“Never underestimate the importance of clothes in a woman’s arsenal,” Charlotte said, her tone serious. “In the right setting, satins and silks can render you asinvulnerable as armor. Knowing you look good, that you have the power to bring grown men to their knees, is a valuable asset.”
She gave a mischievous smile and led Anya to the dressing table so she could brush her hair. “Sensible men can be persuaded to do a great many foolish things when under the influence of a revealing bodice and a trim waist. I once persuaded the Chevalier d’Anveau to buy me a matched curricle and pair, thanks to a particularly well-cut décolletage.”
Anya smiled. Charlotte’s opinion on the importance of fashion was rather similar to Wolff’s.
She sat still as Charlotte pinned her hair into an elegant upswept style and added the blue ostrich feather plume that had come along with the dress. To Anya’s eye, she looked underdressed without a tiara on her head and a glittering necklace at her throat, but still, it had been a long time since she’d made such an effort over her appearance.
Since she’d felt so attractive.
A teal-colored opera mask would cover her from forehead to nose, and her worry dissipated at the anonymity it would provide.
Charlotte opened her reticule and extracted a pot of rouge, which she dabbed sparingly onto Anya’s lips and cheeks, then stood back to admire her handiwork.
“Perfect! You’ll break hearts tonight, Madame Incognito. I guarantee it.” She collapsed gracefully onto the side of the bed. “So, tell me everything. Has Wolff kissed you again?”
Anya fought a guilty flush. “What do you mean,again?”
Charlotte sent her a chiding look. “He kissed you that night at my house. Don’t think I didn’t notice, young lady! The atmosphere in that room was crackling. Hedidn’t take his eyes off you the entire time. Until you looked at him, and then he looked away. The whole thing was vastly entertaining. Better than watching an opera.”
Anya sighed. “Yes. He did kiss me that night. And he’s kissed me again since then.”
So very thoroughly.
“And you enjoyed it,” Charlotte predicted, with a gleeful bounce upon the bed.
“Yes. Very much.” Anya couldn’t stop the smile that sneaked across her lips at the memory.
Charlotte tilted her head. “You naughty girl! Are you going to take him as your lover? He wants you, I’m certain of it. And that’s not all. I’ve seen all the ways men look at women—with lust, with pride, with covetousness, with hopeless longing. He looks at you with more than just desire. There’s something else there, something real. Something rare.”
“I’m very tempted,” Anya confessed. “But I’ve never taken a lover. I always assumed I’d wait until I found someone to marry, but I’m twenty-two now, and the chances of that happening are growing more and more remote. Perhaps I ought to see what all the fuss is about?”
The girls at Haye’s had tried on countless occasions to explain to her that women could experience just as much pleasure as men, provided one’s partner was skilled enough. Anya was beginning to think it was time she discovered the truth for herself.
“It’s just like riding a horse,” Charlotte said with a wry smile. “You need a little practice until you learn how to control your mount, but you’ll quickly gain confidence and discover the right positions. And then—it’s marvelous. Think of how much you like riding a horse; the breathless thrill of a fast gallop, the swoop of excitement as you clear a fence. Good sex is even better.”
Anya considered her words. There was no question that she desired Wolff. Her body crackled to life whenever he was near. Along with his confidence in his own abilities, and the fact that he clearly desired her too, he was the perfect candidate if she wanted to take a lover.
A pang of guilt seized her. Neither Charlotte nor Wolff knew she was a princess, however. Would they treat her any differently if they knew?
Charlotte’s advice would probably remain the same, even if she discovered her secret. She fully believed in a woman taking control of her own pleasure, whatever her station in life.
But Anya doubted Wolff would see her in the same light, as a potential bed partner, if he knew her background. He’d probably balk at deflowering an aristocratic virgin, no matter how willing that virgin was. It was shamefully dishonest not to tell him, but she’d come to a decision; she wanted him.
“Do you think a man can sleep with a woman without feeling anything for her other than physical attraction?” she asked.
Charlotte met her eyes. “Honestly? Yes, I do. For many men it’s just scratching an itch with the nearest available body. Women, on the other hand, need theirmindmade love to, not just their limbs.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “One of my theories is that men love with their eyes, while we women love with all of our senses. We like to have our brains stimulated by clever conversation and witty repartee. We like to hear a man’s laugh, to have our stomach tighten when we catch a whiff of his cologne, to feel the prickles of his jaw.” She gave a laughing sigh. “Men, in general, just need a pair of breasts shoved in their face and they’re raring to go.”
Anya chuckled and glanced down at her own exposed décolletage. “In that case, I’d say I’m perfectly attired for a successful seduction.”
Charlotte stood and caught Anya’s hands in her own. “Bravo! It’s your decision, my darling. Do whatever makes you happy.” She pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I must be getting home. The girls will be wondering where I am. Good luck with whatever you decide.”
Chapter 21.
Anya heard Wolff’s return an hour or so later, and the tempo of her pulse increased. She heard the door to the adjacent suite open and close, and waited an extra half hour to give him time to get dressed for the evening. Then she slipped on her shoes, collected her mask, and made her way along the hall to his chamber, excitement warring with nerves in her chest.
He opened the door—clearly expecting Mickey because his gaze swiftly readjusted downward about eight inches to her face. And then his eyes swept the rest of her, and Anya held her breath. His chocolate-brown gaze seemed to devour every inch of her, and her skin heated in response.
