Page 48 of Unmasking the Silver Heiress
Goodness.
She glanced out the carriage window, where little was visible other than the spattering of snow on the darkened window, lost in thought. It seemed only a breath later that they had arrived back home, with Meridian rising up grand and warm in front of them.
It was late, of course, and most of the household had retired. The butler offered to have Sarah rung up to assist Nell in undressing, but she quickly discouraged him from doing so. It likely seemed that she took pity on interrupting Sarah's rest, and perhaps she did, but in truth, she wanted to be alone in her bedchambers with her husband as quickly as possible.
He followed her up the stairs, opening the door to their room in front of her with a relieved sigh as he immediately began to remove his cuff links and loosen his cravat.
What a change this room had made since they'd arrived! The windows were now dressed with rich draperies, the wooden floor shone with polish, and an ornate rug unraveled over the gleaming slats in an arresting royal blue. The fire that crackled in the fireplace spread warmth over the space, casting a glow of welcome to this space that they had restored and made their own.
Nell crossed the room to her new vanity table and perched herself on the stool, making quick work of destroying the elaborate hairstyle that had taken so very long to achieve. She dropped hairpins by the cluster into a silver dish, relieved to free her scalp from their confines. It felt downright indulgent to shake her curls loose, even at the expense of ruining her miraculous transformation.
"I apologize," Nathaniel said softly from behind her, catching her eye in the vanity table's mirror. "I did not realize my observation earlier regarding your aunt might upset you, which was foolish and short-sighted of me. I do not doubt that you are well loved by your family, Eleanor."
"I am not upset," she replied, glancing over her shoulder as she continued to work her fingers through her tresses.
He was already shirtless, that light expanse of honey-brown hair glinting on his muscled chest in the firelight.Shehad kissedhimtonight. And he had liked it. Perhaps she had been overthinking this seduction business, as she was prone to overthink all things.
An idea curled its way into her mind like a wisp of smoke from an extinguished candle. She decided she must act immediately, lest she convince herself she shouldn't. She gave him a sweet, reassuring smile and asked, "Will you help me with the gown?"
"I shall give it my best endeavor," he said with an apologetic laugh, crossing the room as she stood.
She was on the cusp of reaching for a ribbon to secure her hair for the night, but decided that no, it was far more effective as a weapon of sensuality unbound. She gathered it up and twisted it over her shoulder, turning her head in invitation as her husband approached her from behind. The warmth of his body was radiating off him, sending a delightful shiver through her own person, but she retained her bearing, disguising the flutter of nervousness that soared through her with the calm composure she had learned at school.
"Untie the sash first," she instructed, keenly aware of the nearness of his breath as he pulled the bow free from its knot, releasing the crimson band from around her rib cage. "There are small buttons along the back, if you would not mind undoing them."
He moved slowly, carefully releasing each little pearl from its eyelet with a brush of his fingertips on the exposed flesh along her spine, until to her disappointment, he reached the cusp of her underthings. He did seem to work faster once he had run out of bare skin to unveil, and after a short moment, the gown sagged enough for her to slip her arms out of the sleeves and let the entire affair pool at her feet.
She stepped out of the gown, leaving her slippers at the center of the puddle. Her stays had been fastened in the back, but rather than asking Nathaniel to remove this as well, she turned to face him, tugging loose the front end of the corseting, where the bow sat just between her breasts.
He seemed to swallow any impulse he might have had to move, his throat flexing as his eyes dropped to the workings of her hands, following her fingers as they tugged loose the strings, pulling each one free of its loop until only the last row remained and she could tug the corseting up over her head and toss it into the pile of her other things.
The shift hung lightly on her body, the fabric so fine and silken that it left very little to the imagination. She had his rapt attention, and did not wish to lose it, for in this moment she felt like she was casting the most wicked enchantment upon him. And of course, she reminded herself that she must actbeforethinking. It was going well so far.
She gathered it up from her thighs, bunching the skirt in her fists as the hem rose up to expose the tops of her stockings and the first hint of her thighs. She held her breath, banishing the instinct to be bashful as she worked the fabric up over her hips, revealing the dark triangle between her thighs and the curve of her waist.
She revealed parts of herself that she never thought a man might see. Her navel, the tiny cluster of freckles on her rib cage, and of course, her naked breasts. She pulled the shift off and sent it sailing into the established pile, leaving herself in nothing but her stockings, soft and ivory white, and her jewelry, the red satin choker stark against her slender throat.
"Will you help me with my stockings?" she asked, her voice only a touch thinner than it had been at the first request. She sat on the stool of the vanity table and lifted one leg toward him, with a pointed toe. Her heart was thudding against her chest, her skin prickling with the coolness of the air in the room. She could not account for what she was doing, but if he would keep looking at her that way forever, she might be capable of a great many surprising behaviors.
He caught her ankle in his hand, the heat of his skin melting through the fabric of her stockings. His eyes had gone dark, his pupils flared with only a thin line of that ever-changing hazel around them. The way he approached her was almost a challenge, the intensity on his face and the sureness of his posture making her pulse leap, the blood in her veins running hot and fast.
He kept his eyes locked on hers, despite the full display of her nudity as a visual temptation. He lowered himself to kneeling, propping her foot against his bare shoulder as his fingers began to slide up the length of the stocking, the tips of his manicured fingernails scraping lightly along the path of the fabric.
He plucked at the ribbon holding the first stocking in place, where she had secured it in a neat knot around the soft flesh of her thigh some hours prior. He defeated it with ease, the loose ribbon now allowing him to free her leg from the hold of the stocking and begin the process of rolling it down.
She shivered, the heat of his fingers against such a tender, forbidden area sending a flurry of unfamiliar and delicious sensations throughout her.
He leaned forward and replaced the top of the stocking with a soft kiss into her inner thigh. Her intake of breath at this kiss seemed to encourage him, for as he revealed more of her flesh, he continued to drop kisses on the freshly exposed skin, against her knee, the curve of her calf, her ankles. He took his time, and rather than tossing that first stocking into her haphazard pile, he folded it neatly next to him, as though it were precious.
He took hold of her naked ankle and lifted it from his shoulder, urging her knee to bend and her stance to widen as he guided her foot gently to the carpeted floor.
Nell realized she had stopped breathing, her last breath of air caught in her lungs like a rabbit in a snare. She was fascinated by his choices and stuck between the desire to hide herself from his view and a deep, rebellious thrill that was pushing against its cage in the darkest parts of her being. This wantonness had been dormant within her all along, stifled by her belief that she might never indulge in its whims.
He took a moment to appreciate the scandalous view he had created, her legs spread open with her most private part at eye level to his kneeling form. He glanced up at her, perhaps checking to make certain that he hadn't gone too far, and in answer she reached forward to stroke his hair, running her fingers through the silken mahogany strands, still arranged in stylish perfection from the party.
He released a heavy breath, his eyes flickering shut as he leaned into her hand, seemingly melted into pleasure by the sensation. She had never imagined any man reacting so to her touch, least of all one so beautiful, one she had believed so utterly unattainable.
How often had she imagined him doing the smallest things to give her a thrill? She might have sustained herself for the rest of her days on a single memory of him kissing her hand or rewarding her with a smile meant only for her. And how often had she chided herself for such silly fantasies, believing such things impossible?
