Dressed to Kiss

by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens

  Feverishly she stripped off her gloves so she could plow her bare fingers through his hair. Her lungs seized as his tongue traced circles on her skin, closer and closer to the edge of her corset. Shivers racked her body and her nipples grew hard, aching for him to unlace her and put his mouth everywhere. “Carmarthen,” she said faintly. “Evan…”

  He curled one hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her near, until her forehead rested against his. “Say my name again,” he whispered, his lips almost touching hers.

  “Evan,” she said on a sigh.

  He kiss her, hard and brief. “What now, Felicity?”

  She made a soft noise of indecision. She knew what he was asking. Her heart hammered, both at the white-hot pleasure of his hands and mouth on her skin and in nerves at the prospect of taking him home.

  “Do you want me to go?” His fingers were massaging little arcs along the back of her neck. “If you do, I swear on my life I’ll go and leave you in peace.”

  “No!” She put her fingers on his lips. “Not that.”

  His eyes met hers. “I promised I’d see you home.”

  Desire made her quiver. “Have you changed your mind?”

  “Not at all.” His gaze dropped for a moment, to her exposed bosom. “I can do one of three things. The first is return to my mother and sister and allow you to watch the remainder of the performance, before summoning a hackney coach to deliver you home in dignified safety.”

  She wouldn’t be able to pay attention to a word of the play now, not with the memory of his touch still scalding her skin. She gave a tiny shake of her head.

  A grin, more feral than amused, flashed across his face. “The second choice is that I escort you home now, as I promised, and then return to my mother and sister.”

  That one was also not appealing. A few frantic kisses in the carriage wouldn’t satisfy her now. “And third?” she asked, her voice husky and hesitant.

  He inhaled slowly. “Third… I will go make arrangements now for a suitable escort home for my mother and sister, and then I shall take you back to Vine Street and make love to you for the rest of the night.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, almost before he finished speaking. “The third.”

  With a muffled growl, he kissed her once more, so deeply and so well she wobbled on her feet when he released her. With a devilish smile playing over his lips, he turned her to face the wall and gently tugged her gown back into place. “I’ll only be gone a few minutes,” he breathed, kissing the nape of her neck as he did up the hooks and ties again. “Wait for me here.”

  Felicity barely managed to nod before he left, opening and closing the door with a soft click behind him. She rested her cheek against the gaudy wallpaper, dazed and half disbelieving what had just happened. The Earl of Carmarthen—Evan—wanted her. He was going to take her home and make love to her. The mere thought made her heart pound; giddy anticipation coiled in her belly, and she felt the most insane urge to burst out laughing in sheer joy.

  She pushed away from the wall and smoothed her hair, albeit with trembling hands. Thank goodness Henry wasn’t here. She was so flustered over the prospect of having Evan in her bed, she couldn’t even wonder where her brother had gone or what he was doing. Hopefully it was something so diverting he wouldn’t pester her tomorrow about what had happened with the earl.

  And if Henry was off making love to Miss Grant, there wasn’t a word Felicity would say to tease him about it.

  Chapter Nine

  By the time Evan returned, she had composed herself enough to leave the theater with dignity. Neither said a word as they went down the stairs, now almost deserted during the performance, pausing at the cloakroom to retrieve her cloak, and then proceeding out to the street, where the Carmarthen carriage awaited. He must have sent for it when he left Lady Marjoribanks’s box. Silently he handed her inside, then climbed in and sat beside her.

  “What did you tell your mother?” she asked softly, as the carriage rocked forward. It occurred to Felicity that if Lady Carmarthen knew she was the earl’s lover, it might end any chance of the countess patronizing Follette’s. She still wanted him too badly to change her course, but her practical side regretted that consequence.

  It was too dark to see his face clearly. “I told her something unforeseen had arisen and I needed to address it at once.”

  Unforeseen. She smiled wryly at that. “I see.”

  “Do you?” His teeth flashed white in the dim carriage as he grinned. “I also made a silent promise that I would remove your gown very carefully, to avoid tearing it. My mother can forgive a fit of passion, but not the ruin of a splendid gown.”

  “I like your mother very much,” she said with a short, surprised laugh.

  He laughed, too, then sobered. “Felicity. You said something earlier about after the kiss—that tomorrow we would return to sparring over the fate of Madame Follette’s. I don’t want that to happen.”

  Felicity went very still. “Nor do I.”

  He turned on the seat to face her, and reached for her hand. “I can’t stop the plans to tear down and rebuild Vine Street; there are other investors, and the Crown has approved the plan. But I made you a promise, and I will keep it.”

  “Creatively,” she said after a moment, remembering his earlier words.

  One corner of his mouth curled upward. “Yes.”

  She hesitated, but when he looked at her like this, he undercut all her righteous indignation. “Very well. I shall be patient and trust you.”

  “Thank God,” he murmured, reaching for her. “I do mean to satisfy you…”

  She wound her arms around his neck as he shifted his weight, dragging her on top of him until they sprawled across the carriage seat. “You can start tonight.”

  “I intend to,” he said, and then his mouth was on hers, seductive and lazy, as if he meant to take all night to savor her. Felicity shivered as the thought sent molten heat coursing through her.

  It was only a short drive from the theater to Vine Street. Still, Felicity felt as if a year instead of a few hours had passed since she left with Henry. Evan spoke to his coachman as she fumbled in her cloak pocket for her latchkey, and then he stepped up behind her, raising one of the carriage lanterns so she could see. Gratefully she unlocked the door and let them in. With a clatter of hooves and wheels, the carriage drove off as the earl closed the door behind them.

  “Your brother lives elsewhere, I believe?” he said.

  “Yes.” Felicity watched, off balance and somewhat dazed, as he slid the bolt of the lock home.

  A small smile played around his lips. “Show me your shop.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Now?”

  “Why not?” He prowled toward her. “I’m curious.”

  “Well.” Flustered, she waved one arm. “This is the salon.” He chuckled. “There is the office,” she went on, pointing it out, “and here are fitting rooms and our fabric closet.” He followed her as she walked down the narrow corridor past those rooms. “Upstairs is the workroom,” she said, going up the stairs. Did he really care to see all this? Henry’s incredulous query—what would an earl want with a dress shop?—echoed in her mind. “And my lodgings are above.”

  “Show me,” he said softly, remaining on the landing when she started to continue up the stairs to her personal quarters.

  “Why?” she blurted out.

  “Because it’s where you spend your days. I want to understand what’s important to you.”

  Felicity hesitated. In the lantern light, his face was focused on her, his eyes darker than usual. She took one step down, then another. “Very well.”

  The workroom occupied almost the entire floor. She led the way past the cupboards full of sewing supplies and the long worktable, to the wide windows overlooking the street. “Here is where most of the work is done.” She gestured at the chairs set near the window. “Alice and Sally, my apprentices, do much of the basic sewing, although Mrs. Fontaine, Miss Owen, and I do a great d
eal as well.”

  “Do you still sew?”

  “Of course,” she said with surprise. “The only way to craft a beautiful gown is piece by piece. If one doesn’t know precisely how to cut and drape and stitch the cloth, it will never resemble the sketch. I presume you must know something about how a house is built, in order to plan ones with sufficient space for all your modern plumbing and such.”

  His grin was white in the darkness. “Of course. But I don’t do the plumbing.”

  She laughed. “A gown is far simpler than a house, I suppose.”

  It wasn’t too dark for her to see the way his gaze slid over her. “Simpler, perhaps, but no less demanding.”

  Her skin prickled when he looked at her that way.

  “They don’t sew at the table?” He held up the lantern, illuminating the long, narrow worktable.

  “No, that is for cutting. A good table is essential for cutting properly.”

  He skimmed one hand across it. “And what is this?” He swung the lamp toward an alcove opposite the fireplace. The room glowed as the light was reflected in the triptych of tall mirrors that stood there.

  “It’s a sort of fitting area.” She crossed the room. “For an intricate gown, a client would stand upon this stool in her undress.” She stepped up on it in illustration. “We make an initial pattern for the gown out of muslin by draping and pinning it to her figure, marking on the fabric where trim and embellishments should be. With the mirrors, a seamstress can see every side of the gown at once, as can the client. This way there are no misunderstandings about where the trims will be or how low the bodice is.”

  “Ah.” He set the lantern on the small table nearby, meant to hold pins and other supplies. His arms came around her and tugged loose the bow holding her cloak closed. The cloak slid from her shoulders, and he tossed it behind him onto the worktable. “So if you were my client, you would come in and remove your gown.”

  Felicity’s heart seemed to pause, then slam into her breastbone as she felt his hands at the back of her gown, untying and unhooking again. Unlike in the theater, where there had been a fevered haste to his actions, this time he was unhurried and deliberate. I want to make love to you for the rest of the night. “Yes.”

  His gleaming gaze connected with hers in the mirror. “Show me.”

  Trying to hide the faint tremor of her fingers, Felicity eased the delicate sleeves down her arms, the silk whispering over her skin and leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. The earl—Evan—inhaled sharply as she eased it over her hips, letting it fall down over her petticoats. She almost lost her balance on the step stool as she stepped out of it, but his hands were at her waist, steadying her.

  “For an evening gown,” she said, “we would work over a lady’s undress.”

  “Hm.” His hands spanned her waist, then drifted up the front of her ribs. Standing on the stool, Felicity was the same height as he was. “This tormented me tonight.” He ran one finger across the twist of fine net trim edging the bodice of her petticoat. “It winked at me like a beacon until I could scarcely look away.”

  She was having trouble breathing. “That was not my intent…”

  “No?” His smile was wicked, his eyes heavy-lidded but intense. He bent his head and nipped the sensitive skin at the curve of her neck, and Felicity gave a gasping moan of pleasure. “That’s what it made me feel,” Evan whispered, his lips brushing the spot. “This is what it made me want.”

  Her breath shuddered as she watched in the mirror, his hands dark against her white undergarments as he unfastened the petticoat and peeled it from her shoulders, sliding it down over her hips, so she stood in her chemise and corset. From all sides she could see them, him dark and dangerous in his evening clothes, her pale and exposed in her white undergarments.

  “Should I apologize?” Her voice was throaty and inviting, even to her own ears.

  Evan smiled, the slow, roguish grin that never failed to make her heart skip a beat. “Never.” His hand flattened over her stomach as he plucked the string of her corset. “I reveled in every moment of it. It was quite the most … uplifting evening I’ve ever had at the theater.” The corset came loose, he pressed against her, and Felicity felt the hard, heavy length of him at her back. Uplifted, indeed.

  He threw the corset on the floor and then his hands covered her breasts. Her back arched and she gasped, her hands reaching backward for him, trying to anchor herself against the storm brewing inside her body. His mouth was on her neck again, kissing, sucking gently, teeth grazing her skin just hard enough to make her flinch. “Evan,” she gasped.

  “Dear God, I love the way you say my name.” He yanked at the string of her chemise, then pulled it down to bare her breasts. Felicity let her head fall back as his hands cupped her. His touch was firm, not rough, squeezing and then feathering fingertips. He played with her nipples until she squirmed, drawing a low laugh from him. His mouth opened in hot, wet kisses on her shoulders and neck, until she managed to turn her head. When his lips took hers, a charge went through her; her toes curled and her fingers flexed, digging into the fabric of his coat to hold him to her.

  “Felicity.” His voice rasped in her ear. “Tell me you’ve done this before…”

  Head swimming, she nodded once. She could barely hear his exhalation of relief and then cool air swirled around her knees. She pried open her eyes a little and watched in the mirror as he slowly drew up the hem of her chemise. Her belly clenched in excitement, knowing what was coming, and her knees felt weak. When the chemise grazed her waist, Evan’s breath hissed in her ear. “So beautiful.” He kissed her again, his palm flat on her thigh, sliding up, up, up—

  Felicity arched as his hand settled between her legs, warm and big. “So soft,” whispered Evan, his voice guttural. His fingers stirred, and she whimpered. It had been a long time since any man had touched her there, but she was more than ready. He stroked, his fingers easing deeper between her thighs, and she almost fell off the stool at the first touch there, on the nexus of nerves. “So wet,” said Evan, a taut undercurrent of need in his voice.

  “Yes,” she almost sobbed. “I want more—I want you—Evan…”

  With a sudden movement he spun her around in his arms, his mouth claiming hers ruthlessly. Felicity surged against him, winding her arms around his neck. His hands went to her bottom, and when he lifted her, she curled her legs around his waist. Still kissing her, he turned and took a few steps before setting her down—on the worktable, she realized.

  “Take this off.” He flicked the drooping chemise. As she struggled out of it, he stripped off his coat and waistcoat. Felicity threw her garment aside, unabashedly baring herself to his gaze. Even though the lantern behind him was the sole source of light in the room, his eyes seemed to blaze with a light of their own.

  “God almighty,” he whispered.

  “Take off your shirt,” she said unsteadily. In white shirtsleeves, his shoulders looked incredibly broad and strong.

  His wicked grin flashed again as he jerked at his cravat, almost ripping off the cloth before pulling the shirt over his head. In the low light, he was still magnificent, lean and strong. “As you command, love.” He stepped forward, between her knees, clasping his hands around her hips and pulling her forward until they were pressed together from thigh to chest. For a moment they clung to each other.

  Dimly Felicity wondered if he felt the same unnerving sense of oneness that she did. Even the feverish haze of desire seemed to recede for a moment as she wallowed in the strength of his arms around her, the steady thump of his heart beneath her cheek, and the feel of his breath on her shoulder. And in that moment, Felicity thought she’d never wanted anything so much, in all her life, as she wanted this to last forever.

  He put one finger under her chin and tipped up her face. For a moment he just looked at her, something like wonder softening his face. Felicity stared back, helpless to look away. Why couldn’t he have been a lace merchant or an attorney, she thought with
some despair, someone—anyone—who might have contemplated forever with her?

  To quell those thoughts she reached for him. She was not a fool; she knew what she was getting into.

  When she put her hands behind his head and pulled him back to kiss her, his hands began to wander freely over her body. Shivers ran through her as his palms glided over her shoulders, her back, her hips. When his hands covered her breasts, she jolted upright, and he pressed her backward to lie atop her cloak.

  “This table,” he rasped, “is the perfect height.”

  It was higher than a regular table, to make it easier for the seamstresses while cutting. A wild, reckless smile crossed her face. “For what, my lord?”

  He touched his finger to her lips. “Evan. Say it.”

  “Evan,” she whispered.

  His hand closed on her breast, compressing the flesh and rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Felicity arched off the table. “Again.”

  “Evan,” she gasped. He bent over her and put his mouth where his fingers had been, suckling hard on her erect nipple. She flung her arms out, shuddering even as she pressed into his mouth.

  “Again,” he commanded, his fingers trailing down her stomach.

  “Evan,” she whimpered, her thighs tensing as he urged her legs farther apart. She gave a strangled moan as his palm moved to cover her center, now pulsing with want.

  “When we are alone together, like this”—his fingers dipped into the soft, wet folds between her legs—“you are my lord and master, Felicity. You’ve enslaved me—you command me—”

  She forced open her eyes. He loomed over her, dark and gorgeous and bare, his strong hands stroking her body into delirium, his blazing eyes fixed on her. “Make love to me, Evan,” she said on a sigh. “Please.”

  His mouth curved before he bent his head again, to her other breast. Felicity barely had time to marvel at his words before he swept her away on a tide of sensation, with his mouth and with his hands.

  Just when she felt herself approaching the brink, he pushed himself up. Leaving her gasping and tense on the table, he stepped back. “Just a moment,” he said, his voice tight.