An Indiscreet Debutante

by Lorelie Brown

  If he’d expected wild and reckless Lottie to take that as a warning, he’d been a fool. She crackled with excitement. It zinged off her skin like electricity in a summer storm. She’d been toying with the slender strip of his black cravat, but suddenly that wasn’t enough. She pulled it free.

  “Maybe you’re the one who should stop making offers you have no intention of following through with.” Her hands were cool against his neck, and his body awoke. Wanted.

  Took.

  He stole her mouth, claimed her breath. His lips parted over hers. There was no resistance. She melted and sank against him. Lean curves were completely given over.

  He held her pinned against his body with one hand at her neck. The other traveled down, down, to her crinoline-and-wool-covered ass. Firm. Pert. His hands filled with her flesh, and there was nothing more he could think of for a long, long spinning moment.

  Until she moaned. With a long, slow dip of his tongue, he gathered the sound.

  He shouldn’t be doing this. The empty house and the promise of her flesh went to his head. He pulled his mouth away and looked into those glowing eyes. She was hazy again. A tiny, winsome curve adorned her mouth, entirely more real than most of those smiles she flashed like blades.

  He kept his hand on her ass, even as he scowled. “Tell me to stop. Tell me, or this will likely go further than you want.”

  They passed breaths back and forth as slowly as treacle. By pure determination, he held back the wave that threatened to take him down.

  Then she did the unthinkable. She crossed her forearms behind his neck and with a sweet, low pressure dragged herself up his length. Her lips hovered below his, close enough that he felt every word whisper over his skin. “Don’t you dare stop.”

  Chapter Nine

  Lottie knew this wasn’t wise. She’d always flouted the rules, and she’d been the bane of her governesses, but she understood there was a line. A certain level of behavior that couldn’t be ignored by society. Rules existed for the neat ordering of humankind within the accustomed boundaries.

  She intended to leap right over those boundaries.

  Here, now, she had the protection of Ian’s arms. A sharp twinge in her chest warned her this closeness would only serve to complicate issues. Eventually she would have to contrast the sure, hard feeling of his arms wrapped around her against the flayed-open effect of losing him.

  His kiss swept away the awful fear slithering down her spine. She locked her forearms tighter behind his neck. Held on because that was all she knew how to do.

  She wanted more, but she didn’t know how to make more happen. Or what it entailed. All she knew was that the way his hands spread over her back made her push up closer. Nearer. The fragment of space between them disappeared.

  Closing that distance was the least she could do. Rewards came from pressing her chest along his. Heavy pressure in her lungs counteracted the tempting thrust of her breasts against him. The tight pull of her nipples made her breath catch.

  A quiet grumble filling the air was another reward. His hands clenched on her back, then one shifted down to her backside. Soft kneading made her rise on her toes. Lean harder into him.

  She could believe it possible to let go. Allow herself to put her trust and her body in his hands.

  Whatever he took, it wouldn’t be enough.

  He kissed her jaw, then her neck. Lush and tingling sensation heralded wetness. He was drawing his tongue along her skin, adding nips. His hand along her back spread wider as a single point of steadying calm.

  He found supple skin beneath her ear, and she jolted. Her heart and body and insides twisted. Body warming and readying. She’d never been turned inside out like this.

  “There’s a bed behind me,” she gasped. He’d found a place at the center of her throat that made her rock up on her toes. She wasn’t helpless, not the way she’d heard the feeling described sometimes, but Lord did it feel lovely.

  She couldn’t tell if the sensations all came as a result of his skill or the palpable excitement that drove every movement. He was on the verge of eating her up, turning her into some sort of treat for his pleasure.

  Which was why she was so surprised when he gave a small shake of his head against the base of her neck. “No.”

  She shuddered, and it was half from unbearable disappointment and half the implacable control in his voice. “You sound so certain.”

  He lifted his head away from the delicious things he was doing to her neck. His eyes blazed. Such fire was enough to assure she was on the right track. This was right. They were right.

  “If I have you on a horizontal surface, I’ll fuck you.”

  Her nails dug into the back of his neck. Firm flesh under soft skin. The ends of his hair trailed over her knuckles. Her body clenched on his brutal words, and she made herself smile. “I was under the impression that men took anything freely given.”

  His hands were so assured and confident. She loved the feeling of them on her body, holding her still. Holding her in. But she wasn’t going to appreciate what sparked in his eyes. That was only confirmed when he chuckled. “What is the world teaching women nowadays? That every man is some slavering beast at the mercy of his body?”

  “Maybe at the mercy of my body.” Her smile wavered. “If things are going well.”

  “I like you, Lottie.”

  He turned them and then backed up until he was seated on a small chaise. She shouldn’t have allowed it, but the shocked pleasure that rocked through her at his words left her off-center. He held her by the hand, and those long fingers enfolded hers with more warmth than she’d known could exist. He arranged her beside him so that they were seated together.

  “This is a horizontal surface,” she pointed out, rather than address his enigmatic comment. What did one say to that? How did one accept it? Particularly when she feared he knew nothing about her after all. Only what she’d shown, no more.

  “There’s less room for maneuvering.” His fingers laced with hers, and his other hand rose to cup her chin. “I’m good, but there’s still limits. And trust me, you shouldn’t like to see such limits. They’re difficult and awkward. Those phrases shouldn’t be involved with lovemaking.”

  There. She was right in giving herself to him. His humor was enough to make her giddy. She kissed him again, this time taking the lead with a fast rush of assurance. She could do this. More than that, it would be lovely and amazing.

  He kissed her back, but not long enough. Not for nearly long enough. She started to melt, her spine leaning back and back against the arm of the chaise until she was a crescent that waned and melted.

  “I can’t do this, Lottie.”

  She felt her lips bend into something unattractive, a flickering shadow of the frustration that made her want to dig her fingers into his hair and yank. She would put his mouth back at her neck and let him figure it out from there. “You said you liked me.”

  He didn’t exactly take his hands off her, either. He swept up and down her sides in a slow streak that didn’t dissuade her. She wanted to curl and preen under the attention, like a puppy in a puddle of sunshine. “I do. That’s why I can’t continue.”

  “You make no sense.” She loved and hated his eyes. There was too much there. Like he could see right through her, and she absolutely despised the speck of pity. Her neck turned rigid. “No complications. No permanence. You’d be a fool to not take me up on my offer.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his chest. Her head shouldn’t have been able to bend, not with tension locking her into a brittle collection of straw bits. Somehow she fit against him, despite the lingering conviction she’d fit nowhere. Ever. Her head rested on his surprisingly hefty shoulder.

  “You see, that’s the problem.” He passed a hand over the curve of her head, fingers skimming through her hair.

  A tingling burn came and went behind her nose and eyes. “You are a nonsensical idiot.”

  “You’re not sweetmeat
to be offered on a silver platter, Lottie. You shouldn’t be.”

  “I want you.” She swallowed. “That way.”

  “No you don’t.” She could somehow hear a smile in his voice, though at the moment she stared at a golden pillow tassel. When he’d backed her away from the bed, she should have known this wasn’t going the way she wanted. “You have a notion, and you wanted me to stop asking pointed questions about your family.”

  “My family is an open book. There’s nothing that needs asking.”

  He petted and stroked her head. He dug into the back of her neck, pinching away a flush of stress. Her fingertips tingled. “You talk about the facts. You make jokes and you dance about as if it were nothing unfortunate. But you never talk about the effect upon you.”

  “Have I mentioned that you’re an idiot?”

  “Quite recently.”

  She sat up then. This had gone entirely too far for her preferences. If she gave into it—if she ever gave in—she’d be sunk. Drowned under frozen waters and trapped by crisp ice. “You’re alone in an empty house with a woman who’s generally considered attractive—”

  “You’re not simply attractive, you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”

  She buried her smile against his coat’s soft wool. “With a beautiful woman, then. You refuse to do more than kiss her, and you wish to talk about her feelings.”

  He gave an overly dramatic sigh. “I know. It’s a tragic failing of mine, not recognizing amazing opportunities when they’re given to me. Maybe I’ll shortly change my mind.”

  “Is there actually any chance of that?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted him at this moment, but she was quite curious about his answer. Only when her fingers stilled did she realize she’d been idly twisting a silver button on his waistcoat.

  “There shouldn’t be.” His voice traveled straight to some depraved core of her and woke her again. “There shouldn’t be, because I’d always intended to be a good sort of man. But you go to my head.”

  IT ENDED UP TAKING everything Ian was made of to leave that empty house without tasting Lottie’s sweetness. Even so, he cracked and kissed her at the foot of the stairs while her groomsman waited patiently outside. He bent her back against the newel post, and she kissed him so agreeably he almost convinced himself that she truly wanted him. Completely.

  But she didn’t. Not really. The problem was more that she didn’t want her other options. She’d didn’t have enough happiness in her life to base such choices on.

  Coming together like that ought to be a happy thing. Joy to leave both parties fulfilled and feeling better about themselves, before going their separate ways.

  Any choices Lottie made would be borne of fear. It then followed that fear would poison that which came after.

  None of which was to say that he didn’t want Lottie. He wanted her more than he wanted sense in his head.

  He put her into her carriage unmolested and then took his own to the railway station. He’d told Lottie the day before of his intentions to go home to collect Etta and his mother. Hence why he’d needed to inspect the house she’d arranged for this afternoon, before the servants arrived.

  That didn’t mean he’d expected the train ride home to be quite as fraught as it was.

  Lulled by the chugging, clambering rails, his mind took the strangest detours, and every inch was a wander down odd roads. What it would be like to make such a trip with Lottie at his side.

  He could almost imagine her riding in a private rail coach. To meet her standards, the train would have to be adorned like a tiny jewel box, with her as the prize at the center.

  Besides, private accommodations would mean more time for them to indulge. Feel her and know her to take her apart piece by piece and put her back together again stronger and more aware of how amazing she really was.

  The station at his village was small, little more than a tidy white-clapped building with a platform long enough for the average train. No one waited for him there, exactly how he’d intended it.

  He needed the trip home and the crisp, clean air in direct contrast to the grime and thickness of London. The road he took out of town was one he’d traveled a thousand times. More. He’d walked this road to church and back again. To the station when his father had died and Ian had been forced to take over the business of the mines. Those weren’t counting the trips he’d made in the middle of Etta’s disastrous drama—or when he’d realized there was yet more mess to clean up.

  Which was part of the obligations of being an elder brother.

  Which was also why he could sympathize strongly with Lottie. She had likely gone home to spend time with her mother—or to the charity she ran. Must be convenient to have such a well-respected way to run away.

  Not that Ian blamed her in the least. Standing at the end of his drive, looking at the home he’d been raised in, he was shocked how little he wanted to enter. The place had always been a comfort, safe from the rest of the world. Ivy covered the north wall, and he took no small measure of pride in knowing the entire slate roof had been replaced last year. He’d had gas run to the entire lower floors, and he’d recently spoken to a man about having a full plumbing system installed.

  All in all, it was a good house. A solid house. The kind of place a man could build a family.

  He’d rather be in London, in Lottie’s realm. Where he had the hope of seeing her.

  Instead his mother’s near hysterics needed to be dealt with. She must have seen him from an upstairs window. A scarf dangled from her hand. For middle age, she was small and spry. Her hair was mostly dark, with only the slightest sprinkling of white at her temples and twisting through the braided mass.

  “Is it true? Have you rented a house?” She had all the fluttery animation of a young girl.

  “A very fine one.” He grabbed her up for a fast hug, then put her at arm’s length so he could better see her bright eyes. “I went to see it this afternoon.”

  How very strange. He wanted to tell her all about Lottie. To sit with her in the gathering twilight and have tea delivered to the back garden.

  He and his mother had a good relationship, but he’d never felt compelled to tell her about the women in his life. Certain issues were solely for a man’s world.

  Lottie, it seemed, transposed both.

  Maybe the idea had merit. If anything, his mother was excellent at seeing to the heart of matters. Her response might be a hysterical overreaction, but that made the initial analysis no less valid.

  “Is it grand?” she asked. She looked half terrified and half enthusiastic. “I’ve always wanted to stay in one of those grand sorts of places. The grange is nice, but it’s nothing compared to some I saw in my one season.”

  “There’s an ebony staircase that spirals down to the foyer. Marble everywhere. And I’m told there’s a conservatory.”

  “In London,” she said on a pleased gasp. Looping her arm through his, she led him into the house and up toward the family parlor. “Though what do you mean told? Didn’t you choose the place yourself?”

  “I relied upon knowledgeable advice.”

  Though she spoke with an amiable smile, there was no missing the way his mother’s gaze narrowed in on him. “From whom? One of your business agents? Please, Ian, I beg you not to leave our living conditions to some man of business. He’ll have picked based solely on cost plus how long it takes you to get to whatever offices you’re working out of.”

  “In the first place, I’ll be working out of the study as needed. You’ll have me as much as you like.”

  “Oh, how marvelous,” she exclaimed with a little clap of her hands. “And?”

  “And what?” he prevaricated.

  “And first places are always followed by second places. You have more on your mind.”

  “Ah.” His mother made his head spin sometimes. She was so damned...chirrupy. He wasn’t entirely sure that was a word, but there it was. After all, he’d contributed to that, conspiring with h
is father to give her and Etta the best possible life.

  They emerged into the family parlor as one. There, Etta waited picturesquely situated by the bay window. Since Archie’s death, she’d spent many, many hours curled up there. The part that worried Ian was that she didn’t indulge in the novels she’d once enjoyed. Instead she’d begun to read treatises for millwrights. Ian rather thought she could build a paper mill if she liked.

  “Ian,” she exclaimed, in practically the same tone his mother had used. “You’re home. Are you really going to take us to London?”

  “I am.” He gave her a large hug, then swung them around to face their mother. “And next I’ve your second place.”

  Hands clasped before her bosom, she lit up from within. “This is going to be lovely. I can tell. I can always tell, when you get that look.”

  “Which look?”

  “The one that says you’re about to be the best son or best brother that could be wished for.”

  How he loved when she relied on him. They’d grown up in each other’s pockets. Etta hadn’t had a governess, but they’d shared Nurse Rockaway. Ian’s earliest memory was coaxing a butterfly to land on his pudgy young fingers so he could show it to infant Henrietta.

  “Surely I’m not so obnoxious as to be self-aware,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.

  “Surely you are,” she said. Her hair was the same dark, dark brown as his, and he realized he had no real concept of how long it was. He hadn’t seen it down since she’d married Archie. It was coiled and pinned and twisted up. “But it’s all right with us. Everyone must have a fault.”

  “Smugness is mine?”

  “It seems minor compared to many.” Something dark flitted behind her eyes and pinched her features. “Lady Cotrose came to tea. She was very sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but she’d received a letter.”

  Ian sighed, filling in the blanks. “From Patricia.”

  “Indeed. Intimating I had an illicit history.” Instead of being able to laugh it off, Etta’s bottom lip wavered with emotion. “Lady Cotrose already knew, of course, but who will be next?”