Page 41 of Juliet's Touch

“My friend Walter is currently visiting Lord Chesterhill. He can take me into town.” Esther’s cheeks colored up. “It would be a nice drive for me.”

Juliet handed over the missive, reminding Esther of how important its delivery was. So giddy, that her hands were waving with excitement, Esther scurried from the room.

Juliet chuckled. Despite Esther’s eccentricities, she couldn’t help but like the woman. Seconds later, trepidation about the letter left Juliet breathless. She gasped, then exhaled slowly. Once she’d steadied her breathing and her nerves, she slid into the hallway.

If only she had taken an extra few seconds to pack shoes, then Emily’s tight slippers wouldn’t be pinching her toes. Although quite fashionable, the dashed things were uncomfortable as the dickens. Somehow, Juliet managed to glide from her chamber to the library. But once the door closed behind her, she limped to the settee, dropped onto it, and rolled into a ball. The quiet respite in her room and penning the missive had not helped her regain her composure. If anything, her shame had intensified.

As the minutes ticked by, she berated herself for her unladylike behavior and indecent thoughts.

Mr. Stone had been a perfect gentleman as he escorted her down the slippery decline. Meanwhile, she’d flirted like a trollop. Not only had she told him they were destined to be friends and keep each other’s secrets, but she’d also lowered her voice as if she were a seductress. Some might consider her a great beauty, but due to her lack of experience with men, she was as seductive as an ant-covered biscuit. She may have captured Charles’s attention, but that was hardly flattering. She suspected a barnyard pig in a wig could snare Charles’s interest. However, if Eric’s heated glares were any indication, he wanted to know her romantically. Still, she’d made an absolute ninny of herself. She harbored no doubts; if he knew her naughty secret, he wouldn’t want anything to do with her. No man desired a woman who obsessed over a stranger she’d kissed in front of her fiancé.

Her flirtations hadn’t stopped after the walk. During their repast in the drawing room, she’d peered at Mr. Stone through fluttering lashes, further encouraging his interest in her. This was wholly unfair to him, because although she found him to be pleasant company and exceedingly attractive, and his gaze heated her insides, it was the mysterious masked man she ached to be near.

More than likely, you will never see Mister Brown Eyes again, and the charming Mr. Stone is here with you now.

She scoffed at her foolish thoughts. Even though she’d broken her engagement, it would take a few days for the letter to reach Charles, so both of these men were off limits for now. Even then, it might not matter, because a baron’s daughter could not be with either a man who roamed the streets, or a marquess’s illegitimate son. She must accept that her destiny was not her own. Undoubtedly, her parents would force her to marry the future earl, break up letter or not.

Sighing, she sat up. What was done was done. Further fretting about her coquetry served no purpose. From this minute forward, she would conduct herself with the decorum befitting a virtuous woman of her class. For now, she needed to comb the library and choose a book for their evening read.

Toeing off the slippers, she stood and padded across the carpeting to the closest shelf. Her fingers skimmed over the colorful leather volumes. She skipped a few books, her finger landing on,On the Origin of the Vaccine Inoculationby Edward Jenner. She feigned a yawn.

Next, she explored the shelf to the left of the science texts.Lives of the Artists. History Of The Art of Antiquity. Theory of Colours.Alexander and Emily must own at least thirty books on art.Not that she was surprised.

She stepped around a ladder and perused the shelf in the front corner from right to left.Waverly. Virtue Rewarded. Tom Jones. Robinson Crusoe.Finally, the section she sought. She leisurely read the first page of the titles that piqued her interest.Ceciliaby Franny Burney seemed as if it might suit her mood. Hopefully, everyone would enjoy her choice.

On second thought, she wasn’t as well-read as Emily and Alexander. They might find this book to be insipid or provincial. MaybeMacbethwas more exciting.

She sighed. Perhaps she was overthinking her selection because after reading the first two pages, she wanted to know what happened to the one-and-twenty-year-old heroine searching for a husband. Maybe now that Emily was more romantically inclined, she would be interested in this story as well. She clutched the volume to her chest.

Starting toward the exit, she almost ran nose-first into the library ladder. She laughed at her near mishap. Not only was she suffering from a severe case of clumsiness, but now she alsodesired to climb the ladder just for fun. Emily must be rubbing off on her in more ways than one.

She placedCeciliaon Alexander’s desk, then returned to the ladder. The wood chafed her feet as she climbed. She halted a few rungs from the top. She had to be seven feet in the air. This was as high as she dared go. She looked down, and her heart dropped just as it had when sharing secret glances with Mr. Stone. Steading herself, she slowly inhaled and exhaled until the tingling in her heels abated.

Now that she’d adjusted to the height, she perused the spines in front of her. “Plato, Aristotle, Xenophon,” she read out loud. She’d never understood why Emily enjoyed philosophical texts because she found reading them even more torturous than wearing her sister’s slippers. She giggled at her comparison, then did a double take. Tucked in betweenThe PrinceandTheRepublicsatThe Secret Life of Gentlemen.

Juliet gasped. To her knowledge, this was one of the most scandalous books ever written. Emily once told her that every page contained pictures and descriptions of sexual acts, some of them quite shocking.

Curiosity overriding her common sense, Juliet braced herself against the shelf with one hand and stretched until she could pull the book from its unlikely spot. Gripping the ladder for dear life, she allowed the volume to open naturally. She blinked, then gawked at a picture of a large-breasted woman straddling a naked man who held her breasts. The woman’s head was thrown back in ecstasy.

Although terribly indecent, Juliet found the illustration beautiful. Her nipples tingled as if the man was touching her breasts. Swallowing hard, she momentarily let go of the ladder to turn the page. This image showcased the same couple, but in this picture, the man had raised his head to take one of the aroused lady’s breasts into his mouth.

“Oh, my,” Juliet murmured in response to both the titillating drawing and the tickle in her core.

“Miss Juliet,” a male said.

Juliet startled, and the book tumbled from her one-handed grasp. She reached for it, throwing herself off balance. While windmilling her arms, she was able to right herself, only to watch helplessly as the book beaned Mr. Stone’s forehead. She instinctively brought a hand to her mouth, causing her to once again teeter precariously. This time, her foot slipped from the rung. She might have screamed as she tumbled backward. She definitely closed her eyes, preparing for the hard impact, as well as her probable death.

Except that she never hit the ground because strong arms caught and cradled her. She opened her eyes to find Mr. Stone’s nose inches from hers.

He hugged her to his firm chest as if she were a precious baby. “Are you injured?” he asked, concern lacing his question.

She shook her head. “You saved me.” Just like Mister Brown Eyes had.

He exhaled what sounded like a sigh of relief, then placed her on her feet. “I’m sorry I scared you. I thought you heard me enter.”

She hadn’t heard a thing. Most likely because she’d been preoccupied with lewd pictures and her feminine longing. She looked down and cringed. The notorious book was title face up.

They simultaneously squatted, his hand landing on the book before she could grab it. He picked it up and flipped it open. This time, the image displayed was of a man with his mouth on a woman’s bare cunny.