Page 26 of Lady Like
“It wasn’t me! It was…” Emily glances over the screen like Mrs. McGowan might be lurking. “Just undo them for me, please.”
Harry begins to work through the knots, hoping that the task at hand might distract her from Emily’s breasts and body and heat and nearness.
She thinks Emily must be looking elsewhere until she remarks, “Well your nails are worthless for this,” and Harry glances up to find Emily is watching her work.
“Look how short they are! Hardly good for anything.”
“They’re good for some things.” Harry clenches her teeth, eyes crossing as she tries to focus.
Emily’s breasts are small, but the soft swell of them pushed up by the boned stays is impossible not to look at, and, for God’s sake, they’re right there.
She’s practically making eye contact with her nipples.
And Emily is staring at her, like she suspects Harry of thinking unholy thoughts and must remain vigilant.
Harry should look away—but isn’t it stranger not to look?
Surely if they were irrelevant breasts, it wouldn’t matter if Harry looked at them.
But how is she meant to look at them like they truly are irrelevant? God, this is a nightmare.
“No luck?” Emily asks. Harry tugs again, hoping to create some kind of gap from which she can approach the knots at a different angle.
Emily hunches over, sucking in her stomach.
Her elbow knocks a capped jar of buttons off the shelf behind her, which Harry catches before they hit the ground.
Her fabric swath nearly slips out from under her arms.
“I’m sorry, but you may have to be buried in these stays.”
Emily presses a hand to her forehead. “Crikey, just cut the laces. I’ll pay her for new ones.”
“No, hold on, I have an idea.” Harry slips one of the pins from the muslin dress draped over the screen and manages to work it in between the laces, and at last the knots loosen.
She hooks a finger through and tugs them free from their grommets, just as Emily says, “Let me,” and their hands bump, knocking Harry’s off course and resulting in her accidentally pinching Emily’s breast.
Emily jumps with a yelp.
Harry steps backward and holds up her hands. “Sorry, sorry!”
To her surprise, Emily pinches Harry’s breast in return.
Now it’s Harry who yelps. “Ow! What the devil?”
“You did it first.”
“It was a slip of the hand.”
“So was mine.”
Harry slaps Emily’s breast.
Emily grabs the front of Harry’s makeshift swaddle and yanks. Harry suspects she intends to only pull down the fabric, but the tug is sharp enough that Harry’s chemise goes with it, exposing both her breasts.
Emily claps her hands over her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize—”
“You devious creature!” There’s little reason to protect her modesty any longer, so Harry lets the fabric fall around her ankles, leaving her standing before Emily in only her cotton chemise, thinner than even the muslin pattern and with nothing underneath.
“If you wanted to see my breasts you could have just asked.”
Now Emily has her hands over her eyes. “I’m so sorry!”
“No you aren’t! Look at you, you’re laughing like a maniac!”
She is—Emily’s cheeks are bright pink and she seems unable to stop her giggling. “How was I supposed to know—” Now she is laughing so hard she can’t speak clearly. Each word bumps like a cart on a potholed road. “You’re the one who came here…dressed like Julius Caesar.”
“Ah yes, famously bare-breasted Julius Caesar.”
Emily doubles over, collapsing with laughter until she is crouched on the floor. Harry laughs too—mostly at Emily’s wild, infectious cackling, which warms Harry’s whole body like she’s stepped into a sunbeam.
“I really…” Emily manages a shuddering breath at last, then lets out one final burst of laughter before she tries again. “I am truly sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Harry extends a hand to Emily, helping her back to her feet.
She pulls her up with more force than Emily must have expected, for Emily oversteps and tumbles into Harry.
She grabs Harry’s forearms to steady herself, but not before her chest collides with Harry’s.
And with both of them in only slips, Harry can feel Emily’s breasts against hers.
And suddenly, Harry feels like she has dropped below the surface of a lake.
The sound of the shop and from the street outside muffles.
Her vision pulsates. She tries to take a breath but it feels like her lungs are full of water.
Before she can stop herself, Harry looks down at Emily’s breasts.
With the stays fallen away, Harry can see the blush of nipples under Emily’s slip.
She hears the soft hitch of Emily’s breath, and realizes that she has been standing for too long, Emily in her arms, staring at her. God, she has got to get her head on straight.
“Apologies,” Harry says quickly. “I’ll let you finish dressing.” She tries to step backward, only to find that Emily is still holding her arms, staring at the place where her skin touches Harry’s.
“How are your arms so…” she says, then blinks and looks up at Harry, like she hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Harry wets her lips before she can stop herself.
“Pardon?”
“Yes,” Emily says, and she lets go of Harry. “You’d best let me finish dressing on my own.”