The Education of Mrs. Brimley (19 page)

The hurt in his eyes bruised her heart.
He had missed her.
She was scarcely able to credit the idea, yet she couldn’t deny the subtle change in his character.
He had missed her, the cold fish, the intellectual, the plain by-blow whispered about in dark corners.

In spite of the scowl on his face, a smile threatened to blossom on hers. Such an expression would have frightened her before, but now that she knew him, she relaxed in his presence. She clasped both her hands together in front of her as would a demure miss and calmly explained. “The weather impeded my earlier return, but I’m here now.”

She took two steps toward the new screen but stopped and turned. “Before we begin, sir, I’d like to thank you for your assistance in rescuing poor Charlotte. It was foolish for her to run away on such a cold night, but good fortune brought her to your garden and you brought her back to us.” She ended her speech with a deep curtsy, pleased with the execution of her practiced show of gratitude.

The brush stopped its downward arc, his eyes narrowed slightly, his lips thinned. “I offered a frightened, freezing child shelter and nourishment. Do not elevate me to sainthood, Mrs. Brimley.”

She stood, a bit hesitant. She had thought he would be pleased with her expression of appreciation, not insulted. Her brow furled. “I did not suggest you were a saint, sir.”

“Good. Because I most certainly am not.” He stared at her with an arrogance that welcomed dispute.

“But you—” She wanted to enumerate evidence of his kindness: the return of her mother’s handkerchief, the shelter offered to a scared little girl, the kittens, the screen, but he interrupted her before she could begin.

“What then is to be my reward for my
uncharacteristic
charitable act?” His eyebrow cocked, a slow smile shifted his features.

“Uncharacteristic? Why the kindness you have shown time after time . . .” Her gaze caught his sly smile and cocked eyebrow. His wanton expression should have chased her to a hasty retreat. Instead her chest tingled with fervent anticipation. Appalled at her body’s reaction, she felt a telltale warmth spread to her hairline.

He walked around her slowly, like a fierce jungle cat stalking its prey.

“I think you do understand. Doesn’t one act of kindness deserve another?” His voice flowed over her, as smooth and potent as the amber liquid in the crystal glass waiting by his easel. “You, of all people, should realize that everything has a price.”

EMMA BIT HER LIP, AFRAID OF WHAT HE WOULD demand. Now that he had time to consider her mother’s indiscretion, perhaps he would expect the same from the daughter.

“What do you wish?” she asked around the lump in her throat.

“I wish you to undress in front of me, without the benefit of my turned back and without the benefit of the screen.” His eyes burned hot as they raked over her form.

“I assume our earlier condition remains in effect?” She struggled to control the catch in her voice. “You will not touch me?”

“Only if you ask me to.”

She bristled at his self-confidence, even as she released her pent-up breath. “That, sir, will not happen.”

With a bit of resolve, she raised her hands to remove her hat, but he stopped her. “First, your blouse.”

She stiffened, then demurred. The garment would have been eventually removed anyway. “As you wish.”

Emma supposed his edict toward her hat applied to her gloves as well. They made the unbuttoning a bit awkward and slow. She continually reminded herself that he had seen her like this two times before. This should be nothing new, yet an expression in his eyes begged different. As she wrestled with the bodice buttons, her arms brushed the hardened nubs of her breasts pushing at the pleated satin ribbon ringing the top of her corset. A tremor rippled through her chest. Was her body’s reaction to his intent stare visible to his eye? An appreciation tugged at his lips, suggesting an answer. The tremor dipped lower.

She pulled the fabric off each arm, never once breaking eye contact. She held the garment out to him. “I have no place to put this.”

He draped it over his arm. “Now the hat.”

Unfastening the pins holding the hat foundation in place required the use of both hands. She raised her arms. Her chest lifted and pulled against her confining corset. His swift intake of breath pulled her glance, only to be rewarded with an intense stare that singed her skin and burrowed to her spine. She handed him the hat.

“The skirts,” he said, his voice huskier than before. “And lean forward as you lower them.”

A shiver of fear raced through her, as if he had threatened a dangerous consequence if she did otherwise. True to his word, he remained rooted in his spot near his easel, one hand clenched by his side, the other smothered in her discards. He had not moved to touch her, yet the change in his voice and demeanor proved he was not unaffected by her actions. A sense of power emboldened her.

She unhooked her double skirt and leaned forward slightly, testing the results.

“More,” he said, his voice thick with a hunger that shot straight to her core.

She bent lower, tugging at the black wool. A bulge pushed the front of Chambers’s pants. Arousal! And she was the cause of it! Remembering Beatrice’s observation that a man’s arousal appeared uncomfortable, she glanced up to his face. He grimaced. How ironic that when he had turned his back, she was the flustered one. His current state of discomfort put her in control. She smiled, congratulating herself on obtaining this bit of information without risking additional clothing.

“You smile, you minx? Are you enjoying the effect you have on me?”

“I believe I am, sir.” Indeed, now that she thought of it, this reversal of authority pleased her a great deal. But it was more than that. His adoration made her feel intensely wanted, desired, as if she were the only woman who could satisfy his needs.

Moving her legs a little further apart to give greater stability, she dipped as low as her corset afforded. She unfastened her petticoats, pulling the garments slowly over her protruding derriere. “Is this low enough for you?”

He growled. The man growled! Little ripples of appreciation shimmered along her nerve endings. She straightened very slow and deliberate, leaving the petticoats to lay where they fell. His bulge continued to expand.

“Are you uncomfortable, sir?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Extremely,” he replied.

His answer delighted her, though she wasn’t sure why. She still needed to remove her gloves according to the terms of their agreement. She unfastened the buttons on each then began to pull on the tips.

“Use your teeth,” he said.

“You wish me to bite my gloves?” This request made no sense.

“Use those sharp little teeth to pull at the tips of your gloves.”

She did as he asked, placing each finger routinely between her lips, loosening the glove tips until she could pull on the middle finger alone. She tugged, allowing the silk to slowly slide down her wrist. To gain a bit more leverage, she arched her back ever so slightly.

Chambers collapsed on his stool, his legs spread wide.

“Mrs. Brimley, if you were any other woman, I’d beg you to ride me to our mutual pleasure.” His voice was strained, as if he were under some great exertion, yet he only sat on a stool.

Giddiness spread through Emma like warm honey. Chambers’s evident desire blasted her uncle’s criticisms to perdition. Obviously, she possessed the ability to arouse a man and make him want to do things for their “mutual pleasure.” Although the exact nature of those things still eluded her.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” she said, although she suspected his reference referred to that crude world of which she had little experience, but suddenly longed for more.

“I’ll explain if you remove one of your stockings.”

“Is this something my girls will have need to know?” With so few garments left, she needed to use them judiciously.

“We are discussing the possible positions for coupling, Mrs. Brimley. Indeed, for both stockings I will tell you of two positions.”

Positions! That was one of the questions on her list. She nodded agreement, then bent to unfasten the first of the two long garters that secured each black silk stocking. She stopped.

“Was there a particular way you wished me to remove my stockings?” Her lips lifted in a smile. “I’m afraid I am not agile enough to bite them off.”

“You learn quickly, Mrs. Brimley.” His eyes crinkled in a slow, lazy smile. “The artful unveiling of one’s attributes would whet any man’s appetite.” He pointed to the divan. “Can you raise your foot unto the cushions? I wish to see a full expanse of your leg.”

Wonderful! This was exactly the information she needed for her girls. She stepped up on the dais and started toward the divan until she remembered the slit in her drawers. Raising her leg would expose the flesh beneath the resulting gap, the very flesh Chambers implied could be stimulated by hand, or tongue, or . . .

Heat flooded her face and regions below. “I’d prefer not, sir. I’ll just bend low as before.” She unfastened the front and back garters and began to roll the first stocking down her leg. “You owe me an explanation of one position.”

He cleared his throat. “There are many, many positions to facilitate the act of coupling. I can think of at least four for which your girls should be prepared.”

“I will settle for two.” Indeed she originally had only five items of clothing with which to barter, and now she had lost two.

“The most common position is not my favorite, but it is efficient. The woman lies on the bed and spreads her legs wide, giving open access to her feminine core. The man positions himself between her legs and inserts his manhood. Sometimes he will lie across the woman while he thrusts deep inside her, or he might lift her hips and manipulate her while he thrusts.”

“The woman just lies there?” She stood briefly on one foot to tug the stocking over her heel. She imagined herself lying on a bed in such a vulnerable position while a man, who remarkably resembled Lord Chambers, approached. Her knees buckled and she quickly clasped the divan for support.

“Many do,” Chambers said, “particularly the ones that wish their husbands would seek their pleasure elsewhere. The wife who desires her husband’s fulfillment as well as her own actively thrusts in rhythm with her husband.” He paused. “Which kind of woman are you, Mrs. Brimley?”

Emma was still considering the meaning of the word “thrust.” How exactly did one thrust one’s lower regions? She tried to discretely
thrust
her hips and succeeded in hopping forward slightly, like a player in the child’s game of hopscotch. A strangled gurgle issued from Chambers’s direction.

“I beg your pardon,” she said glancing up. “Did you ask a question?”

“Yes, but I’ve already deduced the answer.”

Something in his expression made her cheeks burn. “You said there was another position, one that you preferred?”

“I prefer to lay on the bed and let the woman sit on top, her legs astride me. She can take my manhood as fast or as slow as she wants, and I can lie back and enjoy her efforts.”

Emma tried to visualize, being careful this time to avoid the face of her fantasy lover. “This is what you meant by ‘riding’?”

“When the man is fully involved, the motion is similar to riding a horse.”

“Well, then, that position should not be too difficult for the girls to learn. They are all capable horsewomen. We’ll start with riding.” She nodded to punctuate her decision, and attacked the second stocking.

“I should warn you,” Chambers cautioned. “Not all men enjoy this position.”

“Why not?” She paused. “Does it not give pleasure?”

He smiled. “It most definitely gives pleasure, but it also places the woman in a position superior to the man. He is at her mercy, so to speak.”

She rather enjoyed that expression, “at her mercy.” It suggested that the woman was not as powerless in the act of coupling as society suggested. Indeed, it was an apt description of Chambers throughout her artful removal of garments. She filed that away for reflection at a later time. At the moment, she needed to focus her attention on his answers. Emma tugged the second stocking free with a jerk of her hand.

“There is another position your girls may need to know,” he suggested with a lift of his brow.

“What might that be?”

“I’ve given you the two positions promised. I believe you know the price of a third.”

She hesitated; she had so little left. “Is this a common position?”

“Some men prefer it above the others.”

If she were to sacrifice her corset, her fitted camisole would still serve as a barrier between his eyes and her skin, but her breasts would be unrestrained. “The girls should not be unprepared for the demands that may be asked of them,” she said more to herself than to him.