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“Or I cannot take my eyes from his person,” Lucasta added. “I want to look at him all day. It could feel like that.”
“Thank you. That’s helpful.” It couldn’t be that she wanted to kiss him, then. As she hadn’t felt like that when they’d first met, although the feeling was growing day by day, a slow maturing creature that perhaps had yet to reach its full size. “And what is the difference between the physical impulse, and love?” Because she wouldn’t want to mistake one for the other.
“What’s wrong with simple curiosity about the physical, rather than love, it that were all it was?” Miss Chilson said. “Love has only caused me a great deal of inconvenience. But desire, when all parties understand that is all it is, has been delightful. You could take him as your lover without being in love or marrying him.”
Miss Chilson had told them before that she’d previously had lovers, but Gina hadn’t given any thought to what sort of man she would want as a lover. Though now she did, the image was undoubtedly of Emmett. It wasn’t even the physicality of Emmett. The thought was more like an intangible bundle of feelings when he touched her, words, the sound of his voice, and the memory of his scent: leather and bergamot and cedar.
“What does one look for in a lover?” she asked. Her bundle of vague snippets wasn’t correct. It might be like asking for the travel aspirations of someone who’d never seen a globe or read a book. If one only thought the world extended to the horizon, a lot could be missed.
“A handsome physique,” Lucasta suggested.
“Discretion,” Miss Chilson said. “Someone you can trust, and rely on to pleasure you.”
“Pleasure?” Sophie interjected.
“You know.” Miss Chilson gave a little smile. “To bring you to…” Miss Chilson went pink. “You know when you’re alone in bed at night, and you think about a certain person and between your legs becomes hot and wet and… You have all done this, haven’t you?” Miss Chilson broke off, something in their expressions apparently stopping her.
Lucasta nodded easily.
Gina looked at Sophie, who had her head tilted to the side and her eyes open wide.
“You can do that?” Sophie echoed Gina’s own thoughts.
Miss Chilson raised her eyebrows. “Yes. You can. Would you like me to explain?”
The next day—onfoot for a change and in Hyde Park for their daily outing—Gina couldn’t stop thinking about whether Emmett would know about pleasuring her.
She’d tried on her own the previous night, but it hadn’t worked. Or she didn’t think so, anyway. Miss Chilson and Lucasta had described something unmistakable, but she’d ended up frustrated and a little confused. It had been nice, but not as superlative as she’d been led to believe. There hadn’t been a wave, or an unfurling, or a bang. Although she’d found what she thought was the place her friends had meant, it felt awkward and insufficient. It was good enough to leave her wanting more, but unable to achieve it. Consequently, she’d slept fitfully, and woken up with a slight headache that had only dispersed when she walked out into the fresh air and met with Emmett.
“You seem distracted today, Gina,” Emmett said eventually, his voice dry and his tone suggesting he’d asked her something and received no response.
“A little. Just…” She’d been thinking about him touching her in her most private, hidden places. Glancing across at him, she fought to repress a blush. She’d never noticed what nice lips he had. Full but not excessive, and well-shaped. Did that mean he’d be good at…
He quirked an eyebrow at her.
He was waiting for her to continue that sentence in a normal, sensible way that wasn’t,Would you be willing to teach me about pleasure, because I don’t seem to be able to figure it out on my own. But she couldn’t ask that, not least because she suspected the answer might be yes, and he might be very good at it. Then where would she be? Liking the man, and wanting to kiss him, and wanting him to kiss her.
Disaster.
“Just thinking about the embroidery I’ve started for you.” Yet another fib about embroidery when he’d asked her not to lie to him. She fought the urge to scratch her nose.
“Yes?” He turned away but she caught the beginning of a smile and light in his eyes. But he returned to looking at her with a neutral expression. “What is the pattern?”
“Red roses.”
This time he didn’t manage to hide his smile. Closed-lipped and satisfied, the sort of smile that spoke of comfort and warm fires.
In autumn she’d begun the new embroidery, finally. When Miss Chilson had asked what she’d like, Gina had thought of Emmett and red roses had popped into her head. Suitably over the top for an excessive man. And hadn’t he mentioned something about roses? And his waistcoat was often red, or sometimes pink. The sort of bold, striking color that suited him.
She liked red too. She’d been wearing that monstrosity of a red dress when she’d first met him. Since then, she’d pared down the excesses in her attire, having no reason to put off suitors now she was safely and falsely engaged to Emmett.
Safely? Did she just think that being Emmett’s fiancée was safe? That was ludicrous.
“Tell me more about this red roses design. What will it be?” Emmett replied, and glanced up at the gray sky.
A moment later a raindrop hit her.
“Ah. Would you prefer to return home?”
