B006O3T9DG EBOK by Linda Berdoll Page A

occasions. Had she wanted to win the day, she could have reminded him of either of those facts. However, she thought better of it.
    “Pray, how do they offend, sir?” she asked mildly.
    The answer to that was most probably that they were on his wife and not another. Lest either forget, his hand encircled her calf; his finger, loosed from the offending garment, stroked her just below the back of her knee. Whilst engaging in this most pleasing activity, he gave her a plausible, if entirely erroneous, reply.
    “The garment is immodest and worn only by women of easy virtue.”
    She dared to laugh, saying, “They are said to be au courant for years in Paris....”
    With that, his indignation knew no bounds. Indeed, he took his hand from her leg and turned his back to her. She placed the flat of her hand just below his shoulder blades. The one thing she did not care for was to engage in a disagreement over something so trivial. She would have thought he would have been amused—even impassioned. In a moment, he turned towards her again. His brows were knitted and his mouth was grim.
    “So this is just another coruscation from the dashers of the haut ton? How is it that every time some abomination is instituted, it is always said that the French have been doing it for years?”
    She sniffed, “I am sure I do not take your meaning, sir. However, I recall a time some years ago when so meagre an impediment would not have deterred you in the smallest way.”
    He retorted, “I dare say that it does not upon this occasion either—was I so disposed.”
    She raised her eyebrow—a blatant invitation. Accepting the provocation, he reached for her ankle and she made a small game of trying to keep him at bay. As she wriggled away, the tabletop rattled and a bottle of perfume was in danger of tipping over. Their skirmish was just that. Brief, but impassioned.
    Clasping her fingers on the back of his neck, she said, “I am not inflexible upon this subject. Given the proper argument I am quite certain that I can be swayed.”
    Having corralled her ankles, his hands began to search upward. It was a difficult expedition as are most into unknown territories heretofore uncharted. The expression upon her countenance was flirtatious, bequeathing him with the understanding that, in this quest at least, he was on his own. It was her prerogative to know how she got them on and therefore up to him on to how to remove them. Ere exasperation set in, he found the end of a ribbon.
    “Hark, the bell-cord,” said he.

When he grasped it, she smiled, ready to explain how the garment met the needs of nature. Ere she could, a look of triumph overspread his countenance. But it only lasted a trice. With great haste another expression replaced it. This one was not foreign to her whatsoever. It had been several winters, however, since it had last been seen. It was at once seductive and impish.
    He did not tug the ribbon. Indeed, he let go of the ribbon altogether. When he grasped the legs of her newly acquired drawers, she was a bit surprised, but not unduly so. Her husband was but making his preference known. This predilection, along with his unfettered desire, was set forth with undeniable vehemence. (And the predilection, the desire, and the vehemence, were accompanied by the very willing instrument wherewith he meant to employ all three.) The fine, thin fabric of her fashionable new drawers was easily conquered by he who desired most vociferously to conquer them. With one quick, almost fierce tug, they rent.
    Alas, her lawn delicacies were shredded by his passion; her passion, their passion together.
    Her thighs were then engirthed in soft gauze leggings as they engirthed him. Breathless, she felt her body sink as if melting, her trembling calves useless in want. Fluttering from her heart to her lips came forth the words of that affirmation.
    “Yes. Yes. Yes, oh, yes! To be sure !”
 
 
    Chapter 15
    Conspirators and Concubines
 
 
    “Please—not