Page 30 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
They stared at one another for a breathless moment. Fiona had not even realized Posey had seen the duke in the shop earlier.
Then Posey took Fiona’s hands and dragged her toward the bed. “Where does that question come from?” she asked. “Have you been kissed? When? By whom?”
“I’ve not.” A lie of course, but it had been a truth up until, oh, ten or so minutes ago. “I was merely curious. Mother’s talk to us”—years ago now, when they’d barely begun to be women—“left out the details. But we can certainly discuss the duke’s design instead.”
“No. No. Let’s discuss this. Hm.” She wrapped one arm around her belly and tapped her cheek with her other hand. “What to tell you. Mother spoke of more delicate topics, the act between a married man and woman. She didn’t discuss kissing. Hm.Yes, I suppose, is a good enough place to start. Yes, I have been kissed. And I’ve kissed someone in return.”
“Who?”
“I’d rather not answer that.”
“Rather a good way to increase my curiosity.”
“Nevertheless, on that point, I’ll ask you to mind your own business.”
“Very well, but… did you enjoy it? Mother said what married men and women do is enjoyable, but I cannot assume kissing is the same.”
Posey’s face slipped into a smile. “It is quite enjoyable.”
“Is it the sort of thing that is enjoyable with every man, or does the individual doing the kissing matter?”
“Excellent question.” Posey tapped her cheek again. “Here is where, I suppose, I admit I’ve kissed more than one man.”
“Really?” She should not be surprised. Posey was seven years her senior. Most women were married with babes by that time. Of course she’d had a kiss or two.
Perhaps Fiona should be more concerned with the fact she had not. Seemed unnatural. Not quite right. No. She didn’t believe that. She’d never wanted to kiss before now. And that seemed right, natural. She’d never followed others standards, and she would not begin with kissing.
Posey nodded. “Both men provided pleasant enough experiences, but… yes, I believe it does matter. One was just that. Pleasant enough. The other…” She pressed her palm into her belly and released a shaky exhale. “It was like my entire body had turned pins and needles, but it did not hurt, merely offered the most exquisite pleasure.”
Fiona narrowed her eyes. “It sounds like he should have asked for your hand.”
Posey’s face fell. “He did.” Quiet words. “But I quite turned him down.” Forced cheer if Fiona had ever heard it, and in this family, she most certainly had. “Do you think me very wanton for kissing two men?”
“No.” Men kissed many women over the course of their lives, after all, and it was just plain ridiculous that women could not enjoy the same plethora. “There is a man I would like to kiss.” Close enough to the truth, there. She would like to kiss him. Again.
Posey bounced up, curling her legs beneath her and placing her palms on her knees. “Who? You must tell me.”
“When you tell me who you kissed.”
Posey grunted. “Well then, we are at a stalemate. Fine. But I can guess easily enough. Daniel.”
Papa’s fake apprentice? Daniel was handsome and cheerful and kind. She’d considered kissing him before, but would it feel like almost kissing Lord Lysander had? Like fire and steel and the sky crashing down around them? She did not think so.
“Not Daniel,” she said.
“Keep your secrets, then.”
“Shall we discuss the duke’s design now?” She had the answers she sought. Kisses were better with different men, and kissing did not necessarily mean marriage. Not if she kept it secrets.
She would have to keep the kiss secret, for she would kiss him again, disrobing of fear and taking that caress she’d run from tonight. He could not take a wife, and she did not desire a husband, another innocent to entangle in her sins. But she could kiss a man in secret and enjoy it, and she meant to do just that. It would be excellent practice for living the life she wished instead of the life her parents wished for her.
Eleven
Lying required subtlety. And perfect timing. And the silk merchant gazing in adoration at the sketch Zander had pilfered from an old lady in Wales offered a perfect opportunity to set the lie he and Fiona had crafted into motion. Subtly. And at the perfect time.
Perhapspilferedwas too strong a word. He’d paid her, but much too little. She’d not known the worth of the sketch in her possession, and he’d taken advantage. Felt like pilfering. But Mr. Katsky was pleased he’d gotten it at such a cheap price, and he’d show his pleasure by increasing Zander’s payment. A nice little bonus for swindling the old woman.
And Mr. Katsky, as his residence well proved, had more than enough to give a bonus. His London townhouse had more gilding than a palace, and every surface contained some bit of art or another, all of it expensive.
