“My apologies,” he said earnestly. “Do continue.”
Charity bit her lower lip against the laugh that rose in her throat. “Your first moment of true privacy,” she repeated. “It is quiet. Calm. Peaceful. The air is still. The—”
His brow furrowed further. “Have you ever been inside a carriage in your life?”
“Captain.” Though she had tried to inflect her voice with the requisite severity merited by his constant interruptions, it was growing more difficult to restrain the merriment that they provoked instead. “This ismyimaginary carriage. It is quiet and calm and peaceful if I say it is.”
“All right,” he said, though there was a notable hint of doubt within his voice. “Quiet, calm, and peaceful. If you say so.”
“I do.” She drew in a breath and pitched her voice to a throaty murmur. “You are alone at last with the woman who is now your wife. Perhaps you are on your way to begin your bridal trip; a leisurely journey through the most romantic cities on the continent, where you will spend altogether too much time lounging about in bed, drinking fine wine, and savoring all of the delights there to be found. But right now—right now is the very beginning of it. Perhaps she is a bit nervous herself. She takes your hand in hers.” She slid her hand into his, pleased that he clasped his fingers around her own.
“And then?”
“Well, she isa lady, you must remember. She’ll be looking to you for guidance. It’s possible that Lady Cecily—or whoever your wife might be—is a bit more knowledgeable than the younger girls. But you should expect to take the initiative.” Her fingers squeezed his. “Perhaps you might stroke her cheek,” she suggested.
“How? I can’t see you.”
“That’s for the best. I’m not meant to be me at the moment.” Best not to ruin the illusion, when she was only a temporary occupant of the space intended for some other lady. “We’ll say it’s well past nightfall. Too dark to see much of anything. But you can feel her shoulder against yours.” A soft, encouraging nudge with her own. “You can hear her breaths. You know she is smaller than you are, that she is close enough to touch. You can find her face, even in the dark. You only have to do it.”
Tentatively he half-turned toward her, his lips flattened into a thin line of concentration as he stretched his free hand toward her and found—her hair. A curl slipped through the gentle grasp of his fingers. “Damn,” he said, hisshoulders sinking.
A laugh hummed in her throat. “That’s all right. You were close enough.” She clasped his free hand in hers, brought it to her cheek. His palm was rougher than she might have expected, but his fingers were warm and strong.
Slowly, carefully, he stroked her cheek, his fingers sliding down to her jaw to the point of her chin. “Like this?”
“Yes. Perfect.” Chill bumps rose along her skin at the gentle abrasion of his fingers on her cheek. Perhaps she had reveled in her privacy for longer than she ought to have done. If even the slightest touch could stir her senses like this, she had been far too long without a lover. “And now—a kiss.”
He leaned in with agonizing slowness. She felt the heat of his breath upon her chin first, caught the faintly astringent scent of some liquor. His lips touched hers, warm and dry. Softer than she would have expected, even with the ridge of the scar which bisected his lips. A sweet kiss. Undemanding and gentle; almost shy in its delicacy. So different an experience from every other that it sparked a queer effervescence within her chest.
“A good beginning,” she said, and her lips brushed his as she spoke, rousing tiny flickers of sensation. “Chaste. Innocent. Sensitive to the response of your intended. But not quite, I think, the sort of kiss you mean to learn.”
His eye opened as he drew back an inch, perhaps two, something vaguely apologetic gleaming within its coffee-brown depths. He cleared his throat. “It’s been—”
“A very long time for you,” she said. “I know. A proper kiss is meant to incite passion, and it’s very much like a dance. It’s done with more than just the lips; it’s done with the hands, the body. Above all, it must speak for itself of your desire. You can be by turns aggressive and coy, and you can tempt your partner to the same.” She slipped her fingers from the clasp of his and cradled his face in her hands. “Like this.”
She pressed her lips to his, slid her fingers up and into the thick, silky locks of his hair. The scratch of her nails upon his scalp produced a shudder from him, and she smiled—and nipped his lower lip. She felt his indrawn breath, felt his lips part beneath the pressure of hers, and seized the opportunity to sink her tongue into his mouth.
She had stunned him, she thought. For a long moment he was still as a statue, merely experiencing. And then, at last, there was the touch of his tongue to hers, the uncertain parry of a teasing thrust. “Yes,” she sighed against his lips, tasting the sweetness of brandy upon his tongue. “Just likethat.”
The praise emboldened him. His hands found her shoulders, his palms searing her skin through the fragile silk sleeves of her gown. Found the chill bumps prickling her skin above the neckline and chased them away with the warmth of his fingers. Exploratory and searching, his fingers traced subtle patterns upon her bare skin, began a meandering journey from her nape down her back. For a moment his fingers tangled in her laces, and she thought—hoped?—he might tug at the strings to pull them loose. But the anticipatory catch in her breath faded into a tiny sigh of disappointment as his hands continued their leisurely exploration, landing at the small of her back.
She had definitely gonetoo long without a lover.
“Now,” she whispered, charmed by the way his lips tried to cling to hers. “Your lover is here, seated beside you. Half a world away.”
His brow scrunched again, and he flicked a glance down, judging the distance—however scant it had become—between their bodies. “You’re practically in my lap already.”
Charity muffled a puff of laughter against his chin, let her lips just brush his cheek as she leaned closer still to reach his ear. “No,” she breathed. “But I could be.” She gave a delicate nip to the lobe of his ear, taking on the role of aggressor for the moment. But it was a role she knew well, played well.
A fresh shudder wracked him, more violent than she had expected. His hands, which had come to rest just at the small of her back, seized her waist to readjust her as she had suggested. As easily as if she weighed nothing at all, she found herself lifted from her seat and draped across his lap. Her skirts hiked up past her knees, though she doubted he’d noticed. Beneath her bottom, his thighs were warm and hard. “You’re teasing me,” he accused, and there was a telling thickness to his voice as she pressed her breasts to the wall of his chest.
“Oh, yes. It’s great fun.” She relished the faint sound of displeasure he made when she extracted her fingers from his hair to toy instead with the starched white linen of his cravat, gently prying loose the complicated knot and tugging it free from where it was wound around his neck. “There’s so many layers of clothing,” she whispered. “You might go so far as to slip a few buttons.” She traced the point of her tongue around the shell of his ear, heard the hitch of his breath, and felt a lambent heat bloom low in her belly in response. “Loose a few laces.”
“In a carriage?”
“Hm?” Oh, yes, her pretended carriage fantasy. “Of course, in acarriage,” she said as she flicked open a button upon his waistcoat. Two. Three. “It’s dark. The curtains are drawn. Who is to see? Who is to know?” She nudged the button at the collar of his shirt through its buttonhole, placed the tip of one finger against the hollow of his throat.
His hand fell upon her thigh, and for a moment he stilled at the sensation of her bare skin beneath his palm. A long swallow rolled down his throat. His fingers tightened upon her skin, and he shifted minutely in his seat, a motion no doubt meant to relieve the tightness in his trousers brought about by the swelling of his cock, which she could feel against her hip. “The coachman, one might assume,” he said, his voice a gritty rumble.
