Gracious, he was actually following her command. She’d been sure his reaction would be insulted dismissal, or worse, laughter. Another hot wave of arousal washed over her.
Undoing the pin and knot, he slid the cravat from around his neck to hold it across his lap. “What now, Mistress P?”
“You may make amends by keeping your hands to yourself, and I shall help you do that.” Charlotte reached over and slid one end of the cravat through his loose hold. She pulled it from under his hands to his wrists, crossed the two ends, and raised his hands using the linen.
He shifted and opened his mouth as though to protest.
She glared at him through her lashes. “Hold still.”
With his hands between them, she leaned forward an inch and wrapped the ends under his wrists, around to the top, and under again. As he watched, mouth open, she tied the ends into a loose double knot over the wrapping, well out of reach of his thumbs. It would take him a minute or two to figure out that she had left it loose enough for him to bend one hand and get his fingers to the knot to pick at it.
Still amazed at his willingness to sit still for her ministrations, she schooled her features. All of this open-mindedness could simply be lack of maturity. However, she could still take her fun. Before she straightened, her inner devil—she liked to think it had Belle’s voice—made her lean in further, closing that gap, to brush her breasts against his knuckles, inhaling his scent again.
He jerked. “Lady-Mistress P?” he asked, his voice a croak.
Ah, youth.
“Just testing that you have learned not to grab people without permission.” She smirked.
“Absolutely, Mistress P.” He was gasping.
Her inner devil preened. She’d not been allowed out in so long, she was enjoying this tiny show of power.
“Er, now that you have me at your mercy, what will you do with me?” The upward lilt of the question sounded hopeful.
“Remind you to play with children your own age.” Charlotte winced internally. Harsh, but she deemed it necessary. The young pup apparently had trouble reading more subtle signs. She ignored her conscience telling her she needed the reminder of their age gap as much as he did. Standing, she shook out her gown and leaned over him.
He held her stare, unblinking.
She gave him credit for keeping his eyes on her face, as she knew the pose offered a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage.
“Good night, Lord Stanton. Sweet dreams.”
His eyes widened as she turned. Her skirts swished as she sauntered out of sight along the path to find her carriage. She might be ready to handle these balls after all.
Chapter Four
William stared at his bound hands, replaying his conversation with the woman who had given him leave to address her as Mistress P.
She was magnificent. From her parting comments, she seemed to think she was too old for him, but he doubted more than a handful of years separated them. He probably wasn’t the best judge, particularly as her beauty had eclipsed all thought of age. Her flawless skin was unbroken by wrinkles, her hair held no gray. Beyond that, her bold fathomless eyes held him captive. Her gown was a deep bronze with a square cut neckline and puff sleeves, both trimmed in ivory. A shade darker than her hair and eyes, in low light it might appear brown until she moved and the light caught the amber sheen. Even if she was older than he guessed, he cared not a whit for what society thought.
Now, though, he had a name and a correct title, and he could pursue her, convince her that society’s stupid rules did not matter. He’d never chased a girl before, never saw the point. Now, he did; he was beginning to understand why his comrades at Oxford were always looking for a new conquest, and why Nate spent so much time conjuring accoutrements to extend pleasure. All from one conversation.
Well, and this. He smiled down at his crumpled cravat. The memory of her breasts brushing his knuckles made him squirm. He’d gone hard as soon as his hand had hit her skirt on the bench, as soon as her décolletage raised and lowered with her breath, as soon as he’d stared into her dark eyes that matched her dress. He’d stayed that way throughout their conversation. The whisper of her gloved hands on his thigh when she grabbed the cravat had made him throb in his breeches and catch his breath. Then with the brush of her breasts, she’d given him a tiny taste of their lush softness.
He groaned aloud, then flicked a quick glance around to check no one was near. He’d have the devil of a time explaining being trussed with his own cravat.
Testing the binding, he twisted a hand. Deciding to expedite matters, he raised his wrists and worried the knot with his teeth. It came apart easily, which he was certain she had planned. He sighed, refusing to analyze whether he was disappointed or relieved.
“Stanton? Will?”
“Over here.” He threw his cravat around his neck as his cousin strolled the path.
“What—? Who were you out here with?” Percy asked, examining his untied neckcloth.
“A gentleman never tells.” He grinned.
“You do realize ’twould not be a simple matter to wed before your majority, right? You also have another year of university.” Percy eyed him.
