A Gentlewoman's Dalliance by Portia Da Costa Page B

and rustled as she swept to and fro, brushing the austere leather upholstery of the matched pair of chesterfields as she passed by them in a vague circle. The library was very much her husband’s masculine sanctum, and she and Leonard and their guest would be alone here this evening. Harry, their dear son, was at his boarding school, and the servants had all trooped away in a cheerful party to enjoy an unexpected evening of liberty after serving dinner, each with a music hall ticket and a small bonus in their pockets.
    There was no ear in the house to hear incriminating cries or moans…or other sounds.
    Hurry up! Do hurry up!
    What were her husband and their guest doing? How long did it take to consume a glass or two of port and crack a few walnuts?
    Feeling so anxious and eager, there was nothing that didn’t conspire to inflame her senses. The snug fit of her new French corset compressed her organs, inducing a devilish pressure in the pit of her belly. Her light gown and a single lace-and-muslin petticoat were like nakedness itself compared to the usual weight of garments she wore, and between her legs, she felt hot and tense and sticky.
    Whatever would their guest think when she was compelled to expose herself? But then, he was probably perfectly accustomed to fragrantly aroused women.
    Turning on her heel, she headed toward the sideboard again, her eyes lighting upon the tantalus she and Leonard had received years ago as a wedding present. She’d taken very little of the fine burgundy they’d matched with their dinner, but a nip of brandy might settle her agitation now. Her fingers itched to attack the mechanism. It was either that, or press her hand against the front of her dress and clutch at herself through the silk. Her sex was aching for a swift and stolen squeeze.
    I’ve turned into a maenad! It’s barely more than two hours since Leonard had me over the back of my dressing room sofa and here I am desperate again!
    They’d both been too stirred by anticipation to keep their hands off each other, and now Mary wasn’t sure she could keep her hands off herself very much longer, either. It was only the sound of manly voices on the landing that kept her from it. That, and easy laughter. Clearly her husband and their guest were getting on famously.
    On entering the room, Leonard strode toward her, clasped her hands and kissed her soundly on both cheeks. “My dear, I’m so sorry we kept you waiting. Do forgive us,” he murmured, apparently unperturbed by the presence of the dark figure who’d followed him in.
    Mary’s heart gave a flutter. In immaculate evening dress, Leonard looked wonderfully handsome tonight. He was well into his forties, a little older than her, but his fine gray eyes twinkled like a merry youth’s and a puckish smile played about his sensual lips. Only a slight disarray of his thick sandy hair betrayed his own expectancy. When he was in a state of agitation he was wont to run his fingers through it.
    The man beside her husband could not have been more different to him. They were like the very day and night of masculine attractiveness, with Leonard the frank, open, benevolent sun and their guest the mysterious moon, dark and unknown.
    â€œPlease accept my apologies, too, Mrs. Brigstock,” said Benedict Holcombe, bending over her hand to press the lightest kiss upon her knuckles. “Your husband and I find that we have many interests in common, and we ranged over them so broadly that we quite forgot the time.”
    This was the specialist that Sofia Chamfleur had sent to instruct Leonard in the art of smacking a woman’s bottom, the same man so clearly depicted in the engravings in Divertissements .
    â€œIt… It’s quite all right,” stammered Mary. Why did her corset suddenly seem twice as tight, obstructing her breathing? Much as she adored her husband, she found this strange young man suave and intoxicating. He was