“Why?”
He was at the piano bench, and she was near the wall. He had not spoken with firm conviction when declaring that she match her husband’s adultery, but he was becoming more assured that perhaps two wrongs could make a right, of sorts.
“Well, I—the pairing is surely over by now.”
“Madame Follet can make arrangements. There are always the manservants. They are all handsome. You could easily avail yourself of one.”
Not realizing she had come up against the wall, she stepped backwards and bumped into it. “Oh! I think not.”
He took another step toward her. She could have slid to the side and escaped his nearness, but she seemed at a loss, like a cornered mouse.
“Why not?” he demanded.
“I…”
He had drawn up before her, and she looked rather alarmed.
“Sir…”
“Why not?” he asked. The image of his wife beneath one of the rugged young bucks flashed through his mind, and he found he still balked at the notion of becoming a cuckold. But if a liaison of her own was what she desired, perhaps she deserved to have one.
“It is—they…please.”
He had closed the distance between them. As he leaned toward her, he could not keep the edge completely from his tone. “They what?”
She seemed to tremble. “They—they would not desire me.”
He stopped.
“I am hardly a beauty,” she supplied.
Unlike others of her sex, she did not reproach herself in search of compliments. She spoke with sincerity. He looked her over from head to toe. Though his wife had not the slender figure admired by most, she had a womanly suppleness to her form and other qualities to recommend her: the brightness of her eyes, the evenness of her teeth, and an unblemished complexion. He took a curl of hair and drew it before her bosom to lay upon a swollen mound.
“You underestimate your desirability, madam,” he said.
She drew in a sharp breath and appeared at a loss for words.
“Perhaps,” he continued, “as we are both without partners, I could oblige your purpose in coming here.”
Her eyes widened, and an unexpected desire to assert his command caused heat to flow through him. How would she react if he took her into his arms right now and kissed her? Curious to know, he reached for her. Before she could object, he had wrapped his arm about her waist and drawn her to him. His mouth descended upon hers.
She gave a muffled cry and pressed her hands against his upper arms, but her resistance was weak. Her lips were softer than he remembered, and they yielded quite nicely beneath his, causing the blood in his veins to course more strongly.
He parted her lips to taste the interior of her mouth. Her stiffness began to thaw as he roamed the orifice. Her powder, rouge, and the scent of something he could not name filled his nose. When he lifted himself to allow her a breath, he could see her mind swimming. She blinked but seemed unable to focus her eyes. The flutter of her thick lashes and the heaving of her bosom called to a primal urge within him. He lowered himself to claim her mouth once more.
This startled her into motion. She slid away and managed to stumble toward a settee in the middle of the room.
“Your offer is a kind one,” she turned to say, while taking steps backward toward the egress, “but perhaps another time.”
He advanced toward her. “You wound me, madam.”
Her face fell. “I-I do not mean to suggest that I do not desire to be with you. It is that…”
Sweet Trudie, he thought to himself. She always did concern herself with others.
“You fear me,” he filled in for her.
“I cannot say. I hardly know you. I think it is that I doubt myself.”