Read Online Portrait of Seduction by Carrie Lofty - Free Book Online
Authors: Carrie Lofty
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avoided by being flexible…and occasionally furtive. Her mother and father hadn’t survived Thaddeus, but Greta was determined to do just that.
As such, contemplating any relationship with Oliver beyond the kisses they had already shared was pure folly. She was lucky to have escaped that brief, luscious encounter without any lasting harm. Everything she had ever learned about decorum and station and a person’s proper place forbade what she had done.
Yet molten thoughts insisted on continuing their kiss to a conclusion she had no firsthand experience in picturing. They had only just started when he had managed the gentlemanly course of action. But how would it feel? How would it end?
A man and a woman. Coupling.
Against a terrace wall.
Her skin rippled with sensation. Oliver’s mouth on hers had been decadent, like apricot torte and rich, dark coffee. Lying in bed at night, she had not needed many minutes to begin imagining how his mouth would feel on the rest of her body—even exploring her own, as she pictured him doing. She had wanted him to stoop to how she imagined servants behaved when not under the scrutiny of their employers. Rougher. More primitive. More animal.
She might have joined him.
Doing so would have been the ultimate dare. I dare you, world, to see me for who I am and what I truly desire.
With her gaze she followed the angle of the windowsill to its vanishing point, all the while admitting the ridiculous, wayward nature of her fantasies. Indulgence by moonlight would only mean regret and mortification come morning. No other outcome awaited such an encounter, and she had been lucky. He had promised to keep her secret. He had taken nothing more than a kiss. Oliver Doerger was a good man, no matter his low rank.
She needed to leave him at that.
“And then there’s always Baron Hoffer,” Theresa said.
Greta blinked. The sun had changed angles on the leaded glass, casting a new shade of yellow across their afternoon respite. The girls had moved on from the menu to the guest list, leaving Greta to wonder how long she had indulged in illicit daydreams.
“Who?” Anna asked.
“Baron Hoffer. He’s newly arrived from somewhere in Prussia. I heard from Eliza Schau that he’s very handsome and quite well-heeled.”
Anna wrote the man’s name on a list that had grown longer than her forearm. “Where does he live?”
“How should I know? Is there a place called Hoffer?” Theresa shrugged. “Simply put his name on the invitation and let the postmen figure it out. That is their job.”
“Oh, you can be so very thick,” Anna said with a wave of her fine-boned hand. “Greta, you will be attending, surely?”
Greta nodded. “And I’ll even have Marie help me dress.”
Relief slid across Anna’s pretty features. She had remarkable green eyes, but perhaps that was because they were so large and brilliantly colored in such a small, pale face. One could not help but notice them. “I’m glad of it. Poor Marie really must tire of waiting for you to ring her.”
“I’m sure she has other duties to attend.”
Anna frowned slightly, as if she had never considered the question. In truth Greta had hardly ever ventured near the subject of servants and the lives they led outside of duty. Oliver Doerger had needled her with the possibility that she was missing out on a great deal.
“Pardon me, Fräulein Zweig?”
One of the workmen who had boxed up her copy of Baptism of Christ was standing in the doorway. He was fingering the brim of his flat cap, his eyes shifting nervously over the scene.
Greta took a breath. Something was not right.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Begging your pardon, but could you show me which painting this is?” He held out a slip of paper.
“Those silly paintings,” Theresa said. “You’d think they were diamonds for the fuss you make over them.”
Greta dabbed a napkin at the edges of her mouth. “More true than you know.”
She forced her feet and knees and
As such, contemplating any relationship with Oliver beyond the kisses they had already shared was pure folly. She was lucky to have escaped that brief, luscious encounter without any lasting harm. Everything she had ever learned about decorum and station and a person’s proper place forbade what she had done.
Yet molten thoughts insisted on continuing their kiss to a conclusion she had no firsthand experience in picturing. They had only just started when he had managed the gentlemanly course of action. But how would it feel? How would it end?
A man and a woman. Coupling.
Against a terrace wall.
Her skin rippled with sensation. Oliver’s mouth on hers had been decadent, like apricot torte and rich, dark coffee. Lying in bed at night, she had not needed many minutes to begin imagining how his mouth would feel on the rest of her body—even exploring her own, as she pictured him doing. She had wanted him to stoop to how she imagined servants behaved when not under the scrutiny of their employers. Rougher. More primitive. More animal.
She might have joined him.
Doing so would have been the ultimate dare. I dare you, world, to see me for who I am and what I truly desire.
With her gaze she followed the angle of the windowsill to its vanishing point, all the while admitting the ridiculous, wayward nature of her fantasies. Indulgence by moonlight would only mean regret and mortification come morning. No other outcome awaited such an encounter, and she had been lucky. He had promised to keep her secret. He had taken nothing more than a kiss. Oliver Doerger was a good man, no matter his low rank.
She needed to leave him at that.
“And then there’s always Baron Hoffer,” Theresa said.
Greta blinked. The sun had changed angles on the leaded glass, casting a new shade of yellow across their afternoon respite. The girls had moved on from the menu to the guest list, leaving Greta to wonder how long she had indulged in illicit daydreams.
“Who?” Anna asked.
“Baron Hoffer. He’s newly arrived from somewhere in Prussia. I heard from Eliza Schau that he’s very handsome and quite well-heeled.”
Anna wrote the man’s name on a list that had grown longer than her forearm. “Where does he live?”
“How should I know? Is there a place called Hoffer?” Theresa shrugged. “Simply put his name on the invitation and let the postmen figure it out. That is their job.”
“Oh, you can be so very thick,” Anna said with a wave of her fine-boned hand. “Greta, you will be attending, surely?”
Greta nodded. “And I’ll even have Marie help me dress.”
Relief slid across Anna’s pretty features. She had remarkable green eyes, but perhaps that was because they were so large and brilliantly colored in such a small, pale face. One could not help but notice them. “I’m glad of it. Poor Marie really must tire of waiting for you to ring her.”
“I’m sure she has other duties to attend.”
Anna frowned slightly, as if she had never considered the question. In truth Greta had hardly ever ventured near the subject of servants and the lives they led outside of duty. Oliver Doerger had needled her with the possibility that she was missing out on a great deal.
“Pardon me, Fräulein Zweig?”
One of the workmen who had boxed up her copy of Baptism of Christ was standing in the doorway. He was fingering the brim of his flat cap, his eyes shifting nervously over the scene.
Greta took a breath. Something was not right.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Begging your pardon, but could you show me which painting this is?” He held out a slip of paper.
“Those silly paintings,” Theresa said. “You’d think they were diamonds for the fuss you make over them.”
Greta dabbed a napkin at the edges of her mouth. “More true than you know.”
She forced her feet and knees and
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