“It was my fault,” he said.
Stubborn man. “Yes. That is not up for debate.” Lottie brushed loose hairs from his shoulder and inspected her work thus far.
“Do I want to know what’s happening here?” Aunt Agatha appeared in the doorway.
Lottie tilted her head and fanned her fingers through his curls to see if the hairs were relatively even. “I’m cutting his hair. My virtue’s safe. I’m armed with scissors.”
“And even sharper opinions,” Ethan said.
“Why are you down here, Auntie?”
“I’m feeling peckish. Lord Amesbury—if I may be so formal while you’re half-naked—do you know where your cook keeps something sweet to nibble?” Agatha wandered over to the shelves and began opening crocks and canisters.
“The jar on the far right with the blue lid usually contains shortbread.” Ethan stood. “Here, let me.” With his long arms, reaching the high shelf was easy. Behind his back, Lottie exchanged a glance with her godmother, who winked in return.
“Thank you, young man.” Agatha bit into a biscuit and closed her eyes with a happy sigh. “Bliss. My compliments to your cook. This is excellent. Now, you two. As the chaperone, I should be on the verge of apoplexy about all this.” She waved a biscuit in the direction of Ethan’s bare chest. “However, you two are engaged.” She plucked a few more pieces of shortbread from the jar and fluttered a hand over her shoulder as she left the room. “Carry on.”
“I think your godmother likes me,” Ethan said.
“You may be right. Come sit. I’m almost done.” His skin was hot under her fingers when she gently pushed him toward the stool before the hearth. The heat radiating off him was intense, and she didn’t want to remove her hand. Such a simple choice to indulge in the pleasure of touching him. Trailing her fingers from the heavy bulge of his shoulder, toward the side of his neck, then down the deep indent of spine and sinew, she followed the lines delineating muscles she didn’t know the names of. Delicious maximus, surely.
Under her touch, Ethan’s skin erupted in goose bumps. Like a giant cat wanting to be petted, his muscles bunched in response to her as he leaned into her hand.
What was it about firelight hitting this man that scrambled her wits? She’d begun the evening with a plan—a practiced speech that laid out the reasons he should indulge her in exploring this passion between them. Here she was with her careful mental script set aside in favor of running her fingers over every available inch of him. Lottie couldn’t even find it in herself to feel bad about taking advantage of the opportunity to touch him, although any chaperone worth her salt would be having a conniption at this situation, and no lady of good breeding would be in this situation to begin with. Besides, it could be argued that she was here with her chaperone’s blessing—not that it mattered, when the whole point was that she’d make her own decisions during this stay in Kent.
Settling into the soothing rhythm of combing, measuring the hair with her fingers, then evening the ends, she tried to find her carefully prepared script amidst her enflamed senses. “Agatha might be onto something. Perhaps we should enjoy the time we have.” She cocked her head, enjoying the picture he made with freshly trimmed hair. The sides and back were shorter, but she didn’t have the heart to take too much off the top. Those floppy curls did something to her equilibrium, and the only place she wanted to see them spread out was a pillow—not cast aside on the floor.
“What are you saying, Lottie?” He turned to meet her gaze, pulling her to stand between his legs like she had in the library. His hands found their place on her hips, and she wished he’d take the chance to explore her, as she was him. The fingers digging into her curves told their own tale—Ethan was clinging to self-control as tightly as he was her hips.
She set the scissors aside, then brushed the stray hairs off his shoulders. “I’m propositioning you. You know I don’t want a love match. But I’d like to experience whatever this is before I settle into a society marriage. I spoke with Darling, and she sent away for French letters. It may be a day or so before they’re here and we can fully indulge, but she’s assured me that there are plenty of other ways to enjoy each other in the meantime. Unless you have a supply of French letters?” Unexpected nerves made her chatter. Lord, if only she could remember the words she’d prepared. There was mention of French letters and precautions in her carefully worded proposition she’d practiced, and the whole thing was supposed to sound worldly and sophisticated.
His eyes lit with humor. “I’m sorry tae say I don’ have any on hand, no. It’s been a long time since I’ve needed one. That must have been quite the conversation between you and your maid.”
The teasing made her relax somewhat. With a sigh, Lottie admitted, “She made me sit, then paced and talked for a half hour. It was like a sexually graphic schoolroom.”
A low laugh rumbled from his chest, and Lottie would have sworn she felt it vibrate through her core. “Did you take notes? Were there sketches involved?”
She swatted his shoulder playfully, shaking her head. “No. Are there sketches available? I should find the shelf in your library devoted to reference texts of that nature. I’m sure if I search long enough, I’ll find something.” It felt natural to place a small openmouthed kiss on the side of his neck, then another on the sharp blade of his cheekbone.
His hands encircled her waist, drawing her closer. “You were on the right wall earlier. Far corner by the window. Third—no, fourth row up. Educate yourself at will, lass. I can join you for hands-on lessons if you prefer.”
As a child, she’d placed colorful river rocks
