The Taming of Victoria Colton

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

[A young lady on entering a drawing room] Her face should wear a smile, she should not rush in head-foremost; a grateful bearing, a light step, an elegant bend to common acquaintance, a cordial pressure, not shaking, of the hand extended to her, are all requisite to a lady.

~ The Habits of Good Society: A Handbook for Ladies and Gentlemen (The Last London Editor; 1860)

The following morning was even harder for Victoria. Having gone to bed so late the night before and then only to be tormented by the most vivid dreams concerning a man, whom she refused to name, with no shirt and lots of water, she went through the processes of claiming a cup of coffee at the breakfast table in a trance-like state. Her deportment lessons went by in the same manner and, frankly, she had little energy to argue with the poor old fool who was teaching her how to sit, how to talk, how to stand and how to wipe her own bottom. Well, not the last part, but by the time the lessons were over, Vicky was bitter enough to think so.

It was humiliating, to say the least, that her grandmother thought so little of her pride to put her through those steps again.

Later that day saw the arrival of the first guests and Vicky was euphoric to learn that her close friend, Danielle Carmichael, had been one of the first on the list. Eagerly, she arranged a meeting in the drawing room and hurriedly raced down the steps.

Unfortunately, her ever present ‘grace’ decided to kick in right about then, just as Gabriel was crossing her path.

Her foot caught on the hem of her dress on the third last step.

Her momentum was so fast she couldn’t catch herself in time.

Luckily, Gabriel could.

The force with which she pummelled into him knocked them solidly onto the floor.

“Mmmf!”

“Oh, God!” Vicky looked down at the man she was laying on top of, noting his wince of pain as the wind was knocked out of him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, then glanced down slightly which only brought his eyes in line with her bosom. “Er… your knee is in a rather painful place.”

She glanced down at her leg and, to her mortification, it was situated somewhere on his crotch. “Oh, my God.” She blushed furiously and quickly removed it, the motion causing him to wince further. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Quite alright,” he grumbled.

She became aware of their scandalous situation. Her legs straddled his thigh as she practically sprawled on top of him, her breasts pressed into his chest and their faces were less than an inch apart. He was incredibly solid beneath her and so wonderfully warm… were it any other man beneath her, she’d probably hesitate getting off him, and his arms… just what was that on her bottom?

She gasped. “Remove your hand!”

He grinned at her wolfishly, green eyes glinting wickedly. “I don’t think I know what you mean,” he taunted seductively. “Do you mean this hand?” The big hand that was on her waist promptly lifted from its position, leaving the one on her derriere firmly rooted where it was.

She gave him an angry glare. “Not that one,” she snapped.

The hand at her waist returned. “So I mustn’t remove this one?”

“Don’t be coy!” Giving him a threatening glare, she said, “Remove them both.”

“Ah, but you said ‘hand’, not hands,” he returned playfully. “So I can only assume you must mean this hand.”