She was no longer a virgin. That statement meant about as much to her as she had thought it would. Virginity, like many things connected to men, was obviously vastly over-rated. And frankly, so was sexual intimacy.
No wonder Villiers didn’t care if she’d had previous experiences. It was all a matter of a minute at most. Yet there was something alarmingly intimate about it, for all its speed.
Damon’s shoulder, for example. He was lying on his side, and his shoulder had a beautiful curve. She ran a finger along it. What she wanted now was a bath. There was a sticky feeling between her legs that she disliked. And, in truth, the experience wasn’t entirely comfortable. In fact, she likely wouldn’t do it again until marriage.
“Thank you,” she whispered, touching his face. The angle of his cheek was beautiful. For a moment she thought about kissing him again; somehow, he’d started touching her breasts, and they’d never really kissed, and that was her favorite part of it all.
But if she kissed him, he might wake up. And though it was kind of him to offer, she didn’t feel like doing that again.
So instead she teased her gown out from under his body, holding her breath when he seemed as if he might wake up. When she got it free, she stood up and wrapped the gown around her like an enormous towel.
The servants in her father’s house had been used to all sorts of extraordinary behavior; she could only hope—and in truth, expect—that Jemma’s servants were equally imperturbable. There was one footman standing in the hallway, so she gave him a smile and sailed up the stairs.
Once in her room she dropped her gown and rang the bell. Her maid appeared, looking rather sleepy, and quite surprised to find her mistress wearing a dressing gown. After all, she couldn’t have removed her stays by herself.
“Ellen, I’ve left some of my clothing in the yellow sitting room,” Roberta said, not wasting breath on feeble explanations. “We should probably send someone to fetch it, but not yet.”
Ellen nodded, showing that she was just as well trained as Roberta would have expected. “Would you like a bath, my lady?”
“Absolutely,” Roberta said. “Thank you.”
A few minutes later three footmen staggered in carrying a zinc bath and buckets of water, and Roberta was able to climb into the scented water with a sigh. Ellen helped her wash her hair, and then Roberta told her she could go to bed. “You must be exhausted.”
“Oh, I couldn’t leave you in this state,” Ellen said, looking sleepy. “How will you prepare for bed?”
“The same way I got myself into bed these last twenty years,” Roberta said. “My maid at home was quite old and couldn’t manage late nights, and so I always tucked myself in bed. In fact, I prefer it.”
“Will you call a footman to remove the water?”
“Of course I will. You go to bed.”
Ellen curtsied and left. Then she stuck her head back around the door. “I forgot to say that everyone below stairs is that pleased that you will be a duchess?”
Roberta smiled at her. “Thank you.”
“And no one will think the less of you for anticipating the wedding night, my lady…I’ll ask Martin, the second footman, to fetch your clothing in an hour or so. He can stow it where no one can see.”
Roberta’s smile was a little crooked this time. One had to hope that Damon would get himself out of that room without being seen by Martin or anyone else.
The moment the door closed she leaned her head back against the edge of the bath with a sigh. She was half asleep by the time she pulled on a dressing gown and called a footman to remove the bath.
The bath was gone, and she had just sat down on the bed, still in her dressing gown, and was thinking about where her nightgown might be when the door swung open.