Page 7 of The Spinster's Seduction(The Lover's Arch #4)

Charles had insisted that any potential seduction would have to take place at her house. For one thing, it would not do for her to visit him in St James’s Street. For another, her father was currently in the country, thus giving them the—metaphorical—run of the house.

He also suspected she would feel more comfortable in her own space, and her comfort was of the utmost importance. Especially now he had, by some madness or other, agreed to deflower her.

What little that remained of his honour reminded him he was a blackguard. Yet that same honour demanded he see his word through. Still, he felt the folly of his life as clearly as though it were through someone else’s eyes. His back ached and his body felt tired, and the girl he had once loved beyond everything had told him twice in as many days that she would not marry him. Yet she still wished for him to seduce her. He was good enough for that , if nothing else.

As he had done so often, he rapped on her front door with his cane. She had attempted to insist he sneak over in the dead of night, but Charles refused. The servants knew him; he was often in the habit of calling on Evelyn, and he knew her house almost as well as his own. Once he closed the door, they would not be disturbed, and no one would suspect a thing.

“Evie,” he said as the butler showed him to her small parlour. “Thank you, Agar. ”

The butler nodded and shut the door behind him. Evelyn rose, her cheeks rosier than usual. Her lips parted, as though she, too, recalled their kiss. Everything about her spoke of her naivety, and at the thought, he almost turned and left.

“I received you here because that’s what I usually do,” she said, her fingers moving to her skirts and twisting them anxiously. “Should we take this upstairs?”

“Heavens, Pidge. A little eager, aren’t you? Anyone would think you only want me for my body.” He grinned, aiming to calm her nerves a little, but the words and gesture felt odd. She had only ever had his sincerity—something he rarely offered to others—and he could not treat her as though she were merely another of his flirts.

He sighed, pinching his nose. “Do you have a drink?”

“I took the liberty of bringing some of my father’s scotch in,” she said, holding a bottle to the light. “He will not mind.”

“Good.” Charles took the bottle and poured them both a glass, staring at the golden liquid for a long moment before tossing it back. Evelyn drank it in one and brought an unsteady hand across her mouth. By the look of the hectic flush on her cheeks, that had not been her first.

“Steady, my girl,” he said, leading her across to a small sofa placed before the window. She had already closed the blinds, and he opened them again, letting some much-needed sunshine into the place. “You’re nervous.”

“Is that so very unusual? I think most ladies are likely nervous before—this.”

“Most ladies do not ask to be seduced,” he said sternly, then guided her into the cushions. “If you’re uncomfortable, I would rather we didn’t go through with it.”

“No, no. Please. You see, I have been looking forward to this for quite some time.”

Inconveniently, Charles’s cock twitched at the thought, waking up at the sound of her desires, expressed in such a forthright way. Not today , he thought grimly, and took her hands in his. He rarely made a habit of putting someone else’s needs above his own, but for Evelyn, he would make an exception .

“We must get one thing clear,” he said, bringing both her hands to his mouth and kissing across her knuckles. Her breath caught. “I will not be taking your virtue today.”

“But Charles, you promised—”

“In a fit of madness, I did promise, yes. And I am not about to turn my back on my word, no matter how much of a bad idea I might think it is. But you, my dear, asked for seduction, and I think—I think the best way to go about that is slowly.”

“Slowly,” she repeated.

He kissed her knuckles once more. “You kissed me like a virgin, Evie.”

Her mouth tightened. “Did I do it wrong? I didn’t know precisely what I ought to do, but if you showed me and taught me how I should be, then—”

“You did nothing wrong, silly girl.” No, the stirring in his breeches assured him she had done absolutely nothing wrong. “But it does mean that you are unused to certain things. So today, we are going to be exploring kissing a little more. The art of touch.”

Her gaze fell to his hands, holding her fingers to his mouth. “Touch.”

He hadn’t known the word could hold so much power. “Yes. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” She said the words so easily, not a hesitation in sight, and Charles’s guarded, jaded heart split a little.

“Then come closer.”

She did so, following his instructions, and her knee brushed against his as she perched beside him. Such large skirts, and so many layers cinching her all inside. Still, it was not to be helped—today would not involve the removal of clothes. That would not help with his intention of going slowly and not taking her virtue today. He wanted to give her time to change her mind or back out of their agreement.

“How’s this?” she asked, looking into his face steadily. Not the expression of a lover, but of a lady who knew him almost as well as she knew herself.

Somehow, he found that all the more intimate .

“Almost.” He shifted, spreading his legs a fraction, and patted his thigh. “Sit here.”

“You want me to sit on you?”

“My dear, if you balk at this, we surely can have no reason to go any further.”

An expression of rare determination crossed her face, and she gathered her skirts, a stockinged knee briefly visible as she slid onto his lap. He felt her thighs trembling as she attempted to keep her full weight from him.

“You are concerned over nothing,” he said, putting his hands on her waist and tugging her closer. He ought to have chosen a different chair, one where her legs would dangle on either side of him, and he would not be obliged to convince her that one woman would not cause him to expire. “Allow yourself to settle fully on me, Evie. Believe me when I say I enjoy it.”

“You enjoy being squashed under the weight of another?”

“You are not as heavy as you think you are.” He slid his hands down to the flare of her hips, and her eyes went wide. “And yes, as it happens, I do enjoy being ‘squashed’, as you put it, under the weight of another when she happens to be female.”

Reluctantly, she allowed herself to relax a little, although he could still feel the stiffness in her body. For all she claimed she wanted to do this, he could sense her nervousness.

How best to assuage her fears?

“Put your hands on my face,” he commanded. “You should be used to touching a man.”

Her blue-grey eyes flicked to his and away, and she licked her lips as she brought her fingertips to his cheeks. Her caress, as always, was soft. Growing up as friends, he had touched her more often than he could count. She had always been more reticent; he had been the one to reach out, to take her hand or pull twigs from her hair. Once, it had occurred to him to worry that she disliked the intimacy, but then he noted the way she never pulled back from his touch the way she so often did with others.

That, among other reasons, had been why he had gone after Julian and given the boy two black eyes. Not just for the crime of kissing her, although that had been reason enough, but because he knew she would have shown him through her body, if not her words, that she disliked his hands on her. Charles had watched them interact, seen the way she’d shrunk from him. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed, either.

But he had.

He held perfectly still as her fingertips glided across his skin, letting her take her time and accustom herself to the sensations. But she did not seem to need additional time; her hands held steady as they traced his features. Eyes, nose, cheekbones, brow, then finally, lips.

“The thing you must understand,” he said, hearing the gruffness in his voice but unable to prevent it, “is that the act you’re imagining is not necessarily the primary focus of these sessions.”

A frown touched her brows. “It isn’t?”

“Often what comes before—the, ah, preparatory work, so to speak—is far more enjoyable, particularly for the lady.”

“I see.” From the tone of her voice, she did not. She shifted a little closer, her gaze following the path of her fingers as they passed along his jaw and down his neck.

“You may remove my neckcloth,” he said. “And my jacket.”

As though for reassurance, she glanced back up at him. He nodded, and she deftly untied his neckcloth, setting it aside more neatly than he would have supposed. Then she slid her hands around to his jacket, unbuttoning it slowly, frowning a little as she did so.

“Is this how you usually begin?”

He winced. Although she had to know—she had alluded to as much—of his activities elsewhere, he had an aversion to discussing them with her. “On occasion.”

Evelyn, always watchful, looked at his face again, searching his features with her customary bluntness. “Have I upset you?”

“No.”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“No. Are you?”

She appeared to give the question some thought, adjusting so her knees pressed firmly against his hips. “No,” she said eventually. “I thought perhaps I would be, but it feels natural.” She placed her palm against her cheek. “You’re warm.”

“People generally are, Pidge,” he said, amused, and turned his head to kiss her hand. “It’s time to begin your first lesson. Are you ready?”

“Begin? Have we not already begun?”

“Almost.” He reached out, cupping her face in his hand, feeling her shiver. Her skin felt soft against his fingers, and her gaze met his for a blazing second before she dropped it again. Her lips parted, and he could feel the rush of breath against his wrist, dancing under his shirt cuff.

“Charles,” she whispered.

He felt it again, the thing he had felt under the archway, when she had said his name with such odd intensity, and his body had responded before his mind.

But just as then, he couldn’t allow himself to devour her the way he wanted. If he was going to teach her what pleasure could be, then he would need to do so slowly. Gently. She asked for seduction, so he would seduce her.

“Come here,” he said.

Her hands on her shoulders, she leant in closer, her nose almost brushing his. He smiled as he kissed it, and she blinked at him in surprise. When she’d made her request, he’d assumed it had nothing to do with sexual attraction. In all honesty, he hadn’t been certain she was capable of it. Certainly, she had none of the hot-blooded, demanding sensuality of some of his other acquaintances. He had taken her at her word: that she trusted him beyond all others. After all, that was how he felt about her.

But now, looking into her eyes, he understood his mistake. Both that she was not a passionate woman, and his assumption that she had not brought attraction into the equation. His attraction to her he had never doubted, but hers to him—well, he saw it here.

Her breath trembled, and he realised she wanted him to kiss her.

The thought tugged on the thread of his own desire, tightening every part of him. Hardening him until he shifted under her so she wouldn’t feel it. He brought his mouth to her cheek and kissed it. Her eyes fluttered closed under his touch .

“Your hair,” he murmured, sliding his fingers across to the sleek, tight knot. “May I?”

“You want to see my hair?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Charles, you do not have to lie to me. Not here and now when we are doing this .”

He snorted. “I am not selfless enough to lie to you.” He removed first one pin, then another, then another. “I have always found your hair lovely. Silver looks well on you, Evie.” Finally, after altogether too many pins, he released the sleek fall of her hair. It tumbled riotously down her shoulders. “Beautiful,” he repeated, sliding his fingers through the soft waves. “I like seeing you like this.”

“No one but my maid has ever seen me like this before.”

And he should not be doing either, but he silenced that voice and sat up straighter, bringing their faces together. “Then the world has been deprived of a vision, and I am a fortunate man indeed.”

“Do you charm every lady you are with this way?” she asked with her habitual bluntness.

“Evie, Evie.” He kissed the sensitive skin below her ear, and her breath hitched. “You should focus less on other ladies when with me. I am attempting to seduce you, and this is a knife to my confidence.”

“I assure you it can take the hit.”

“Brat.” He allowed his mouth to drift along her jaw to the very corner of her lips, and she went still. “Are you going to insult me, or will you seduce me in return?”

“Seduce you ?”

“I may be naught but a man, but even men occasionally require compliments.” He smiled at her sudden disquiet. “Does that shock you? Did you think that men were always the instigators in all seductions, and the lady passive? Most gentlemen prefer an active—nay, enthusiastic—participant.”

She glanced down, her gaze trailing across his neck, and he felt it as though she had brushed her fingers there. “I don’t know what to do. ”

“Then trust me, Pidge. I’m here with you.” At the rush of tension in her body, he ran his hand up and down her sides. “We can take things as slowly as you want. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Your inexperience isn’t a black mark against you, and certainly isn’t any reason to feel self-conscious.” He waited for her to relax slightly before leaning in and pressing his mouth to the corner of hers. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispered. “If that is acceptable?”

She swallowed audibly. “Yes.”

“Good.”

First, he kissed her full lower lip. Her mouth opened, and she exhaled. He took advantage of the movement to kiss up, adjusting the angle, so he captured the entirety of her mouth with his.

Yes, this. The rush of satisfaction pounding through him felt almost dizzying. Heat followed, and if he had not sworn to himself that he would make things good for her, he might have been tempted to deepen the kiss. But he was not enough of a cad to rush her, even if her mouth felt like heaven. She tasted of scotch and strawberries—an impossibility for this time of year, but it seemed she paid as little attention to impossibilities as she did social niceties.

He wanted to devour her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he drew her closer still, desire tugging at his self-control. It had been a long time since a woman had made him tempted to lose his mind; longer still since he had reacted so strongly to a mere kiss. Yet here he was, arousal driving him half mad with the thought of all the things he could do to her.

All the things he had not allowed himself to think of for years .

All now, with the heat of her mouth against his, lips moving in tandem with his, occurring to him with potent urgency. He could have her here—he could push her back on this nicely appointed sofa and push her skirts up around her hips, obeying his command to himself that she would not be removing her clothes. As for him—unbuttoning the fall of his breeches did not strictly count as divesting himself of his clothes .

And yet he knew as soon as the thought occurred to him that he could not. He had given her his word, and she . . . well, she deserved so much more than a quick rut because the urge had taken him.

She deserved to be loved. Worshipped. Treated with respect and kindness.

He leant back, breaking the kiss and addressing himself to her neck instead. “There,” he said, fighting to keep his voice cool and unaffected. “I think you have grasped the basics.”

More than the basics, if his cock had anything to say on the matter, but he rather thought introducing her to his cock at this stage of the proceedings would be a mistake.

“Now what?” she asked, her fingers sinking through his hair.

He gave her a cocky smile. “Now, Evie, it’s your turn.”