16. The Countryside Estate #3
Lower still. Her stomach, her hips. And then—finally—the places she could never properly attend to while bound and dressed as a man. She soaped her inner thighs thoroughly, relishing the simple freedom of being able to reach, to clean, to touch her own body as she so much craved.
She washed between her legs with delicacy; the warm water and soap offered her such profound relief that her eyes welled up with unexpected emotion. Two days of being bound, of maintaining the disguise, of being unable to clean herself—it all vanished in those precious moments of intimacy.
She took her time, rubbing the soap along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, feeling the tension of the day dissolve with each stroke. The intimacy of the act—the simple, human need to be touched properly—felt like a blessing behind closed doors.
As her hands moved over her own body, unbidden memories surfaced.
Kate’s mouth beneath hers on the bed, hungry and demanding.
The weight of Kate’s breast against her own, even hidden under the bandage, the way Kate had half-screamed when she’d penetrated her with her finger.
The heat inside Kate’s vagina when Gina had finally dared to explore further, the slickness she’d found there, the sounds Kate had made—
Gina’s breath caught. Her hand pressed on her thigh, then moved between her legs with deliberate intent.
She shouldn’t. There wasn’t time, and the risk of being interrupted was always present. But her body ached with more than the physical constraints of binding, and the memory of Kate’s pleasure—Kate’s trust—was too vivid, too immediate to ignore.
Her fingers found the place that throbbed with need, and she bit back a sound that would have been too loud, too revealing.
She worked herself with expertise, seeking quick relief.
But then Kate’s face appeared behind her closed eyelids.
The way she’d looked when Gina touched her, the way her dark eyes had gone wide and then heavy-lidded, the flush that had spread across her cheeks and down her throat.
Gina’s movements became less controlled, more desperate.
The water sloshed gently against the sides of the tub as her hips shifted, seeking more pressure, more friction.
She imagined Kate’s hands on her instead of her own, imagined what it would be like if she could show Kate the truth, if Kate could touch her like this, if they could both be free…
The release came suddenly, stealing her breath and arching her spine. She pressed her free hand against her mouth to muffle the cry that threatened to escape, her body shuddering with waves of pleasure and relief and a loneliness so profound it nearly undid her completely.
When it passed, she slumped back against the copper tub, breathing hard, her heart hammering. The water had cooled slightly, and the fire crackled in the grate, oblivious to what had just transpired.
Guilt followed swiftly on pleasure’s heels.
She had touched Kate under false pretenses.
Kate thought she was giving herself to a man, thought she was exploring something forbidden but ultimately within the bounds of convention—a wife with her husband.
Kate didn’t know she’d been touched by a woman, that every gasp and moan had been drawn out by Gina’s hands, Gina’s mouth, Gina’s body.
The deception felt heavier now, weighted with intimacy instead of mere business necessity.
A single tear slipped down Gina’s cheek, hot against her cooling skin.
She didn’t wipe it away immediately, letting it trace its path as if acknowledging it might somehow lighten the burden.
But more followed, silent, frustrated tears that carried the weight of everything she couldn’t say, couldn’t be, couldn’t have.
Frustration at the lie she was forced to live.
Betrayal, of Kate, of herself, of whatever this thing between them was becoming.
And underneath it all, woven through every breath and heartbeat, a love so fierce and impossible it threatened to destroy her.
Desire that could never be fully satisfied, not like this, not with half-truths and hidden bodies and a name that wasn’t hers.
She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, willing herself to stop.
Tears were a luxury she couldn’t afford, evidence that might be noticed, questions that might be asked.
But for just this moment, alone in the cooling bathwater, she allowed herself to feel the full weight of what she’d done, and what she stood to lose when the truth inevitably came to light.
When she finally lowered her hands, her jaw was set with new resolve.
In a few minutes, she would bind herself again, become Jason again, and maintain the fiction that kept them both safe.
But right now, she would let herself grieve for the woman she could never fully be, and the love she could never fully claim.
She stayed in the cooling water a moment longer, gathering her strength. Then, with the efficiency of long practice, she rose from the bath, water streaming from her body. She reached for the towels Mrs. Whitespoon had left, drying herself with brisk movements that left no time for sentiment.
The process of transformation began again.
Fresh binding first, wound carefully around her breasts but not quite as tightly as before—she needed to be able to breathe through dinner, to laugh at appropriate moments, to play the role without betraying discomfort.
Each wrap of the linen felt like donning armor, necessary but confining.
A clean shirt followed, pressed to perfection, its crisp white fabric concealing what lay beneath.
Then the arrangement of coat and waistcoat that gave her slender frame a more masculine silhouette—padding in the shoulders, strategic tailoring that broadened where she was narrow and flattened where she curved.
By the time she faced the looking glass again, Mr. Moore stared back at her, impeccable and composed.
Hair smoothed back, cravat tied precisely so, every detail attended to.
Only she knew how much effort it cost to maintain the illusion.
Only she knew that beneath the gentleman’s clothes, Gina’s heart still beat, bruised, longing, and increasingly uncertain how much longer she could sustain the deception.
* * *
Meanwhile, in the master suite, Kate was experiencing her own transformation, though hers was aided by Molly’s eager assistance.
“The cream-colored silk, ma’am?” the young maid suggested then, after Kate discarded the blue one. Molly was now holding a pale cream-colored dress that seemed discreet enough for dinner. “It’s elegant but not too formal for a country dinner.”
“Perfect choice,” Kate agreed, though her mind was only half on fashion.
The afternoon’s work alongside Jason had been both collaboration and torture.
Watching him move with competence, seeing his genuine care for the estate’s welfare, feeling the constant undercurrent of attraction that seemed to spark whenever they were in the same room.
What was it about him that affected her so? She had known attractive men before, had even been courted by some who were considered quite the catch. But none of them had ever made her feel this restless, this aware of her own body and its desires.
“Your hair, ma’am?” Molly asked, bringing Kate back to the present.
“Something simple, please, Molly” Kate replied, settling at the dressing table. “We’re in the country, after all.”
As Molly worked, Kate took a minute to study her own reflection, but her thoughts spiraled elsewhere.
To the room in the inn the night before.
To the barn office this afternoon. To every moment when Jason had looked at her with such intensity—desire plain in his eyes—only to pull away at the last second.
Why did he always retreat?
It made no sense. She was his wife, for God’s sake.
There were no moral barriers preventing him from kissing her, from touching her, from consummating their marriage if he wished it.
She’d seen the way his breath shifted when she stood close, the way his gaze dropped to her mouth.
The attraction wasn’t one-sided. She was certain of it now.
So why did he stop?
The question had been nagging at her for weeks, but last night it had crystallized into something sharper, more urgent.
Because even through her confusion, her body still remembered, and it probably always would.
The way his touch had found her, hesitant at first, then sure; the shocking sweetness of it, the faint ache when he’d pressed just a little deeper, as if some hidden boundary inside her had yielded for the first time.
The gasp that had escaped her had not been pain, not truly, but something she’d never felt before.
A tremor that seemed to open a door she hadn’t known existed.
And now, every time she thought of him, her body recalled that surrender before her mind could reason it away.
Was it something she had done wrong? Was there, in fact, something wrong with her? Some deficiency that made him desire her from a distance but recoil from actual intimacy?
Or—and this thought made her stomach twist with an emotion she couldn’t quite understand—was it women in general?
Perhaps he didn’t desire women at all, not in that way.
Perhaps he’d married her precisely because he knew she wouldn’t demand the usual rights of a wife.
A marriage of convenience that protected them both, but for very different reasons than she’d assumed.
The possibility should have been a relief.
It would explain everything, his soft hands, his graceful movements, his ease with stepping back from situations other men would have pressed.
It would mean the marriage could continue exactly as they’d agreed, with no complications of desire or expectations.
But instead of relief, Kate felt something sharp and painful lodge in her chest. Disappointment. Frustration. And underneath it all, a stubborn refusal to accept that explanation without knowing the truth.
She needed to know. Not tomorrow, not eventually—tonight. She would corner him if necessary, push past his politeness and his restraint, and get an honest answer. Because living in this state of constant wanting and wondering was becoming unbearable.
“There we are, ma’am,” Molly said, stepping back to admire her work. “You look beautiful.”
Kate studied her reflection. The elegant upswept hair, the cream-colored silk that brought out the color of her eyes, the flush in her cheeks that had nothing to do with Molly’s efforts and everything to do with her determination.
“Yes,” Kate said quietly, more to herself than to the maid. “I believe I do.”
If Jason insisted on being proper, she decided, perhaps it was time to be a little less so herself. And if he truly didn’t desire women, well… she would rather know that painful truth than continue in this maddening state of uncertainty.
Tonight, one way or another, she would have her answer.