Chapter 13 #2
He glanced down at her, and for the first time since they had left the bathing chamber, he realized she had lifted her arm to grip his shoulder, as if she thought he might lose his hold on her.
“Slouch,” he murmured. He lowered his arm and bent down until her feet touched the carpet.
“Your shoulders are rather regal. You are wise to show them off as you did last evening.” In direct opposition to his words, he took the towel he had draped over one of his shoulders, unfolded it, and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“I would offer to help dry you, but I...” He swallowed.
“Your top coat is soaked,” she said in dismay.
“It’s wool. Superfine. It will dry,” he assured her. He glanced back in the direction of the sitting room. “Should I wait for you in there?”
“I’ll need help with my corset and buttons,” she said.
His cock once again reacting as if it thought she was inviting him to her bed, Patrick took a deep, steadying breath. “So, you don’t intend to ring for your lady’s maid?”
All at once, her shoulders dropped and a sigh of frustration sounded. “I can, of course.”
“Uh, oh, dear,” he said, understanding suddenly dawning. “You wanted me to... to bed you?” he whispered. It wasn’t hard for him to sound disappointed he had missed his cue.
She visibly swallowed. “Not at first, no,” she replied. “I almost told DeLuca to send you away,” she added. “As I said, I wasn’t thinking straight.”
His brows furrowed in confusion. “Wh... what changed?”
Huffing as she turned and made her way to a massive maple wardrobe, Armenia opened the doors and plucked a deep green walking gown from a peg and tossed it onto the bed. “I thought you a... I thought you were a rogue,” she accused.
“Me?” he asked in disbelief. “What have I done to give you that impression?”
“Well, nothing, as it turns out. Well, except when we were dancing, and you made that remark about my shoulders.” She shivered at the reminder of how his gloved hand had caressed the top of her shoulder during their dance.
How he had leaned forward. She was sure he was going to brush his lips over them.
He hadn’t moved that close, though. The brief disappointment she had experienced had surprised her.
She opened a bureau drawer and pulled out several undergarments, tossing them onto the bed with more force than was necessary.
“You have gorgeous shoulders,” he countered. “Among other rather beautiful attributes.”
She inhaled sharply. “Most men would have started with those,” she said, adding several petticoats to the pile of undergarments.
“I would not think it appropriate to comment on a woman’s... bosom... during a ball,” he replied. “Even if yours is rather... impressive.”
Clutching the wet bath linen he had wrapped around her, Armenia glanced down to discover one of her breasts was no longer covered, the damp shift plastered to her skin so her nipple showed through the translucent fabric.
“Exactly like a Roman goddess,” he murmured, struggling to keep from taking a step closer. If he had, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself, and the clothes that were piled atop the bed would have ended up on the floor to make room for her once he had her stripped of the linens and the wet shift.
In only a moment, he imagined the different ways he could bring her pleasure, to have her writhing beneath him, begging him, calling out in his name, or murmuring a string of naughty Italian words before he buried himself in her.
Although it had been some time since he had been with a woman, he was fairly certain he hadn’t forgotten the basics.
The basics wouldn’t be enough for her, though, would they? She had probably been with a number of lovers. Skilled lovers.
A whore, his housekeeper had said. The reminder was like being doused with a bucket of cold water.
Armenia must have sensed the change in him, for she quickly readjusted the linen. “I thought perhaps you were attempting to seduce me,” she murmured. “I was sure of it when you climbed into my coach last night.”
He winced as he scratched the side of his face with a forefinger.
“That was rather brash of me,” he admitted.
“I happen to come from a city where women require protection from footpads and thieves and worse,” he explained.
“So when I learned from the conte that you didn’t have an escort, I thought to act as one on your behalf. ”
She relaxed at hearing his explanation. “You certainly know how to make an impression,” she said in a whisper.
“Well, first impressions are important,” he replied. He dipped his head. “If you’d still like, I’ll help you dress, and we’ll go for a walk. You can show me... four... mayhap five fountains. Enjoy a luncheon.”
“And then?” she prompted, sounding breathless.
“And then... if you wish, I’ll escort you back here, and...” He swallowed. “If you’d like, I’ll, uh, make love to you,” he whispered.
Her eyes widened in suspicion. “But not because you’ll want to,” she challenged.
It was his turn to scoff. “Oh, my lady, you could not be more wrong.”
She blinked several times, especially when he quickly moved to the bed and pulled the shift from the pile of cotton underthings. “If I don’t get you dressed this minute...” He shook his head.
“You’ll what?” she challenged.
“Well, I’ll be no better than the rogue you believed me to be when I climbed into your coach last night. But I am a gentleman, mia donna.”
Gathering up the edges of the shift, he held it out as she dropped the damp towels, and he pulled the damp garment off her body, careful not to disturb her hair. He was just as careful with the dry shift, placing the opening over her head as she pushed her arms through the sleeves.
Try as he might not to stare, he couldn’t help but steal quick glances of her bare body.
Although she did possess heavy breasts, their nipples tight and puckered in the cool air, she was otherwise lean.
Not skinny, though, for her hipbones didn’t show in relief, nor did her collarbones.
Her thighs were long, and her calves gently curved in an S-shape that ended in narrow, long feet.
For a brief moment, he imagined what they would feel like gripped around his thighs as he rode her in a spirited round of sexual congress.
He gulped back a curse. If he wasn’t such a damned gentleman, he would take her right now.
Pick her up and dump her onto the red velvet counterpane.
Suckle her breasts and stroke her belly and thighs.
Insert a finger inside her most private place and use his thumb to rub her clit until she begged him to stop.
Would she, though? How many times could she be pleasured in a single bout of lovemaking?
She didn’t strike him as one who would be satisfied unless she was pleasured at least three times.
Three times.
Well, he could manage that. His manhood obviously thought so, too, for it had begun to throb. He was glad for the long skirt of his top coat, for his erection would have been quite evident given the tight fit of his pantaloons.
Whore.
Once again, the word had him gaining control of himself. At some point, he would have to discover why his housekeeper would say such a thing about Armenia.
He returned his attention to her face, struck by his inability to guess her age. He saw no wrinkles but for a few lines that radiated from the sides of her eyes. “You would have made an excellent model for Botticelli,” he remarked.
She made an odd sound in her throat. “No one has ever said anything like that to me before.”
He turned and fished the corset from beneath a petticoat. “I’m sure they thought it,” he offered, secretly pleased he seemed to have scored a point in his favor with the compliment. Once she had the corset in place, he saw to tightening the strings before tying the ends into a bow.
“You have seen Italian art?” she asked.
“Not as much as I’d like. Perhaps you can be my guide here in Rome,” he said, arching a brow. “Stockings next?” he guessed, holding out the pair of black knit garments.
“I can finish the rest on my own,” she said, motioning to the sitting room.
“You’re sending me away?” he asked, pretending offense.
“You passed the test,” she said, arching a brow.
“Oh.” Chuckling softly, he dipped his head and made his way to the sitting room to wait for her.
He exhaled a breath of relief as he took a seat even as he knew what he had to look forward to later that afternoon.
Some Italian artistry at its finest.