Puck and Prejudice

Chapter Thirteen

Lizzy’s eyelids felt heavy, and she blinked a few times to shake away the lingering haze of sleep. When exactly had she drifted

off? She couldn’t remember. Hadn’t she decided to stay awake all night, hyperaware of the presence lying next to her, warm

and undeniably masculine? She risked a glance toward Tuck, but he didn’t stir, the strong lines of his face softened by the

peacefulness of sleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest mesmerized her, and she found herself matching her breathing

to his. So, this was what couples did. They crawled into bed together, their bodies casually close, and surrendered to this

drowsy intimacy.

No, surely they engaged in far more vigorous activities, and with fewer layers of clothing. An image of tangled limbs and

bare skin pressed together sent a shiver racing through her as she became acutely aware of her position, nestled securely

against Tuck’s solid form, his arm draped possessively over her, holding her close, his warm exhalations whispering through

her hair. How had she ended up like this? She attempted to inch away, but he made a low groan as he tugged her back, unwilling

to relinquish his hold.

Suddenly, she became aware of a firm pressure against the side of her leg, insistently pushing into her upper thigh. Her cheeks flushed with sudden heat. It was... well, him.

She understood the basics of how sexual congress occurred between a man and a woman. She’d seen livestock breed in the country.

And at balls and various social events, newly married friends would be teased, or, in their new pride, drop hints. At nineteen,

armed with a list of rumors, she had approached Georgie, who’d laid out the entire process of fornication in plain terms.

It had sounded embarrassing, sticky, and invasive.

But this?

Lizzy held herself perfectly still. This felt like none of those things. Not even embarrassing, which was a surprise, and

she had an unexpected yearning to explore further, to delve into the unknown. What if his hands were to wander to other parts

of her body? What if he traced the contours of her rib cage, caressing her breasts with his big rough hands?

Her nipples tightened at the thought. Would he tease them with his thumb, tracing circles around each one before applying

gentle pressure to the tips, much like she sometimes did in the bath when she luxuriated in the warmth and liquid ease? She

paused, still waiting for embarrassment to catch up and find her.

Or worry.

This whole affair could ruin her.

And yet nothing came.

If this was the natural way of men and women who were allowed to share a bed, then she was willing to entertain such intimacies—but

only if the man in question was Tucker Taylor.

As if on cue, he shifted his weight. Before she could stop it, he’d half rolled her with him. Glancing down, her hair formed a curtain framing their faces. His initially drowsy eyes snapped into sharp focus, their sudden intensity striking her like a physi cal blow. Three realizations dawned simultaneously. One was that Tuck had a small mole to the left of one eye, a little punctuation mark to his gaze. Second, she had a sudden and indescribable urge to kiss it. Third, those big rough hands were gripping her backside, holding her firm against him. And the hint of hardness she’d felt earlier? Now was front and center, pushing right into the softness between her thighs.

“What’s going on?” he said roughly. “Where’d you come from?”

She tried to wriggle free, or at least get her breasts off his chest, and only succeeded in nestling herself more firmly in

place, because he wasn’t releasing his grip.

“I came from my side of the bed,” she ground out, realizing that the more she moved, the more she rocked against his... his... excitement.

“I woke up and you were grabbing me and before my next conscious thought, you hauled me on top of you.”

“A likely story.” He had a half grin, but his eyes were serious. “Except for one critical fact. I’m not the cuddling type.”

“Ha! Tell that to your octopus arms.”

“I’m serious. I’ve had old girlfriends complain that I don’t hold them enough.”

She didn’t want to hear a word about former lovers. The idea felt like rolling in a field of nettles. And she wasn’t going

to have him pretend that she was the reason they were currently in such a compromising position.

“Let go of me.” She shoved, but he’d immediately released her when she spoke. This meant that she flew off with more force

than intended, tumbling from the side of the bed and landing on the floorboards with a forlorn thud.

Wonderful. Now people in the rooms below would think she was the type to have amorous congress in an unclean Bristol inn.

“Jesus, Lizzy. Are you okay?” He was at her side in a moment and it took all her strength not to pinch his nose.

“My pride is injured more than my body,” she replied stiffly. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, I’d very much like you to get yourself

situated so that I might have the room alone to dress.”

“Situated how?” He frowned.

“Please get ready, sir.” She clenched her teeth. “And then see yourself out.”

“What are you mad at me for?”

Her hip throbbed and she needed space and time to gather her wits. “I am not angry, Mr.Taylor, I am simply requesting a moment.

One which does not come with the pleasure of your company.”

“I didn’t want to...” He caught himself, swallowing back whatever he was going to say next. “Fine. I’ll take care of what

I need to and then get out of your way.”

A half hour later, they were outside the inn, awaiting the coach. Lizzy was sure it would be another arduous day, made all

the more uncomfortable by the incessant thoughts flooding her mind—memories of Tuck’s muscles and arms, and the sensation

of being hoisted onto his broad, solid body. The mere contemplation of what it might feel like to reach, touch, stroke, and

explore sent a cascade of wicked thoughts through her mind. And the unhelpful fact that he currently stood a mere two feet

away heightened the intensity of these musings.

The nose-picking naval officer emerged, strutting like a rooster and accompanied by a striking woman in a red dress—not conventionally

beautiful, but utterly unforgettable. As she walked past, she wiggled her fingers at Tuck and murmured, “Morning, America.”

When had Tuck forged an acquaintance with that woman? A nettling sensation pricked at Lizzy. She never felt possessive of a man, preferring the company of her female friends. This new feeling was remarkable and unwelcome, perhaps stemming from her protective instinct after rescuing him. And if she found herself flustered by the other woman’s knowing gaze, one could attribute it to her current state of discomposure, far from home. Emotions were certainly running high.

They boarded the coach, and she forced herself into a torpor to mask the perplexing thoughts swirling through her mind. She

didn’t stir again until midday, once they’d arrived in the Cotswolds and the coachman made a stop in a village known as Tree

by the Hill. Lizzy couldn’t discern which tree or which hill, as the landscape was dotted with many. While the horses were

being watered, she seized the opportunity to slip into a shop that piqued her interest: Hill Booksellers. How ideal. Purchasing

a book would provide her with an evening activity that didn’t involve tossing and turning in bed, tormented by ponders of

whether or not Tuck would reach out to her once more.

Tuck, having the good sense to understand she didn’t want him near, hung back by the stagecoach, watching the driver load

bags for the new passengers.

A bell tinkled overhead as Lizzy stepped into the space, her eyes straining to adjust to the dimness. It was perfect—a hodgepodge

bookshop, the type she adored, with its overfilled bookcases and old-paper smell. Dust motes danced in a shaft of light, drawing

her attention to a thin green volume on horse breeding in the case in front of her.

Unusual topic. She impulsively reached out and opened it, slamming the cover shut immediately. The images inside the book were decidedly not equine. There’d been a woman with her plump thighs indecently splayed before king and country and a man knelt between them, face buried in her most private part. He was kissing her. There.

She peeked again. The woman’s head was thrown back, her eyes closed but her mouth opened in prayer or ecstasy—maybe both.

Lizzy glanced around, but the only other person in the shop was an elderly man dozing behind the counter. She bit the inside

of her lip and flipped to another page. And another. And another. Dear God. She had a vivid imagination but had never pictured any of this.

Was this an accident at a publisher’s? Or did an entire world exist of filthy books being cloaked in the veil of respectability?

Whatever the reason, there was nothing for it. She was going to have to purchase this book. At the very least she deserved

to understand what Tuck already knew about, the myriad activities that men and women performed together alone in the dark.

She paused.

Or during the day.

In her mind, intimacy, as she understood it, was secretive and silent, something that happened once the lamps were out and

the household inhabitants slumbered. But what nonsense. People must do these things whenever they feel like it, provided they

have the space and willing company.

Here she was, no longer a child and not even a green girl. She was a woman with one foot into spinsterdom, and she knew nothing.

Invisible flames shot out her ears. She hated not understanding things. And so she wouldn’t, not for a moment longer.

But she couldn’t saunter forward and purchase this title. What if the seller opened it to check the price? The best thing

to do was to use her money as a solution. She grabbed a pamphlet titled Poetical Essay on the Existing State of Things by a poet she’d never heard of, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and then William Wordsworth’s popular Guide to the Lakes . Perfect. Suitably dull and nonconfrontational. She placed the so-called horse-breeding book on the bottom of the stack and

made her way to the shopkeeper for payment.

Her heart pounded so loudly she assumed the gentleman behind the counter would wake to it. But in the end, it took her considerable

throat clearing, two polite yoo-hoo s, and a great deal of knocking about to get him to stir.

The bookseller yawned, sleepily glanced at the titles, and mumbled, “Ten shillings.”

Before he’d even gathered his wits, she’d paid and was out the door, walking hard and fast to the coach.

“What happened?” Tuck asked the moment she returned.

“Nothing of interest.” Lizzy averted her gaze. Why should she reveal her secret? It was none of his business. Except...

he did appear to be knowledgeable, and she wanted to know about the business of lovemaking. She fought the desperate urge

to fidget, but tension thrummed through her like harp strings tuned too tight.

“You’re excited or guilty about something,” he observed after a moment. “And I’m not sure if that makes me curious or nervous.”

She gnawed the inside of her cheek. How did he read her so easily? Most days it was as if she lived wrapped in a cloak of

invisibility. No one could ever tell what she was thinking or cared to look hard enough to decipher her moods.

And yet, Tuck had done so with a two-second glance.

“I found something, and I believe it will be of great use in terms of furthering my education. And it’s on a subject that

you appear knowledgeable on.”

“That’s unlikely. Hockey isn’t a thing yet, and you don’t seem all that interested in ice or skating.”

“It’s about intimacy.”

“Wait.” He did a double take. “Are you saying... ?”

“I have just come into possession of a research guide to intimate relations.”

“What? Like a sex book?”

She smashed her finger to his lips. “Do not discuss here, thank you. We will return to this topic tonight at the inn in Birmingham.”

The stagecoach was even more full than before, and Lizzy barely registered the bored faces. When they arrived at the evening’s

destination, the Queen’s Goat, it felt as if everything moved more quickly. Washing. Eating. And it was almost as if time

had skipped from the previous night to now. Except she had her book.

“Are you ready to unveil the big surprise?” Tuck sat in a chair by the table, his long legs extended and crossed at the ankles.

“You’re as jumpy as a bean.”

Lizzy removed the book from her satchel and handed it to him before crawling onto the bed, tucking her bare feet under her

nightgown.

“Breeding for horses? Okay. Unexpected?” He opened the cover and froze. “Hold up.” He flicked through the pages. “Jesus.”

Finally, he glanced at her. “You found this in a bookshop?”

“I was as surprised as you.”

“And you bought it.”

“I want to learn. We are to be married. I understand it’s not in the traditional sense, but am I still to remain ignorant

of all that goes on between a man and a woman? You, I imagine, are familiar with the activities in those pages, are you not?”

He handed the book back. “No comment.”

She clicked her tongue. “Omission is admission. I want to learn, and with a book and your experience, I can understand, at least.”

“You want to know about all of that?”

“Imagine if I’m having a social call and a married friend begins to ask me about our intimacies. It will raise suspicions

if I have not a clue as to what is being asked.”

“Do women talk about these things here?”

“Whyever not? Do women not speak to each other in your time?”

“Of course, but it feels like you are all more formal. I thought maybe it was more proper to not.”

Lizzy laughed at that. “If I had to make a wager, I’d imagine women have always, and will always, discuss such matters.”

“But you don’t want to actually do any of these illustrations in real life.”

She coughed.

“I’m serious. I’m trying to get clear on what you mean by lessons.”

The temperature of the room had increased in a matter of seconds. Her nightgown, which covered as much skin as a normal dress,

felt far more sheer.

Because the thought hadn’t occurred to her the way it clearly had to Tuck. She hadn’t imagined actually being the person to

experience such things. She hadn’t even allowed her mind to process that idea. And now she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able

to stop. The idea of Tuck with his head between her legs—what would that even begin to be like, and would it be enjoyable?

“Don’t look so worried,” he said soothingly. “I’m never going to do anything you don’t want to do. But you are handing over

a sex book saying that you want to learn. I want to be on the same page with our team goals.”

She mouthed team goals as a silent question.

“You are on my team, remember?”

“And you’ll answer questions if I have them?”

“To the best of my ability.”

She reached for the book and opened it to the first page.

“Hold up. I’m going to need a drink.”

“Now? How come?”

“Because, Pocket Rocket. Don’t take this the wrong way. I have control. You can trust me. But I’m not a masochist.” At her

look of confusion, he sighed. “I don’t get off on torturing myself. And if I sit here and watch you read that book and wait

to have a question? It’s gonna hurt. I’ll have a drink. Or six. And be back in an hour. If you have any questions, you can

ask them before bed. Once I’m drunk enough to deal with this.”

Before she could say anything else, he was out the door.

It didn’t take long before she was engrossed. There was a section where it discussed a woman touching herself. Lizzy’s eyes

opened wider. The instructions were straightforward. Take two fingers and place them in her mouth, give them a gentle suck.

She could do this. Right now. No questions. No assistance. She did as the book instructed and then lay back upon the bed,

feeling delightfully wicked. She had time. Tuck had said he’d be gone an hour, and besides, she’d hear his heavy boots before

he entered the room. Positioning the book on her chest, she opened her legs as the picture showed and pushed up her gown.

Her sex responded to the air in the room, to the sensation of freshness against her delicate skin, which was more sensitive than usual. Of course, she’d touched herself there, but as a matter of utility, washing and such. It always felt pleasant, but nothing she’d considered exploring more. But when her wet fingers slipped inside her cleft, the sensation surprised her. She was wet, and as she swept over the slippery skin, her backside clenched as her lower back bowed up. The book first suggested discovering a small hard pearl and to explore what motion might suit the lady best: circles, diagonal caresses, or whisper-light taps. She started slowly, around and around, so curious to discover at every pass a low, aching pressure that intensified, spreading from between her thighs to her navel.

She played. There was no other word to describe this. It was as if her body were a new thing. A wild thing. And it had a secret

power to feel so good. As she found a rhythm that worked, the book fell closed and she pushed it to one side before using

her other hand to open herself up more, stretching the skin slightly to increase the rich sensation. Her hips began to rock.

What would it be like if someone else were to touch her like this?

She imagined Tuck’s thick, strong fingers here on her delicate, wet softness. The tight ache intensified, and all she could

think was more as she increased the pace, the pressure, the friction. A soft moan escaped her lips and she bit down to keep from getting

louder. How was it this good? And the idea of him coming and watching made the wetness increase.

She was gasping now, her hitching breath the only sound in the world; her thighs began to tremble and she had an urge to be

filled deeply. It wasn’t enough, but when she eased a finger inside, the pressure helped. She put in another finger. Still

not full enough, but it was something. One finger bumped against a small rough patch. As if on cue, her eyes rolled back,

her heels digging into the mattress. She kept the pressure as her fingers’ pace increased faster, faster. God. Yes. She rolled

her head to one side, her body rigid and expectant. This was good. So good. What was she supposed to do with all this feeling?

Stop?

How could she?

No. She needed to keep going. Just a bit more. It kept getting better. How? How could it get— Oh God.

What was happening? She pressed harder and half levitated off the bed as a wave hit her with such force that she yelped. The

most immense feeling she’d ever known churned through her, as if she’d turned into pure gold and was melted down rich and

warm. And then she felt as if she wouldn’t be able to inhale another breath. Slowly, so slowly, the sensation ebbed, like

a wave pulling back and returning to the ocean.

Her eyes flew open. Boots. The loud footfalls were coming. A knock sounded at the door.

“It’s me.” Tuck’s voice was low and rough. “Can I come in?”

“One moment,” she cried out.

She tried to smooth out her hair and put on a face that wouldn’t reveal that she had been shaken to her core. How could she

ask about what had happened?

“You may enter.”

He stepped in and froze, locking his gaze with hers, and she had an out-of-body sensation, as if he knew exactly what she’d

done and how she was feeling.

“I was getting ready for sleep,” she said as primly as she could manage, given that she was still half panting. “I don’t think

I have any questions after all. I’m going to turn in.”

“I see.” And the answer put her on edge. Because she suspected that he did in fact see. That he could read in a glance every

strange thought. And she had nowhere to go to reflect on the experience. He’d be in bed next to her. The bed where she’d just

made herself feel so many things. She felt as if she’d unlocked a secret power inside of herself and wanted to know more.

He removed his boots with more ease than he’d done before. She put her head on the pillow and tried to close her eyes, but they wouldn’t entirely obey. Peeping through her lashes, she watched him place the boots against the wall. Then he removed his jacket and hung it on a hook. A neat man. He didn’t throw his things about willy-nilly. He filled the water basin and cleaned his teeth. She could watch him do that for hours. His teeth were so straight and bright and perfect.

He briskly splashed water over his face, the motions efficient and practiced. As he turned around, she shut her eyes tight,

feigning sleep.

He blew out the lamp and crossed the room in a few slow steps, the mattress yielding to his weight.

He settled in beside her and she couldn’t resist the temptation to peek.

He was watching her, a steady, unreadable expression on his face. “I knew you weren’t asleep.”

Her lips quirked. “You are a remarkably hard person to fool, especially for a man.”

“Men are fools?”

“Most assuredly yes. But you’re unexpected. You take time to understand, instead of assuming you know everything about me

based on some preconceived idea of what a lady should be.”

He paused, watching her. “Your face is an open book.”

“Or perhaps you’re my ideal reader.”

He was closer. How’d he get closer? Had he moved? Or had she? Maybe it was the two of them, coming together like a knot being

slowly cinched.

“I made myself a promise downstairs.” He smelled as if he’d sat close to the fire. It was nice. Cozy, even. “I was going to

wait the full hour. I wouldn’t come back earlier. I would let you have space.”

Her laugh was husky. Had she ever laughed like this? “You’ve been practically attached to me at the hip since I discovered you.”

“I can’t seem to stay away.” He reached out and smoothed back a lock of her hair.

She arched into his touch like a cat.

“You are very close.”

“Oh, no, this isn’t close.” He slid his hand to the back of her head. “This is close.” He leaned in. Their foreheads were

touching. “Closer still.” His breath was warm on her skin, but for some reason it made her shiver. “Are you okay being...

close, Lizzy?”

He said her name in such a way, as if it were precious, as if she were valuable to him. Without knowing the destination, they’d

arrived at some sort of crossroads. One word from her, a single no, and they’d head down a safer road, one that was well trodden

and well lit. But with another word, they’d just as easily take a more dangerous path, one that came with sharp curves ahead,

where she couldn’t see what was coming next.

All her life, she’d taken the dull, safe paths. Until the day Tuck had arrived. Now she kept feeling uncertain of what was

before her, but rather than being terrifying, it was as if she was waking up to herself, aware of her wants, her desires,

for the first time. And understanding they mattered. They weren’t instincts or sensations to overcome through diligence and

prayerful reflection as she’d been taught her whole life.

“This is your idea of close?” She wrinkled her nose, half impressed and half aghast at her forwardness. “I’m very confident

we could be closer.”

“Is this a dare?” His voice dropped an octave, the provocative question curling her toes. “Because I could get a hell of a

lot closer.”

“And...” Lizzy’s breath caught in her throat. “Is that what you want?”

He remained statue still. “I’m much more interested in what you want.”

Her gaze flicked to his mouth. “Close sounds interesting.” All either of them had to do was reach out a fraction, and their

lips would touch. The scent of bay rum from his hair oil mingled with the faint trace of woodsmoke from the downstairs fire.

“And are you interested?” His voice had such a rough timbre, it sanded away her resolve.

She’d never been kissed, and the idea hadn’t truly captivated her until this moment. But now she longed to be read like a

map, for Tuck to learn all her secret valleys, deserts, seashores, and shadowed woods.

“I—”

A deafening crash shattered the tension as the room’s door banged open, sending them flying apart.