Chapter 4 #2
His expression was one of mortification. “I thought I hurt you. Tugged your hair, Miss Stanbridge.” Then, in response to her puzzled look, added, “You gasped.”
“Oh, that was because I liked it so much. The feeling of you touching me,” she elaborated, deciding that she would definitely not like Mr Ravensby to touch her like this.
But Mr Kernick, with his hair wet and his shirt clinging to his skin, was the most delicious specimen of manhood she’d ever come across.
“You gasped because you… liked it?”
“Mmmhmm. Very much.”
When he didn’t reply, she frowned. Why was he still standing in front of her, as if he didn’t know what to do?
She was about to ask him when he said, “The buttons are undone, Miss Stanbridge. I’ll turn my back while you… er… remove your dress and then I can assist you—”
“With keeping me warm, Mr Kernick? Thank you for your kind offer. You can do that by holding me again.” She closed her eyes, her head swam with wonderful, wicked thoughts, and she swayed a little.
“That warmed me.” Her vision was just a little blurred, but she really liked it when he put his hands on her shoulders.
To go on with the stroking, she thought.
To steady her, he said.
“Miss Stanbridge…” His voice went rough, as if he’d swallowed the storm. “You have had brandy—more than is wise. And I—” His jaw tightened, the tendons standing out as though he were holding back something fierce. “I will not have you wake tomorrow and think I took anything from you.”
Charlotte blinked, as if the words themselves steadied her. “Then don’t take,” she said softly. “Only—” She breathed, feeling oddly unguarded. “Only meet me, just once, where I have been living all these years. In this wanting.”
He didn’t move. He simply looked at her, as though trying to read her soul by lanternlight. “Do you know where you are?” he asked quietly.
“In a cave,” she said, almost affronted.
“And do you know who I am?”
“Mr Kernick,” she whispered, frowning, wondering why he stated the obvious.
“And do you truly wish me to kiss you?”
“Yes,” she said. “With my eyes open. With my mind here. If the brandy helped me speak, it did not invent what I feel.”
Charlotte blinked to reorient herself, yet quite aware of what she’d said, and a little surprised to see that she’d turned and her hands were cupping Mr Kernick’ lovely, chiselled jaw.
She didn’t drop them to her sides, though.
She’d always wanted to cup Mr Kernick’ lovely, chiselled jaw and if this were her only opportunity, she’d not stint on it.
She was still angling for that kiss, after all.
“Help me, please, Mr Kernick…” She wriggled a little as she gently stroked his cheeks with both thumbs. “To take off my dress.” She sighed. “I really, truly, can’t do it myself.” She shivered. “And I’ll catch my death if it stays on me a moment longer.”
She heard him swallow, then added quickly, “Forgive me if I’m imposing on your good nature, Mr Kernick.
” She put out a hand, resting it against the wet linen of his shirt, fascinated by the feel of his nipples pressing through the saturated fabric.
“I know you must be anxious to take off your own clothes.”
“Miss Stanbridge, really, I don’t know what is best under the circumstances—”
“Nor I, Mr Kernick,” Charlotte said, dreamily. She’d imagined them together many times. Not quite like this, but standing in the gardens of Honeyfield House, with Mr Kernick smiling down at her in the sunshine, stroking her hair as he lowered his lips to gently kiss hers.
Every week she’d dreamed of finding the courage to suggest he walk with her—in the name of exercising the children, of course.
It had never happened.
But the desire hadn’t only been on Charlotte’s part, she was sure of it.
The last time she’d seen Mr Kernick before this journey was when he’d brought the magistrate’s son Master Christopher to Honeyfield House to visit young Master Edward Glendenning, and she’d noticed something different about the way he’d looked at her. And spoken to her.
There’d been awareness.
Yes, the same kind of tense awareness that she’d felt in his presence all these years.
So, no, she would not squander this moment, even if he was right in thinking that the spirits had gone to her head and were making her act in an unbecoming manner.
The only thing about which she was certain—with whatever shred of cognitive power she had left — was that she’d have more regrets about what she hadn’t done, than what she had, if she didn’t push for some kind of response.
Even if it was a rejection, at least she’d know.
“I think you should remove my dress… yes, like you’re doing now,” she began, holding up her arms so he could pull it over her head. “And then my petticoats. That’s right.”
She felt a little kernel of satisfaction as, obediently, he did as she asked.
“And now my stays.” She thrust out her breasts. The stays were front fastening and very simple. She could have whisked the garment off in a second. But she wanted him to do it. “I’m all thumbs right now in this cold.”
Exhaling slowly, she angled herself so that even though he undid the lacing in the most delicate, gentlemanly way, he still felt the soft flesh of her bosom.
Well, through her chemise. That would certainly have to go.
“And now… I must be warm. Truly warm.” Her voice caught. “Help me to change properly, Mr Kernick—before the cold settles into my bones.”
“Miss Stanbridge, I can’t possibly—”
Charlotte turned and looked at him. Did he mean he couldn’t? Or he didn’t want to? Did he really have no feelings for her?
“How can you ask me that, Miss Stanbridge?”
Oh! Charlotte realised she’d actually said the words that had been running around her head.
She sighed as she fisted her hand in his wet shirt.
The feeling of restlessness somewhere low in her belly was becoming increasingly difficult to manage.
“Did I say it out loud? Sorry, Mr Kernick, I had no wish to embarrass you. I just… I suppose that after all these years, when I’ve looked at no one else because meeting you spoiled any chance I was to have at forming a tendre for another man, I just wanted to hear an honest answer from your lips. ”