On her way up the stairs to visit Lady Flora, having finished the soft lilac and cream gown for the girl, Elsie paused in the lonely hallway, the end of a conversation catching her attention. In part because it was so rare to overhear anything within the grim and isolated manor and the other aspect was the topic of the whispering pair’s talk. As she drew nearer, she saw it was her own maid, who had her arms wrapped around Clary’s neck, hidden although poorly, in a small alcove. The two had clearly been kissing, and from the way their bodies were angled against each other’s—Elsie had no doubt they meant to do far more.
She should walk on, but Samson’s giggle had her frozen in place, her gaze wide and her cheeks flushed at the sight.
“The others were talking about Lansdown as a most respectable place for a dance.”
“Oh, aye.” Clary seemed far more interested in the underside of Samson’s ear than in whatever might be happening at the Lansdown.
“Yes—there is even the occasional tradesman, and member of the gentry who attends. They dance there.”
“What makes you such an expert on the local parties?”
“Well.” Whatever Samson had been about to say was lost when Clary started kissing her most seriously.
Elsie had overheard enough, in fact in good conscience she had heard too much. But as she watched the couple before her, twisting closer, their eager hands exploring each other, their hungry mouths desperate for each other, she found she could not tear her eyes away.
Clary pressed Samson against the alcove’s wall, his hands pulling loose her dress, Elsie felt desire run a finger down her back, a need she had thought she had managed to banish from her body. As she watched, telling herself all the time to dart away to leave, her stubborn feet would not move her an inch. Deep within her, there was a pulse of sensation that felt as if it was tugging at her limbs, crying out to be touched. No matter howfar she travelled, that craven part of her seemed to burn bright still.
Samson’s neck was arched back, her pale brown hair tugged out her cap, and there was a warmth which discoloured her chest. Perhaps it was from Clary’s unshaven whiskers or from her own want, but whatever the case, maybe Elsie needed to know if the colour went farther, dipped any lower. Clary’s hands parted the material at the top of Samson’s dress, and it dawned on Elsie, if she did not force herself to leave then and there, she would witness her maid’s breasts, and how mortified the girl might be.
Blinking away her own wanton thoughts, Elsie moved away taking several steps as quietly as she could before breaking into a run. She just hoped her feet were quieter than the turmoil her thoughts were in. Reaching the safety and peace of her chamber had to be the first thing she did. Unsteadily, her hands grabbed at the handle of the bedroom, flinging it open, the dresses she carried with her discarded as she entered, all her attention focused on the sensation that burnt and writhed within her.
Surely her experience in Edinburgh had taught her enough. And yet it seemed, despite this, the mere sight of those two in the alcove had been enough to trigger a wave of need through her. In the sanctity of her chamber, her body shielded in the semidarkness, Elsie let out a sigh, the weight of what she wanted settling in the space between her hips. She leant back into the shadows, pressing herself against the wall, not daring to move away, desperately willing those memories out of her mind. Still, they came, and this time it was her gown being torn asunder, her breath robbed by all-consuming kisses, herself up against the wall…
Against her better judgement—hell perhaps even against her own common sense—Elsie lifted the bottom of her dress up, pressing her fingers over the shift until her legs parted, so that her own hand could cup her core. The pressure helped but even as her fingers slid inside her, she knew she wanted more.
Bending her head back, she played through the sight she’dwitnessed on the staircase, but it wasn’t Samson and Clary she imagined there, no, now the image she conjured was the duke. His kissable mouth was smiling as he tasted her body, his hands everywhere all at once. All his brusqueness over the last few weeks vanished as she projected her desire and lust into him. Gone was the hard, stilted man he presented to the world. Elsie told herself this hunger within Kit would be similar to the occasionally seen element of laughter she saw within him, but it ran hotter, and it was all for her. As her finger stroked herself higher, a small sigh slipped out of her mouth—half formed and partly resembling his name. She wanted him with a ferocity she had not realised herself capable of and could not entirely explain even to herself.
The door of her bedroom opened, and Elsie had barely enough time to release her skirts as she looked into the face of the man she had been picturing standing in her room, gazing at her with concern, and what she hoped was absolutely no idea what she had been doing.
Clutching at her skirts Elsie studied Ashmore’s face. The heat of embarrassment flooded her face, but she hoped the dim light made it hard for him to make out what she had been doing or note the tingle of pinked cheeked shame. At least she thought as she edged away from the wall, he would never know what she had been visualising as she touched herself.
Ashmore had turned a little on his heel to give her space and was gazing around her chamber. Whilst it might have been taboo and wrong for her to be acting in such a manner, it was hardly appropriate for him to come barrelling into her bedroom without so much as knocking.
“Your Grace?” she asked. Hoping that her question hid any of her shame. However, she had initially assumed he might feel… indifferent, but then she had questioned this, given the hours teaching Flora her steps. She’d caught a smile on his face she believed to be entirely genuine. So, what did he feel towards her? The lust she felt towards him might be one sided, but the situation dictated that they continue to interact.
“I heard a noise, and there was the…” Even in the darkness, she could clearly see the flush on his face. “There were the dropped dresses.” He bent down and grabbed the forgotten gowns, one of which had clearly been sticking out of the door, visible to him. “I feared…”
“That something had happened to me?” Elsie took an unsteady step away from the safety of the wall. She was still twisted and raw with want despite his untimely interruption. Perhaps even driven a touch wilder because of it.
“In this house”—he moved into the chamber and deposited the gowns onto the nearest armchair—“I do not trust anyone in this house to remain safe.”
The movement caused his normal level of stiffness he had spent the last few weeks displaying, but it also allowed Elsie to see more of his features, and there was something in his eyes which made her draw nearer—it reminded her of their stolen, isolated moments in the cave.
The duke’s lips drew together as he saw her approach him, and he promptly moved his hands behind his back. “Madam.” His tone was harsh, as precise as it had been on their first meeting together. “Once this party has been celebrated, you will be leaving us.”
“Won’t we all be heading for London?”
“A brief sojourn,” he replied, “but then I will return here. This is my home,” he said, as though it was in fact less of a home and more of a curse. “No one else should have to remain here in such a place, but since I am obligated to remain, I will make sure that Flora leaves.”
He was punishing himself, Elsie realised. She was not certain if she believed in curses, but it was clear that Ashmore did, and that he meant to punish himself.
Boldness filled her, a sort of bravery born from a mixture ofboredom and lust, as well as a strange need to confront Ashmore and have him be convinced she was not a coward. She was not scared of this strange old house. There was nothing within these walls that scared her, at least not in the way he meant. In truth, whatever desire had driven her to imagine him as she touched herself was clearly a bizarre one. But Elsie was worthy of his attention, at least over the next few weeks. Whilst that might sound desperate in her head, Elsie knew that, unless he did pay some mind to her, she would never be able to shake the grip that this silly, unnecessary lust had on her. Unless she broke this hold, she would be forced to carry this desire all the way back to London with her.
“I do not find myself as scared as I was initially of the manor.”
“That is simply because you do not know all its secrets.”
“Lady Flora has started speaking a little more to me. I believe she is excited to see Town. The servants, it is true, are not the friendliest I will admit, but I have found a way.” This was a lie. She was still bereft of letters from any of her family members, but at least the maids would bring her trays of tea now and then. Elsie continued, “I can ignore the cobwebs. It is only Your Grace who remains inscrutable…”
