Chapter Eight

 

 

JAMES GESTURED AT THE book propped before him as he explained the sexual positions depicted within its pages. Elizabeth hadn’t the heart to tell him she had already examined this book most thoroughly, when she had come across it in her father’s study as a girl.

Besides, she enjoyed watching him.

His chair had been dragged from behind his desk, and hers had been turned so they faced each other, a new state of affairs. Up until tonight, the verbal part of their interaction had always taken place with the barrier of his desk between them. She had no notion as to why tonight was different. It was affording her much pleasure, though, being able to observe his whole form as he lectured.

James offered anecdotes to further illustrate both the purpose and the pleasure behind each picture. Elegant fingers drifted over the page as they had drifted over her skin, careful and delicate upon the parchment as he was of her flesh. Though his brow was clear, his lips precise as he spoke, she fancied she could see the faint hint of concentration and cursed herself as a fool for imagining it.

It drove her insane, his inscrutability. Never could she read him. He was an enigma to her, a puzzle she wanted desperately to solve. She wanted to know of the events that had shaped him into the man he had become. She wanted to ask of his family, his childhood, his life up until she had met him. How did he spend his day? What did he have for breakfast? Did he go to societal gatherings and if he did, why had she not seen him?

What did he think of her?

Rubbing her hands against her thighs, she looked away. Good Lord, there it was. She had tried so very hard to conceal her desire from herself, but all it took was one errant thought to shatter the illusion that she didn’t care.

Did he think her facile and stupid for her lack of knowledge? Did he find her observations annoying? Was he truly enjoying their meetings or was it merely something to pass the time?

Did he like her?

Elizabeth told herself it didn’t matter. He wasn’t required to think well of her, just as she wasn’t required to like him, but for all that she pretended, she knew she did. She liked him. She liked that he made her think, made her question her own abilities and boundaries. She liked talking with him, and she most assuredly liked playing with him. More than that, he fascinated her, beyond the erotic instruction, beyond how he made her feel. He could be sitting there as he was now, his beautiful voice espousing some tutorial, and there was no place she would rather be.

She exhaled. All of this conjecture was pointless. She should know better than to torment herself with an endless litany of unanswerable questions. Although, he had answered every query she had ever posed. For almost two months, never had he dissuaded her. He had simply answered, and when she had asked the next question, he had answered that as well.

Two months, and still their association was a secret. None had questioned her movements, her sisters easily believing her tale of regular appointments, and she didn’t think James had any family. The new clothes she wore only around him, or at least she would until she could think of a plausible excuse.

Thank God no one had discovered her true purpose. She should not yet like to give him up.

Warmth suffused her as she traced his features with her gaze. The slant of his cheekbones. The slope of his brow. The strong jaw. His features were becoming so well known to her, so much so that when she closed her eyes she could picture him perfectly.

An elegant hand turned the page.

Suddenly, she wanted to push him, to see what he wouldn’t answer. “Have you noticed Lady Barronn and Mr. Sykes don’t speak? They stand on opposite sides of the room, pointedly not looking at each other.” The question wasn’t the most provoking she’d ever concocted, but it would do to begin.

He fell silent and then his gaze rose to meet hers, revealing nothing. “Do you not find this interesting?”

Was he annoyed at her interruption? Unsure, she smiled, more than like too brightly. “No, I do. It’s only they do tend to ignore each other, a little too much, in my opinion.”

He returned his attention to the book. “That’s because she had an affair with his brother while she was his mistress.” He pointed to the page. “This picture has the man—”

“And Lord Walters always disappears from the ballroom two hours into the ball. I’ve been tempted to follow him a time or two.”

“If you had, a part of your education would not need explanation.”

She waited.

Clearly annoyed now, he exhaled before continuing. “He meets his lover there.”

How was that a revelation?

“His lover. Who is a man.”

“What? Oh.” She frowned. “How does that work?”

“There are many ways. They could masturbate each other, or they could perform fellatio, or undertake anal sex.”

“Anal sex? As in, up the bum?” Feeling the burn of a blush, she lowered her voice. “And men say that as a toast when drinking. It puts a whole new slant on the phrase.”

His lips quirked. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”

“You have undertaken this?” She still couldn’t believe it. Whoever would have thought such an action would even be possible? Well, of course it was possible, after all sexual engagement was all about slots and—Good Lord, she was stopping right there.

“Once or twice. Buggery is not to my taste, but there are many who enjoy it.” He raised a brow, which she had decided must be his primary form of communication. “Women, even.”

Elizabeth sat back in her chair. Well. Women found it enjoyable? Really? The thought of taking someone there was disturbing to say the least. “If it’s all the same to you, I am happy to leave that out of my, um, education.”

“It is listed on your curriculum for Thursday next. Are you sure you do not wish to partake? By all accounts, it can be quite pleasurable for the woman.”

“Can it?” Dread curled low in her belly. She should not doubt him. He was her tutor. Surely he knew what was best. “Well, if you think….”

No expression crossed his features, his face impassive as ever, and yet she was certain he was amused. Another man might have been grinning.

Relief flooded through her. “You are teasing me.”

A faint smile curved his lips. “Elizabeth, if there is something you do not wish to do, you must tell me. Pleasure is about what is right for you, and what is right for some is not right for others. If you don’t wish to do something, then we shan’t.” His smile disappeared but his gaze, intensely serious, captured her own. “By the same token, if there is something you wish, we shall explore it to its furthest reaches. This is about you, and what you want. No one else can tell you what that is.”

At his words, something inside her shifted. Never had someone given control to her. No, not given. He had not given her control at all. He had simply told her it had always been hers. Strange thought. And strangely liberating.

“Thank you.” Too much was churning inside her. Looking down at her hands, she tried to sort her emotions. “I should thank you, for what you’ve done for me. For everything.”

“There is no need.”

She looked up. That ice-blue gaze was still upon her. It was odd, but she didn’t feel cold. A peculiar sensation gripped her chest, warm and breathless, similar to excitement but different somehow. The silence between them was heavy with something, she knew not what, but it made her feel….

She blinked, and the moment disappeared as if it had never been. James looked down at the book, his index finger tapping against the page, a faint frown creasing his brow.

Endeavouring to return to a more familiar mood, Elizabeth grinned, uncaring that it felt somehow false. “So, anyway, I was wondering about the figures in paintings, you know, the ones that are nude?”

He glanced at her, and she could swear gratitude crossed his face. She continued, forcing a brightness she didn’t feel into her words. “Are they anatomically correct? Are all men made as they, and I suppose, you?”

“I would venture to say they are as correct as the sculptor could make them.”

What else she could ask? “Why have you moved your chair from around the de—?”

“Elizabeth,” he interrupted. “Is there a point to this?”

She shrugged. “I was curious.”

A sudden smile quirked his lips. She drew in a breath, her heart suddenly racing.

“You are curious?” Good Lord, but his voice was almost criminal.

She nodded, her gaze trained on his as arousal hardened his features, making his eyes burn. He leaned over, trapping her hand with his, his thumb rubbing over her skin. The small caress raised goose bumps and she shivered, her stomach tightening as she became lost in him.

“What are you curious about?” His words wound about her, seducing her. The movement of his thumb, the slight push and pull against her skin, drove her insane. Such a small caress, so innocent, and yet she could feel her response deep inside her.

“Do you truly want to know?” Even her voice had become affected, husky and low.

His eyes dark, wickedness lurking in their depths, he nodded.

“What did you do today?”

Face blank, he dropped her hand. This time, this one time, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to show what he was thinking. It was because she truly had shocked him. So much so he couldn’t disguise that second of disconcertment, allowing her a brief glimpse at true emotion. Pleasure suffused her that she could affect him so.

“You wish to know about my day?” Incredulity stole the seduction from his tone. “What, pray tell, do you wish to know?”

“Only what you did.”

“What I did? You mean sexually?”

“No.” Ridiculous heat burnt her cheeks. Really, she had nothing to blush about, after all they’d— “You have done things today? Sexually? What—” Did she really want to know? “Um, no, I was wondering about what you did. Did you do estate work, or did you take a walk? Did you go to your club? Did you enjoy your breakfast, if so, what did you enjoy the most? Did anything amuse you today? Shock you? Bore you?”

“You don’t want to know much, do you?” He studied her, his forefinger rubbing his lip. She waited for his response, wondering if she had overstepped a boundary.

“I enjoyed my coffee,” he finally said. “And the new footman has an annoying way of greeting one in the morning. All chirpy and awake.” Disgust punctuated his words at the last.

“Really?” She tucked a hand under her chin. “What else?”

His gaze became distant. “I don’t know. I went to my club. Nothing much of interest there.” Eyes clearing, he shrugged. “My day was fairly uneventful. What of yours?” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I suppose you are a morning person and would have been charmed by an energetic greeting.”

Elizabeth gave an exaggerated shudder. “Heavens, no, I can’t stand the mornings. Some days, I have to be dragged forcibly from my bed—especially now that it is colder.” She thought back. “My sister decided to visit me this morning, bringing her horde of children with her. She has five of the little monsters, all of them under ten years of age. Have you ever faced five children first thing in the morning? Not the best of endeavours to begin the day.”

Her nieces and nephews had rampaged through her town house, tracking mud over the cold marble floors, leaving marks on the pristine walls. Their rambunctious behaviour had resulted in her home appearing well-used and lived in, a state that was all too often absent. Catherine had the harried look Elizabeth had often seen on the faces of her sisters, the mingling of exasperation, exhaustion, and love as she looked at her children, though still she’d called them wild little beasts as they’d trampled past her.

Belatedly, she realised that somehow the conversation had turned to her. “But we were speaking of you and your day. What else did you do?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Oh please. Of course you didn’t do nothing. You had to have done something—”

She squeaked as he covered her mouth with his, stopping her questions most effectively. His lips moved slowly against hers, teasing her mouth open, his tongue darting inside. She promptly forgot what she had been saying as her arms crept around his neck, her body arching into his as she returned his kiss enthusiastically. Mumbling something encouraging, he deepened the kiss, his hands wandering over her body fervently.

Her last thought was why no one had ever thought of this most pleasurable method of silencing her before.