When It's Perfect (22 page)

He beckoned for her to come closer, and she did so, holding it out in front of her. When she reached him, she turned it so he could see the sleek line of the back. “Satin-covered, metal fasteners, for easy access,”

she pointed out as for the benefit of a buyer who had never seen such a corset before. “They’re quite new in the general populace, and becoming rather fashionable.”

One of his brows rose faintly. “Indeed.”

He reached out and ran his fingers very slowly across the lace over the breast outline. That simple but meaningful gesture made her head swim.

“I rather prefer the tie corsets, I think,” he admitted with a tone far too thoughtful for her sensibilities.

“Why?” she asked boldly, though fairly certain she knew the answer already.

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Well, as far as a… husband is concerned, lacing the ties would be a most pleasing part of his husbandly duties.”

He gave her that… grin again, and it annoyed her. At least a little. To counter, she looked him straight in the eye and grinned back with a charmed satisfaction.

“I’m sure,” she revealed softly, “that being an unmarried man, Lord Renn, you’re not aware that these metal fastener were designed so that nobody needs bother a lady when she dresses.”

He stared up at her, unfazed. “What fun is that?”

She laughed outright, then quickly covered her mouth with the back of her hand before she replied, “Did you know that some men actually tied their wives corsets in a particular bow or loop or knot each morning so that in the evening they could inspect it, only to learn if someone else had retied it during the day, proving that she’d been unfaithful?”

He didn’t answer at first, and that made her smile broadly once more as she stared down at him.

“Don’t husbands do this still?” he returned innocently.

She shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”

He held her gaze, and in a husky whisper, asked, “What kind do you wear, Mary?”

She felt the tightening in her belly again, and quickly she grabbed the pink corset out of his hands, turned her back to him, and walked back to her bag. “That’s none of your business, Lord Renn,” she asserted, raising her glass and swallowing the remainder of her sherry.

“So now wives have a way of being unfaithful without getting caught,” he said blandly. “Thanks to ladies like you, who make the straying of bored wives easier.”

She tried to ignore the underlying snideness in his tone, and countered, “I think, Lord Renn, that when God invents a way to keep husbands from straying, I’ll stop to consider that. A chastity belt for him, perhaps?”

He laughed this time, behind her, and she felt the tension between them lift suddenly. It was a marvelous feeling, and for the first time this day, maybe ever, she felt completely at ease in the earl’s presence.

For her last example, Mary pulled out a sheer black silk corset with modern fasteners, metal stays, and a shocking display of rubies sewn in at the nipples. But she paused a moment or two before revealing it. This was one of the most lascivious of all the intimate apparel she’d made, and even after a glass of wine and a deep breath, she knew this would

affect him. It was, indeed, made for that purpose.

“Perhaps you’d like something like this for your future wife, my lord?” she asked, turning as she held it out from her, at a distance from her own form, for which it was made.

She noticed his mouth drop fractionally as he stared. What a perfect picture of a man mesmerized by the astounding desire to see it wrapped around a woman. Mary knew the look, and for some inexplicable reason, relished it in Marcus Longfellow.

“It’s—” He cleared his throat, sitting up a bit, uncomfortable. Then he glanced up into her eyes, his gaze darkened, questioning. “That’s a remarkable use of jewels.”

With that he stood, and so abruptly that Mary took a step back, feeling a certain queasiness in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly it occurred to her that she might have gone too far.

He sauntered toward her, and incredibly, she held her ground.

“You made this for yourself, didn’t you, Mary?” he asked in a rough, deepened whisper, moving close.

She clutched it to her, which was probably why he guessed such a thing. It appalled her, scared her. It also stirred untempered emotions at the center of her.

“That’s not something you should be asking a lady, Lord Renn.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?”

He stood so close he hovered over her now, and she could feel the heat from his body. She stepped back a foot or two, but her thighs touched the edge of the table. She wasn’t exactly trapped, but she didn’t want to run from him, either.

“May I touch it?” he asked, his words common and frank, his tone thick and intimately playful.

She had no idea how to react, what to say. She felt warm all over, her breathing stifled in the dark, oppressive cottage, and he surely had to notice her uneasiness. She never should have brought this one.

He reached up with one hand and placed his thumb on one of the rubies, caressing it softly in very slow circles as she held it against herself. She nearly fainted.

“I imagine this is absolutely beautiful on the right woman, Mary.”

The side of his mouth lifted dryly as his eyes grew ever more focused, penetrating hers. “These vibrant jewels are magnificent—hard and smooth at the same time, sewn to draw the attention of a man to one of the loveliest places on earth.”

On earth
? She licked her lips and he lowered his gaze to the action.

“My lord—”

“Marcus,” he whispered.

She couldn’t breathe. “Marcus…”

He closed his eyes as a smile of serene satisfaction lit his face. “All my dreams, right here.”

Mary tried to move; his words confused her, his company unnerved her. He caught her wrist, however, just as his lids flew open.

“Don’t, Mary.”

She stilled. He nearly touched her, body to body, as she grasped the sheer black corset between them.

He stared frankly into her eyes, a look of emotion undefined yet so powerful it stirred the place inside of her that she’d tucked away for nearly ten years.

“What do you want from me?” she mumbled so softly she barely heard her own voice.

For a long, tense moment, nothing happened, not a sound was heard above the patter of sprinkling rain on the cottage rooftop. He didn’t seem to notice any such intrusion. He never looked away.

At last, with a twitch of his cheek, he replied, “I’m not prepared to give you that answer.”

She tried to pull away again, but he held her fast to add, “And I don’t think you’re prepared to hear it.”

She simply stared into his honest eyes, feeling her vulnerability coupled with confusion, frustration, and a desire so fresh and explosive she wanted to enfold herself in his arms, to take and accept whatever happened between them as if an act of uncontrollable fate.

“I need to leave,” she finally murmured, her mouth unnaturally dry.

He glanced down at last, to the corset she clutched against her breasts.

“Don’t you have one more to show me?”

Her lashes fluttered. “No.”

He leaned his head very close to hers. “The one you’re wearing, Mary?”

“Please…” she breathed, closing her eyes.

He waited. “What color is it?”

“It’s—it’s the same one I wore yesterday.”

“Blue,” he said, his warm breath caressing her cheek.

“Blue…” she repeated.

He touched her neck with his fingertips, inciting a gasp from her lips, then drew them slowly down until they reached the edge of her gown.

“And it’s evidently functional, if you’ve worn it two days in a row.”

Mary lifted her lashes again as she tried to clear her muddled thoughts to understand him.

He smiled, his nose remaining level with hers. “Does it have laces or fasteners?”

“Wh—what?”

He ran his lips along her brow while his fingers gently penetrated the top of her gown to graze that very corset he so desired to see.

“Laces or fasteners?” he repeated in whisper, kissing her temple softly.

“Laces…”

He sighed. “Wonderful…”

In that second, Mary felt the almost imperceptible brush of his thumb along her nipple. Her nipple, not the ruby, and a low sound of pure pleasure bubbled up from deep in her throat.

“Mmmm…” he said against her. “I want the black one.”

She had no idea what he was talking about.

“I don’t care what it costs.”

“It costs a good fortune,” she breathed, fairly incoherently.

“I have a fortune to spend on you, Mary Marsh. But I must see you in it first.” He sighed against her. “Wear it for me? Model it for me… ?”

Mary swayed against the table, and a moment later she sensed that he’d stepped away from her.

For seconds—maybe minutes—she didn’t move. And then reality returned and she felt the pounding of her heart, the perspiration on her back under uncomfortable stays, beneath her breasts, noticed her uneven breathing. She had yet to open her eyes, couldn’t look at him, so she turned awkwardly, clutching the table as she did so.

She struggled to stay standing as she gathered her items, fighting the reckless sense of abandonment that she’d experienced years ago, that had tormented her for long months and endless nights. She wanted him, too.

Damn her to hell for bringing the black silk corset.

“Mary?”

She turned around to stare at him, her eyes shining with what he surely recognized as need. And want.

“It’s dangerous for me to remain here,” she managed to whisper, her mouth dry, heart pounding.

His face fell to a mask of regret so obvious it nearly crushed her.

“I would never disgrace you,” he maintained, his impassioned gaze locked with hers.

“I know that,” she said with conviction. Straightening, she clarified,

“That’s the dangerous part. If I stay five more seconds, I’ll give in to something that will surely do nothing but disgrace us both.”

Lifting her bag of provocative undergarments, she swept past him, racing out into the rain-soaked afternoon without another glance behind her.

« ^ »

Baybridge House

27 February 1855

…Miss Marsh and I have had some long talks. I finally asked
her why she never married, and for the life of me, Marcus, I
don’t believe her reply of simply not wanting to. She is far too
interesting and lovely of face. I truly enjoy her company, even if
she can be rather evasive when the discussion turns to her
personally. I think I shall make it my mission to discover her
secrets during her few months remaining in St. Austell…

M
ary had always despised class distinctions, but she’d lived her life by them. She respected them. She knew her place and stayed there, never attempting to stray too far above herself, while perfectly aware that those below her station had their own choices to make, their own obstacles to overcome. Life simply existed this way. To find herself now attracted to an earl presented a risk she wasn’t sure she could or wanted to contend with. And yet for the first time in years, she actually enjoyed herself in the presence of a man.

If only he weren’t an
earl
.

Resolutely, Mary straightened her back and stepped from St.

Austell’s fifteenth-century Holy Trinity Church and out into the sprinkling rain. She opened her parasol and lifted it over her tightly braided hair, squinting from the strong summer sun that shone overhead. How very odd that the sun would shine during a rain, and yet occasionally in nature the oddest things did happen. It made the water glisten brightly atop the leaves on the hedges as she made her way down the path, through the dispersing crowd, toward the street where the Earl of Renn’s private coach awaited her.

The service this morning had only been about half full, likely due to the season, many of the locals either in London or abroad, she supposed. Thankfully she was here and not in the city, as she wasn’t yet ready to go back. As uncomfortable as it was to remain at Baybridge House, she needed more time.

She hadn’t seen the earl since yesterday at the cottage. Something else for which she remained moderately thankful. He’d evidently decided to skip coming to church this morning, though she really hoped it wasn’t because he’d have to travel to and from St. Austell with her.

Gwyneth had been feeling under the weather and had declined to attend as well, which left the journey into town for her and George to make alone. George, however, had left the service early to call on a friend, just as Mary knew he would probably find himself at Lady Catherine Restin’s home eventually, or perhaps instead. That made her smile.

George flirted with every woman he knew, including her, which she’d always found a bit amusing, since she was little more than hired help, below a lady of distinction, and, more important, someone who rarely flirted back.

“Miss Marsh, how lovely to see you at church this fine morning.”

Mary froze on the sidewalk, closing her eyes to the grating voice of Viscount Exeter. She could see the Renn coach just a few yards away, at the head of the line, but to run to it now, to ignore him purposely, would be obvious and tasteless.

He touched her shoulder lightly and she tried her very best not to cringe visibly.

“Good morning, Viscount,” she said pleasantly, planting a firm smile on her lips before turning around to greet him. He looked rather dashing this morning, well groomed in a suit of charcoal gray, white shirt, and gray and white striped cravat. Gone were his usually glassy brown eyes and ruddy complexion. Today he looked… sober. Shrewd.

She shivered in the damp air.

“Yes, isn’t it,” he agreed, gazing up to the blue sky, spotted clouds, and sprinkling rain, holding his palm out to catch droplets. “Such strange weather, as well.”

“Indeed it is.” She waited, and when he didn’t offer anything more, she asked bluntly, “You wanted something?”

He glanced down at her again, his gaze strangely thoughtful. Then he grinned dryly. “How are you getting on at Baybridge House?”