Surely, his intentions were not …

Without uttering a word, without asking for permission, he grasped her arms and held her firm. He stared deeply into her eyes. Still, he spoke not a word, although his labored breath was hot against hers.

Braced against the wall, she could not escape. There was nowhere to go. Her heart beat uncontrollably. Inside she ached, her legs weakened. And then he took his liberty. He leaned closer and before she could form a word, her face was in his hands. His strong, warm hands, holding her ever so gently. He paused for a moment to study her face, and then softly touched his lips against hers.

Lucy was unable to resist. Never before kissed, she relinquished every bit of control to this man. With his tongue, he parted her lips to slip inside and find her tongue. Soft and delicate, he began sliding his tongue against hers in a rhythm that played like a sonata.

As if tasting honey for the first time in his life, he kissed her ever so gently till the beast in him emerged unfettered. All at once, he closed the distance between them till he pressed himself against her skirts. There was no mistaking his intention. He kissed her harder. More wildly. Passionately. She could not have stopped him had she wanted to — and she did not want him to stop.

His hands released from her face and slid over the fabric of her dress toward her bosom, where he grasped the fullness of each breast in his hands. He found the aroused tips of her bosom pressing against the cloth and began to circle them with his fingertips.

Through their kisses, Lucy surrendered a light sigh. His touch was so pleasureful, she began to purr until the purr became a moan. A moan filled with such indulgence that it begged for him to lift her skirts. If only his hands would find her intimate flesh. Oh, the pleasure she had longed for — the desire to be caressed, the need to be released. Oh my love, don’t stop.

He lifted his lips from hers and began kissing the line of her jaw, moving ever so slowly toward her neck. Unable to speak, she could only gasp with that unspeakable desire. Not asking, he slipped his fingers through her blouse, but just as he was about to clasp the buds of her bosoms, footsteps pattered across the wooden floors downstairs and toward the staircase.

Charlotte!

The young man straightened, and then whispered into Lucy’s ear, “Please do not think ill of me, Your beauty drew me to you, my darling.”

The stranger drew back, parted himself from her, and rushed toward the stairs.

Bewildered, Lucy raced to her room, and before she closed her door, she heard the voice of Charlotte speaking to the Signora.

Safe inside the sleeping quarters, Lucy hurried to settle herself. She raced to her looking glass mirror and saw that her face was flushed a crimson red. Reaching quickly for her powder brush, she began painting her face.