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Chapter Fourteen
Embarrassed by her undress, Lydia found a simple dress to pull over her shift, forgoing her stays without her maid’s help. As she rushed, she was grateful that the footman did not wait for her so that she could be more at ease while she made herself presentable.
She tried to think of any other reason Michael would want to discuss something with her in his study. The only reason could be that her uncle had showed him the letter and wanted to banish her from the household. Her hands were shaking by the time she made it to the study. She held her knuckles to the door for just a moment before she rapped lightly, stealing herself for the greeting that she might face.
“Come in!” Michael called out.
She stepped through the door, prepared to have Michael and her uncle staring sternly back at her. Instead, Michael was seated behind his desk, glass of whisky in hand. His composure was cool, but not angry. The fact that he was alone helped to calm her, but only slightly.
Her eyes immediately flew to the unfolded letter laying before him and her heart stopped, her worst fears coming true.
“So, you do recognize it,” he said, picking the letter up. He set the glass of whisky down on the desk. “Please, close the door.”
Her cheeks flushed, unable to read the emotion in his voice or expression on his face. She nodded simply and obeyed, closing the door behind her. She had half a mind to rush back through it as the latch fell into place.
“Do young ladies often write of such things?” he asked. “I have no siblings of my own, though I could not imagine describing my affairs to him in such eloquent detail.”
She stood near the door still, facing him, her hands clasped before her, chastised. Michael stood, beckoning her close.
“Lydia, my dear. I am not chastising you, who am I to judge you for what you write to your sister?”
“It is not what I write, but the thoughts behind them,” she confessed.
“Not but a few hours ago you admitted to me that you desired me between your legs. Was such a statement inspired by what you had seen?”
She thought for a moment, wondering how much to reveal to him. “Seeing you at the lake was rather more confirmation of things I had imagined.”
He came around to sit on the front edge of his desk, beckoning her even closer. She came to stand right in front of him, searching his face. He looked nearly tormented, wrestling with a thought in his mind. His eyes searched her face, as though not daring to wander over her body.
“You were not merely caught up in the moment, overcome with desire?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered. “I merely said out loud that which has been on my mind.”
He grasped her hand, pulling her against him. He pressed a knee between her legs, pushing into the folds of her dress, such that her thighs framed the one of his. So close to him, she struggled to breathe, her breath coming in short pants, chest heaving.
“Is that what you want, to know what it would feel like to have me inside you?” he whispered, his voice husky and low.
She stared into his eyes, feeling a warmth pooling between her legs. Knowing now that if she said yes, he would take her, she took a deep breath to be sure of her answer. She ached for him, an ache that she could no longer wait to be relieved. She nodded.
“Show me what it’s like,” she whispered.
He wrapped his hands around her face, bringing her mouth to his. Kissing her deeply, his tongue demanded entrance, so she parted her lips to let him in. As her tongue met his, she leaned against him, feeling his desire for her pressing into her hip.
Wanting to feel him, she pressed her hand against his chest and let it slide down his length, until she cupped his member with her hand over his breeches. He groaned into her mouth, tilting his hip to press his length into her hand. One of his hands moved on top of hers, guiding her to stroke his length over the cloth.
His length grew stiffer underneath her fingers, a sensation that made her feel dampness between her own legs. As though reading her mind, Michael reached between her legs and through the fabric of her dress, seeking and finding her nub. The circles he drew around it made her feel weak and heady.
“Do you want to feel skin to skin?” Michael whispered, his voice sounding of the same intoxication she felt. She nodded against his mouth as she kissed him again.
He gently pushed her hand away to unbutton the front of his breeches, freeing his manhood. When she looked down, she felt shy at first, until she wrapped her hand back around him and felt him pulse beneath her.
“I’d love to be buried inside of you,” he whispered, wrapping his other hand in her hair. He pulled her head to the side so that he could plant kisses in the hollow of her ear and down her neck. She continued to move her hand up and down his length, which he responded to with gentle pulses against her palm.
His mouth moved to the tops of her breasts, making her keenly aware that her nipples were pressing against the thin layers of her shift and dress. He moved the hand he had in her hair down to her breast, drawing circles around her nipple, making her whimper.
“Tell me, my lady,” he whispered. “If I felt between your legs right now, would I find you damp?”
She didn’t know how to answer his question, making her feel inexperienced in his arms. Searching for a way to respond that wouldn’t reveal her ineptitude, she asked, “Would you like to find out?”
