Prejudice in Regency Society. Michelle Styles

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      ‘It may be. It may not be.’ Tristan gave a little shrug. ‘It has been vacant for years.’

      Lottie did not dare reply. She wanted Tristan to take her in his arms again. She wanted it to be how it was last evening. She knew if his lips were against hers, she would not have to think or to worry.

      ‘Is there some problem, Lottie?’ Tristan put a hand on her shoulder, drew her to him. He pressed his lips to her temple. His breath against her cheek sent a pulse of warmth throughout. ‘Confide in me. What troubles you? Why don’t you like being here with me? Alone. You appeared to like being on the terrace with me last evening.’

      ‘Nothing troubles me.’

      She turned her face upwards and met his mouth. Their lips touched, parted and she tasted him. A jolt ran through her, igniting her insides. She moaned slightly in the back of her throat, felt her body begin to arch, and stiffened, stunned by her reaction. His hands dropped away. The kiss ended as air rushed between them. He regarded her with a question in his eyes, but made no move to touch her.

      ‘Lottie, sweet Lottie.’

      Lottie pressed her hand against her stomach, willed that the melting sensation would go away and tried not to think about what was to come. She knew her face flamed. What could happen if Tristan did not respect her?

      The thoughts circled and circled in her head, making her dizzy. She had to find a way to breathe, to regain control of her thoughts and desires.

      A distinct smell of wood smoke and cooking pervaded the room, gave her an excuse. ‘Is there a possibility of food? I barely had anything for supper last night. I feel a bit faint.’

      It was better than the truth. She knew she had done something wrong, but she had no idea what she had done. Why he had put her away from him.

      ‘I will go and check.’ Tristan’s hand grasped the door. ‘It will give you time to change, and to get comfortable.’

      ‘Can you send someone to help me?’

      ‘To help you?’

      ‘I need a maid. I cannot undress myself.’ She gave a small shrug.

      He looked puzzled, then his face cleared. His voice became velvet soft. ‘Unable to undress? Shall I play a lady’s maid?’ He came back over to her and trailed a hand along her shoulder. ‘I have had a bit of experience in how ribbons and laces become undone.’

      Him? He thought her a strumpet. Her mouth went dry at the thought of his undoing her clothes. She remembered her mother’s other words. A lady did not show passion. A lady submitted. Surrendered.

      She had no wish to repel him. She knew she was not ready to give away her soul. Last night at Shaw’s, his kisses had awakened something deep within her, a sort of hunger. But she wanted him to respect her. She was his wife, not his courtesan. She doubted if it would be possible to be both as much as she might like to be.

      ‘My corset ties at the back. It can be very tricky. A serving maid would be best. More dignified.’

      ‘If you wish, I only made the offer.’ His voice lost its warmth and became correct. ‘I have dealt with ladies’ laces before…in my misspent youth.’

      ‘Your misspent youth? It is different for a man. No one expects…no one makes comments…’ Lottie watched him. Would he help her? What would it be like to have his long fingers stroke her skin? To feel his mouth move on hers like it had last night? She daren’t ask in case he refused. She knew she was babbling, but anything to stop this growing dread inside her. What would he think of her without any clothes on? She hated her toes. Would he like her toes? Blind panic filled her. She knew nothing about lovemaking and he was an accomplished rake. He was used to women who knew how to please a man.

      ‘Lottie, sweetheart, tell me what you want. It is our wedding night.’ His voice played like silken velvet over her skin.

      ‘It would be useful to have someone.’ Lottie began to pace the room, unable to stand still, unable to think. ‘Is there anyone at Gortner Hall? I shared a maid with Mama and then Cousin Frances and we helped each other. It was not ideal, of course, but I made do. It does not have to be a French maid. Any girl would do. I could teach her to do my hair. I am sure I could.’

      She knew she was babbling and watched his eyes grow cold and his hands fall to his sides.

      ‘I will send one of the serving maids with some bread and cheese. She should be able to help.’ He bowed and closed the door. ‘I will return shortly. That should give you enough time to make yourself decent.’

      ‘Decent. Yes, I will be decent.’

      ‘And, Lottie, there is no need to panic. I will send the maid. Remember to breathe while you wait.’ He touched his fingers to his temple. ‘It always helps.’

      ‘I am not panicking.’ She paused and smiled. ‘I have no desire to faint.’

      ‘That is a start.’ He closed the door softly behind him.

      Lottie breathed again. She would have time to get her nerves together. She would make sure that she did not give in to her passion. She would be dignified. Tristan would respect her for that. Men wanted wives that they could respect, who could help them. She had to remember that. She listened to the sound of his boots going down the stairs. The despair inside her increased with each step.

      Had her passion doomed the marriage before it had started?

      Tristan sat nursing his second pint of bitter. The innkeeper had doctored the beer to a black sludge that gave no pleasure. He would give Lottie a bit of time before he returned to the room.

      All around him, the dice rattled and the smoke swirled. Several ladies plied their trade. It was hard to imagine a more disreputable place, but it served its purpose. However, he wondered if he had made a slight error.

      He had seen her face drain of colour when he suggested his playing the lady’s maid. Silently he cursed her mother or whoever had told her about the facts of life. He had never lain with a virgin before, and most in particular had never lain with one who was his wife.

      He had a responsibility to awaken her properly, to teach her about passion, and that meant going slow, and not forcing her here where the memory might be distasteful. Tristan regarded the bottom of his pint glass. He had to decide where it would be. He had to balance his desire against the need to make sure her first experience went smoothly. A great deal of responsibility rested on his shoulders. He was determined that his marriage would be a passionate one. He’d felt the passion in her earlier when they’d kissed.

      Tristan gave the remaining dark liquid a final swirl. He was not ready for this. He tried to think about his other piece of unfinished business—his cousin, and how he could ensure Peter remained true to his word.

      ‘Thorngrafton, it is you.’ A large hand pinned him to his stool. ‘I told Saidy that you weren’t answering to Dyvelston any more, not since your СКАЧАТЬ