Page 71 of Baron in Check
Together, they’d stir up more scandals than the Ton had seen in decades because one thing was clear, Hermy wouldn’t stand for double standards. The Crown Jewelers had earned their place in society, and they had earned the Prince Regent’srespect. It was time they had the same protections under the law as other citizens.
Once the Jewish Disability Act was lifted, she’d ensure that no woman could ever be locked away against her will because she’d fallen in love. Women didn’t need guardians; they needed the power to sign their own papers and control their own accounts, with or without their husbands. While only widows and women under special circumstances had these privileges, Hermy believed every woman ought to be free.
Hermy was excited to see the last delivery of her new wardrobe in the late hours of the night. When Hermy opened the door to her chamber, there were boxes everywhere. Round hat boxes with upholstered buttons in the center of the lids, others with satin ribbons as handles. There were large bags of woven fabric hanging from the armoire, dresses most likely. Then there was an elongated parcel. Hermy opened it and pulled out the thin fabrics. Oh, how soft and feminine it looked, no harsh wires and no sensible woolen stockings. These were the finest French muslin and silk undergarments. Hermy shrugged off her dress and pulled on the garters. They fit her perfectly and even the sheer stockings rolled over her legs like a second skin. She tried on the lace gloves, the cream slippers, and oh how delightful, there was a parasol!
By the time Hermy had put on the pieces she liked best, she was in a ridiculous outfit of lace, stockings, garters, heeled slippers with paste pearls, stays, and lace gloves. She posed before the mirror in her old chamber at Greg’s house but looked different. Gone was the prisoner and out came the vixen. Rachel had been right all along, there was a certain power to be drawn from new clothes, and she certainly had a message to send.
Hermy turned her back to the mirror and twisted her torso to see the loose lace draped over her bottom. It looked small but round, accentuating her narrow waist and the flare upward toher breasts. She twirled the parasol with one hand and tucked her breasts deeper into the corset with the other.
Click!The door swung open with unexpected haste. Hermy, caught in a moment of private vanity, barely had time to turn her head before Greg appeared in the doorway, his expression one of utter astonishment. For a heartbeat, she stood frozen, her cheeks hot as she faced him, clad in her new undergarments—a confection of ribbons and lace that felt at once ridiculous and delightfully feminine. She felt like a naughty doll.
Greg’s mouth hung open. He stood wordless as his gaze swept over her. The air in the room hung in suspense, the only sound Hermy’s heart pounding in her ears. She’d been caught in the superficial moment of unwrapping her new wardrobe and was acutely aware of the softness of the lace hugging her curves, the playful bows that dipped just below her waist, and the sheer fabric that whispered secrets against her skin.
Embarrassment clawed at her, urging her to cover herself, to duck away from his penetrating stare. But then, he shifted. Greg’s wide-eyed shock darkened, deepened into something more intense, more primal. His eyes, black pools of desire, locked onto hers, and in that gaze, Hermy found an unexpected wellspring of courage.
She felt transformed in these clothes.
Emboldened.
She straightened her spine, her initial impulse to hide melting away under the heat of his look. The air between them crackled, charged with tension pulsating with each of Greg’s shallow breaths.
For a moment, they remained thus—locked in a tableau vibrant with potential, with the unvoiced questions that hung heavily in the room. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement that seemed to draw the very light towards him, Greg stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click thatechoed like a gunshot in the silence. He turned the key and left it in the hole.
Hermy watched him, every sense heightened, every nerve alight. She saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes never left hers as he took one measured step after another, closing the distance between them. In those eyes, she read a thousand words, heard the unspoken promises, and felt a thrill of anticipation that sent shivers down her spine.
The ridiculousness of her outfit faded into insignificance, replaced by the palpable, thrumming energy that filled the room, enveloping them both in a cocoon of desire. Hermy stood her ground, her earlier embarrassment now a bold defiance, a challenge laid bare in the tilt of her chin and the steady gaze that met Greg’s.
And in that charged silence, with the world beyond the closed door held at bay, Hermy realized that this moment—this electric, terrifying, exhilarating moment—was not about the frivolity of lace and ribbons. It was about the raw, undeniable connection that pulsed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the storm that was about to break.
Time seemed to stutter.She stood there, an embodiment of allure in nothing but garters, stockings, stays, and twirling a parasol with an innocence that belied the scene before him. She was like a vision from a dream he dared not admit to having—fearlessly feminine, a contrast of strength and delicacy that struck him to his core.
“My new wardrobe has arrived from London,” she said.
Every rational thought, every reason he had meticulously constructed to keep a respectful distance, crumbled to dustunder the weight of his immediate and overwhelming desire. Her presence, bathed in the soft light of the room, cast a spell over him, rendering him incapable of anything but raw need.
Greg’s heart hammered against his ribcage, a relentless drumbeat urging him forward. Yet, he approached Hermy with a reverence that belied his burning desire. Each step he took towards her was measured, a testament to the battle raging within him between haste and the need to savor this moment for eternity.
As he reached her, Greg’s hands trembled with anticipation. With a gentleness that surprised even him, he grabbed her hips and fell to his knees.
The air between them thickened with the unspoken promise of what was to come. He placed a kiss on her navel, and she arched her middle toward him.
No words were necessary when her hands combed through his hair, nudging his head closer.
He assisted Hermy out of her stays, his fingers brushing against the warmth of her skin, igniting goosebumps wherever they touched.
When he squatted to roll the stockings down her legs, one by one, uncovering her soft skin with every inch he discovered anew. He’d been a boy in heat when he’d touched her last time, but now he appreciated her as a man does a woman.
“You are a beauty!” he mumbled, as his lips followed the path his fingers uncovered, pressing soft, reverent kisses against her skin. “I want you so badly, Hermy. I want you completely.”
“You’ve always had me.”
“I mean, I want you as my wife. My love.”
“Always been,” she barely managed. “Oh please, Greg, please.”
She quivered and steadied herself on his shoulder.
He rose, trailing his hands along the insides of her thighs, and then he lifted her up. She yelped in surprise, then let her head hang back and laughed out loud, showing off her perfect white teeth. His Hermy … she wasn’t a virgin by far, he’d seen to that. She had known pleasure, but time had let her blossom. And Greg was ready to collect the sweet nectar between the frilly white petals enveloping her sweetness. When she laughed, Greg took her mouth and plunged his tongue into her warmth.
