The Education of Mrs. Brimley by Donna MacMeans

expression, his mouth thinned, and his dimple was a fading memory. She had hoped to close the discussion, but he didn’t believe her. An ancient ache pulled at her as if she were once again a little girl caught stealing a forbidden sweet.
    “In truth,” she confessed, “I did purposefully overdress. I did not wish to disrobe to a dishonorable state.”
    “Yet, you wanted honest answers from me.”
    She nodded, more embarrassed at acknowledging her deceit than she had felt appearing in her corset. The irony was not lost on her. She dropped her gaze to the plate.
    “Mrs. Brimley.” He reached across the table and stroked the underside of her chin. With gentle pressure, he raised her gaze to his. Her pulse quickened at his touch. Already she had experienced a degree of unsought intimacy with this man. She should feel a deep repulsion, or at minimum, a deep resentment. But as her gaze met his, a longing expanded with a dangerous pull of promise and intrigue.
    “I still require your assistance to complete my painting, and I assume you still require mine. I propose we continue our original bargain, with a stipulation that no matter what, we will be honest with each other. No more deceits,” he scolded lightly. “Are we agreed?”
    She watched his lips, wondering if brandy still burned if tasted from a man’s lips. She wanted . . . all the things a proper lady shouldn’t desire. Ah, but you’re not a proper lady, are you? her uncle’s voice intruded. You’re a tramp like your mother was a tramp. It’s in the blood.
    She pulled back from the soft stroke of his fingers. “I have a stipulation.”
    “What is that?” He asked, his eyes caressing her as if his fingers still made contact.
    “Under no circumstances will you touch me with your person.”
    His eyes widened a moment before his brow dived in a frown. He crossed his arms in front of him. “I recall no complaint when I carried you upstairs.”
    “I was unconscious, sir.” Heat singed her cheeks before she could marshal control. He would choose the very incident that had so entranced her moments before. “The circumstances of our meetings are immodest at best. I only seek to minimize the improprieties.”
    An eyebrow lifted, giving him an imperial air. “No more kisses?”
    “Especially no more kisses,” she said, hiding her disappointment. Too much of that tactile knowledge would land her in the “desperate straits” suffered by her mother.
    Chambers studied her a moment before a satisfied smile lifted his mustache. He rose, assumedly to check the fire. However, upon his return to the table, he stepped behind her, slowly easing his hands down the sides of her chair.
    She stiffened, uncomfortable with him hidden from her sight, yet intrigued by his close proximity. His heated breath stirred the fine hairs on the nape of her neck, coaxing gooseflesh to rise on her arms.
    “Perhaps you should experience my touch before you so casually dismiss it?” His whisper drew shivers up her spine, while his hand stroked an invisible barrier near her forearm.
    She held her breath, afraid her true desires would respond rather than her refined intellect. He waited a few more agonizing seconds, then stood. “As you wish, Mrs. Brimley. Agreed.”
    “I have one more request, a favor, actually,” she said, a little giddy from her small victory. As long as he couldn’t touch her, she was safe from the disastrous consequences suffered by her mother.
    “In all the activity this morning, I haven’t had the opportunity to ask you some questions. I know that if I hadn’t tried to deceive you, I would have received information to present to my girls. But I’ll be expected to teach them something new, and now . . .”
    “Mrs. Brimley, one consequence of undressing you today is the discovery of all the incidentals that women wear for the pursuit of fashion. You have cuffs and collars, panels and skirts . . .” He pointed to the various items, then paused. “I propose