Chapter Three
DRUM, DOUBLE BEAT. DRUM, double beat.
The sound of Malvern’s fingers against his desk slowly drove Elizabeth insane. He pounded out the beat absently, his gaze locked upon her as if he were contemplating some great mystery—what, she didn’t know. At least, she hoped she didn’t. Oh God, he wasn’t contemplating severing their association, was he?
Drum, double beat. Drum, double beat.
Upon her arrival, Malvern had greeted her with a curt nod and an instruction to sit in the chair placed before his desk which, thankfully, was of greater comfort than the last. And then, the lecture had begun. The whole of his speech thus far had been tedious and dry, about anatomy of all things, and it had taken all her restraint to refrain from insisting he skip to something vaguely interesting. Apparently, though, he had a plan, even if it was a plan that invoked extreme boredom.
Now, though, he simply sat and stared.
Chewing her lip, she watched as he drummed. Why weren’t they progressing to the practical side of their sessions? Surely, she should once again feel his hands upon her, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered erotic delights. Heart racing, blind eyes staring at nothing, heat and tension and breath caught.
His fingers beat out that rhythm. Drum, double beat. Drum, double beat.
She had been glad he’d asked nothing of her upon her arrival as she’d not had the courage to undertake the directive he’d issued at their previous meet. She just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Of what import was it anyway? None, obviously, or he would have ascertained if she had…. Good Lord, Elizabeth, just say it. If she had masturbated.
Drum, double beat. Drum, double beat.
Miserably, she watched him, almost seeing him form the words in his mind to end their lessons. She’d be back where she’d begun, lacking knowledge and tutor and having to apply to Mrs. Morcom once more. Dear God, she didn’t want that to happen. What she’d gone through to get to this stage she couldn’t go through again. She just couldn’t. Besides, she wanted him to teach her.
Much of her thoughts these past three days had been devoted to him. Their last meeting had fired all manner of curiosity in her, and a thousand questions she’d wished she’d asked had tormented her.
Her eldest sister had commented on her distraction earlier this week, Henrietta’s words showing her concern even as she’d extracted her youngest son’s hand from a flower pot. Only yesterday, her middle sister had taken her to task for her lack of focus at their book discussion. Elizabeth couldn’t even remember what book it was they were supposed to have read. When she’d asked for the hundredth time, Bella had glared. Bella was very good at glaring. How, though, could Elizabeth be expected to concentrate on a novel when there was the much more interesting puzzle of her tutor to solve?
With all the discretion she could muster, she had inquired about him. She had learned Malvern was his title. He was, in fact, the Earl of Malvern, a rather lofty personage to be her tutor. She’d known he was high-born but the revelation of his status, so far above her, had set her to concern, and she’d been certain intimidation would seize her at their next meet. So far, she’d yet to succumb.
He was still drumming. Still staring. Drum, double beat.
Apparently, Malvern had quite the reputation, one not fit for a young widow’s ears, or so Bella’s husband had told her. When a frown had begun on Burfield’s too-handsome face, Elizabeth had turned the attention to other things even as she’d wondered what could possibly have been so dreadful she was too delicate to hear it. Malvern himself had told her of his history. It had seemed no worse than the exploits of which her brothers-in-law had boasted, when it was late and they were drunk and they had no notion she was listening in on them.
The drumming ceased. “This does not appear to be working.”
Her heart stopped. Simply stopped in her chest. “What doesn’t appear to be working?”
Malvern rose and made his way to stand before her. From his greater height, his gaze swept her from head to toe. She averted her gaze. The man could unsettle a statue with such a gaze.
“I have gone about this all wrong. I have been lecturing on things that are better demonstrated. I apologise for my mistake.” Pulling her to her feet, his hand settled on her shoulder. “Allow me to rectify it.”
Tremulous hope rose. “You are continuing with my lessons?”
“Of course, my dear. I am simply changing the means of delivery.”
Closing her eyes briefly, she exhaled. Thanks be to all that was holy and decent. She really couldn’t have gone through the process of finding a tutor all over again.
His hands drifted to the line of buttons marching down the front of her dress and, without leave or warning, flicked open the button at the hollow of her neck. Then, he opened the next. And the next.
“Does the change require my dress to become undone?” Her words sounded light, playful, and at complete odds with the anxiety inside her.
“To begin with.” His gaze settled on her. “Shall I continue?”
She wet her lips. Hands still, he waited, his expression giving no hint as to his thoughts.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Tilting her head, she allowed him access to her buttons. “Please do.”
Bending once more to his task, he flicked the tiny buttons open, the number and size of them making his progress slow. Each torturous second robbed her a little more of breath.
“Why do you wear such ugly gowns?” Another button flicked open. “The colours ill suit you, and you appear to have a pleasing shape. Why do you not take advantage of it?”
“I don’t know.” The sight of his fingers working the buttons mesmerised her. Men’s hands had always been her weakness. Gloves usually disguised them, but his were bare, the fingers long and elegant, firm muscles shifting as he opened her to his gaze.
“We will do something about your wardrobe.” He muttered a curse at a particularly stubborn button. “You are to wear less cumbersome garments in the future. I do not want to fight a plethora of buttons each time you come to me.”
A thrill went through her at his words, at the implication of more to come.
Finally reaching her waist, he parted the fabric of her gown. His beautiful, elegant fingers ran over the edge of her corset and tangled in the delicate lace of her chemise.
“You will also ensure your corset is loose.” His eyes followed the path of his fingers. “I will not fight undergarments either.”
Her flesh rose and fell beneath his hand, the fabric of the chemise a negligible barrier. Eyes wide, she watched him. He gave no sign he noticed her stare, instead dipping his fingers below the fabric of her chemise to brush the top of her breasts.
The bodice of the gown fell easily from her shoulders when pushed, and she felt his fingers trace lightly over her collarbone. An oddness filled her, a kind of emptiness and, unable to breathe, she stood almost frozen as his fingers traced the line of the chemise.
His hand continued down her body, resting at her stomach, letting the weight and warmth seep through her clothing but a moment before lazily retracing the path. The corset had loosened enough so her breasts were no longer contained by the starched fabric and, cupping her, he swept a thumb over the upper curve. “Do you know the proper name?”
“My breast.” She couldn’t help but to arch her back.
“And this?” His thumb circled her nipple, making the taut flesh ache.
Dear God, it was difficult to talk. “My nipple.”
“Good.” Somehow, without her notice, he had taken advantage of her lowered corset, arranging her on the edge. The boning of the corset thrust her breasts toward him, and the feel of cool air washing over her exposed flesh made her gasp.
He took a step back. She swallowed a protest, wanting his hands on her, not resting uselessly at his sides. Now that he was no longer touching her, now that the heat of his hands had been replaced by the cool air of the room, she became aware she was half-naked and, good Lord, he was fully clothed. A dull flush heated her flesh, dimming the arousal he had stirred so easily.
His eyes swept over her, his perusal intensifying the flush marking her skin. “How do you like to be touched?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. “It’s why I came to you.”
“You do know.” Lord, his voice. “Show me.”
Arousal flared again, embroiling her once more in sensation. Biting her lip, she raised her hands to her breasts. Uncertain, she let them rest there, his impassive gaze giving no hint of how to proceed. “I don’t know what to do.”
Silence weighed heavy, as heavy as his gaze.
Finally, he spoke. “Circle your nipple with your fingers.”
Hesitantly, she undertook his direction. As she traced the puckered flesh, flutters of sensation streaked through her. Blood pulsed, beating a demanding rhythm, and she took her bottom lip between her teeth, the slight pain giving her some much needed clarity.
“Trap your nipple between your fingers, pulling outward. Gently.”
Following his direction, she gasped as pleasure arrowed through her. Overcome by boldness, she closed her eyes, cupping her breasts as her thumb feathered over her nipple, her nail scraping the tip. The pleasure intensified, grew until it couldn’t be contained, her knuckles worrying and pinching the puckered flesh of her nipples, the delicate underside of her breast.
The sensation plateaued. Frantic, she tried to force it higher but her hands weren’t enough. Something was missing.
Frustrated, she opened her eyes. He was staring at her breasts, his stance unnaturally still.
“I need more.” When had her voice become so hoarse?
At her words, he lifted his gaze and she shuddered at the heat banked behind ice. He took a step toward her, then another, looming closer, his body blocking the room, until all she could see was him.
And then he replaced her hands with his mouth.
She moaned at the sensation, at the hot wetness of his mouth covering her, his tongue flicking her nipple. His teeth gently worried her as his hand shaped her breast, mimicking the movements she had discovered only moments before. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she held him to her and pushed herself further into his touch.
Abruptly, he gathered her in his arms. She gripped his shoulders as he lifted her, arousal melting through her at the ease of his handling. He laid them both on the chaise lounge, her leg falling to the floor so that he was cradled between her thighs. Before she could gain her bearings, he bent his head, enveloping her nipple once more and all thought vanished. Clutching at the material covering his shoulders, her head fell back as a moan gathered in her throat.
He pushed his hands under her skirts, raising the material so her legs were exposed. She should protest, but what she was feeling, what he was making her feel…. Skin tight, breath trapped, she couldn’t—
His fingers trailed over her drawers and then slipped inside, whispering over her damp flesh as his mouth pulled at her breasts. Over and over his fingers played and she wanted him closer, deeper. Then he parted her, pressing against something that made pleasure streak through her like wildfire. A shriek ripped from her, and she didn’t care she sounded like an idiot, she didn’t care as long as he kept doing what he was doing, his fingers gently pinching, his thumb gently rubbing.
“This is your clitoris.” His eyes glittered as he spoke. “It enables a woman to feel sexual pleasure. A good lover will know where and how to manipulate it for the woman to come.”
She barely heard his words, distracted by the feel of him between her thighs, on the stunning pleasure he was wringing from her.
“I could make you come from doing this, from my fingers against your flesh.” He flicked.
She moaned. He could do whatever he wanted, if he would just do that.
His lips quirked. “However, I believe something else is warranted.”
His body slid down hers. The muscles in her neck gave out, and her head dropped back. She wasn’t sure what he was about, but no doubt it would be—
She sat bolt upright, shock dispelling her arousal. “What are you doing?”
His shoulders had pushed her knees wide, and he was between them, his breath warm on her core. Squirming, she tried to push him away, battling to close her legs.
Grasping her thighs, he forced her to remain open. “Teaching you.”
And then he put his mouth on her.
She gasped, her hands braced against the lounge. This was…it was…she abandoned the thought as his tongue traced her, flicked her, sent waves of pleasure through her until she was certain she would explode. It kept building and building and building, all centred on him, on what he was doing.
He played with her, explored her, his clever tongue showing her things she could never have imagined, and she pushed herself against him, her legs falling open of their own accord. His hands free now, he used them, his fingers tracing her and then thrusting into her. It felt so good, he felt so good, and she loved what he was doing to her. She loved it, and she was a bloody genius for finding this, for pursuing it and oh God, what did he just do?
She screamed, her eyes flying open, panic and something else building in her, something dark and wonderful, and then everything inside her seized, pleasure holding her captive as waves of startling intensity broke over her.
Reality returned slowly. Harsh breath forced air back into her lungs, and the coolness of the room dried the perspiration on her skin. At some stage, she had collapsed, her legs spread wantonly before her.
Dear Lord. That had been…. She had no words to describe it. A stupid grin split her face. A bloody miracle, is what it was.
It could have been minutes or it could have been hours when finally she found the strength to sit up. Malvern was sitting on his haunches before her, his forearms balanced on his thighs. This time, he did not appear as unaffected. Perverse pride battered her at the proof outlined by his trousers.
His brow quirked in query. “I take it you enjoyed that?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” More than like he could read her emotion in the stupid grin stretching her mouth, the one that just wouldn’t go away.
His demeanour never softened. She didn’t care, though. She felt wonderful, absolutely wonderful. And he had made her feel that way.
“Thank you.” Elation bubbled inside her. “Thank you so much.”
“My dear,” he said. “That was only the beginning.”