Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DAPHNE
A pout curves my lips. I was enjoying our discussion on Chapter Eight and still have so many more questions. Now that I know it’s possible to have better sex just by asking my lover to make minor changes or engage in the activities Monty outlined as foreplay in his book, I’m determined to learn more. I know I can’t be too particular when it comes to choosing a husband. He already needs to be model material, encouraging of my career, and ready to marry by Lughnasadh. I can’t demand he be an intuitive lover as well. At least Monty assured me it’s a skill that can be learned in any relationship.
He clears his throat a little too loudly, then taps the stack of papers on the tea table. “Since you’ve only read Chapter Eight?—”
“I skimmed some other parts.”
He narrows his eyes. “Since I doubt you have any lesson requests due to your preoccupation with Chapter Eight, I’ll make the lesson plan for the weekend, which will revolve around courting at formal events. It’s rather simple. We’ll revisit all the lessons we’ve already practiced while adapting them to this specific environment.”
“How do we adapt them?”
“During formal events, it’s important to demonstrate the behaviors expected from guests, regardless of your social station. Tonight is not only a wedding ceremony but a formal ball.”
“So I can’t dance on tables,” I say with a wry smile.
He mirrors my grin. “And you can’t lift your skirt to shoot guns.”
“And here I thought balls were supposed to be fun.”
“They can be, if you work them right,” he says with a wink.
Laughter bursts from my lips.
His cheeks flush at my reaction. “Sorry,” he says with a shy grin.
Since when does Monty apologize for his dirty humor? Then again…since when do I laugh at it? Normally I’d snarl, roll my eyes, or call him swine. Yet it’s a little late in our friendship for me to pretend I don’t find him funny. I’ve always been amused by him. Lately, it’s been easier to show it.
Monty averts his gaze, expression still bashful. “Why don’t you demonstrate your formal curtsy? You’ll be meeting potential suitors who wish to dance with you.”
A rush of panic moves through me, but it disappears just as quickly. I’ll have to meet strangers tonight, but at least Monty will be there. If he’s with me, I can manage.
I rise from my chair and dip into a curtsy. It’s clumsy and more on the casual side.
“Slower,” Monty says. “Keep your eyes down just a second longer.”
I repeat the motion, recalling what I learned as a debutante ten years ago. With as much grace as I can manage, I dip down, keeping my eyes lowered until the last moment.
“Much better,” Monty says with an approving smile. He rises from his chair and stands before me. “Now, let’s practice introductions.”
With one arm held gracefully behind his back, he lifts his other. My pulse quickens, unsure what I’m supposed to do. Then he nods at his proffered elbow. Right. If we’re practicing introductions, and he’s the one escorting me, I’ll need to walk with him like a lady. I place my hand in the crook of his elbow, just below his rolled-up sleeve. A shudder runs through me at the warmth of skin touching skin. Tonight, I’ll be wearing gloves and he’ll be in a proper suit, but right now we have no such barriers between us.
He guides me a few steps away, then dips his chin in a polite bow. “Mr. So-and-so,” he says to an invisible figure, “how lovely to see you. May I introduce Miss—” He faces me, dropping the act. “You know, I think it’s time you chose a surname.”
“You think so?”
“The upper class values surnames, and it helps place a proper barrier between you and your suitors.”
I know he’s right. “A surname. Well…I choose Heartcleaver, then.”
“Heartcleaver?” He barks a laugh. “Daph, that sounds more like a name you’d hear at the boxing club.”
“That’s why I like it.”
He gives me a withering look. “I cannot introduce you as Miss Heartcleaver without scaring half your potential suitors away. How about Hartford?”
I pull my lips into a pout. It’s boring, but I suppose it will do. “Fine.”
He straightens and returns to the act. “Allow me to introduce Miss Daphne Hartford.” He swivels to stand before me in the pretend-suitor’s place and offers a bow. “A pleasure, Miss Hartford,” he says in a ridiculously haughty voice.
I stifle my giggle and breathe deeply, seeking the mask I must wear. My body tingles with discomfort, but I know how I’m expected to act amongst high society. Just like I know I could never measure up to those born with status. Still, I keep my motions slow and controlled as I dip into my curtsy. Then I speak in a higher, softer voice than normal, modulating the way I’ve heard others do. “The pleasure is mine.” When I meet Monty’s eyes, I’m startled to find such a sad expression on his face. I must have done something wrong. “Should I try again? Sorry, I?—”
He places a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Daph…” His throat bobs before he manages to speak again. “I hope you know you don’t have to pretend to be anyone you’re not. You deserve to be loved for exactly who you are.”
My chest tightens. “What lesson is that?” I ask, my voice coming out a whisper.
He shakes his head. “It should be a lesson.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I simply stand there, trapped beneath his gaze.
He coughs into his hand—a very fake-sounding cough if you ask me—and takes a step back. “Let’s move on to fashion. What are you wearing tonight?”
“You want me to show you?”
“Yes, I told you to bring your three best dresses, didn’t I? We’ve already agreed that fashion is now part of our lessons, which means I get the final say. So, go on.”
I brought three dresses, just as he’d requested, but one of them is now covered in graphite until I can have it washed. Of the two remaining, only one is even remotely formal. I suppose that makes my first choice easy. I scurry over to the gilded wardrobe beside the bed and throw open the door. Just as I’m about to slide the dress from the hanger, I dart a glance at Monty. “Should I step into the washroom to change? It’s a rather small space in there.”
His face flushes and he whirls around impressively fast. “I didn’t realize you’re changing now. The ceremony isn’t until six.”
My shirt is already off when I pause. “I thought that’s what you wanted. To judge my choice of dress.”
“Yes, but—it’s fine.”
I watch his back, noting the stiffness in his posture. For someone who makes crude jokes and acts so far removed from social modesty, he sure gets flustered by my lack of reserve. I smirk at the back of his head and finish shimmying out of my clothing. I’m about to step into the dress when I recall the low square cut of the bodice. That means I can’t wear my bralette, and I don’t even own a corset. So I strip out of the undergarment and don the dress. I reach behind me to secure the lowest clasps, not bothering with the rest. If the wedding ceremony isn’t until six, I’ll be taking the gown off as soon as I get Monty’s approval anyway.
“I’m dressed,” I say. Monty slowly turns around, and now it’s my turn to feel apprehensive. This ensemble is so different from the modest day dresses I wear and even more so from the shirts and trousers I prefer. Yet it remains my favorite article of clothing. Does he recognize it?
He sucks in a breath, which tells me maybe he does. “You’re wearing that?”
There’s no condemnation in his tone. Only…surprise, perhaps?
My shoulders climb to my ears and I fidget with the short hem. It’s the dress I wore to the gala, the first time he ever saw me in seelie form. It’s a confection of golden-yellow silk patterned with pink-and-white chrysanthemums. The top boasts a simple square neckline and cap sleeves while the skirt begins just below my bust and flares out over multiple layers of cream lace. The hem lands just above my knees, showing off far more leg than is appropriate in seelie society. It was a gamble bringing this dress with me, but I figured a fae wedding might be the right place to wear it. The fae are far less particular about propriety in fashion, and Briony and Thorne seem like the opposite of uptight.
I nibble my bottom lip as I tug my hem again. Monty still hasn’t said a word.
“Is it…all right?” I ask.
His gaze sweeps up and down my form, some strange combination of agony and awe on his face. “It’s beautiful.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I whirl toward the full-length mirror beside the wardrobe before he can catch sight of my blush. I admire my reflection and will my cheeks to cool. Yet I’m hardly given a chance before Monty’s face appears just behind mine.
“You didn’t secure the clasps,” he says, voice thick as he draws nearer.
“I’m only going to take it off again in a few moments.”
He freezes and meets my reflection’s gaze. “Why?”
My breaths are halting. Shallow. That toe-curling intensity has filled his eyes, even more potent than the first time I glimpsed it during his first modeling session. It takes no small effort to find my voice. “I’m not going to lounge around in this dress until six in the evening.”
“Ah, right.” He heaves a sigh, but that only washes away half his intensity. He takes another step closer, then I feel his fingertips alight upon my spine, just above the first open clasp. Molten heat pools in my core. The tops of my breasts pulse above my bodice. His eyes narrow to that part of my reflection, his fingers trembling against my skin. His breath skates over the back of my shoulder as he speaks in a whisper. “I could secure them the rest of the way. Just for now. Until I leave.”
Leave? I don’t want him to leave. The heat that grows between my thighs spreads hotter and hotter. This isn’t even the first time today. My repeated reading of Chapter Eight had me so tightly wound I was ready to tend to my release just before he got here. Our conversation didn’t dampen it much, only stirred my curiosity more. But more than anything, more than his written words or erotic topics, it’s his presence that brings my desire to a peak. His expression. His nearness. Him. Just him .
This kind of attraction is so new to me. So powerful it makes me dizzy. I want to explore it. Need to explore it.
I gather in a deep breath and finally reply. “Or you could undo them the rest of the way.”