“This is Molly,” the madam said with a wave of her hand. “She will be your lady’s maid. She’ll style your hair and ensure you’re dressed suitably for your lessons. Molly will show you to your room.”
Molly curtsied briefly, her gaze warm and polite. “This way, Miss Woodville.”
Agatha followed the young maid up the grand staircase to the fourth floor. As they ascended, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her life had taken an irreversible turn tonight. She felt thrilled yet equally dreadful, knowing her life would change in ways she could barely imagine. But there was also something else—a strange sense of anticipation that she hadn’t expected. For the first time, she felt she might hold the reins of her own fate.
At the top of the stairs, Molly led her down a long, dimly lit corridor until they reached a door at the end. The maid opened it, and Agatha stepped inside, her breath catching in surprise. Her chambers were far more luxurious than she had expected. Tastefully furnished, the room was elegant without being overly ornate. The delicate robin’s-egg-blue wallpaper was complemented by drapes of the same hue, adding a softness to the space. A large bed, draped in rich fabrics, dominated the room, while a vanity with a gilded mirror stood against one wall.An armoire was in the corner, and by the fireplace, a chaise longue invited relaxation. A soft fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room.
Agatha stood in the center of the room, momentarily overwhelmed by the unexpected beauty and comfort. It was nothing like the sparse conditions she had grown accustomed to.
Molly hovered by the door. “Is there anything you require, miss?”
Agatha shook her head, offering the girl a small smile. “No, thank you.”
After a polite curtsy, Molly left Agatha alone in the quiet, dimly lit room. She stepped over to the vanity, her fingers brushing over the smooth wood as she tried to gather her thoughts. The sheer gown Madam Rebecca had provided earlier felt far too revealing now, even though Agatha had become somewhat accustomed to its feel against her skin. A small part of her wanted to change into the cotton nightgown she had brought with her, to wrap herself in something familiar and modest.
But she dismissed the thought almost immediately.No. I need to get used to scandalous things. Agatha slipped out of the sheer gown and laid it carefully over the back of a chair. Then, with a deep breath, she climbed onto the bed, the cool sheets brushing against her bare skin. Lying naked, she stared up at the canopy, her mind spinning with all that had happened and what lay ahead.
Have you ever played with your pussy or touched it?
Her heart squeezed. She took a steady breath, her hand drifting to rest lightly on her abdomen, fingers inching lower with an unhurried curiosity. Her heart tapped insistently, and an unfamiliar, tantalizing ache pulsed low in her belly, settling between her thighs. Agatha frowned, letting her fingers pause atop the delicate curls that shielded her sex, acutely aware ofa sensation she’d never experienced—a restless, almost aching need.
The earl’s words hinted that ladies sometimes touched themselves for reasons beyond mere necessity. She bit her lower lip, and a quiver stirred through Agatha’s belly as she lowered her fingers, slipping past the soft barrier of curls. She touched her sex gently, gasping—a soft, startled sound that felt foreign, as if it had escaped from someone else.
An almost intoxicating warmth unfurled, coaxing her hand into a slow, exploratory glide over her folds. Each delicate touch seemed to provoke an awareness that set her nerves alight. The ache in her belly deepened, and it felt like a sharp pull, almost pleading for more. Her heartbeat quickened, and her breaths grew shallow. Then, after a trembling pause, she let her hand fall to her side, rolling onto her belly. Her nipples brushed against the sheet, the subtle friction awakening her senses anew, leaving her both astonished and curious by this discovery.
I will touch you.
The low murmur of the earl’s words teased her. Was this how he planned to touch her? Agatha’s body flushed, and she buried her face against the pillow.
This is just the beginning.
Agatha would do what she needed to do, and she would learn. She would survive. She would save her family and provide well for them. She would allow the earl to touch and explore her body, doing whatever wasnecessary to teach her the art of seduction. There was no fear at the notion but a deep sense of curiosity, one that both terrified and thrilled her.
CHAPTER 5
As Thomas rode in his carriage, he couldn’t help but feel an unexpected measure of amusement mixed with a curious anticipation. Miss Woodville had certainly been ... expressive. Her wide eyes and the way her blushes crept up her cheeks gave away every thought she had. Normally, he found it tiresome when women feigned innocence or tried to hide their more wanton desires behind demure façades, but Agatha was different. She was too open, too transparent with her feelings. It made him wonder if that vulnerability would serve her well or lead to her downfall.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of his home. Thomas stepped down, adjusted his coat, and strolled toward his townhouse, his thoughts lingering on Miss Woodville and how he would teach her to distinguish what she liked from what she didn’t.
The hot slide of lust that swam through his veins made him scowl. This reaction was unpardonable. Still, having never done anything like this before, the idea of teaching her sparked a challenge he hadn’t anticipated. Would she learn quickly? Or would she get so skittish her plan would tumble around her?
Thomas had never taken a virgin to his bed before. Hell, he doubted he ever properly kissed one. Perhaps he should ask his good friend, the Duke of Basil, who had married last year to a young lady who had undoubtedly been innocent. As Thomas opened the door and crossed the threshold, he was greeted by a piano’s soft, haunting strains drifting from the music room.
He frowned, removing the pocket watch from his jacket, tilting to the pale moonlight to read the time. It was after midnight. Walking down the hallway, he encountered his butler, carrying a brandy decanter. The older man’s stoic expression didn’t falter as he approached.
“Master Ronald asked for something strong,” the butler explained in his usual, steady tone.
Thomas paused, feeling a sudden tightness in his chest. His younger brother rarely asked for anything beyond tea or hot chocolate. Something was wrong. “I’ll take it,” Thomas said.
He took the decanter from the butler and continued down the hall. Opening the door to the music room, Thomas stepped inside to find his brother seated at the piano. Ronald’s short, stubby fingers glided over the keys with precision and grace, pouring his heart into the music. There was a deep, raw passion in how he played—an intensity that belied his simple, childlike nature.
Thomas walked over quietly, placing the decanter on the nearby table and sitting beside his brother on the piano bench. The melody slowed, then stopped altogether as Ronald sighed and looked up at him with those wide, round eyes. Without a word, he leaned his head against Thomas’s shoulder, seeking comfort.
“Does Mother know you’re here?” Thomas asked softly.
Ronald, five and twenty, was four years younger than Thomas, but his mind was that of a child. He had a kind, round face, and his eyes always carried a sweetness that endeared himto everyone who knew him. But his body had grown into that of a man, even if his mind hadn’t kept up. Years ago, a physician had explained that while Ronald’s body would continue to mature, his mind would remain at the level of a child. The family had been devastated, but their love for Ronald had never wavered.
That love sent a sharp lance of concern through Thomas now. How had Ronald gotten here on his own? Why had he left their mother’s townhouse without anyone noticing? “How did you reach here?”
