ALTHOUGH SHE WAITED AS was proper in the centre of the room, hands layered correctly before her, one over the other, and her shoulders as straight as she could manage, apprehension jerked through Elizabeth’s stomach. The pretence of calm did much to soothe her, though, even as her ears were attuned to the smallest nuance of sound. No doubt she appeared the very picture of demure femininity.
A wild laugh built inside her. Oh yes. That was certainly she.
To distract herself, she studied the room. The velvet wallpaper begged to be touched, and she had to grip her hands behind her back to stop herself from doing so. Never before had she seen such an intricate pattern. Even her sister Anne, with her unhealthy obsession for refurbishing her home on a quarterly basis, had never employed so extravagant a wall covering.
A heavy wooden desk dominated, but of more interest was the enormous chair paired with it. The well-worn leather appeared buttery soft, and it was a struggle not to discover if the chair was as comfortable as it looked. Years of lessons in behaviour and deportment forbade such an action, no matter how much she wished otherwise, and the very proper-looking butler who’d ushered her into the room would no doubt be offended if he returned to catch her examining various items around the room. The man possessed more hauteur than any person she had met. Well, maybe not as much as his employer, but then, there wasn’t a person alive who could match him.
Exhaling, she looked at her hands, picked at her nails. Why this anxiety? She’d been excited in the carriage. The expensive coach had arrived at her home just as the clock struck the hour and she’d hastened inside, eager to begin. Only after the carriage had reached its destination, when she had disembarked and was staring up at the stately townhouse, had her excitement abandoned her. Now here she stood, in the middle of the study of a man she barely knew. The man who was to teach her of pleasure.
Indistinct voices murmured outside the door. Abruptly, her stomach relocated somewhere around the vicinity of her knees. Refusing to let them wobble, she patted her hair, smoothed her dress, made sure all was in place.
He was here. Would he still be willing to tutor her? Would he still be as indifferent?
The door opened, and there he stood. Her tutor.
Her stomach twisted, her heart beating as if it would burst from her chest. He strode past her with no greeting, seating himself behind his desk. She watched his progress, unable to speak. Remembered sensation bombarded her, and heat flushed her cheeks. Never had she been more grateful for the layers of cloth shielding her nakedness.
To perpetuate the lie she remained undisturbed, she smiled widely and, ignoring his disdainful lift of a brow, she curtsied. She was rather proud of her curtsy. Hardly a wobble at all. “Good evening, sir. You are well, I trust?”
Amusement wound through her. Always she found herself in precarious situations. One would assume with age came wisdom or, at least, caution. Apparently, not so for her.
The beginnings of a frown crossed his face. “You should not be so open with your emotions.” Opening a cigarillo case, he delicately took one of the thin cigars from its housing. “Much can be discerned from an unguarded expression. You would do well to remember that.” He lit the cigarillo, his gaze level upon her as he inhaled the smoke.
Her smile faltered. Was he criticising her just because he could? Determined to maintain civility, she kept her tone even. “I shall take that under advisement, but you did not answer my question. How fare you?”
He drew on the cigarillo. “Is it really of any importance?”
With some other man, the question could have been attributed to genuine curiosity. With this one, however, it was impossible to guess his intent. Did he think the dictates of polite conversation could be contravened? Well, he would not be treating her in such a manner. She deserved respect, even if it was only a very little. “Of course it is, sir.”
He exhaled. “I fare well, then.”
The cloud of acrid smoke surrounded her, burning her lungs. Civil, Elizabeth. Remain civil. She would not sink to his level, though it was difficult to maintain such calm as moments ticked by without an invitation for her to sit. Cigarillo smoke twined through the air as he watched her, his expression impassive.
Well, if he wouldn’t say anything she would just seat herself. Perching herself awkwardly on the chair, a sudden memory arose of sneaking into her father’s study as a child. Consumed with curiosity about what it was he did all day, she’d managed to disrupt every pile of correspondence, though she had tried to repair her error, haphazardly reassembling them in no semblance of order. The tongue-lashing she’d received when her father had caught her still had the power to make her wince.
Shifting uncomfortably, she tried to ignore the feeling she was applying like a supplicant before him. No doubt these seats were hard and unyielding to discourage one from lingering.
That infernal eyebrow rose once more. “Shall we begin?”
His tone grated her. Calm, Elizabeth. “How should we proceed?” she asked, ignoring her ire. “Mayhap we should establish guidelines, modes of behaviour, that type of thing.”
“Indeed. Guidelines.” More smoke encircled her, but she refused to react. “And what do you envision these guidelines to be?”
She snapped. “First, I should like for you not to talk to me as if I were an imbecile. I may not be as knowledgeable as you in these matters, but I possess some degree of intelligence, and I will thank you to treat me as such.”
A faint smile touched his lips, and his eyes warmed for a fraction of a second. “I shall endeavour to remember that. Anything else?”
“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “I would like for this to remain solely between us. If our association were to become public knowledge, I would not like to think of the effect it would have on my family. I have taken precautions and should like it if you would also.”
Her precautions included making sure her family would not question her absence. Living alone in the small townhouse she’d purchased after Rocksley’s death certainly helped, but she would not bring scandal upon her family.
He inclined his head, still wearing that small smile. With the lightening of his features, he almost achieved beauty. How, then, would he look if the expression was true mirth? The image was so incongruous, she couldn’t reconcile such a thing. “I should also like to know what you envision for our sessions. Is there anything you require from me?”
His smile vanished. “At this stage, nothing more is required from you. We will meet twice weekly at these premises. With the days shorter, five of the clock will suffice, both for convenience and to settle any matters of propriety. No one will question an unmarked carriage arriving at this house, and I assume none will question such an arrival at yours?”
She shook her head. “Not under the cover of dark.”
He inclined his head. “We will begin, then, with the basics and move along as I determine is warranted. Is this agreeable to you?”
As she nodded, excitement bubbled within her. Good Lord, this was actually happening.
“Now, first we must establish what you know. Describe your sexual history.”
Elizabeth blinked. She opened her mouth but could not think of anything to say. Indeed, her brain refused to work. It had stuttered on his words: describe your sexual history. He was waiting for her answer, she knew, but how could she answer? No one—no one—had ever said such a blatant thing to her before. “I beg your pardon?”
“I cannot help you if I am ignorant of what you know. Proceed.” With the cigarillo held loosely in his fingers, he betrayed no hint he was cognizant of the impropriety of his demand—and it had been a demand.
Heat flushed her cheeks. “How do I know you are qualified? Maybe you should detail for me your sexual history.”
Not even a flicker of reaction crossed his face. “Very well.” He stubbed out the cigarillo. “My first physical encounter was with a prostitute my father engaged for me at the age of twelve. She instructed me on the basics, at which I became quite well versed in our time together. I took a second lover at fourteen, a third at fifteen, and further extended my knowledge. As a side, I found it amusing to play them off against each other.”
He’d had more than one lover at the same time? Before he’d reached his majority? He must have been able to keep them all satisfied—what did he mean he’d played them off against each other? Did they compete for his affections? Well, not his affections, the man appeared to be made of stone, but, well, what did he mean?
“By the time I left Oxford, I had become quite versed in carnal pleasures, and embarked upon a career exclusively devoted to catering to my whims. There is little I have not undertaken.”
She couldn’t help but stare. He was so very different from anyone she had ever encountered. He just said things—things that were inappropriate and lewd, and not fit for a lady’s ears. She loved it. “Like what?”
His brow rose. “What variations upon the basics?”
Almost afraid to breathe lest he stop, she nodded.
“I have experimented with numerous positions, with cunnilingus and fellatio. I have had two mistresses pleasure me at the same time on numerous occasions, and have had the reverse occur as well. I have attended orgies, tied my lovers up, spanked them, dominated them, been dominated, watched others as they performed, been watched, fucked men, women, anything in the course of obtaining pleasure.”
“Fucked?” The unfamiliar word sounded delicious on her tongue.
“Had sexual relations, intercourse.” All said so factually, so calmly, as if his words weren’t of infinite fascination. “Language will also be part of your tutelage. Are my qualifications suitable?”
Men? He’d had intercourse—no, he had fucked men? Did men do that to each other? Don’t be so naïve, you ninny. Of course they did. He’d just said so.
She couldn’t decide how the information made her feel. Was she horrified? Shocked? Both those things, and undeniably fascinated. How did it even work? Had he undertaken it often? Would he expect her to somehow participate? To watch?
Finally, she was able to produce a coherent statement. “You seem more than qualified. I suppose I should start with my husband?”
“It seems logical.”
“Yes.” A smile tugged at her as she remembered Rocksley, the lock of too-long hair that had perpetually fallen over his brow, the feel of the silky blond strands beneath her fingers as she had swept it from his brow. “He was my first lover. He used to kiss me when we were courting, light brushes against my lips.” Raising her fingers to her mouth, she could almost feel again those airy caresses, though the turn of his features was indistinct.
Her hand dropped. He’d not even been gone three years and already she had forgotten. However, her tutor could not possibly be interested in those memories. “We consummated our marriage in the usual fashion, I suppose.”
“You do not know for sure?”
“It is not the type of thing one usually discusses with others.” Not that it had ever stopped her from trying. “I did ask, but those I asked said my curiosity was getting the better of me, and I should be pleased it was not tedious.” Her sister, Bella, had been quite emphatic on that point.
“Not tedious? Is that the extent of it?” His gaze narrowed. “Describe what your husband used to do.”
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Is it really necessary? My husband is dead, you know.”
Her tutor exhaled. “Are you interested in tutelage or not?”
“Yes.”
“Then describe what he used to do.”
Certain her cheeks were bright red, Elizabeth averted her gaze. Relating the intimate details of her marriage bed would be much easier if she couldn’t see that cold face. “My husband, well, he would tell me he planned to visit me that evening, and I, well, I would prepare. He’d arrive in my bedchamber and he would kiss me gently, raise the hem of my night-rail and….” She swallowed, beyond uncomfortable. “Well, you know,” she finished lamely.
“No, I don’t. Describe.”
“Must I?” Her fingers tapped a nervous beat against her thigh. “This is very difficult for me.”
“If you are truly committed to this process, you must know we will be dealing with things more intimate than this. This is nothing. Tell me.”
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to continue. “He would put himself inside me, move back and forth until he was finished and then he’d kiss me on the forehead, say goodnight and leave. I would then rise, bathe myself, and go to sleep.” Opening them, she found him considering her.
Finally, he spoke. “That was all he would do?”
She regarded him uncertainly. His tone gave no indication how she should answer. “Well, yes. Isn’t that what most husbands do?”
“Some.” He rubbed his finger against his lip. “Is that the extent of your experience?”
“Um….” Should she tell him? Damnation, she was determined to learn what she could about pleasure, and he was right. As he’d intimated, if she couldn’t speak frankly, there was no point to any of this. “I took a lover about a year after my husband’s death.” She didn’t look at him. “He was very kind and made me feel lovely. We only met three times. He kissed me more than my husband did, and differently. His, well, his tongue was involved.” Was it possible for one to expire of embarrassment? “Also, there was no bed available, so he would, um, he would….”
She could do this. She could.
“He would take me from behind, which I didn’t know was actually possible, but, well, of course it is, and it felt quite good actually, and he would caress my, um, my bosom and….” Finish it, Elizabeth. “We never undressed. They were fleeting encounters, at social gatherings. Three social gatherings. Balls, actually.”
His brows had drawn together into something not quite a frown. What did he think of her? Surely he had done worse, and there was no censure on his face. The biggest secret she had, the one she was afraid would forever tar her depraved to the person she revealed it to, and he had no reaction. Nothing but that drawing together of brows, which could be interpreted in a hundred different ways.
She hadn’t told anyone about Farindon. It had, however, been surprisingly easy to tell him, maybe because of his lack of reaction. She had no idea if she had shocked him, or disappointed him, or even interested him with her revelations. Only imagine what the reaction if she had told her sisters. Or, worse, her mother.
She felt free. Unencumbered. So free, in fact, that she felt another revelation was in order. “Neither of them made me feel as you did the other day.”
“Indeed.”
Mayhap no reaction wasn’t always a blessing.
“You have given me much to contemplate,” he said, as if she had revealed nothing earth shattering at all. Maybe she hadn’t. After all, an almost-affair could not possibly be the most lascivious secret he had ever heard.
Determined to act as nonchalant as he, Elizabeth adopted his impassive expression. “So, what curriculum will we undertake? If it’s all the same to you, I would appreciate an ordered approach. I find I respond well to a structured course. Should I bring a notebook?” Lord, she sounded the ninny.
“A notebook will not be necessary.” His fingers began a rhythmic drum against the blotter. His hands held beauty, comprised of long, lean fingers that moved gracefully as they tapped out a strangely compelling beat.
So focused was she on his hands, she almost didn’t notice when he continued. “I will show you an aspect of carnality each time we meet, explaining it and answering any questions you may have. Practical demonstration will occur when necessary.”
“Oh.” A thought occurred. “There is more to carnal expression than intercourse and its derivatives, yes?” How could she explain? “I have heard tell of people watching others. Is that stimulating?”
“It can be. One might also masturbate when undertaking a voyeuristic pleasure.”
Her brow creased. “Masturbate?”
“Yes. Have you never pleasured yourself?”
At his words, something uncurled inside her, sending out ghosts of sensation. The drum of his fingers replicated in her blood, her pulse pounding in time with the rhythmic sound.
No. Her fascination was solely intellectual. It had to be, or she would end as she had their first encounter—desperately aroused and uncomfortably aware he was not.
The drum of his fingers ceased. “Perhaps I should rephrase. Have you ever caressed yourself between your thighs?”
“N-no.” Intellectual, Elizabeth, intellectual. “Well, I sometimes felt after my husband’s visits a certain pressure. I tried to relieve it by, um, rubbing, but all that did was make it worse.”
“Indeed.” He was silent for a moment and, probably just to torture her, rubbed his lip. “And with your lover? Did he make you come?”
“Come?”
“Make you orgasm.” His brow rose. “Do I need to explain further?”
A dim memory struggled through embarrassment, a conversation with her sister not long after Elizabeth had wed. Curious about others’ experiences in the marriage bed, she had asked her sisters, each separately, about their own wedding nights. Bella had looked at her as if she were insane, claimed it was a knowledge resolved solely for husband and wife and from then on refused to speak. Catherine and Anne had simply pretended Elizabeth had never asked the question. Henrietta, however, had blushed and stammered her way through a brief description of her own experience. She had mentioned something about a release, a pleasure that came at the end of lovemaking. The description had made Henrietta blush beet red, but it had also made her look…the look had been indescribable. Happy and smug and blissful and…well. And.
During those moments with Farindon, there had been heat and swiftness and some sort of release. The feelings had grown more intense with each encounter and could have possibly reached the heights described—albeit badly—by Henrietta. Elizabeth remembered quite clearly looking forward to the next time they would meet. However, Farindon had called a premature end to their barely-begun affair, and she had lacked the courage to venture again into wickedness. Until now.
Her tutor stared at her. Oh. He was still waiting for an answer. “Um, I believe he may have.”
“Indeed. You do realise that if you are not sure then he probably didn’t?”
How could a man with such impassive features convey condescension with such aplomb? Yet, for all of that, it didn’t seem malicious.
He was so very odd.
“I want you to pleasure yourself tonight. A curriculum shall be created for you before we next see each other, but to begin, I want you to make yourself come.” He paused. “Do you need for me to detail what you should do?”
“T-tonight?” Was this what her mother had meant when she had warned Elizabeth about her curiosity?
“Or when you feel most comfortable.” Standing, he moved around the table to pull her from her chair. There was that strength again, just as when he had held her at La Belle. Exhilaration ran through her, stealing her breath. It was indecent she should find it so very attractive.
“When you are in your bed, part your legs and caress yourself here.” He placed his hand over the juncture of her thighs.
She forced herself to relax. No doubt they would get more intimate than this. Besides, there were layers upon layers of clothing between them. Layers upon layers.
He was so close. Too close. His lips brushed her ear and sensation shivered along her skin. “You will want to concentrate on your clitoris.” He exerted a slight pressure, parting her thighs as his fingers delved deeper. Even through the layers of fabric, she felt the caress.
“It’s here, buried between your labia.” His longest finger pressed against her. “It is best if you discover what gives you most pleasure, but pay particular attention to that area. If you combine that attention with penetrating yourself, most likely with your fingers, you should be able to make yourself come.”
Her mind stuttered on the phrase. “Most likely with my fingers?”
“Yes.” He released her and settled once more into the soft leather of his chair. She sank back into her own uncomfortable one, unaccountably bereft at the loss of those warm hands. “This has turned into an impromptu lesson. That was not my intention. However, there are many devices to stimulate sexual desire and some to assist in masturbation. One such item is an artificial penis. It can be made out of many materials—leather, ivory, jade. I have seen a few made of wood.”
“Oh.” All this information was too much. It was insane, and titillating, and, beyond all, marvellous.
She could still feel his hand between her thighs.
He rose to his feet. “I believe we shall deal quite well together. Shall we say three days hence?”
She rose as well, fairly exhausted from the interview. “Three days.” A sudden thought pierced her dazed mind. “I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t know your name.”
“Malvern.”
“Malvern?” He didn’t elaborate. Was it his last name? His title?
“Yes.”
She could really grow to hate that impassive stare. “Well, I’m Elizabeth. I mean, Lady Rocksley.” Good Lord, was she a twit for giving him her true name? Well, too late now. Taking a breath, she said, “My name is Elizabeth. Thank you for doing this.”
He inclined his head and the next thing she knew, she had been ushered out of the house and was resting comfortably once more in his expensive carriage.
She leaned back against the plush seat, the velvet cool against her fingers. Was she truly going to continue with this?
Plucking at the pile, she grinned. How could she resist?