Creighton. If he complained about the slow pace, she could scold him. How dare he question her? She knew everything about the art of love!
She supposed she could have one or two lessons like that, and then call off the whole thing.
He’d be angry at her, but so what? She’d been angry at him for making the offer in the first place. If a rich man was disappointed in not getting the sex he paid for, well, that wasn’t a tragedy. It would do him good to learn that some things you can’t buy.
He wouldn’t ask for his money back. She was sure of that. He wasn’t that sort of gentleman.
But it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t dare.
“Can you imagine if I did such a thing, Flory?” she asked, as though in jest. “You would think me terribly depraved.”
“Oh, nothing would shock me, ma’am,” the older woman said. “Now I won’t name names, but you’d be surprised at what goes on in families everyone thinks is so high and mighty. Country-house weekends, and other people’s husbands, and all that.” She shrugged and took another sip of her tea. “But I don’t gossip, the way some do. It ain’t none of my business, is how I see it.”
A defiant, excited feeling rose up in her. Genevieve felt this way before, but not in a very long time.
Years had passed since she’d taken any serious risk. She knew all too well how badly a risk could turn out. But not taking chances could be extremely dreary.
She had half a mind to do it—but would it work?
A man in his prime, he gave every impression of intense sexual appetites, barely suppressed by a façade of good manners and good clothes. Such a man would be too impatient for something as absurd as a kissing lesson.
Adam hardly gave her the courtesy of kissing her, once he took her virginity. A terrible disappointment. When she surrendered her virtue, she’d hoped to exchange it for that overpowering, romantic connection she craved. With Adam, she never quite attained it.
Instead, sharing Adam’s bed brought her no pleasure, physically or emotionally, much as she tried to enjoy it.
But might she have pleasure under different circumstances? With a mysterious, compelling man like Will Creighton, she might experience something quite different...something extraordinary...for at least once in her life.
It would be a horrible waste to not at least kiss him.
“Flory,” she said, “if anyone in the village happens to ask why a fine carriage has been seen outside our cottage...you may simply tell them that I am giving someone art lessons.”
The maid’s face became perfectly bland. “Very well, Miss Genny.”
Chapter Four
On Tuesday evening, Genevieve stood in the middle of her drawing room. She didn’t seem able to remain seated. For what must have been the hundredth time, she checked the mantel clock. Five minutes to seven.
She studied her reflection in the mirror. At least she didn’t look like an unkempt mess, the way she had when Will Creighton visited her last week.
She had put her hair up in a simple chignon in the back, allowing some curls to hang loose at the sides according to the current fashion. She had also persuaded herself to wear a more conventional dark green dress.
Unfortunately, that made it necessary to wear her corset a little tighter. She knew that women in Society cinched their waists much more restrictively than this, but she couldn’t imagine how they suffered it. When she tried to calm herself with a deep, steadying breath, Genevieve felt the pressure against her breasts and belly.
Did she still smell of turpentine, from painting earlier that day? No, surely not; she’d washed and splashed herself with lavender water. Probably it was just the unfamiliar smell of the brandy, which she set out on a tray with a decanter and two glasses.
After she’d paid what she owed to the shop in London, she bought the liquor. A very expensive indulgence, especially considering that Genevieve hardly ever drank as much
She supposed she could have one or two lessons like that, and then call off the whole thing.
He’d be angry at her, but so what? She’d been angry at him for making the offer in the first place. If a rich man was disappointed in not getting the sex he paid for, well, that wasn’t a tragedy. It would do him good to learn that some things you can’t buy.
He wouldn’t ask for his money back. She was sure of that. He wasn’t that sort of gentleman.
But it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t dare.
“Can you imagine if I did such a thing, Flory?” she asked, as though in jest. “You would think me terribly depraved.”
“Oh, nothing would shock me, ma’am,” the older woman said. “Now I won’t name names, but you’d be surprised at what goes on in families everyone thinks is so high and mighty. Country-house weekends, and other people’s husbands, and all that.” She shrugged and took another sip of her tea. “But I don’t gossip, the way some do. It ain’t none of my business, is how I see it.”
A defiant, excited feeling rose up in her. Genevieve felt this way before, but not in a very long time.
Years had passed since she’d taken any serious risk. She knew all too well how badly a risk could turn out. But not taking chances could be extremely dreary.
She had half a mind to do it—but would it work?
A man in his prime, he gave every impression of intense sexual appetites, barely suppressed by a façade of good manners and good clothes. Such a man would be too impatient for something as absurd as a kissing lesson.
Adam hardly gave her the courtesy of kissing her, once he took her virginity. A terrible disappointment. When she surrendered her virtue, she’d hoped to exchange it for that overpowering, romantic connection she craved. With Adam, she never quite attained it.
Instead, sharing Adam’s bed brought her no pleasure, physically or emotionally, much as she tried to enjoy it.
But might she have pleasure under different circumstances? With a mysterious, compelling man like Will Creighton, she might experience something quite different...something extraordinary...for at least once in her life.
It would be a horrible waste to not at least kiss him.
“Flory,” she said, “if anyone in the village happens to ask why a fine carriage has been seen outside our cottage...you may simply tell them that I am giving someone art lessons.”
The maid’s face became perfectly bland. “Very well, Miss Genny.”
Chapter Four
On Tuesday evening, Genevieve stood in the middle of her drawing room. She didn’t seem able to remain seated. For what must have been the hundredth time, she checked the mantel clock. Five minutes to seven.
She studied her reflection in the mirror. At least she didn’t look like an unkempt mess, the way she had when Will Creighton visited her last week.
She had put her hair up in a simple chignon in the back, allowing some curls to hang loose at the sides according to the current fashion. She had also persuaded herself to wear a more conventional dark green dress.
Unfortunately, that made it necessary to wear her corset a little tighter. She knew that women in Society cinched their waists much more restrictively than this, but she couldn’t imagine how they suffered it. When she tried to calm herself with a deep, steadying breath, Genevieve felt the pressure against her breasts and belly.
Did she still smell of turpentine, from painting earlier that day? No, surely not; she’d washed and splashed herself with lavender water. Probably it was just the unfamiliar smell of the brandy, which she set out on a tray with a decanter and two glasses.
After she’d paid what she owed to the shop in London, she bought the liquor. A very expensive indulgence, especially considering that Genevieve hardly ever drank as much
Similar Books
