Page 48 of Indecent Desires of a Proper Lady
Philip was amazed at the wisdom he had found in the barracks of the Navy, where else in all of London he had not heard it before. Brent was right. It was not his responsibility, but even so, he wanted to help Charles, if he could. He would try, but he would not let it so consume his mind anymore.
He had his own life matters to take care of, namely returning to Margaret next week to make everything official and of course to kiss her again. He suddenly thought of Margaret, one day, lying underneath him in their marriage bed. Her short dark hair made her seem even more the delicious temptress that she was, and her sly smile made him desire her greatly.
When he had taken her into his arms and kissed her passionately, her lovely, soft-pink lips had been even more lovely than he’d imagined, and it had done things to him that even now made sleep impossible, yet the sight behind his eyelids was most pleasurable indeed.
* * *
Margaret was painting in the garden, trying to envision the lake in her family’s country estate, wanting to paint it on the canvas. She had been thinking of it often of late, since she had first seen Philip after so many months. But at the same time, it brought to mind her renewed desire to learn how to swim, but this time she could see Philip in the water with her. As she held the paint brush in the air, she closed her eyes.
She could feel the light breeze on her face, and in a flash, she could smell the water around her. It had been some time since they’d returned to the country house, so grieved they were at the loss of their father that they’d kept away. Margaret, herself, had been afraid that everything would smell like him and feel like him and that she would be overwhelmed by the haunting presence of her father in every corner of that house.
But she could now smell the lake in her mind and its cool water. She could see the reeds clustering at its edge and feel the ebb and flow against her skin. And then she saw him. Strong, handsome Philip, his white linen shirt wet pressing tightly against his muscled skin. It made her heart flutter as she turned her gaze to them. Suddenly, she was there, in the sunlight. Philip reached for her, and she did the same, savoring the feel of his strong arms under her fingertips.
“You will be a good swimmer. I can feel it. You are like a water nymph. I can already tell that the rhythm of the water suits you.” Philip grinned wickedly and wrapped his other arm about her waist. She was wearing only a white shift, and her nipples were peaking provocatively under the sodden fabric. But she didn’t care. She only wanted to be there, in the water, in his arms, safe and protected.
“What if I sink to the bottom?” she asked, her lips upturned to gaze at his face. His dark hair was wet, and he pushed it back with one hand, a few droplets falling down the side of his face. Margaret felt a warmth in her stomach, a desperation for him to kiss her, to feel him touching her skin.
“You will not sink, My Love. I will be here to help you all the way. But first, you must feel the power of the water. Many times, people do not understand that water is its own force. They do not know that they must fear it in a healthy way. Close your eyes.”
Margaret smiled and did as she was told, feeling cold droplets on her cheek. Philip kept his arms about her waist, and the two of them swayed together, following the movements of the water. His face had moved closer; she could feel him. She could smell him, even though the scent of the lake was so strong. Her own hands were touching his shoulders for balance.
“Move,” he whispered, his lips practically against her own. “Move and feel the water.” Margaret turned her face up to him even more, her eyes still closed, the desire for him growing practically unbearable.
And then, she could sense him coming closer, his lips just above her own, and she heard the sound of her name. Someone was calling for her, but it was not Philip. Her eyes blinked open, and she turned to see a grinning Leonard standing beside her, his eyes moving from her face to the brush she still held in her hand just above the canvas.
“So, I see I interrupt something.” He put his hands behind his back, a knowing glance on his face. “Something that I could assist you with, Sister?”
Margaret blushed heavily, even though it was only her brother who mocked her. She had been caught in the most vivid daydream she had ever experienced. It was like Philip was really there, in front of her, touching her. She was certain that she had felt his breath against her face. And yet, it was only Leonard who now filled her present sight.
Even though she was blushing, she attempted to adopt a scolding expression. “Nothing you could assist me with. It is your very presence which irks, dear Brother, for I am in the midst of inspiration.”
He laughed loudly. Even though she was mad at him, she was happy for him. Leonard had not laughed in some time. Perhaps now the both of them were healing from their great loss. “Inspiration? Ah yes, what a lovely term for the feeling. But I have seen that expression that you just bore on Juliet. I know you think of your betrothed.”
Margaret’s eyes flashed with anger. “Leonard Whitfield! How impertinent! If only I had been given sisters and no brothers at all. We would certainly understand each other’s feelings more. And I would not be so plagued with your oafishness!”
Leonard laughed again, unwilling to be reprimanded. “Oh, Margaret, I thought you were now the changed woman, the woman willing to flout society! You must not be so priggish now. It would not suit the hairstyle, I think.” He reached out to touch the ends of her short hair, and Margaret pulled away harshly, a slight smile on her lips. Leonard could not remain angry long, and even though it gave her no end of frustration, he was very difficult to remain angry at for any length of time.
“Fine! I give up. What is it you have come out to tell me, to so disturb me during my time of thought?” She glared at him mockingly, and finally moved her brush to her side, clutching it in her hand. It had seemed too foolish to keep it up in the air.
“Juliet needed to tend to George for the moment, and I was dispatched to do the duty myself. I told Juliet the servants could do it, but I think she wishes me to take myself outdoors a bit more.”
Margaret frowned. “What are you talking about? Out with it, Brother. What is it you wish to say?”
Leonard sighed, rolling his eyes. “I wish simply to let you know that our old friend Charles has come, and he has expressed a desire to see you.”
Margaret let go of the brush and it rolled down a little in the grass. Her surprise at the sudden return was more than she’d expected. Leonard looked down. “I see it is a good thing I did not tell you when you were holding a wine glass.”
Margaret reddened in anger. “Leonard Whitfield, your joking is growing tiresome.”
He held his hands up in defense. “Do forgive me, Margaret. I do not wish to trouble you. But why should there be any trouble since you are now betrothed to Philip?” He shrugged, his question apparently innocent.
Margaret was thoroughly embarrassed, for Leonard was right. Why should Charles’ sudden arrival make her feel like her breath had stopped thickly in her chest, or her heart start to rush rapidly as if it had somewhere else to go outside of her body? She tried to keep the iciness out of her tone, when she said, “There is no trouble, but tell me, you have not yet told him of the engagement, have you? You know that we wish to keep it a secret until all is made official.”
“No, of course not. He is completely unaware of your current status.”
“Thank you. Am I to come inside to greet him, then?”
Leonard nodded. “Yes, we are inside, but since it is a lovely day, I think we will have tea out—”
