The kiss was darker, more deliberate, more intense than any they had shared previously, and Callie had the immediate sense that Ralston was giving her the experience for which she had asked. The idea thrilled her—that this man, whom she had been pining for years, would be the one to show her the enticing, wicked place that she was so eager to know.
His tongue stroked her bottom lip as his hands roamed over her, freeing the buttons of the waistcoat she wore and deftly shucking the layers off her shoulders and down her arms before pulling the hem of her shirt from the waistband of her breeches. His warm, powerful hands settled on the soft, bare skin just above her breeches, and he took the opportunity to plunder her mouth. He searched and stroked, sending ripples of pleasure pooling deep within her as his hand stole upward, toward her breasts. She was overwhelmed by the combination of sensations from his wicked mouth and knowing fingers, and she could do nothing but wait for him to touch her where she wished…how she wished.
He pulled back sharply as his hand reached the linen bindings and he cursed—eyes flashing.
“Don’t bind them again,” he said, breath harsh, matched by her own. He caught the back of her head in the palm of his free hand and speared her with an unyielding blue gaze. “Ever.”
The words were spoken in a dark, possessive tone, and she shook her head, assuring him of her compliance with his wishes. “I won’t.”
He held her eyes for a long moment, as if to divine the truth of her words. Satisfied, he claimed her mouth for a long, drugging kiss, sliding the cambric shirt up and releasing her mouth only long enough to pull the garment over her head. Resuming the kiss, he tossed the shirt aside, the white cloth fluttering through the air unnoticed as he returned his hands to her body, seeking and finding the end of the linen binding. Just when she was certain that he would begin to unwrap the cloth, his hands spread wide and he released her mouth again. The combination of his warm, firm hands upon her, the cool air against her lips, the hardness of his thighs beneath her, and the sound of their mingled breath was enough to rattle Callie’s senses, and it took her a moment to open her eyes.
When she did, their gazes collided. Her breath caught as she read the passion in his gaze—barely controlled. She felt his chest rise and fall against her before he spoke. “Shall I free you, lovely?”
The words sent a liquid shock through Callie. Their earlier conversation flashed in her mind, and she recognized the underlying meaning in them. Her mouth dropped open, and his eyes followed the movement. As though unable to resist, he leaned forward and nibbled on her moistened bottom lip before pulling back and rephrasing the question, one finger running lightly along the straining flesh above the linen wrap.
“Shall I loose you from your cage?”
The words, laden with sensual promise, weakened her. He was offering her all the adventure and excitement she’d ever wanted—the things she could not commit to her list, could not admit to herself, even in her most personal of moments. How could she refuse?
She nodded her assent.
It was all he needed.
He slowly unraveled the long, linen bindings, pushing away her hands as she reached to help him. “No,” he said, his voice full of promise and possessiveness, “you are my gift. I shall unwrap you.”
And he did, slowly releasing her breasts until they spilled into his hands and, as he had the last time they had found themselves in that position, he set his mouth to her angry flesh and soothed her. He made love to the red skin, marred by the creases in the tight linen, running tongue and teeth and fingers across her. Her hands moved of their own volition, her fingers plunging into his soft, dark hair to hold him close to her as her own head tipped back, the weight of her long, heavy tresses combining with the heady sensations he caused to steal her strength.
His hands stole around her to keep her steady as his mouth took its toll—calling forth a gasp as he suckled softly on the hardened tip of one breast, sending waves of excitement coursing through her. She had never felt so wonderful, so female, so alive. And all because of him. The thought faded as he moved his attention to her other breast, lifting her as though she weighed nothing and rearranging her so that she straddled his lap, providing him with better access to her bounty. As he moved her, the loosened bandages fell to her waist and her list, freed from its hiding place, landed on his lap, brushing his forearm on its path. Distracted by the strange feeling, he looked at the folded paper sandwiched between them and picked it up, offering the square back to her. She accepted it, marveling at the rush of feeling that originated at the spot where their fingers touched. Holding his gaze, she tossed the paper to the side—heedless of where it landed.
He clasped her to him, pulling her closer. His hands were everywhere, caressing her bottom, her legs, her breasts, lifting her mass of hair to bare her neck to his hot, wet mouth. He followed the column of her neck up to lick the soft lobe of one ear, then back to rain kisses along her collarbone and down to her straining nipples once more. He worshipped her breasts, sucking and licking across their straining tips as her hands traveled their own path of discovery, finding their way beneath the collar of his coat, over his broad shoulders, down the chiseled muscles of his chest.
She set her fingers to the buttons of his waistcoat, tugging on the fastenings, uncertain of how she should proceed. He released one rose-tipped breast and met her eyes boldly. “Take what you want, Empress.”
From the moment they’d started down this sensual path, he’d encouraged her to ignore the boundaries she met, to act boldly, with conviction. Tonight was no different. His words spurred her into action. Her fingers moved clumsily down the row of buttons, opening his waistcoat, baring his thin linen shirt. She paused, uncertain. She nibbled her lower lip as she considered her next step.
He watched, eyes like slits, refusing to make her decision for her but unable to resist clasping the back of her head and taking her worried lip with his own, licking and sucking until they were both panting. Pulling back, he relaxed into the chair, covering her hands on his chest and watching as she tried to regain her composure. “What will you do with me, now?”
She tilted her head, nervous, before saying, “I should like for you to be wearing fewer clothes.”
He cocked a smile at her prim wording—so antithetical to the moment. His reply was gravelly, sending a shiver of pleasure through her. “Well, I certainly couldn’t deny a lady.”
He shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat, lifting against her to do so. The movement forced him to press against her, and he groaned at the soft core of her cradling him. Divested of his outer layers, he let himself fall back to the chair, clasping her hips tightly as he did so, unwilling to allow the sensation of her against him to end. Pushing against her again, he watched as she sighed with pleasure at the pressure—just where she was desperate for it.
Holding her gaze, he lifted again, sending a wave of passion through her once more. “Is that what you want, lovely?”
The question came on a pant of breath, and she noticed that he was as affected by the movement as she was. In response, she smiled boldly and ground herself against him in a firm, circular motion. His hands moved instantly to her hips to hold her tight to him. His eyes narrowed, and she felt powerful in the face of his passion.
She shook her head boldly, unwilling to look away from him. “Even fewer clothes.”
He smiled again, sitting up and easing his back from the chair before lifting the hem of his shirt from the waistband of his breeches. Pulling the shirt over his head, he sent it along the same path that hers had traveled earlier.
Watching her watching him, he set his fingers to the tips of her breasts, teasing the flushed skin there. “Now what, Empress?”
She swallowed at the sight of him—magnificent and corded and muscled and male—it was the first time she had seen a man without a shirt, and her mouth was suddenly dry. Dragging her gaze up to meet his, she said, “May I…touch you?”
He gave a little laugh at the words. “Please.”
Her eyes slid down to his chest and she set her hands to him, her fingers softly running up the sides of his torso, playing delicately over the planes of his chest. She ran one thumb over a flat nipple, and her eyes widened as it puckered, and the cadence of his breathing shifted. She repeated the motion, and he growled low in the back of his throat. She looked up at the sound, worried. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” The word came out on a harsh exhale. To prove it, he kissed her roundly, stroking deep inside her mouth, and mimicked the motion, rubbing his thumb across the turgid peak of one of her breasts until she whimpered with frustration. He spoke against her lips. “Does it hurt you?”
She shook her head, taking a shaky breath. “No.” She stroked him again. “But it aches. In a good way. In a wonderful way.”
He nodded. “Indeed. It does.”
She watched her thumb as it traced slow circles around him, then leaned in and set her mouth to his chest. She could feel the thrum of his heart as she traced her lips across his warm skin, and she wondered what would happen if…her mouth found his nipple and she laved the straining flesh there.
He hissed in a breath, plunging his fingers through her hair as she repeated his earlier caresses with warm, lavish strokes of her tongue. He allowed her to explore with hands and mouth until he could no longer bear it, eventually pulling her up for another kiss. He ate her mouth until she had lost all coherent thought, until she was nothing but a puddle of femininity in his arms. It was as though he knew the moment she crossed over into the experience of pure pleasure, because he lifted her in his arms at that moment and, without breaking their kiss, settled her on the long, low chaise.
Callie stretched out along the chaise as he followed her down, the length of him spilling heat over every inch of her skin.
“I want you naked, Empress.” The words were hot against her ear as he took her lobe in his teeth and sent shivers through her. “Let me worship you.”
She couldn’t resist him, couldn’t resist the words that she’d dreamed of for years. Instead, she took hold of one of his hands and boldly shifted it to the fastenings of her breeches. The movement gave him all the permission he required and, within moments, he had removed her boots and breeches, and Callie was naked, laid bare just for him.
Ralston stopped and took her in, his hands stroking down her lush body, molding to her skin, flush with equal parts passion and embarrassment. She tried to cover herself, but he wouldn’t allow it, his hands staving hers off in playful movements as he drank her in. She gave up on hiding her breasts, but could not stop herself from covering the thatch of brown curls that marked her most private place.
He lifted her hand from there and replaced it with his own. He kissed her deeply before pulling back just enough to speak. “Are you embarrassed, my lovely?”
At her nod, he pressed the heel of his hand firmly against her, enjoying the feeling of immense satisfaction that coursed through him when she sighed her pleasure against his mouth. “Don’t be…let me cover you.”
At the words, Callie burst into shocked laughter, which he shared intimately until he slid one, warm finger between the plump lips of her sex and turned her laughing into a gasp of pleasure as he found the opening of her inner flesh and stroked deep inside her.
“You are so very beautiful, my love.”
She closed her eyes, the combination of erotic caress and coveted endearment too much for her to bear. He claimed her mouth again. “I’ve never known such passion. Such responsiveness. You make me want to tie you up and have my way with you.” An image flashed through her mind of her bound, defenseless against the onslaught of his caresses. She opened her eyes in surprise and met his amused gaze. Reading her thoughts, he continued, “Someday, Empress, I shall show you just how much pleasure such an interlude can bring…but, tonight.” His thumb rubbed gently through her aching, swollen flesh, seeking and finding the tight bud of pleasure there. She arched into the caress as he continued, “Tonight, I want you touching me as well.” He traced small circles with his finger, drawing frustrated cries from Callie as moisture rained down into his palm. He set his lips to hers, and whispered, “So wet…” A second finger joined the first, thrusting deep, stretching her as her body clenched around him. “So tight…”
He spoke against her parted, moist lips as she pushed against him. “So beautiful.”
He was pushing her farther and farther to the brink, his mouth and hands everywhere at once. She was his pianoforte; he played her body and her mind with his warm hands and wicked words. She focused on his hand, on the deep slide of his fingers as they worked her into a frenzy, on the firm, wonderful stroke of his thumb, circling the place to which all of her energy seemed to have fled. She rocked against him, begging for more, crying his name.
And then he was between her legs, spreading them wide and holding her down as he set his mouth to the place where she most desperately needed him. His tongue flicked and laved with intensity that she could not bear—the powerful lash of the caress robbing her of breath and of thought and of everything but feeling. She let her hands fall to his head, her fingers clenching wildly in his hair as he worked her swollen, desperate flesh with fingers and tongue and lips until she thought she might die if he ever stopped. She could feel a rolling wave of pleasure building, higher and higher as his caresses grew faster and harder, as the tip of his tongue flicked boldly across the peak of her sex, his mouth tugging at her until she lost her mind. She lifted her hips from the chaise as she felt the crest of pleasure peak and the wave crashed over her and she cried out and clung to him—the rock at the center of her tilting world.
His caresses gentled, and he brought her back to the moment, soothing her flesh before lifting his head and looking up at her. He caught his breath when he met her eyes, which burned with passion and feminine knowledge. She extended one, beckoning hand out to him, and said, “Come here.”
The words sent a shudder through him, and he couldn’t stop himself from stretching out beside her again. Her hands ran along his side, stroking down to his breeches where she could see the fabric straining across the hard ridge of him. She traced one finger along the length of him and reveled in the hitch of his breath. With a smile borne of feminine power, she repeated the caress more firmly, and he grasped her hand, stilling the movement.
Meeting her eyes, he spoke, breath harsh. “A man only has so much willpower, Empress. If you touch me like that, I cannot guarantee I will be able to restrain myself.”
Callie freed her hand from his grasp and set it to the side of his face, guiding him down for another kiss. This time, she controlled the caress. It was her tongue that stroked the inside of his warm mouth, her lips that played across his firm, full lower lip. When she ended the caress, she traced her hand back down his torso to the buttons of his breeches. Holding his gaze, she used shaking fingers to release the straining placket of fabric from its fastenings. Sliding her hand inside, she found his straining length and grasped him firmly in her eager hand. His eyes darkened as she spoke, a tremor in her voice the only indication of her nervousness. “What if I were to touch you like this?”
Callie held her breath as Ralston took in her words. He went utterly still for a long moment, and Callie wondered if she had severely miscalculated her actions.
And then he moved. He captured her mouth with a groan deep in his throat. He stilled her hand with his own, meeting her gaze. There was something about her eagerness and her innocence—about the passion that flared in her eyes even as she delivered such exquisite pleasure—that slayed him. As he looked into her velvety brown eyes, he realized that he’d never met a woman like her. She was a study in contradictions, all passionate innocence and adventurous primness and shy exploration. The heady combination was enough to fascinate even the most hardened of cynics—and he was indeed fascinated.
He wanted her. Fiercely. He shook off the thought. She deserved better. For once in his life, he would play the gentleman. He closed his eyes against the vision of her naked, open to him, welcoming and more freely passionate than any woman he’d ever known.
He should receive a medal for what he was about to do.
He lifted her hand away from the straining length of him, placing a warm, wet kiss in her palm, and spoke, unable to keep his hands from stroking the length of her, eager for the feel of her soft, smooth skin. “I think I should get you home.”
Her eyelids flickered, the only indication she gave that she heard him. He saw the doubt flash in her eyes and wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and tell her exactly what he wanted to do rather than thought he should do.
“But, I don’t want to go home. You said you would release me from my cage. Are you reneging?” The question was teasing and seductive, a siren’s call as she pressed against him—the unskilled movement setting his pulse pounding.
He kissed her again, unable to stop himself from taking some of the sweetness she offered. When he released her mouth, she sighed against his lips. “Please, Gabriel…show me how it can be. Let me taste it. Just once.”
The words, so honest and open, cut straight through him, and he realized that he’d been doomed from the start. He could not refuse her.
And then his breeches were gone and he was above her, settling between her legs, allowing her softness to cradle him. He kissed along the column of her neck, his hands stroking her breasts, tweaking the tips until they were hard and straining for his mouth. He settled his lips once again to the rosy peaks, wringing cries of pleasure from her. Her hands fell to his shoulders, stroking his warm skin, reminding him of the pleasure that he found over and over in her eager arms. And that pleasure would soon be magnified a hundredfold.
He pressed against the soft, downy hair at her core, feeling the warmth and wetness that waited for him there, and it took all of his control not to plunge deep inside her, not to drive himself to the hilt. Instead, he moved lightly against her, drawing a sigh from her with the sweet friction he caused. She lifted against him, seeking something she couldn’t name, and he lifted away from her, meeting her impassioned gaze with a wicked, teasing grin. “What do you want, lovely?”
She lifted again, trying to increase their contact, and, again, he pulled back. She narrowed her eyes on him. “You know what I want.”
He pulled her pouting bottom lip between his teeth and suckled gently before moving his hips firmly against hers, giving her precisely what she’d been seeking. “Is that it, Empress?”
She gasped and nodded as he repeated the motion, drawing more of her sweet rain down to moisten the soft, swollen lips that cradled him. It was his turn to groan then. “Oh, God, Callie…you’re so sweet.” He thrust again, the tip of him rubbing against the place where all her pleasure seemed to pool.
She sucked in a harsh breath at the sensation. “I want—” She started to speak, then stopped, uncertain.
“Tell me, love.” He laved the spot where her jaw met the soft skin of her neck with his roughened tongue as one hand idly stroked a turgid nipple, and he moved against her in a rhythm that was certain to drive them both mad.
“I—I don’t know what I want.” She ran her hands down his back, lifting against him again, drawing a harsh exhale from him. “I feel so—” He lifted his head to watch her search for the word…“Empty.”
He rewarded her for the words, so raw and wanting, kissing her passionately, tongue thrusting deep into her mouth. Then he moved slightly, fitting his hand between them and, with the tip of one finger, he traced the entrance to the core of her. “Here, love?” he whispered against her ear, the words more caress than sound. “Do you feel empty here?” He pushed the finger deep inside her as she sighed his name. “Do you want me here?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Say it, Empress. Tell me.” A second finger joined the first, stretching. Filling.
“I want you.”
“Where?” The fingers thrust in unison, showing her the answer.
“Gabriel…” The word was equal parts plea and protest.
He smiled against her neck. “Where, lovely?”
He was killing her. “Inside me.”
His fingers disappeared and she lifted her hips, the movement protesting his retreat. He placed a line of soft, velvet kisses along her collarbone as he settled between her open thighs, replacing his knowing fingers with the hard length of him—poised at the entrance to her. He took her face in his hands and met her eyes, unwilling to let her hide from him in this supremely intimate moment.
Her breath caught as he pushed just barely inside her, stretching, opening. He stilled, the hardest thing he’d ever done, as the swollen head of him was cradled in her velvet, wet heat. He watched the flicker of sensation in her brown eyes. “Does it hurt?”
She closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head. “No,” she whispered, “Yes. It feels…I want…” she met his gaze, “I want more. I want all of it. I want you. Please.”
The raw emotion laid bare in her words and in her look was enough to send him over the edge, but he refused to allow himself to ruin this, her first taste of passion. He paused in his movements, sipping at the tips of her breasts and returning his hand to the hard, straining nub at the core of her. He rubbed a slow circle there, watching as pleasure flared in her eyes at the caress. “Callie…” he whispered, “I am going to hurt you. I cannot prevent it.”
“I know.” The words were breathless. “I don’t care.”
He kissed her then, his tongue slow and seeking, stroking the soft skin as though they had all the time in the world. “I care,” he whispered, his thumb stroking faster against her, causing her hips to rock against him in a rhythm that set them both aflame. “But I shall make it up to you.”
He rocked against her, gritting his teeth against the sublime pleasure he felt as he moved carefully, inch by slow inch, traveling slightly deeper on each smooth thrust, then pulling out completely, giving her time to adjust to him.
And then, when she was writhing in pleasure, he pulled back and thrust to the hilt, the hard length of him stretching the untried flesh at the heart of her. She sucked in a deep breath at the pain, and he stilled above her, the muscles of his arms and shoulders and neck coiled with rigid tension. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, raining kisses along her cheek to her ear.
She turned to meet his gaze with a small smile. “No…it’s not…it isn’t bad.” She cocked her head, as though considering the sensations within her. “Is that it?”
He gave a little, strained laugh at the innocent question. “That’s not even close to being it.”
“Oh.” She moved against him, and it was his turn to gasp. “Oh…that’s quite…” She moved again and he stilled her hips with a strong hand, unwilling to trust himself if she continued her rolling motions.
“Indeed,” he said, suckling the tip of one breast idly. “It is. Quite.”
He retreated almost entirely from her passage and thrust again, a smooth, long movement that chased away the residual pain and replaced it with a spark of pleasure. “Oh…yes.”
“Yes?” he teased, repeating the movement.
This time she met his thrust with her own and sighed. “Yes,” she agreed.
“My sentiments, exactly,” he said, and began to move rhythmically in deep, smooth strokes designed to drive them both wild. After several long moments of his rich caresses, Callie began to move beneath him, canting her hips to increase the pressure of his thrusts.
Ralston shifted to accommodate her body’s request, increasing his speed and force. Clenching his teeth against the pleasure of her body, so tight and hot around him. Callie began to cry out, little mewling cries of pleasure that made him wild, so real and honest was her passion. Never in his life had he wanted to find his release so badly; never had he so desperately wanted to hang on, to give his partner the pleasure she deserved.
“Gabriel,” she keened, “I need—”
“I know,” he breathed against her ear, “I know what you need. Take it.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.”
And then he placed his thumb at the core of her once more, pressing and stroking while he thrust deep and fast, and the combination of sensations was too much. The tension that had been slowly mounting threatened to spiral out of control, to consume everything in its path, including her thought and sanity. She cried out his name and arched against him, afraid of what was about to happen—unwilling to shy away from it.
He captured her wild gaze with his own. “Look at me, Empress. I want to see you come undone. I want to watch you go over the edge with me.”
“I can’t—I—I don’t know—how.” She thrashed her head from one side to the other, panting out the words.
“We shall discover it together.”
And they did. The coiled tension within her was set free, and she convulsed around him, her muscles tightening around him in a perfect prison, milking him with sweet, unbearable rhythm. She cried out his name, scoring his shoulders with her fingernails as she grabbed hold of him, and he watched her come unraveled.
And then, only then, once she had found her pleasure, did he take his own, calling out as he followed her over the edge with a force he had never before experienced. He collapsed onto her, his chest heaving in unison with her own as he attempted to regain his strength.
He lay there for a long moment, until his breathing stabilized, and he had the wherewithal to lift himself on strong arms and look down at her. Taking in her flushed, pleasure-dampened skin, her sated smile, and heavy-lidded eyes, Ralston was struck by realization.
He’d never experienced anything like this…anything like her. He’d never been with a woman so open and free…never known someone so willing to give and receive and embrace passion with such a powerful will. He’d never known anyone like her. His eyes raked over body, naked and beautiful and bathed in the golden, flickering firelight. She was wrapped around him in every way imaginable, and all he could think of was taking her again. Immediately. Of course, she must be sore…
The thought washed over him like a cold wave.
My God, she’d been a virgin.
What had he been thinking? Virgins deserved better, for God’s sake. Not that he’d ever been in the situation before, but he was certain they deserved poetry and roses and at least a proper bed. Not a chaise longue in a men’s club.
My God. She’d been a virgin and he’d treated her like a common—
He shook his head at the thought, unwilling to allow himself even to finish the sentence in his mind. He was consumed by self-loathing as he considered what he’d done. She’d trusted him. And he’d taken advantage of her. At Brooks’s, for Christsakes. My God. What had he done?
He blanched at the thought.
She noticed. “Is something wrong?”
The words brought him back to the moment, and he found it difficult to meet her eyes. Instead, he placed a gentle kiss on one of her shoulders and sat up, ignoring the sense of loss that coursed through him as he disentangled himself from her warm, willing body.
He began to dress, noting when, after several long moments of watching him, Callie moved to do the same. He tried not to look at her, but found himself unable to resist when she turned to face away from him and pull on her breeches. His palms itched to touch her, to gather her against him and, once more, feel her softness cradling the hard angles of his body. Pulling himself from his reverie, he set to work on his cravat as she pulled on her shirt, forgoing her bindings.
She turned to search for her waistcoat and met his gaze briefly. He could not help but register the sadness in her eyes. She already regretted what they had done.
Leaning down, he lifted the length of linen that she had ignored, running it through his fingers. “Do you need this?”
“No,” she said softly. “Your greatcoat is large enough to hide me…” She paused before adding, “That, and I promised I wouldn’t bind them again.”
The words, along with the erotic power they had carried earlier that evening, echoed between them, reminding him of his unforgivable behavior. She turned away from him as he said, “So you did.”
He wrapped the linen into a small bundle and tucked it inside his waistcoat before leaning to retrieve his topcoat from the floor. As he did, he noted the square of paper that lay beneath it—the list that had set them on this wild course.
He straightened, opening his mouth to offer her the paper, but stopping just short of sound when he realized that she remained resolutely faced away from him, her back straight, shoulders squared as though she were about to do battle as she calmly inserted pins into her hair, restoring it to its original state.
For some reason, he did not want to mention her silly list. Instead, he tucked the wrinkled square into his pocket and waited for her to face him again.
Several minutes later, she did, and he was struck by the emotion in her eyes, liquid with unshed tears. In the face of her sadness, he felt like an utter ass. Swallowing, he searched for the right thing to say. He could see that she was waiting for him to speak, to say the words that would redeem him…the words that would stop the tears that threatened to spill over.
He wanted to say the right thing. He might not have been able to repair the damage he had done with his unthinking, callous behavior, but he certainly could behave the gentleman going forward. And so, he said the thing that he imagined gentlemen said in such a situation. The thing that he was certain women wanted to hear in such a situation. The thing that was sure to stop her tears.
“Please, forgive me for my behavior. Of course, we shall marry.”
He waited out the long moment during which the words hung between them, while Callie’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed upon him as though his mind were thoroughly addled. He waited for her to realize that he’d done the gentlemanly thing. Waited for her to be pleased by—grateful for, even—his offer of marriage. Waited for her to say something—anything. He waited as she wrapped herself in his greatcoat, pulled on her gloves, and set her hat upon her head.
And, when she was done, and she had faced him and finally spoke, it was as though he’d said nothing at all. “Thank you for the supremely edifying evening, my lord. Would you mind very much taking me home?”
Well. At least she hadn’t cried.