Page 41 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

London - Kensington

The door closed softly behind her maid, but not before Grace cast a concerned look at her. When she was safely alone, Frances slumped and buried her face in her hands. What an evening. It had taken an age to get rid of the guests when she had just wanted to retire to bed.

She scrubbed her face with her hands and observed herself in the mirror.

Frederick didn’t deserve her. His behaviour was utterly beyond the pale, and he must surely know it.

Not just his affair with Rosa, but his treatment of Freddie, the girls, her…

Anger bubbled up inside. She wanted to throw things.

To scream. Shout. She flounced off the stool, stalked to the bed and threw the pillow with a shriek, then crumpled onto the mattress with a sob.

She couldn’t even throw a decent tantrum.

This was what Frederick had reduced her to.

She ran the back of her hand under her nose and sniffed in a most unladylike fashion then returned to the mirror.

She lifted her chin and undid the plait that Grace had weaved her hair into.

She shook her head, ran her fingers through the strands until it fell in waves almost to her waist, then dragged a brush through it leaving it in gleaming waves.

She grabbed a handkerchief, dabbed, and tidied her face before grasping every last shred of resolution she had, tightening the belt of her dressing gown, and leaving the room.

She walked down the corridor and stopped at Jemie’s door.

She rapped on it before her courage could desert her and waited. What was good for the goose…

She waited, heart in mouth. What to say?

What to… the door swung open, and Frances found herself confronted by the second bare masculine chest that evening, but this time her mouth went completely dry.

Jemie wore nothing but trousers. His hair was awry, and he had one hand thrust in it as he glared out of the door, standing in bare feet like a prize-fighter.

“What?” he demanded half asleep, then gaped at her.

“Frances? Frances?” He stuck his head out of the door and looked up and down the corridor, then pulled her unceremoniously into the room.

“Good Lord, whatever is it? Is it the girls?”

She shook her head. This wasn’t the reception she expected. He was supposed to swoon at the sight of her or be moved to take her into his arms. She lifted her chin and waited.

He opened his mouth and then shut it as it appeared to dawn on him that her hair was loose about her, and his gaze travelled from the top of her head, following the fall of it over her shoulders.

He cleared his throat and brought his gaze back to hers.

This time, his eyes looked darker. Carnal, almost.

Frances wanted to be seductive. Really, she did. She wanted to speak to him in alluring tones and have him… well, sweep her into his arms. To her horror, her eyes filled with tears. She was utterly overwhelmed and had no idea what to do.

“Oh, love, whatever is it?” he asked, and hearing that endearment almost finished her. He reached for her hand.

“I came to seduce you,” she said, trying to sound resolute, but her voice wobbled.

His eyes opened wide, and he blinked. A couple of times. “You did?” his tone was cautious, and there was still no evidence he might want to sweep her into his arms which made her feel like she had made a terrible mistake.

She nodded, and her chin quirked. “And I’ve just realised I have no idea how.” A tear spilled over. “I’m hopeless at this. Just like everything else.” Another tear spilled followed by another which made her feel even less alluring.

Jemie squeezed her hand and held it to his naked chest over his heart. “Frances… darling, you slay me every time you look at me. Every time you speak to me. I thought you knew that. I would love nothing more than to be seduced by you. But you are upset. I can’t simply ignore that.”

She swiped a hand over her wet cheeks. “I am a little.”

He lifted her fingers and kissed them, eyes screwed tight shut for a moment, then he opened them, swallowed and then, with aching slowness, he took hold of her face in one hand and ran his thumb over her cheek.

“What happened?”

“Does anything have to have happened to make me come to seduce you?”

“I suspect so.”

Her eyes filled with tears again and she slumped in defeat because there was no getting anything past him. His thumb continued its gentle movement.

“I walked in on Frederick and Rosa Caldicott,” she told him.

“What were they doing?”

“What do you think they were doing?” She raised her eyebrows.

His eyes widened. “Ah… Oh!”

“Well, let’s put it this way. Tonight is the first time I have ever seen my husband completely naked.”

She saw the shock register.

“He always wears a nightshirt,” she mumbled, looking down.

“So, you walked in on Fred having his way with the Caldicott woman? In your own home?”

Frances nodded, still studying the floor. “I thought she was my friend,” she whispered, the heat rising in her cheeks. “I thought she liked me.”

“Dear God,” he murmured and pulled her into his arms. She rested her head against him and closed her eyes on a sigh as she leaned against his naked torso, inhaling the unalloyed scent of him, and putting her hands on the warm skin of his naked back.

She felt the muscles move under her fingers as he wrapped his arms around her, and her mind drifted back to the thought of seduction.

“You know that I want to make love to you more than anything else in the world, don’t you?”

“If you say so.” Her heart thumped harder.

“I do say so.”

“I sense a ‘but’?”

Jemie pulled back to study her. “If I was ever fortunate enough to have you share my bed, I want it to be because you truly want me. Not to get back at Fred.”

She stiffened because hearing it phrased in such a manner made her feel terrible.

“No, no, no…” he drew her back into his arms and held her tightly. “Don’t misunderstand me. It’s just that you are not the kind of woman who would have a quick tumble with a man and think nothing of it. I couldn’t bear it if you regretted it afterwards. I care too much about you for that.”

She swallowed and hid her face in his shoulder.

“I don’t think that you’ve had a happy time in the marital bed, have you?”

She shook her head.

“So, if I was lucky enough to make love to you, I would want at least a couple of hours, preferably a week, in bed with you to show you the pleasures and delights that are to be had.”

She looked up and blinked. “A week ?”

His lips twitched. “Maybe two?”

“You are teasing me.” She was sure he was.

He shook his head. “I’m not.”

“It only takes a few minutes. Why do you need hours or days?”

Jemie looked pained. He swallowed. “To teach you, my darling, that lovemaking, proper lovemaking, takes a lot longer than a few minutes.”

She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that, it was all she could do to endure a few moments of Frederick on top of her.

“How long does Fred spend kissing you before he…” Jemie waved a hand suggestively.

“He stopped kissing me after Fannie was born.”

Jemie blinked. “I see. Did you like kissing him?”

Frances thought for a little while, then nodded. “It was… pleasant.”

“Did you like kissing me?”

Heat landed on her face with the force of a hurricane, but she held firm and nodded again.

He cupped her face in both hands, angled his head, and moved slowly, so slowly that she had every opportunity to pull away.

She didn’t.

His lips touched hers in the gentlest of caresses, and her eyes fluttered closed. He sipped softly at her lips and then pulled away to look at her.

She opened her eyes and saw he was breathing heavily.

“More?” he said in a voice that was husky. She nodded wondering if that was the effect she had on him.

He pulled her to him again, but slid one hand around her waist, allowing her to put her arms about his neck.

He kissed her again, but this time it was more of a deep kiss and less of a caress.

His mouth was warm and wonderful, his breath soft on her cheek.

He moaned softly, making her gasp. Now it was she who was breathing heavily.

He touched her chin with his thumb, opening her mouth.

“Like this,” he whispered, and pressed his open mouth to hers, and kissed her deeply, rhythmically, and Frances clung to him and returned the embrace with fervour, catching on quickly and falling into a natural rhythm with him, as if this was the way things were supposed to be between them.

They kissed for what seemed like an age until she pulled away, trembling all over, her body tingling as her heart raced.

“Passion,” she whispered, pressing shaking hands to her cheeks to gather herself. “This is passion, isn’t it?”

He swallowed and pressed his lips to her forehead. “This is passion.”

“Oh Jemie.” She breathed, beginning to see that she might have been missing something all these years.

He wrapped her tight in his arms, and she pressed against him. She wasn’t so innocent that she didn’t realise what the hardness between them meant. She waited for him to continue, to press the issue, but he didn’t. He held her shoulders at arm’s length.

“Be in no doubt whatsoever that I want nothing more than you.”

She stared at him, unable to speak, something stirring deep within her at the thought.

“But it wouldn’t be right. Not for you. Not at this moment.”

She swallowed and blinked hard, knowing he was right.

His thumbs traced soft circles on her shoulders. “I thought it would take time to teach you to find the passion in yourself, but I was wrong. So wrong.”

“You were?” she whispered.

He nodded. “It’s right there. Flickering like fire under that genteel surface.”

“It is, isn’t it?” she smiled.

“What will you do? About Fred and the Caldicott woman?”

“I have no idea. When I found them, he was furious. He behaved as if it was all my fault.”

Jemie shook his head in disbelief. “You mean he didn’t have the decency to apologise?”

“Don’t be silly. Rosa had to restrain him when he turned on me.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed in concern. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “You won’t do anything reckless, will you? You won’t speak of this to him?”

Jemie didn’t reply.

A sharp dagger of fear lanced through her and doused any passion. She gripped his hands. “Jemie… Jemie, you mustn’t. If you care for me at all, you mustn’t. I have to live with him. Besides, you must think of your career. He could ruin you.”

He laid his forehead against hers and exhaled his frustrations. She savoured the contact and placed her hands on his waist, fingers caressing the naked skin there. “Can we carry on as before?” she whispered tentatively. “Can you still paint me, visit us, and be part of us or have I ruined it all?”

He held her in a tight embrace and buried his face in her neck. “You haven’t ruined anything. We will carry on as before. We managed it after I kissed you at the theatre, and we will manage again.”

She clung onto him for a long time.

“I should go,” she said eventually.

He nodded and released her. “We could sit by the fire for a little while.”

She hesitated.

“I’ll behave. I promise.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” she admitted, and his answering laugh was soft and warm.

“Come.” He held out a hand. She took it and he led her to the large armchair by the fire that was flickering.

He sat down, and to her surprise, pulled her onto his lap.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had sat on someone’s lap.

She settled cautiously and rested her head on his shoulder.

After a moment’s awkwardness, she put one hand on his naked chest. It was a very impressive chest. Warm with toned muscles and a generous dusting of dark hair that was soft under her fingers.

She stroked him gently. He held her tightly, but with one hand he pulled what he could reach of her hair around so he could run his fingers through it.

His skin was so warm, and she could smell his familiar scent. She doubted she would ever get enough of being so close to him. She rubbed her cheek against him, and he kissed the top of her head.

“I’ve never sat on a gentleman’s lap before,” she admitted. His chuckle reverberated through her.

“My lap will forever be at your disposal.”

She stroked him some more and he groaned.

“Sorry, but you have such a lovely chest.”

“Would you hit me if I said so do you?” He squeezed her.

“But I don’t… oh. Oh!” she said and buried her burning cheeks against him, and then laughed with him.

“Talk to me,” she said after a little while.

“What would you like to talk about?”

She dropped a soft kiss on his collar bone. Loving the feel of his hands on her hair. “Talk to me about art. You were talking about Art for Art’s sake, but I didn’t understand. Help me understand.”

He wrapped her more tightly in his arms, rested his chin on her head, took hold of another handful of hair, and they talked for the rest of the night.