A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Eleven

A snarl of frustration threatened to escape her.
The kiss of lace brushed against her knuckles but the strings themselves remained infuriatingly exclusive to her grasp.
Her jaw set into a hard line.

A soft scraping sound against metal caused her to pause. She heard the door open. A floorboard squeaked beneath a heavy boot. Male and incoming.
Suddenly, she was glad her stays did not have fastening hooks for she could throw it at the intruder, giving her that precious second to shift.
She pivoted.
In the moment it took to turn, she caught the scent of pine and a crisp note of mint.
Carrick.

To speak would required Carrick to pick his jaw off the floor and that wasn't a possibility since he couldn't do anything but stare.
The soft swells of her breasts pushed against a neckline of lace. One hand clutching at the stays, her grip tightening to hold it in place. Carrick dropped his gaze only the view below had all of his willpower fighting to suppress a groan. Soft, pillowy thighs visible beneath ivory  undergarment the fabric of which was so thin it almost functioned as a second skin. He had to look up once more for if he followed the diaphanous pathway it would lead to his undoing.

Ilona's cheeks flared red as their gazes connected.
Daytime stays went over the shoulders and were hidden beneath the wide neckline of dresses or concealed by a blouse's collar. But as night descended, sleeves and necklines began to fall off shoulders and so must stays. On the rare occasion when it must be worn, Anna had taught her daughter to tie her stays in such a way that would allow her to slip it on and then to secure it in place; all Ilona had to do was give the strings a sharp tug and tie the ends of such into a bow. Only she forgot to check beforehand and worst still...

"I-I should have...it is l-loosening," she stammered, the blush deepening.

"Your maid can assisted with that" were the words she expected to pass his lips.
They didn't.
No instead, Carrick shook off the enthralment and strode towards her.

"Allow me," he said, his voice strangely tight.

He moved to stand behind her. One hand reaching up, diverting the course of the waterfall of ink to flow down one shoulder. Tension rippled through Ilona at the thought of his touch.

His lips brushed the shell of her ear. "I won't hurt you, Ilona." His hands on the strings.

She sensed the immediate change in his breathing as his gaze landed on the source of her ill at ease. Unseen to her, Carrick briefly closed his eyes.
Beneath the lacing, a glimpse of a very large, pale jagged line tearing across her back.
Embarrassment wasn't the cause of her reaction, no fear was. For hidden scars cause unfair accusations to spring to mind when seen and Ilona knew all too well the power false words held.

She is trying to protect her mother just as Annalise did with Danika after Alexander could no longer.

"How is the child you rescued, the act in which caused that scar?" He asked, the gaps between fabric and skin being rapidly reduced to both his relief and disappointment.

"She is happily running around and thinks daggers make excellent needles for embroidery."

To her surprise, Carrick laughed. A deep joyous sound that left her wishing to make him do so again.
He finished with the laces and she turned around. Both went still for a mere inch separated their bodies. One step forward would bring her into perfect alignment with him. His mind and cock were debating the appeal of such when there was a knock at the door.

Carrick reluctantly took a step back. Then another, turning to walk towards the door. As he did so, Ilona heard a rough sound leaving his lips before he could stop it. In the hallway outside was a young woman with a fiery dash of freckles across her face. Her head bow, hands clasped in waiting. Jessica, Ilona's maid and the dark haired man next to her whose nose was held aloft, Winston.