Chapter 20 #2
Juliana’s retort was bitter. “You should. It is inordinately unfair that your used-up old mother wound up with a catch like the Duke of Middlewich—almost two decades younger than she!—and you should have a handsome, doting doctor, and neither of you obeyed the rules.”
Arabella looked at Juliana and saw her pain. “Are you unhappy?”
“Of course not. I am to have a completely new set of dresses for spring from Madame Dupont. Everyone says she is the next Madame Beauchamp. And I am thinking of taking a lover.”
Arabella gasped.
“You gasp, Arabella? You dare to be shocked at me?” Juliana did not veil her anger.
“You defied propriety. Why shouldn’t I? Sir Timothy is so dreary.
Now that I know what it is all about and have an inkling of what it could be, I must have some thrill in the bedchamber before it’s too late.
The marquess, Lord Painswick, has been giving me that look, you know?
But I would much prefer Lord Morpeth, I think. ”
Arabella swallowed. “I want you to be happy, Juliana, but I don’t think either of those men will make you happy.”
“Well, then, shall I set my sights on Dr. Alasdair Andrews?” Juliana nodded down the hall, and Arabella turned her head and saw Alasdair, poised on the top step of the stairs, pretending to look at his watch. “I think, however, given his devotion to you, I would be quite out of my depth.”
“Juliana, please don’t do anything hasty.”
“Why not? I am already married. I have all the time in the world to repent in leisure.”
The bell for luncheon rang, and Arabella was glad to separate from Juliana and sit next to Rebecca at the table and talk of pleasant things such as the books Rebecca had read recently.
Strangely, Rebecca did not discuss the upcoming Season and her hopes for a proposal.
Could she no longer have any interest in such things?
Perhaps she had a secret love like the one Arabella had harbored for Alasdair.
Arabella had always thought Rebecca was quite the prettiest of the Dalrymple daughters.
It was surprising she was not yet engaged or married.
After eating, as everyone was standing to leave the table, Arabella yawned. Alasdair was at her side immediately. He did not say anything, but she looked up at him and could feel herself pinken. His hand brushed hers. She took his arm.
“Thank you, Dr. Andrews.”
It was the first time he had touched her today besides playing with her hair. And that did not really count, did it? It wasn’t the same as skin. After all, her hair could not feel.
She made her apologies to Rebecca, saying she was still tired from yesterday, and Alasdair led her to the stairs.
As soon as they got into her bedchamber and Alasdair closed the door behind them, Arabella had her arms up around his neck.
“Kiss me, Alasdair,” she said. He put his arms around her and bent his head down and his warm lips pressed against hers. She trembled as the kiss went on, his mouth becoming hungrier as the seconds passed, his tongue dipping into her mouth, his lips roaming over her jaw and back to her lips.
She could feel his arousal growing, his member pressing into her upper abdomen. She also had an ache between her legs, and she cursed her height. Oh, to be six or eight inches taller. Like her older sisters.
When he broke the kiss and they stood there, he leaning against the closed door and she leaning against him, her cheek on his lower chest, she told him what she had been thinking.
“I wish I were taller.”
“Why is that, Miss Lovelock?” he said and brushed a kiss on the top of her head.
“So our necks didn’t get cricks from looking up and looking down when we’re kissing,” she said. She had intended to tell him about her ache and how she wanted to put it against his phallus, but then she thought better of it.
“Do ye want me to pick ye up?” he whispered. She felt his arms clasp her more tightly and lift her in the air. Now they were face-to-face, and she pulled the skirt of her dress up a bit and put her legs around him so she could press her ache against his hardening length.
“Is that better?” he asked, and his voice was slightly strained.
“Yes,” she said and did what she had been longing to do all morning. She buried both hands in his auburn hair and rocked her lower half against him.
He groaned.
She watched his face. Her breath hitched in her own chest. It seemed so very . . . right to be against him and to be rubbing her own throb against his body, his ridge of hardness.
“I thought ye wanted a . . . rest . . . when ye yawned.” He was struggling.
She shook her head. No. She kept rocking against him.
“Ye are nae tired?”
She shook her head again.
“Ye brought me up here to . . . do this?”
She nodded. Was it so very terrible of her to do this? It felt so wonderful.
A loud knock on the door, just behind Alasdair’s back, and he jumped and almost dropped her.
“Dr. Andrews?” The voice of the butler Andrews came through the door.
She put her mouth to his ear and whispered, “You’ve been rescued.” She unwrapped her legs from around him and slid down his body. She stepped away and gave him a moment to pull the fall of his trousers away from himself.
“Are you ready?” she asked. He nodded.
She went to the door and opened it.
“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Andrews.”
“Yes, Andrews?” she said. She could sense Alasdair had turned around and was standing behind her.
“Dr. Andrews, so sorry to disturb, but Lady Morpeth has heard there is a physician here and has requested you attend on her.”
“Uh, aye, give me just a moment, Andrews.”
Alasdair reached over her head and pushed the door closed. When she turned around, he had dropped to his knees in front of her.
“How is this, Mrs. Andrews?” he whispered.
“Now you’re the one who is too short,” she said and leaned down and kissed each of his dimples as he rested his hands on her waist. She ran her fingers through his hair one last time. “I had better let you go, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry to leave ye.”
He stood, and she had a thought. She put her hand on his arm and stopped him before he opened the door.
“Don’t let yourself be alone in a room with Juliana,” she said.
He looked confused.
“Lady Colborne. Just promise me you won’t.”
“I promise.”
And then he was gone, the consummate professional physician, barring that one dark-red lock that still fell in front of his left eye.
It was, she thought, her first taste of what life as a doctor’s wife might be like.