My Lady's Pleasure (18 page)

Georgiana experienced a frisson of disappointment when it wasn’t Barnes, but Alexandra who walked into her room.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” the girl said. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not in the slightest,” said Georgiana, recovering herself. She held up the book, John Stuart Mill’s
The Subjection of Women
. “I know books are supposed to improve one’s mind,” she said with a laugh, “but I suppose one must actually read them for that improvement to take place. You have interrupted me staring out my window while not reading my book.”

Alexandra, who had felt some trepidation about coming to her friend’s room, was put at her ease. Still, she hesitated a moment.

“I have come to ask a favor,” she said.

“I will certainly grant it if it is in my power to do so.”

“I’m engaged to play tennis with Freddy this afternoon, and I wonder if I might borrow the trousers you wore to play with me the other day.”

Georgiana laughed aloud.

Miss Niven blushed and went on. “I’m not sure that they’ll fit. I’m larger than you are. But they seemed to have some extra room when you wore them, and you looked so much more comfortable than I felt, and I’d hoped . . .” She felt herself to be babbling, and stopped talking.

“Of course you must have them!” Georgiana said with enthusiasm. “And I’m sure they’ll fit you.” She realized that it took some courage both for Alexandra to wear trousers and for her to ask Georgiana to borrow them, and she wanted to encourage her friend.

She went to the armoire and took the trousers down from a shelf where Hortense had put them after they’d been washed and ironed.

Alexandra took them, unfolded them, and held the waistband up to her own waist a little skeptically.

“Don’t worry,” Georgiana told her. “Once you take off your skirt and drawers, they’ll fit perfectly.”

Alexandra looked worried. “Drawers?”

“Oh, you can’t wear drawers underneath. They just bunch up and chafe, and then you can’t run.”

“Then what do you wear underneath?”

“Nothing whatsoever.” Georgiana saw Alexandra’s look of consternation. “And you’ll feel free and liberated, I promise. Besides,” she added, picking up the book, “John Stuart Mill would certainly approve. Tennis skirts certainly qualify as subjection of women.”

Miss Niven didn’t look quite convinced, but being around Georgiana made her feel daring, and she took the trousers, determined to wear them.

“Will you come and watch us play?” she asked.

Georgiana considered. It would certainly be a game worth watching. But, remembering Freddy’s reception of her at lunch, she thought it prudent to decline. She was sure he would prefer to be alone with Miss Niven.

“I’m sure it will be an excellent game,” she said, “but I have a prior engagement with Mr. Mill.” Here she waved the book. “And I am determined to find out how women are subjected and what we should do about it, all before dinner.”

“Well, thank you for the trousers. I hope they improve my play.”

“I’m sure they must. Good luck, and tell me all about the game at dinner.”

Alexandra went back to her room to change. She took off her skirt and drawers and pulled on the trousers. Her waist was as narrow as Georgiana’s, and the waistband buttoned easily. The difference in their figures was in the hips, and Alexandra’s rounded bottom and curved thighs filled the pants more fully than Georgiana’s boyish shape did.

She took a few steps and marveled at the feel of it. Since she was a little girl, she’d never been out-of-doors in anything other than a skirt with drawers and stockings underneath. To feel only one thin layer of fabric between her skin and the air was a revelation.

She ran across the room to see what it felt like. She was unimpeded! Nothing got in the way when she put one foot in front of the other. Nothing swished or swirled or tangled!

The doubts she’d had about appearing in trousers evaporated in her enjoyment of the sensation of wearing them. Her interaction with Georgiana, combined with an unexpected swell of confidence borne of something as simple as freedom of movement, led her to leave her room with something almost like a swagger.

She met Freddy at the front door.

“You’ve got Lady G’s trousers!” Freddy said in astonishment before his better judgment had a chance to tell him that Miss Niven would perhaps prefer not to have attention drawn to her attire.

She reddened. “She seemed so comfortable playing in trousers, and, as I have none of my own, I thought to borrow hers.”

“You look smashing!” Freddy did nothing to hide his admiration, and looked unabashedly at the shape, so clearly visible, of her buttocks and thighs. Had Alexandra been aware just how clearly visible her shape was, she might have reconsidered her decision.

She reddened further. “Shall we go?” she asked, not being able to think of a better way to change the subject.

“We shall.” Freddy opened the front door for her with exaggerated gallantry, and they headed out to the tennis court.

All the necessary equipment was waiting for them, and they each picked up a racket.

Freddy had grown up with the game, and thought himself to be, if not an expert, at least a skilled player. His assessment of his play, though, had more to do with his conception of himself as an all-around accomplished young man than with his actual level of expertise. To his mind, witty, rakish, charming young men all played tennis well, and Freddy was certainly witty, rakish, and charming. Ergo, reason dictated that not only did he play tennis well, but he rode to hounds, held his liquor, and could engage any eligible young lady on any subject.

Reason, though, wasn’t winning the day. Freddy found that the distraction of Alexandra’s movement put him off his game. He missed shots he should have reached, and sent too many balls out of bounds or into the net. Alexandra, by contrast, was at her very best. She leaped and ran and stretched and smashed, and was exhilarated by her own prowess.

After a stretch when Alexandra won five points in a row, Freddy made a concerted effort to gather his wits and focus his energy. He blocked out the image of the beautiful girl in the alluring trousers across the court and pictured instead Stiffy, his Oxford nemesis. By this means he was able to muster what skill he possessed, and the score began to even out.

Alexandra, though, still had the lead, and she was determined to hold on to it. She exerted herself in a way Freddy had never seen a girl do, until she was wet with sweat and panting like a racehorse. There was nothing delicate or ladylike in her demeanor or appearance, and Freddy found the novelty and physicality to be a very compelling combination.

Still, compelling or no, he didn’t want to lose to her. He conjured Stiffy once more and, in answer to a brisk forehand from Miss Niven, he placed a precise little drop shot just over the net. He’d thought it unreachable, but she ran for the net with all her strength. As she lunged for the ball, her left foot slid on the grass, and she buckled with a cry of pain.

Freddy was over the net in an instant, kneeling at her side. It was clear from her grimace that she’d hurt herself. “Miss Niven, you mustn’t move until we can find out if anything’s broken.”

“I don’t think it is,” she said through clenched teeth as she shifted her weight to take the pressure off the ankle that had slid under her. There was relief in her voice when she found she could move her foot. “It does hurt awfully, but I don’t believe it’s broken.”

The ankle had already begun to swell. “It’s a nasty sprain, then,” Freddy said.

Once his fear that his companion had been seriously hurt was allayed, Freddy saw that the situation was ripe with possibilities.

“It doesn’t look like you can walk,” he said, with something very like hope in his voice.

“I can try,” Miss Niven said dubiously, trying once more to move her foot, and wincing with the effort.

“No,” said Freddy definitively. “You mustn’t try. I can carry you back to the house.”

“You most certainly cannot,” she told him, alarmed at the prospect.

“I can and I will. You’re just a slip of a thing.”

She blushed, and almost smiled. “When I said ‘cannot,’ I did not mean that you weren’t capable. I only meant that I could not submit to it.”

“Submit, rot! Why ever not?”

What could she say? The real answer was,
Because you would touch me in places where there would be only a thin layer of cloth between your hands and my skin
, but she couldn’t very well say that. The best she could do was, “I’m not sure either your dignity or mine could withstand the assault.”

Freddy laughed. “For my part, I cannot see how carrying a beautiful, injured girl to safety could do anything but bolster my dignity. And I promise to do it in such a way as to protect
your
dignity in the process.” He knelt down and started to slip a hand behind her knees to pick her up, but she pushed him away. “Can we not get a cart?” she asked feebly.

“No, we cannot get a cart. It is imperative that we get you back to the house so we can sit you on cushions, put ice on your ankle, and feed you restorative beef broth.” He tried again to pick her up, and this time she made no protest.

He lifted her, one hand under her knees and the other behind her back, from the lawn. “There, now, put your arms around my neck.” She did as she was bidden, and he started back toward the house.

The effort required to carry a girl—even a slim girl—a quarter mile is not insignificant, but Freddy felt it not a whit. His left hand was on her thigh and his right on her rib cage, and her breasts were pressed against him as she hung on his neck, and those were the only things he could think about. He felt the muscles in her legs ripple as she changed position, and her breasts bounced gently with his gait. And her smell! She smelled of soap and sweat and sweetness, and he breathed her in.

His erection had begun as soon he’d picked her up, and as they walked to the house it got harder and harder. Eventually, it pointed straight up so as to be grazed by Alexandra’s buttocks with every step he took. The feel of her against him aroused him more than he thought possible, and he subtly adjusted her position against him to maximize the contact between her ass and his cock.

Had she not been caught up in her own thoughts, Alexandra might have realized what he was doing, and been mortified. But in her consciousness the idea that his touch, through so few clothes, was improper was doing battle with the sense that his touch, through so few clothes, was wonderful, and she had no thoughts to spare for
his
consciousness.

He looked at her face, and saw with relief that she wasn’t looking at his. Her eyes were cast down, trying not to engage with him any more than she had to. And so he let it happen.

He slowed his walk just a bit and focused on the feel of the weight of the girl against the stony hardness of his penis, first on one side, then on the other, as he took each step. He wondered that she could have no awareness of it, but she seemed not to. His excitement mounted, exacerbated by the effort he had to make to keep the signs of his pleasure off his face, and keep his gait steady.

He would have liked to prolong his pleasure, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. And so, when he felt the first waves of his orgasm approach, he let them take him over. He had to keep walking, and he had to give no visible sign of his all-consuming climax, but those constraints didn’t tamp down the feeling at all. If anything, they heightened it. Despite his best efforts at control, he couldn’t stop his grip on Alexandra from tightening and the smallest gasp from escaping his mouth.

That broke into her reverie, and she looked up at him for the first time. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Am I too heavy?”

“You?” he said, striving mightily to make his tone sound normal. “I told you. You’re just a slip of a thing.” He forced his breathing to return to normal. “Besides, we’re almost at the house.”

As he said this, they rounded the last bend in the path. The house came into view and, with it, several other guests and their hostess.

“My goodness! ” exclaimed Paulette, as she saw her son carrying Miss Niven toward the house. “What has happened? Are you hurt?”

Alexandra managed a smile. “We were playing tennis, and I’m afraid I’ve twisted my ankle rather badly. Luckily, Freddy was there to see that I had transportation back to safety.”

Paulette looked from Freddy to Alexandra and back. With a mother’s perspicacity, she saw immediately that there was something beyond a tennis game going on between the two. Could Alexandra be a match for Freddy? The possibilities began whirling through her mind, but she forced them into the background while she attended to the girl’s immediate needs.

“We must get you inside and get ice on that ankle,” she said. She could see that Freddy was exhausted, although she could not know that the cause wasn’t simply the effort of carrying his charge. “We’ll get you in a chair and carry you into the house in high style.”

She needed two men to recruit for the task, and turned to ask Gerry, who had been standing behind her. But when she turned around, she saw that he was gone. She just caught his back as he retreated into the house. A lover’s perspicacity is almost the equal of a mother’s, and, like Lady Loughlin, he’d seen that there was some kind of undercurrent between Alexandra and Freddy. He didn’t like it, not at all, but he decided that the prudent thing to do was not to intrude on this scene. He wanted to mull over the situation privately and decide how he should proceed now that he had a rival. Of one thing he had not a shadow of a doubt: He certainly wasn’t going to cede this girl to a young whippersnapper sent down from Oxford!

Meanwhile, though, Lady Loughlin had to turn to Mr. Sheffield. “Henry,” she said, “can you please get one of those chairs?” She pointed to a seating area just off the lawn, and turned back to Alexandra, still in Freddy’s arms.