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Chapter Sixteen
Although Chastity prepared herself for seeing Valentine—alone, in the evening, in the close confines of the carriage, she could not prevent the air from leaving her lungs at the sight of him. The last time they’d been in this carriage, they’d decided to become lovers. The days since had been a blur of pleasure and discovery.
He ushered her in and shut the door behind her, sealing them in their own perfect private world. She sat opposite and the glow from the lamps on the outside of the carriage illuminated his sharp features. He always opted for a cravat outside of his house and she could not decide which look she preferred—the cravatted gentleman or the roguish recluse, all open shirted and scruffy. Either way, he struck a handsome figure.
Far too handsome a figure really. Today was about finding this witness. Not about Valentine.
Or the pull between them.
She waited a heartbeat. Maybe two. He said nothing but his gaze told her enough. Breathless with need, burning from the inside out, suffocating in the pull, she shifted forward at the same time as Valentine. His fingers pushed into her hair and around the nape of her neck. His lips met hers, his kiss ferocious and hungry. She gripped the lapels of his dress coat, the dark green wool soft and warm against her fingertips. He kissed her like a man needing air. She could not claim to feel any different.
The carriage rolled forward, urging her closer to him. He eased the kiss and let his bare fingers linger on her cheek, an enigmatic smile on his lips. She wanted him for his body and for what he could do to hers—that was all. Yet she could not help want to know what was behind said smile.
“It’s been too long since I last touched you,” he murmured, grit in his voice.
She gulped down a breath and nodded. Her job as his maid did not make seeing him easy. She still had duties of which to attend and slipping out of her shared room was not easy. If they were ever going to quench this need between them, she feared seeing each other a mere few times a week would not do it.
But she could not continue after this. As exciting as it was, she already felt curiosity tugging at her. What would it be like to wake with him? To live with him? To understand his hopes and dreams? She’d craved that in the past and look where it had led her—a miserable marriage that had left her untrusting of even herself at times. If this continued too long, she might convince herself she was in love, just like last time.
She cleared her throat and moved away from his touch, ignoring the pang in her heart when she did so and the slight shuttering of his expression. “We need to find this witness.”
His gaze landed upon the string bound bundle beside her. “Let me guess. You need to change.”
“Indeed.” She untied the string. Demeter did a fine job of disguising it as an exciting gift though Charlotte had been desperate to see what Chastity had been sent.
The maid had suspicions about her, Chastity reckoned. She’d quizzed her most heartily about what she intended to do with her day off and although her tale of a still dying mother helped, the additional questions implied the maid did not entirely believe her.
At least she had been able to answer them easily. Most of what she had said was based off when her own mother had passed. Her heart panged to think of those moments and using her own mother’s death in such a manner, but she knew her mother would not disapprove. More than anything, she wished for Chastity to look after her sisters when she was gone, and Chastity would do whatever it took to ensure Eleanor’s restored name and future happiness.
Valentine’s brow furrowed when she pulled out the gown and shook it loose. “That’s no lady’s gown.”
“No.” She offered a bold grin. “I am going to be your mistress for the night.”
One brow rose. “My mistress?”
“Well, I almost am, am I not?”
“I have never had a mistress in my life, and I do not intend to start now.”
She cocked her head. “It is only pretend, Valentine. Besides, what do you call this between us?”
His mouth tugged at the corners. “This?” He waved a hand between them. “I am fairly certain this is indefinable. A duke’s daughter pretending to be a maid who is also the master’s lover. How does one define that with a mere word?”
Lover. The word made her shiver from the inside out with delicious anticipation. She had been a debutant, a fiancée, a wife, a widow. But never a lover. And to be Valentine’s lover made it all the more exciting.
“Anyway,” she continued. Dwell any longer on defining them and her mind might trip down a dangerous path. “If I am to accompany you to some of these inns where ladies of ill repute frequent, I do not think I can do so as a lady and certainly not as your maid. But as your mistress...yes.”
“What man in his right mind would take his mistress with him to find a lady of ill repute?”
“Many I imagine. Goodness, Valentine, you are astonishingly unworldly sometimes.”
His eyes darkened. “I am worldly enough. I think I have proven that.”
Her breath caught. Oh yes. He had. Many times now. He seldom touched her without bringing her some sort of pleasure, be it a shiver down the spine, a parting of her lips and a temptation to let her eyes flutter closed.
Or a screaming orgasm.
“There are some men in the world who want more than one woman at a time.”
