Let Sleeping Rogues Lie

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Of course, she wasn’t talking about him. She was talking about the average man. And that he could address. “Miss Prescott is correct. A true gentleman will choose to govern his desires. If you refuse to go off alone with him, he’ll accept your decision. And if you do happen to find yourself alone with him, you will still be safe, because he lives by the rules that society sets for his behavior.”

  Hardly aware that he did it, he scowled. “But the beast doesn’t care about the rules. He’ll keep trying to get you alone until he succeeds. Once he succeeds, there will be no controlling him. He will certainly not attempt to control himself. That’s why you must learn to distinguish between the beast and the gentleman. Because it’s the only sure way to protect yourself from harm.”

  For some reason, that provoked a flurry of whispers among the girls. At apparent prodding from the others, Miss Seton raised her hand again.

  “Yes, Miss Seton?”

  She rose, a serious expression on her face. “We were wondering, sir…well…you seem to be very good at acting sincere, and you have a great deal of knowledge about these matters and…” With a glance at her friends, she hesitated.

  “Ask your question, Miss Seton. I promise not to bite.”

  With her friends’ titters goading her, she met him with a forthright gaze. “What we’d like to know, sir, is which are you? A gentleman? Or a beast masquerading as a gentleman?”

  Chapter Six

  Dear Cousin,

  In all your alarm I notice you don’t reveal whether you know his lordship personally. Perhaps I shall ask him about the friends he invites to his parties. It could be a most enlightening discussion.

  Your curious relation,

  Charlotte

  Madeline had to smother a laugh at Lord Norcourt’s flummoxed expression. Only her girls could render a viscount speechless. Taking pity on him, she said, “Since his lordship has been kind enough to instruct you girls in these matters, I don’t think we should question—”

  “No, no, I want to answer.” He stared thoughtfully at the girls. “Mrs. Harris and your teacher asked me to provide this instruction because of my reputation as a rakehell. They’ve decided I’m a beast masquerading as a gentleman, and they figure no one knows better how a beast behaves than another beast. They may be right.”

  Leaning his hips against the edge of Madeline’s desk, he regarded the girls with an oddly sober expression. “But you will have to decide for yourselves. Despite what I’ve told you so far, a man’s character isn’t always easy to determine. Over the days to come, I hope to offer you ways to do so, but in the end your decision on how to regard a man, any man, can only be yours.”

  What a clever dodge. Still, it wasn’t a bad answer under the circumstances. If he came right out and said he was a beast, the girls probably wouldn’t believe him anyway. Or worse yet, they’d be fascinated.

  They were already fascinated, truth be told. As he described a rogue’s sly techniques for touching a woman’s hand or arm or even hair without alarming her, he made every female in the room, including her, yearn to receive those touches.

  Madeline sighed. Who could blame them? Even dressed in mourning clothes, he managed to look fashionable. Today he wore black buckskin riding breeches with carved ebony buttons. His Hessian boots bore a high sheen, and his merino riding coat and waistcoat of black figured silk were excellently tailored. Even his hair was fashionably tousled, though probably from his ride, not a valet’s care.

  Unless he was intentionally trying to look unstudied.

  Oh, how was a mere schoolteacher to discern such aristocratic whims? Why, the man had just happily illustrated a rogue’s ploys. If she had any sense, she wouldn’t trust him at all. Yesterday, when he’d admired her interest in natural history and professed to love mathematics, he probably hadn’t even meant it. He’d merely been trying to soften her so he could gain her help.

  And his kiss…

  She swallowed. No one could call that hot, unsettling caress the act of a gentleman. It had kept her up half the night wondering how his lips would feel against her throat and shoulder and breasts.

  Lord help her, she must be mad. He was driving her mad. She should heed his lessons and be careful around him until she knew him better. Or more importantly, until he arranged the nitrous oxide party.

  Guilt stabbed her. She had no business dreaming about the viscount. He was necessary to her aims, nothing more, and she mustn’t forget it.

  The clock in the hall chimed the hour, and she started. Look how thoroughly he’d unnerved her—now she was forgetting the time.

  Stepping forward, she broke into his recitation. “Thank you for your enlightening information, Lord Norcourt, but we’ll have to save the rest for tomorrow.” At the predictable protest from the girls, she frowned. “We’re already forgoing instruction in natural history for these lessons—we shan’t forgo your mathematics instruction, too.”

  “But couldn’t his lordship stay during our lessons?” one of the girls chirped.

  “I can’t imagine why he’d want to listen to me teach mathematics.”

  “On the contrary,” he put in, eyes gleaming, “I’d enjoy that enormously. And how better to improve my own instructional skills than to observe yours?”

  “Oh, yes!” Miss Seton said breathlessly. “After that, he can help with our dance class! He can show us the proper way for a gentleman to hold us.”

  “Your instructor can do that, too, as you know very well,” Madeline chided. “Besides, his lordship has only committed to be here for one hour a day, and probably has other matters to take care of.”

  “Miss Prescott is correct,” he said in a faint Etonian clip that tip-tapped along her heightened nerves. “I’ve arranged to meet my steward this afternoon at my estate near Chertsey.”

  Relief coursed through her.

  “But that leaves me a few hours free.” His gaze bore a decidedly reckless glint. “If you ladies can convince Miss Prescott to dance with me during your lessons, I’ll stay until they’re over. After all, I’ll need a partner for this demonstration, and partnering one of you would hardly be appropriate.”

  An instant clamor rose from her students, making her suppress a groan. The last thing she needed was to spend an hour twirling in the viscount’s arms. But he clearly reveled in her discomfort, and that rubbed her raw.

  She refused to let him think his sly tactics would make her waver from her demand for her party. Besides, it would be useful for the girls to see how a woman of sense responded to a rakehell. “Very well, sir. I shall dance with you.”

  As the girls let up a cheer, he winked at them. Devious devil.

  “And if you insist upon staying to observe our class,” she added, “you may take a seat.” While he headed toward a vacant chair near the back, she cast the girls a stern gaze. “But if you ladies cannot concentrate on your studies because of our visitor, he’ll have to leave, understood?”

  They nodded and made a great show of settling in—laying out their pencils and paper and straightening in their seats. She drew her notes from her desk, then strode to the blackboard to write the problems they were to work.

  Until today, she hadn’t noticed how her gown hiked up to show a sliver of stocking when she lifted her arm to write. It was all she could do not to pull at her skirts. She swore she could feel Lord Norcourt’s gaze on her as a doe felt the predator surveying her strengths…and her weaknesses.

  She told herself she was imagining it, but when she faced the class, there was no mistaking the half smile playing over his lips. Oh, Lord, had he been staring at her bottom and ankles? Or had he merely guessed how his presence unsettled her?

  Well, if he thought to change her mind about the party by turning her up sweet, he could think again. He would not get what he wanted by using his tricks on her, no indeed.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to care that she ignored him as she began to teach. While she gestured and explained and asked questions of her students, his
eyes swept her from head to toe in a slow, interested perusal. And to her horror, whatever part he scanned grew heated beneath his impudent glance.

  Yet whenever she paused in her lecture to frown at him, he drew his gaze back to her face with the innocent expression of a lad who couldn’t imagine what he was being chastised for.

  Outrageous rascal. And she’d agreed to dance with him! How was she supposed to endure it without betraying his alarming effect on her?

  Drat him, she’d had enough of his antics. He professed to like mathematics, did he? Very well, let him prove it.

  She strode to the board and erased the problems they’d finished, then chalked one very long equation. The girls groaned. Every day for the past week, she’d offered it as a mental challenge. So far, they hadn’t figured it out.

  “I think we should let Lord Norcourt try his hand at it this time, ladies.” She addressed them with a smile. “What do you say? Shall we see if he can solve it?”

  As they loudly voiced their assent, he cocked his head. “I thought you didn’t want me disrupting your class.”

  “It’s no disruption. My pupils have puzzled over it for days—I thought it only fair we give you a chance. Of course, if it’s too difficult for you—”

  “No, indeed.” A smile tipped up his fine mouth, and he raked her again with his gaze, as if to say, Do as you wish, but you can’t stop me from looking. Then he unfolded his lanky form from the short chair and strolled to the front.

  But instead of taking another piece of chalk, he reached for hers, deliberately brushing her fingers when he extricated it.

  The light touch sent an electric current sweeping over her skin, and she swallowed. She should never have told him that attempts at seduction left her unaffected. For one thing, she’d begun to think it mightn’t be entirely true. For another, it had presented him with a challenge that no rakehell worth his salt could ignore. Nor did she dare report him to Mrs. Harris until she got her party.

  Fine. She would give him a taste of his own tactics. Let him be uncomfortable for a change.

  So when he went to the board, she moved to stand where he could see her out of the corner of his eye. Then she proceeded to gaze blatantly at his bottom the same way he’d gazed blatantly at hers.

  It was no hardship. He had a fine bottom, from what she could see of it beneath his riding coat. And his legs were quite attractive, long and muscular, the calves nicely filling out the leather. She could stare at them all day.

  And would, if it annoyed him, but he didn’t even seem to notice. Apparently the problem on the board absorbed him entirely, for he kept his eyes fixed there and his lips set in a line as he worked. She was still trying to figure out how to make him notice her rude staring when he set down the chalk and faced her.

  “There.” He wiped the chalk dust from his hands. “Shall I explain the solution as well?”

  She gaped at him. Then she gaped at the board. Drat him, that problem had taken her thirty minutes to solve when she’d found it in a book of equations. And he’d got it right in no time at all, on the first try, too!

  So he hadn’t lied about his interest in mathematics. Worse yet, he was better at it than she. That had never happened before. It was awfully disconcerting.

  “Please,” she said coldly. “Do explain it. If you can.”

  He laughed. “I’d be honored.”

  “I’ll just step out into the hall to tell Mrs. Harris that you’re staying longer—”

  “What?” He stepped into her path with a cheeky grin. “But your careful watch over me is what inspired me to complete the problem.”

  So he had noticed her staring and hadn’t been the least bothered by it. If anything, it had made him even more of a flirt.

  “Come now, Miss Prescott, you’re supposed to supervise. You can’t supervise if you run away.”

  “I’m not running away,” she retorted. One should never show one’s weaknesses to a beast. “What exactly would I be trying to escape?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Perhaps the overwhelming effects of my charm?”

  As the girls giggled, she forced a laugh. “Oh, but after you’ve gone to such effort to convince us that your charm is false, sir, I would certainly not be silly enough to succumb to it.”

  “I revealed that a rogue’s charm is false, madam,” he said, a slight edge to his voice. “Do you think that my charm is as well?”

  “You did instruct us to treat every man as a stranger. Since I only met you yesterday…”

  A grudging laugh escaped him. “You persist in using my own lessons against me. Very well, go off to your employer.”

  “Oh, no, sir, I can’t leave now, or you’ll claim I’m running away.” She flashed him a smile. “I won’t have my girls thinking I’m a coward.”

  “Only a fool would think you a coward, sweetheart.”

  The endearment dropped like a stone into the girls’ rapt silence, startling ripples of gasps throughout the room. In that moment, Madeline realized he had momentarily forgotten their audience. As had she.

  Panic clamoring in her breast, she turned to the girls. “And there, my dears, is another illustration of how a rogue works.” With a gesture to Lord Norcourt, she said, “His lordship and I will offer many such demonstrations through the next two weeks of his tenure here. You must be prepared to witness one at any moment.”

  “Exactly.” His husky voice played havoc with her senses. “Now you see how easily it is for a flirtation to progress beyond the bounds of propriety. You may think that sparring with a rogue won’t hurt, but it can get away from you before you know it, as Miss Prescott has just shown.”

  What Madeline had just shown was her horrible susceptibility to his flirtations. Because in the first second after he’d called her “sweetheart,” she’d felt a curl of warmth…satisfaction…pleasure. Oh, Lord.

  “And now, sir,” she said, not caring that her voice was as breathless as any green girl’s, “I will inform Mrs. Harris of our plans.”

  They’d had a narrow escape, for if one of the girls ever revealed what he’d called her, Mrs. Harris was sure to suspect the attraction between them.

  Then there would be hell to pay.

  Chapter Seven

  Dear Charlotte,

  You do not mention the nature of your connection with the viscount. If my opinion counts for anything, I warn you to take care. You aren’t likely to consider a liaison in the same light as he. As for your finding out my identity from the viscount, don’t go to the trouble. I only know of his parties from gossip.

  Your concerned cousin,

  Michael

  Less than an hour later, they trooped to the ballroom. Anthony watched as Miss Prescott explained to the dance instructor the new plan. Apparently the woman was delighted not to be needed, for she abandoned ship as soon as she heard that Miss Prescott meant to take over that day’s lesson.

  One of the girls headed for the pianoforte. “Play a waltz,” Anthony instructed her. “It’s the only dance suitable for demonstrating what’s improper.”

  The girl looked to Miss Prescott, who sighed. “He’s right—the waltz provides more opportunities for the wrong sort of touching.”

  And more opportunities for him to test her mettle. Yes, their audience would provide some restriction, but he could touch her, unsettle her. Try to determine her real reasons for demanding a nitrous oxide party.

  That’s all he wanted. Not to put his hands on her. Or dance with her. Or feel her move beneath his hands.

  He stifled an oath. All right, so perhaps he did want more than just to unsettle her. But who could blame him? Her veiled glances and challenging remarks were driving him mad, not to mention her prancing about the room and sticking out the tip of her tongue as she wrote and a million other fetching gestures that brought their last kiss painfully to mind.

  Even the relatively innocuous glimpse of her ankles had made him want to strip off her stockings and skim his lips up the entire length of her slender calves�
��

  Damnation, he must not lose sight of his purpose. This was about being sure he could trust her, that her scheme wasn’t something that could ruin his chances to get Tessa free. It was not about seducing her.

  “Shall we take the floor?” Miss Prescott asked, dragging him from his thoughts.

  He offered her his arm, which she barely touched. Once they reached the middle and faced each other, he smiled down at her. “I’m ready when you are.”

  “I daresay you’re always ready,” she muttered.

  A wicked retort sprang to his lips that he ruthlessly squelched, unsure if she’d meant the double entendre. No point to provoking her unnecessarily into ending the dance. Although, given her mention of “an animal’s instinct to mate,” he suspected that the little naturalist had a full understanding of what that entailed.

  Taking her in his arms, he began to waltz, trying not to dwell on the part of him that was “always ready.” Around them girls stood observing, but he paid them no heed. All he could think was that Miss Prescott had an even tinier waist than he’d guessed, that she smelled faintly of almonds…and that it would take little provocation for him to carry her off to a room and ravish her.

  Steady, man, you mustn’t let the beast take control, no matter how enticing the woman or how tempting her flirtations.

  Unfortunately, her composed expression showed that she was in no mood for flirtation just now. It irritated him. Here he was, chafing at the need to brand her with his mouth, and she acted as if she didn’t even notice that he was holding her.

  “You’re certainly a cool one,” Anthony said under his breath.

  “Someone has to be. And since you make a practice of saying reckless things and calling me ‘sweetheart’ at inopportune moments—”

  “But you covered my error very well. The girls didn’t suspect a thing.”

  With a scowl, she glanced over at her pupils, who were paying close attention to their whispering. “I can’t imagine what possessed you to speak so unwisely. We shared one kiss, probably less than you share with your chambermaids.”