Chapter Seven


 

 

THE DESCRIPTION OF WHAT had been one of the standout events of his life seemed to fall upon deaf ears. Malvern studied his protégé, noting that while she nodded in a facsimile of rapt attention, her mind was elsewhere.

The evocative description of the most memorable erotic performance he had ever attended had not piqued her interest. The burlesque show had featured a woman who had charged an obscene amount for the mere privilege of gazing upon her clothed form as she’d shimmied and swayed. A subsequent attendance, including a significant hike in price, had encompassed the woman’s transition from clothed to unclothed. It had been well worth the extra coin. Just thinking about it had him half hard.

His pupil, however, had evidently decided there were more scintillating things to ponder than that long-ago performance. Her preoccupation had been obvious upon her arrival, her brief greeting at odds with her usual enthusiasm. Now that he thought on it, the distinct lack of questions, those that so often interrupted their lessons, should have immediately raised his concern. On a few occasions, she had fairly looked as if she would burst if she didn’t impart what she was thinking, but somehow she had managed to contain herself.

He was beginning to wonder if he would have need to question her directly.

Mayhap the lack of physicality of their encounters had distressed her. They had been meeting now for over a month, and he had decided on a series of less demonstrative routes to pleasure. It had seemed prudent to begin such a course, in the wake of the disturbing incident in the dressmaker’s. She was his pupil, not his mistress, and a lack of control could only be detrimental to her education. Such lapses could lead to others, and he would not engage in penetrative sex.

So, he’d endeavoured to introduce her to the art of seduction from afar. With the assistance of a fan, he had shown Elizabeth how with a flash of eye, a trace of lip or a frame of cheek, she could enslave a man from across a ballroom. He’d then proceeded to instruct her on a far more decadent version of fan language, and the intrigue of enthralling a man with little more than thin slivers of wood and cloth had seemed to strike a chord. Surprisingly, she was quick to memorise all, and with a seriousness he had not thought her capable. Also of surprise how quickly she’d turned the tables on him. With a flick of her wrist, she’d lured and seduced, his heart racing as shadowed eyes enthralled him.

Then, just because she could, she’d proceeded to make up her own gestures and combinations. His heart had slowed to normal rhythm as each became sillier than the last. Her laughter, light and frequent, had even coaxed amusement in him as she’d exchanged seduction for burlesque.

Last week, they’d discussed erotic poetry. Unfortunately, the discussion had destroyed his resolve and they’d ended up enacting the scenarios described in a most satisfactory manner. The scenarios barring coitus, of course. A few days ago, she had surprised him by sending her own erotic poem, an effort which had aroused him to the point where he’d had to seek relief like a schoolboy before he’d been fit to leave the house. The poem was currently locked in his drawer, along with the schedule she was convinced didn’t exist.

Now she sat before him, her gaze focused on something only she could see. Her distraction, however, allowed him to indulge himself. He settled back, permitting himself the pleasure of examining her.

She wore one of her new gowns, this one in a dark green. It looked well on her, the rich shade suiting her colouring, the shape displaying hers.

He shifted in his seat. Maybe the shape suited her too well. Her breasts swelled above the neckline in a way they’d not in her previous wear, putting him to mind of the corset she must be wearing beneath, and of how she’d looked without the corset, how she’d stood in front of the mirror, her hands caressing her breasts as he’d watched….

He shook himself. Damnation, again that lapse.

The new clothing, though, had been a source of dissension between them. His pupil, upon finding he had settled the bill, had been adamant to reimburse him, though she was far his inferior in fiduciary matters. Beyond ridiculous, that she should insist upon such an action. Almost he had told her this but something had stayed him. She had been so determined, so resolute, it had become plain his usual methods to ensure compliance would be of no use. And so, he had done the only thing he could think of. He’d lied.

Claiming the money for the attire had been taken from the payment she had made to Lydia, he had run roughshod over her objections and ignored her sceptical look at such a patently false statement. Her attempts to insist had been met with his refusal to engage in argument and eventually she had seen the futility of pursuit. She had not seemed wholly comfortable with the outcome, but seeing no other recourse, she had demurred with quiet, and strangely intense, thanks.

He had no notion why he had been so obstinate. All he knew was a strange sense of triumph had suffused him at the knowledge that clothing he had bought for her lay against her skin, that each morning she donned garments he provided. Even now, seeing her in the clothing he’d purchased for her, that same sense surged through him.

Abruptly, he grew tired of her distraction. Though it lacked subtly, directness had its benefits. “Is there something you wished to discuss?”

Her gaze rose and for the first time that evening, her attention was solely on him. “Discuss? No, nothing.”

Nothing.” Did she truly think him so dense as to not observe her preoccupation? “That is why you have not listened to a word I’ve said tonight?”

Of course I’ve listened, you were saying—” She paused. “I’m almost certain there was dancing involved.” Sheepishness crept into her smile. “I am sorry, Malvern. You are right. I wasn’t listening.”

So I say again, was there something you wished to discuss?”

She hesitated, her every thought crossing her face. What was it like, to be so exposed? One of his father’s mistresses had impressed upon him at a young age one must always be on guard, and the truth of that had been demonstrated time and again over the years. He still remembered her voice, her face, as she had said it, the incident of greater importance to him than she’d probably intended. It was seared into his memory, a strange affinity forever binding him with this woman whom his father had discarded without care less than a fortnight later. When given her conge, true to her word, no expression had crossed her porcelain features.

His pupil appeared to have finally reached a decision. “Well, there is something. I have a question. Well, not a question. It’s really more of a request.”

A request?” A request could be interesting. His gaze wandered over her face, her throat, lingering on the swell of her breasts. Mayhap her request would have him removing her dress, bearing her breasts to his gaze, his touch, his tongue….

Oblivious to the direction his thoughts had turned, she twisted her hands. “Last night, well, last night was the Swannson’s ball, the one for Pippa Swannson’s debut. Lady Swannson had quite outdone herself, and could one have really expected that after Sophia’s debut last year? Now that was quite the spectacle.”

Concealing his interest, he noted the colour in her cheeks, her rapid breath. This request, it must be of a truly depraved nature to warrant this level of distress. Arousal ran through him, stirring his blood, thickening his cock. What could a mind such as hers possibly have conjured?

Anyway, I was at the debut, and it was really quite lovely. Lots of people I knew in attendance, loads of gossip and we all were having a very merry time. I—Were you there?”

With a nervous laugh, she answered her own question. “Of course you weren’t there, as if you would be. I don’t know what I was thinking. But anyway, I was chaperoning for my niece, my eldest niece—Lord, it’s hard to believe she is seventeen—and I had just popped out of the ballroom for a moment. I needed a spot of air. It was so stuffy in the ballroom and so I wandered into the garden and, well, I happened upon a couple.” She spoke as if in a race, stumbling and tripping with all haste to a finish he could only guess at.

And what were they doing?” he asked, though he already knew. His own experiences at debuts surfaced, quick fucks against walls, fellatio performed behind curtains. The gardens were particularly rich fodder, the seclusion and the lack of light concealing some of the more depraved encounters.

They were kissing. Soft. Light. Like they were courting.” A soft smile lit her features as she lost herself in some memory. Suddenly, she looked young, innocent, not more than a girl herself. “Rocksley used to kiss me like that.”

They were kissing? That is all?” A naïve couple were kissing, no doubt badly, and she was on the point of swooning?

Or was it the memory of her husband?

Annoyance inundated Malvern. Nothing he’d done had resulted in the look she had on her face now, halfway between wistful and luminous. He had shown her pleasure, true pleasure, but that look was reserved for her dead husband, a man so idiotic he couldn’t even recognise how easy his wife’s passion ignited.

Pain flared, distracting him. He glanced down. Bloody hell, his hands were clenched so hard his nails would leave marks in the fleshy part of his palm. Disturbed this had somehow happened without his knowledge, he released the tension, flexing the tight muscles surreptitiously.

Thankfully, she had remained unaware of his lapse. “Their kissing was enough. They were so sweet standing there, absorbed in one another, their whole lives ahead of them.” Her eyes lost their dreaminess and that fleeting glimpse of how she must have been before her marriage was gone. “Do you realise we’ve never kissed?”

Of course we have.” Their lesson needed to be guided back to more familiar footing. It was unnecessary to wonder what she was like upon her debut. To wonder if she would have regarded him with that innocent desire, allowed him to kiss her as she’d described.

Ridiculous notion. Never had he wanted to be that innocent, to court a maid like a fool.

A rueful smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “No, we haven’t. Strange, isn’t it? We’ve done so much, and yet we haven’t done that.”

Bloody hell, she was right. How could it be that he’d never kissed her? His mouth had traced her body, he’d learned her contours with his tongue, and yet never had he touched his lips to hers. Never explored the shape of her mouth, never traced her lips with his tongue, never taken her bottom lip between his teeth.

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably hard. She wasn’t helping matters, with her new gown displaying her breasts so prominently, the flesh plump and ripe for his touch. It also didn’t help that he knew exactly how she would feel beneath his fingers. Soft, hot, her skin silky smooth.

And still she spoke. “I haven’t actually kissed that many men, so I was wondering if we could experiment. With kissing.” She looked at him, all that was expectant and eager. “What do you think?”

Malvern didn't hasten to reply, much needed clarity arriving with her request. She wanted to kiss? Innocently kiss when he could instead pull down that thrice-damned bodice and encase her nipple with the wet heat of his mouth? Kissing was the appetiser to a meal, not the main course. But how was she to learn if he didn’t show her the error of her ways? “If you feel it will benefit your education, by all means, we should undertake it.”

Her brow creased, and he knew she wondered at his words. And then, she smiled.

Such a smile should not be so radiant. His heart, disturbingly, started to pound.

Excellent.” She came toward him and, with little more than a soft touch, coaxed him to his feet. “So, how should we proceed?” Her gaze wandered to his mouth.

He ignored the rush in his ears. “Start, and if you require any instruction, I shall provide it.”

She nodded, her gaze still on his mouth. Her hand curled around the back of his neck and, lifting herself onto her toes, she touched her lips to his.

He restrained the shudder that threatened at her touch. Bloody hell, such a reaction was absurd. Slowly, she brushed her soft mouth against his, her lips parted, her breath whispering over him. His already labouring heart grew worse, setting his blood to thrum through his veins.

The response was incommensurate to such a pedestrian embrace. Remaining still, he fought to give lie to his reaction, to pretend she had not just reduced him to a green boy with nothing more than her lips upon his.

With a final soft touch, her mouth lifted from his. Judging by the worry in her eyes, she had felt nothing of his response. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Do you always kiss with such timidity?” With his words, he tried for indolence, and he must have succeeded. Damnation, she looked hurt. He hadn’t meant to hurt her.

That was a courting kiss.”

A what?”

A courting kiss.” A blonde curl rested on her forehead. His fingers itched. “The kind you give when you are courting. Rocksley used to kiss me like that.”

No wonder he never made you come,” he muttered.

She looked at him sharply. “What?”

A courting kiss. Interesting.” She still looked at him askance, as if deciding whether to make an issue of his remark or not. Evidently, she decided not. Crossing his arms, one part of his mind was pleased to note his hands had stopped shaking. “It seems the kiss you give a virgin.”

Well, I was a virgin.” Pink stained her cheeks even as she attempted to appear nonchalant. Damn her for looking so attractive with that tinge of colour.

Her chin lifted and a smile crossed her features, one that made him slightly apprehensive. “Before I was wed, my suitors used to do this.” Her hands cradled his face as her lips whispered over his brows, kissed his temples.

His heart, that damned unruly organ that was not heeding his mind, picked up pace.

And this.” She traced a light path down his cheek before her mouth returned to his, pressing lightly against his lips.

Unwillingly seduced by her chaste kisses and light touches, he attempted in vain to dispel her effect on him. “And this is what swept you off your feet?” he said harshly. “This play?”

She smiled, her thumbs tracing his cheekbones. “Of course. What can be more romantic to a young virgin than a man gently introducing her to pleasure?” She arched a brow, the expression he used to such effect appearing playful upon her. “But, of course, after innocent play, they always tried the passionate kiss.”

Malvern was disgusted to find he was holding his breath. She smiled suddenly, wickedly, and then she stepped forward to demonstrate once more.

His brows rose as she mashed her lips against his. Her kiss was…interesting. His heart steadied as she continued her…he hesitated to call it a kiss. She was trying her best, though. It shouldn’t cheer him that it appeared she had had some very poor tutors.

Gently, he set her from him, relieved they were back on familiar footing. “That was passionate kissing?”

A frown creased her brow. “Was I doing it wrong?”

He effected an elegant rising of the shoulder, the distraction of a moment ago forgotten. “It was not the best kiss I’ve ever received.”

Oh.” The light in her eyes dimmed.

“’Tis easily remedied.” Taking a step toward her, he fairly crowded her with his body. She didn’t retreat, curious mouse that she was. Her scent wound about him, that scent that was hers alone, flowers and musk and her.

How?” Her eyes fairly drowned him with innocence.

Suspicion rose at her guileless tone. “Are you being facetious?”

Now, why would you say that?” Wickedness danced behind the innocence.

His lips quirked and, before amusement could find expression, he covered her mouth with his. His kiss destroyed the shape of her smile.

Concentrating on overwhelming her, he demanded entrance to her mouth. A hand placed at the small of her back pulled her against him, and with her body aligned with his, he brought his considerable experience to the fore. She was sweet, tasting of the tea she had consumed, her tongue eagerly following his as he tutored her in the art of kissing.

His hands clenched against her back, he tried to maintain a ruthless control on his body, to keep this about their lips and mouths and tongues. She learned too well, though. She took control of the kiss, her lips slanted against his, her arms twining about his neck as she rose to afford a better position. His hand clutched the back of her head, keeping her still for him as she bit and licked at his mouth, his body hardening yet again. He forgot this was about teaching her, forgot he was to remain dispassionate and removed.

Trailing small kisses down her neck, he nuzzled her skin, licking at the flesh behind her ear. Arching her neck, she gave him greater access and her hands roamed his back, always pulling him closer to her, trapping him in her. Her breasts pushed against his chest, the flesh bared by her gown burning through the fine lawn of his shirt, making him wish there was nothing between them, that he was deep inside her, that this kiss was prelude to something more.

Forcing himself away from those thoughts, he instead returned to her lips, her tongue, the wet warmth of her mouth. He would not think of how it would feel to be inside her, fucking her until she screamed, until he was the only lover she remembered.

She tore her mouth away from his, sucking air into her lungs in great gasps. Her eyes were wide, this time with shock instead of feigned innocence. “That was…I don’t….”

He, too, felt the effects of the kiss, arousal running wild through his veins. “A passionate kiss.” The words came out fairly even.

A sudden smile brightened her face, fairly dazzling him with its brilliance. “It certainly was. We should do it again.”

He wanted to say no. He wanted to order her home, to bring the lesson to an end. He should send her home. “I am at your disposal.”

Again, that smile. “You are, aren’t you?” She launched herself at him, covering his face with kisses. Some light, some hard, but all with the same effect as the first.

Bloody hell, again that absurdly incommensurate response. She was seducing him with her soft touches and her mouth on his. Pleasure rolled through him, and it was impossible to separate it from the woman in his arms.

Rubbing his thumb against her cheek, he traced her features, her name suddenly crystallizing in his mind. “Elizabeth.”

Yes?” She placed a kiss against his jaw.

That is your name, isn’t it? Elizabeth?”

She stilled. She pulled back, and in her face he read the shock, the hurt, the disbelief that he was unsure of her name. Letting her go without protest, Malvern quashed the desire to reassure her, to tell her that he was just teasing, because it would be a lie.

He had made certain not to think of her as Elizabeth until this moment. Even now, he had little notion as to why her name should be so important, to either her or himself. He just knew that now she was Elizabeth, no longer a mouse, more than his student.

Still, she was uncertain, her eyes troubled. She was too free with her emotions. Did she not know the power an observer gained if one’s every thought was displayed?

Yes,” Elizabeth finally said. “Elizabeth Marie. My mother claimed a lack of imagination in the choice of my name.” Her lips quirked. “I’m actually glad for it. Can you imagine being named Iphigenia? Or Eunice?”

He stared at her. She had just brushed the insult aside. Wholly. With no recriminations. He was not so unfeeling as to not realise what his unthinking comment had meant. She had to have known he did not think of her as a person, simply his student. And yet, she made no ruckus about it. After what they had shared, he would have thought she would be devastated. Women were known to prescribe feeling where there was little, and she had scant experience to buffer her. In truth, he had not thought of that. It had just seemed right to call her by her name, to think of her by such.

I feel silly asking this now, but would you tell me your given name?” A rueful look crossed Elizabeth’s face, as if she knew the irony of her question. “I know you are known as Malvern, but—”

James,” he said. “My given name is James.”

James.” His name sounded beautiful when she spoke it. “It seems your mother possessed a lack of imagination as well.”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

Oh.” Compassion softened her features. “I’m sorry.”

She believed his mother was dead. Most did. He considered letting her continue to believe it. “Don’t be. My mother probably does lack imagination.”

Elizabeth paused and then, softly, “Do you not know?”

He raised a brow at the pity in her voice. He didn’t much care one way or the other if he knew his mother’s mind. On occasion he had seen her, each encounter as if with a stranger. There was nothing wrong in that. It was much the same as any other child’s life.

As his hand began to tap against his side, he glanced away. “I cannot say it ranks highly on the things I must discover in life.” He forced himself to still, to turn back to Elizabeth. “Do you wish to continue with your lesson?”

The kissing, you mean? No, I should go home.” She made a face. “My sister is making me attend a dinner tonight. It always takes a good hour or so to get me in the right frame of mind to see her.”

Oh?” He cursed himself for his curiosity. What did he care what she did?

Yes, she must always insist on trying to fix my life. I swear, one of these days….” Elizabeth regarded him ruefully. “But you don’t wish to know this. I do apologise, James.” A smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “I must say, I like calling you that.”

He hated to admit it, and he didn’t let himself until after she had left, but he liked hearing Elizabeth call him by name as well.