6. A Young Lady’s Seduction

CHAPTER 6

A YOUNG LADY’S SEDUCTION

F rom the moment she had awoken that morning, Nicoletta’s thoughts had been on the words the Marchese Montblanc had said to her during their dance the night before.

You’ll not find a better young man in all of Catania. He comes from a very good family. You must do what you can to see to it he marries you one day.

Although she had demurred at first—was the marchese suggesting she seduce Donald to secure an offer of marriage?—by the time the dance ended, she felt empowered. If she wanted the young Englishman to be her husband, she would have to ensure he was given every opportunity to spend time with her.

After the last of the guests had departed House D’Avalos the night before, Nicoletta spent nearly an hour in the library pouring through several books featuring color plates and illustrations of sexual congress. Although she had always known of them, it was her first time climbing the ladder to the top shelf where they’d been kept, probably in an effort to prevent her from accidentally finding them when she was younger.

Most of the illustrations had her wincing in disgust. A few had her turning the pages before she had a chance to see too much. Two had her turning the book almost upside down in an effort to determine what she was seeing. One had her staring in awe, for her entire body seemed to react with a pleasant frisson.

Could she convince Donald to do what was depicted in the drawing? Would he be familiar with the act?

Surely he had bedded a woman before. Surely he would know what to do.

She absently ran a hand over one breast, stunned to discover the nipple hard beneath her touch. Moving her hand to the other nipple, she realized it, too, was hard. The thought of him touching it had her insides reacting in ways she had never felt before. The space at the top of her thighs had grown damp, throbbing in a manner that had her wishing he was there to do whatever it was he could to relieve the ache.

She had glanced at two other books before helping herself to the one with the drawings. Making her way back to her bedchamber, she had removed her night rail, climbed onto her bed, and imagined what it would be like to have Donald see her naked.

Would he be repulsed by her breasts? They weren’t as flat as the current fashions preferred.

Would he favor the shape of her hips? The curve of her calves? The turn of her ankle?

Did he find her as beautiful as the marchese claimed she was?

The thought of how the old man had stared at her—as if her ballgown didn’t exist and she was naked before him—might have bothered her, but he hadn’t stared at her as if he lusted for her. His gaze was one of longing, as if he wished he were years younger and she was older.

By the time she had fallen asleep, her thoughts had once again turned to Donald. When the rays of sun woke her from a stream of pleasant dreams, she knew exactly what she wanted him to do.