Free The Harlot Bride by Alice Liddell

it was scandalously diaphanous, so thin as to be nearly transparent. Lucy blushed to even think of wearing of it, and blushed even more to think of Lord Tazewell, or indeed any man, spying it upon her own person.
    On the other hand, it was truly a beautiful garment, one that would complement any woman’s beauty by presenting her own natural charms to great advantage. Lucy blushed again as she held up the gown, but found herself curious to feel it on her skin and to see how it might fall down along her curves. She looked at the clock in her locket, put a few more coals on the fire with dim hopes of taking a bit of the chill out of the room, and began to remove her clothing. That was always a laborious process, with all the buttons and ties, and the laces, even if she was no longer allowed a corset, and she began to regret having chased Mary away. The presumptuous maid might at least have been some use in getting her this far disrobed, and putting the shed clothing away in the cupboards.
    It was not Lucy’s custom to ever disrobe completely, except for the rare occasions when someone heated enough water for her to take a full sit bath. For modesty’s sake, and to keep herself warm, her usual practice was to slip her nightgown over her head before she removed her chemise and drawers. She followed this practice now in donning the gauzy gown Lord Tazewell had provided, so it wasn’t until it was on her shoulders, and she had wiggled out of her under things and set them aside, that she felt the full immodesty of it.
    The gown felt sensuous in the extreme, like a hand caressing languorously up and down the naked lines of her body. When she moved, the cloth slipped across her skin like gossamer kisses, then flitted away, leaving behind a barely perceptible yet unbearable sensation – now to her hips, now to her belly, now to her nipples and the swells of her firm young breasts. It was delicious and disconcerting all at once, and Lucy already felt quite lightheaded when she turned to the looking glass. The shocking lasciviousness of the image she saw caused her to turn her ahead away at once, and she slipped into her bed under the coverlet to keep warm, her heart pounding. And there she stayed, reaching every few minutes to the bedside table to open her locket clock, until the appointed hour had come.
    Rising nervously, she went to leave her little cell but the bitter cold of the hall, not to mention the fear of meeting one of the servants in such scandalous attire, drove her back to retrieve her dressing gown, which she slipped on and tied tightly at the waist. Thus girded, and candle in hand, Lucy made her way carefully down the corridor to Lord Tazewell’s wing, then counting the doors until she reached the third, a great carved affair that Mary had said was where she must go. Lucy tapped nervously upon the broad, dark surface, and waited, but even after half a minute she had received no response. She felt for something like a knocker, and finding a heavy ring high in the door, she rapped once, tentatively, against the thick wood. After a moment, the door swung open.
    Lord Tazewell, Earl of Chiltenham, stood large in the doorway. Even at this late hour, and in his own suites, he was fully dressed in formal clothing. Lucy blinked in the dim light, completely unsure of what to do or say.
    “You are late!” he boomed, his displeasure obvious.
    Lucy shrunk back into the hall. She tried to stammer out some sort of apology so he’d admit her quickly into the warmth of the room. She was cold, it’s true, but it also embarrassed her to be in the hall in such immodest dress.
    But by then Lord Tazewell had taken notice of Lucy’s attire.
    “Foolish girl! I very clearly instructed that you were to wear the gown I provided and nothing else!”
    “I…I felt chilled,” Lucy attempted in a small voice, her eyes moving nervously to the room behind him. The sight of a large high bed made her blush and at the same time stirred