Page 34 of Indecently Employed
A little voice warned her against surrendering to depravity, but Susanna ignored it and grazed her hardened nipple, teasing it, rolling it between two fingers. It was simply biological, she reasoned, a basic human need. And then she wondered what he tasted like, and how he would kiss her. How he would reach for her. The heat building between her legs surged at the thought ofMr. Sedley’s hands on her. Perhaps she’d be sitting at a dressing table, watching him in the mirror as he dragged slow, heavy kisses along her neck, his hand sliding past her dressing gown, underneath the thin cotton lawn of her nightgown…
She rolled to the side, hiking her gown up in desperation, before she lost her nerve. Her tight-laced upbringing won the battle and snuffed out the fantasy, and she snatched her hand away from herself as if she’d burnt it. Immediately she thought of Edith Kenney smirking at him, and of Mr. Sedley grinning back, not an ounce of shame between them. She bit her lip, noting the slight stir of anger and jealousy that rose within her.
If she were to just give in, perhaps… She slid her hand between her legs, dipping into her own wetness this time, then closed her eyes, savoring the sensation. Yes, perhaps this would do. Perhaps this would offer her a release from these urges. He’d push her up onto the dressing table, staring at the reflection of her flushed face, her naked breasts. His eyes would harden with an intensity bordering on anger as he watched her eyes while rucking up her night clothes, the cold air prickling the bare skin of her bottom.
And then… what?
Susanna groaned, and withdrew her cursed hands. She flopped over in the bed, her whole body thrumming with dissatisfaction.
She did not know. She could not know. She shouldn’t be doing this, touching herself, entertaining such torrid notions about the man her livelihood depended upon.
She should leave him to more practiced hands and knowing smiles, like those of Mrs. Edith Kenney. Pain stabbed at her heart. Suddenly furious with herself, Susanna leapt out of bed and went over to the basin, where she dumped out a splash of icy water and set to washing her hands. She worked diligently,scrubbing away her heavy, musky scent. Eventually she stilled, the droplets that clung to her fingers falling back into the basin.
Susanna laughed mirthlessly. As if she’d ever have a dressing table as fine as the one she’d imagined him taking her on.
Or a romance. Of any kind.
Or anyone as handsome, generous, and wealthy as Ajax Sedley. He could have any lady; he must have had scores of women far more thrilling and breathtaking than her. Like Mrs. Kenney—dignified, refined, barely tolerating the humble first class refreshment room. Susanna was as exciting as a footstool, as polished as a fireplace poker.
Dressing herself, she beat back her desire with every violent tug on her laces, every hairpin harshly restraining her curls. She donned her oldest, ugliest gown, the one that smelled stale no matter how many times the maids at Puxley House had labored to freshen it up. She didn’t even glance at the blue and gray striped gown hanging in the brand-new oak armoire, carved in the Tudor fashion. She hardened her heart against the gift and its giver.
For one day, she would leave this castle, and she vowed it would not be in the middle of the night, with her bearing the shame of its owner having had her on her back. She intended to walk out with her head held high, dignity intact, reference in hand. With Charlotte well wed and respected in society.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the bedroom door and set off to find Mrs. Nathan.
Chapter Eleven
A small, private sittingroom across from the library had been turned over to Susanna’s care. Located in the newer wing of the house, it made up for its lack of fantastical charm with its warmth and light. Waist-to-ceiling leaded windows ran the entire length of one wall, each window consisting of tessellated diamond panes and a center crest of a white horned goat’s head with a brown collar above two thorned red roses.
With Mrs. Nathan’s assistance, she directed two footmen to rearrange the furnishings—removing a large rug, bringing in several sets of books from the library, shuffling a side table from one wall to another, removing two of the couches. It seemed to take forever. Once everything felt up to snuff, Susanna brought Charlotte in to begin her lessons, and she quickly gained an appreciation for the challenge of her immediate task, to keep Charlotte at her work.
The girl’s eyes kept drifting away from the dry introduction to Latin that was set before her, examining the windows instead as she fiddled with the watch fob she still wore around her neck.
Susanna issued yet another patient smile.
“Miss Sedley.Lily’s Grammar, the first three chapters, please.” She leaned across the table, tapping the open book.
“What do you suppose they were like?” Charlotte asked.
Susanna frowned. “I beg your pardon?” She’d never given much thought to a textbook author, but now she fumbled with some vague idea of William Lily back in the sixteenth century, wondering if his tendency toward rule-following carried over to his professional life, keeping his academic colleagues in line at every meal.
“The Lamplughs,” Charlotte said with a hint of exasperation. “They’re all I can think of, ever since we arrived.”
Susanna breathed in, trying to set aside her fondness for the girl’s strange, mercurial nature. She needed to be firm.
“Yes, I understand it’s been exciting. I’m excited as well.” She pulled the Latin book toward herself, picking it up as though it were as brittle as the vellum-bound bestiary—the most ancient book housed in the library—that Mrs. Nathan had proudly pointed out during the tour she had given to Susanna and Charlotte earlier that morning. It had supposedly belonged to an original inhabitant, one of the Lamplughs.
Charlotte, who had until that point been examining her fingernails as she trailed absentmindedly behind Mrs. Nathan and Susanna, had snapped to attention, staring ferociously at the massive, fragile book. Susanna said a silent prayer for the continued excellent condition of the antique, for she doubted the girl’s father would be too pleased to find her commandeering priceless volumes from the library in the same manner as she had his deceased elder brother’s possessions.
Susanna turned the Latin textbook in her hands as she rounded the table. She spoke slowly, overenunciating her words as she walked. “Providentia Dei stabiliunter familia.” Stopping in front of Charlotte, she held the book out to her.
Charlotte narrowed her dark eyes, suspicious.
“The Lamplugh motto,” Susanna explained, inclining her head toward the windows before them, where an artisan had scratched the words on a strip of glass below the crest. “Translate that, please.”
Charlotte stared at her, unblinking. Without warning she snatched the proffered book.
“Fine.”
