Chapter Twenty-One
Fletcher was about to fall into bed after a very long day—although he couldn’t say he was upset at all about the way the day had turned out—when someone knocked on his bedroom door. It turned out to be his valet, who said, somewhat sardonically, “There is a lady here to see you.”
Louisa.
“The lady is now my fiancée, so I suppose you will have to make yourself used to her presence.”
“Yes, my lord, although need I remind you that you are not married yet.”
“You are dismissed, Reeves.”
“Indeed.”
He turned and left. A moment later, Louisa, wearing what Fletcher had come to think of as her mischief cloak, appeared in the doorway. Fletcher, once again, found himself wearing a dressing gown in her presence.
“I suppose I should make myself adjust to the constancy of your presence in my vicinity at night,” Fletcher said.
“That was a lot of fancy words to explain that we shall soon be living together.”
“Yes, but not for another month or so. I promised your former fiancé that we would wait so as to not embarrass him.”
“Very sensible of you.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” He both wanted her to leave and for her to stay, and it was a terrible position to be in.
He wanted to honor the commitments he made to Louisa’s parents, but he also wanted Louisa and didn’t want to wait much longer.
Having her standing here was the worst sort of temptation because, he suspected, if he made a move, she wouldn’t say no.
“What can anyone do?” Louisa asked, sounding defiant. “Force you to marry me?”
Fletcher sensed this was not an argument he’d able to win. “Very well. Why have you come?”
“I was supposed to be married a few days hence, and although I have less fondness for my prospective groom now than I did a few weeks ago, I was still…no, let me not frame it that way.”
Fletcher suspected he knew where this was going. “I don’t mean to be prudish,” he said, “but I do not think this is appropriate.”
Louisa made a determined face, standing tall and clearly ignoring Fletcher. “I believe we should be together. Physically. Tonight. Do you not want to be with me?”
“What I want does not signify.” Fletcher truly did not want to mess this up.
Louisa shot him an admonishing look. “Then what does?”
Fletcher felt his will unraveling. He didn’t know if Louisa knew what she was doing or not—he suspected she knew the effect she had on him at least in part—but she removed her cloak reveal she was wearing the yellow gown Fletcher had mentioned he liked.
And there were her breasts, straining against the fabric, on display and begging for him to touch them.
He hesitated to make a move. She seemed to be pulling at him with some invisible force that made him want to put his hands on her, but he couldn’t… Not yet.
“Apologies, but it is quite warm in here. I am at least not wearing my stays.”
He groaned. “You are a wicked woman.”
She draped her cloak over a chair and walked toward Fletcher, kicking his door shut on the way.
“Fletcher, let me make this plain. I came here tonight because I cannot wait any longer, because I am tired of the promise of kissing being snuffed out because of my existing engagement. That engagement is over now, and you and I are betrothed, and I see no reason to wait longer.”
“Your father would have my head if he knew you were here.”
She waved her hand as if this were of no import. “I’ll be home before morning, and they will never know. And, again, I repeat, what’s the worst that will happen? They will force us to marry sooner? That is fine by me.”
“You are reckless.”
“I am determined.”
Fletcher laughed, overwhelmed by her. “You don’t know what you’re asking me.”
“I wish people would stop assuming that I’m an idiot.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot. I think you are inexperienced.”
“Well, that may be true, but I have this feeling. It is…unsatisfied, I suppose. Itchy, a bit. You are standing there in your dressing gown, and I keep thinking about what your body must look like under it, and I feel like I am crawling out of my skin.”
Fletcher knew something about that feeling. “Louisa…”
“We are to be married, Fletcher. I do not see a problem with…getting ahead of ourselves.” She stepped forward, close enough to Fletcher to touch him.
“But—” Fletcher said, although his heart was not really in the protest. Here was the woman he loved, propositioning him, and he was trying to say no… Why?
She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned up on her toes to kiss him. Fletcher gave up; she was determined, and he was constitutionally incapable of pushing her away. He put his hands on her waist and kissed her.
She really wasn’t wearing stays. He was so used to grasping her and feeling the boning under her gowns that being confronted with the softness of her body surprised him. He moved his hands up her back to pull her closer.
“Show me, Fletcher,” Louisa said. “Take me to bed.”
She deserved everything, all the pleasure in the world.
She started fiddling with the collar of his dressing gown, which was tied closed tightly, but he wore nothing beneath it, intending to sleep in the nude that night.
Being this close to her, with such little clothing, sent a tingle up Fletcher’s spine.
He wanted to touch her everywhere, to watch her fall apart, to have her writing in his arms. And even though everything told him he needed to wait until they were truly married, having her here, her body under his hands, dissolved any resolve he had.
As he felt the tie at his waist loosen as he and Louisa pressed together, he began to undo the buttons at her back.
“Are we to be naked?” she asked, in what sounded like a scandalized whisper.
Fletcher fought not to laugh. God, he loved this woman. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“It is. I don’t know what to expect entirely. That is, my mother sometimes speaks of marital relations as something to endure.”
“No,” said Fletcher.
“No?”
“Relations between men and woman can—nay should—be pleasurable for both partners, and never something to merely endure, and I know you have your own strong desires. I look forward to hearing you tell me all about them.”
“I do. I profess to my first desire to be seeing what you are wearing beneath your dressing gown.”
“Nothing,” he said, kissing her neck.
“Nothing!”
“You did intrude on me as I was about to go to sleep, and I did not have time to put on other clothes and make myself more presentable, not that it matters if the aim is to be naked together.”
She gasped when Fletcher nipped the exposed skin of her shoulder now that her gown was slipping.
“Take this off,” he murmured, tugging at her gown.
She stepped back, and Fletcher saw the war on her face.
She wanted him, but she didn’t know what to do.
He enjoyed that contrast. And he’d succeeded in undoing all of the buttons at her back, so she was able to let her gown fall to her feet with minimal effort, despite the stiff fabric.
Beneath the gown, she wore only a shift tucked into a petticoat, and the latter was loosely tied and already falling down her hips.
But the key thing was that her shift was nearly transparent, and Fletcher could see her hard nipples poking at the fabric.
Fletcher pulled her close again. He kissed her again and knew his arousal would be plain now, but he cared not. This was Louisa, a woman he’d been wanting for weeks if not longer, and their relationship was about to take a significant turn.
Louisa’s petticoat slid to the floor. Fletcher picked her up and carried her over to the bed.
“This will change how things are between us,” Fletcher said. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
“I’ve never been so certain of anything.”
* * *
Fletcher’s dressing gown was coming undone at the waist, and the knowledge that he wore nothing under it was the most tantalizing thing Louisa had ever experienced.
It was all she could do not to tug at the belt on his dressing gown, but she wasn’t sure if that would be the right thing to do.
Instead, she wrapped her fingers around the lapels.
“The thing about nudity,” Fletcher said in a low, quiet tone, “is that it does help with excitement.”
“Oh. Is this a scientific observation on your part?”
“It is.”
“You of course having experience with women of a more…daring disposition.”
Fletcher paused, his hand raised as though he were about to touch her. “Are you jealous?”
“On the contrary, I’m glad one of us knows what to do.”
“I want to see your body in the good light,” he said, gesturing toward the lamp on the side table.
“All right,” she said, unable to breathe.
Fletcher started at her calf, where her shift ended. He slid his hand up her leg, her shift catching on his wrist as he moved. She’d opted not to wear drawers, either, and this whole situation felt rather scandalous, but her plan had been hasty and driven by instinct more than anything else.
She helped him peel off her shift, and she thought she’d be embarrassed to be so…nude…under his gaze, but instead, as his eyes darkened, and he seemed to like what he saw, and she suddenly felt beautiful and powerful.
Fletcher kissed her. He used one hand to prop himself up and the other to cup her breast. He tweaked her nipple, and it felt like rocky waves went through her body. She let out a gasp.
“Yes,” Fletcher murmured. “We’re alone. You can be as loud as you need to be. I want this to feel good for you and I want you to react.”
“I want you to feel good, too.”
“I already do.”
She didn’t believe him. She pushed his dressing gown off his shoulders and looked down at where the tie at his waist came undone. “Let me see you,” she said.