed my way out again. Since the Thuggee thought we were all dead, they hadn’t bothered to hide their trail, and with the help of a pony I stole, I found it fairly easily. And I remembered that one of the crates we’d been toting had been full of explosives.” He turned to gaze out the window. “I don’t think any of them survived that. One of the horses did, and I hauled myself over the saddle. When I came to again, I was at one of the local villages being pulled out of the saddle by another of our patrol units. You know the rest.”

  He heard her stand up. A moment later her hand touched his shoulder. “Look at me.”

  Bartholomew looked up into her gray-green eyes. “Are you going to tell me that it wasn’t my fault? I knew about the rumors, I knew the danger of allowing strangers into camp, but I thought Parashar was amusing. I jested with him. I shared my tobacco and my supplies with him. I gave the order to allow him and his men to join us.” And even with all that, at times he thought the worst thing he’d done was to survive.

  Theresa leaned down and kissed him. She shone so bright after the months he’d spent in darkness. Touching her felt almost too close to joy—joy he no longer had any right to.

  “I am glad that you lived, Bartholomew James,” she whispered, her tears wetting his cheeks. “We never would have met, otherwise. And what happened to you can’t be allowed to happen to anyone else. If you’d died, the next group of travelers might already have met up with Parashar and been killed.”

  Straightening, he leaned down past her for his shirt. “Don’t let Lord Hadderly hear you say that.”