by Tracy Fobes
“Didn’t I tell you? Mr. Colin has volunteered to give you your first lesson in reading.”
Sarah grew still. A few days ago she’d admitted to the duke that she knew enough of letters to get by at the general store in Beannach, but not much more. The duke had immediately pressed Colin into teaching her to read better. Now, she tried to imagine sitting nose-to-nose with Colin, pouring over some dusty tome, and knew very well that her thoughts would be far from bookish. A flicker of excitement stirred within her. “When is he coming?”
“Why, any moment now.”
“Where has he been this past week? I’ve hardly seen him, even at dinner.”
“He’s been involved in estate matters. I have to admit, it’s good to have him back at Inveraray.”
Sarah couldn’t imagine Inveraray without him, either. She dreaded the moment when he completed her training and returned to London.
A short time later Colin entered, bringing with him a breeze of warm air that smelled faintly of spice. He looked very solid and strong this morning, she thought, in a green coat that outlined his shoulders and tapered down to a trim waist. In fact, a fresh and energetic aura clung to him, and Sarah found herself glancing at the window, to see if the sun had come out. But no, clouds still ruled the skies. The brightness in the room came solely from Colin.
“How have you been?” he asked, his tone offhand, as Mrs. Fitzbottom excused herself.
Sarah watched the housekeeper go with a fluttering in her belly. Would this lesson, like the riding lesson, end in a kiss? God help her, she hoped so.
“Phineas has kept me working very hard,” she replied, barely preventing herself from adding that the lessons, without Colin’s presence, had lost their luster.
“And your friend, the one the stag told you about. How is he? Or she?”
“My friend is no better,” she admitted.
Over the last four weeks, she’d made a point of taking a walk or a ride across the grounds at least once a day, usually with a footman whom she could bully into allowing her some privacy. During these private moments she would talk to the animal friends she’d made, including the stag she’d met on the day she arrived. Always she searched for the unicorn.
In fact, just yesterday she’d walked through the woods and questioned as many of the forest’s creatures she could find about the unicorn. The few that had seen the white beast told the same tale: he was sick, and coming to find her. Her worry had grown with each day, and her walks had been lengthening until even the duke had remarked on her love of nature.
“Can I help in any way?” Colin asked, drawing her back to the present.
She shook her head no. “I have to find him before I help him.”
“I wish you would confide in me.”
“If I need help, my lord, I’ll ask you first.”
A heavy sigh escaped him. “You have to learn to trust people, Sarah.”
“Where have you been these last weeks?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
He looked away, put his hands in his pockets, and walked over to the windows looking out on the carriageway. “I’ve been busy, too.”
“Doing what?”
“Riding across the estate, and thinking. Trying to forget how you make me feel. And trying to decide what to do with my life,” he replied huskily.
At his words, her heart thumped, and she fought the urge to fly into his embrace. Instead, in a small tight voice, she asked, “How do I make you feel?”
He turned to face her then, his brows drawn together and his mouth thinned as if with pain, and she stiffened, knowing that he was about to say something very important.
Instead, though, he simply asked, “Are you ready to learn how to read?”
Deflated, she let out the breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding. The need to press him further about his feelings for her burned in her veins like fire, but she didn’t quite have the nerve to do so. She was partly afraid of what he might reveal. “I am.”
He led her over to a shelf of books about waist high. “This is where the books written solely for reading pleasure are kept. They contain no treatises, nor are particularly useful for anything other than one’s amusement. Why don’t you select one?”
“All right.” She strolled back and forth before the library shelf, until a little book bound in blue cloth, which was nearly hidden behind some other larger tomes, attracted her attention. Judging by the well-worn cover and dog-eared page corners, the book had been read often and was much loved. A quick turn through the pages told her nothing about the story. Shrugging, she plucked the book from the shelf and returned to his side.
He dragged two chairs over to a desk and gestured for her to sit down. She did so, handing him the book as she fluffed her skirts beneath her. Once they’d both comfortably arranged themselves, Colin opened the book and glanced at the title.
Unaccountably, he reddened slightly. A muffled oath escaped him.
Startled by his reaction, she leaned close to examine the page, and saw a gold-stamped title. The wording had nearly worn off. “Obviously this book has been very well read. What is it called?”
He closed the book with a sharp snap. “It’s a book by John Cleland, called Fanny Hill. I didn’t know the duke considered it a favorite of his. Regardless, it isn’t an appropriate book for you.”
Her curiosity thoroughly aroused, she stared at him. “Why ever not?”
“It deals with indelicate matters. You’re far too young for such knowledge.”
“Too young?” She bristled. “Do you think me a child? I’m a grown woman, more than capable of handling anything you have to teach me.”
“This is inappropriate reading for a lady,” he insisted. “It delves into society’s more sordid side —”
“Aren’t you responsible for teaching me how to survive in society?”
“Well, yes —”
“Then I demand we read this book. I don’t want my knowledge of society limited to pretty dresses, balls, music, and bonbons. I want to know the dangers, too.”
He shrugged, his eyes glinting. “Very well, then, my lady. Read it we shall. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Fine.” Determined to have the knowledge he would withhold from her, she turned past the title and to the first page. Immediately she recognized the form of the writing as similar to the letter she’d received from Lady Helmsgate in London.
“Why, it’s a series of letters,” she said.
“Not letters. Memoirs. Recollections of Fanny Hill’s life, given in letter form. Read here, as best as you can.”
Taking a deep breath, she spoke aloud. “Madam, I sit down to give you an . . .” She stumbled, not knowing the word.
“Undeniable,” Colin supplied.
“Undeniable proof of my . . .”
He nodded encouragingly. “Considering.”
“Considering your desires as . . .”
“Indispensable.”
“. . . indispensable orders,” she finished triumphantly.
“Very good. Now I’ll read.” he directed. “Try to follow along.”
He bent his head close to hers, the scent of him reminding her of his masculinity. For the next several minutes, he spoke of the personal history of one Frances Hill, born at a small village near Liverpool, in Lancashire, of parents extremely poor. For the most part, he skipped around from page to page, just reading selected passages that hinted at things Sarah simply didn’t understand. Overall, she thought she and Fanny Hill had lived very similar lives . . . until Colin stopped reading at the part where Fanny, who had gone to London to seek her fortune, accidentally witnesses a lover’s tryst.
“I’m going to stop here,” he said. “Do you understand what’s happened to Fanny?”
Sarah shook her head. “Truly I don’t. Why is Fanny’s benefactress telling her all of those things about the mysteries of Venus?”
Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “Fanny’s innocence has place
d her in a very bad situation. The woman who took her in is a madam, and the madam’s apartments are a bawdy house.”
She swallowed. “Oh.”
“Would you like to choose another book?”
“No. I fought hard to have this book read, and now I’m going to read it.”
“This is knowledge which you shouldn’t have.”
“This is knowledge I want.”
“I can think of other ways to teach you.”
Her gaze flew to his. She saw desire there, smoldering embers that needed only the slightest breath of wind to flare to life. She was unable to look away.
“I want you to read, now.” He turned a couple of pages, and then pointed. “Start here. I’ll correct you where necessary.”
“All right.” Her voice ragged, she began to read again. She stumbled over several words, requiring Colin’s correction:
As he stood on one side, for a minute or so, unbuttoning his waist-coat and breeches, her fat, brawny thighs hung down, and the whole greasy landscape lay fairly open to my view; a wide open-mouth’d gap, overshaded with a grizzly bush, seemed held out like a beggar’s wallet for its provision.
At the end of the passage, she grimaced. “This reminds me of a sow giving birth.”
He laughed aloud. “Yes, it does. Read the rest.”
“All right.” She focused again on the book.
But I soon had my eyes called off by a more striking object, that entirely engross’d them.
She paused to glance at him. “A striking object?”
His smile slow, he brushed a stray lock of hair away from her temple. “Your reading is improving tremendously, just in this one short lesson.”
She bent her head back over the little blue book, which looked innocuous from the outside but in fact was a regular fount of forbidden knowledge.
Her sturdy stallion had now unbutton’d, and produced naked, stiff, and erect, that wonderful machine, which I had never seen before, and which, for the interest my own seat of pleasure began to take furiously in it. . . .
She broke off and fanned herself. “This is quite remarkable.”
With a laziness that stole her breath away, he traced a finger across her lips. “Quite remarkable,” he confirmed.
Quivering from his touch, she refocused on the book.
Whilst they were in the heat of the action, guided by nature only, I stole my hand up my petticoats, and with fingers all on fire, seized, and yet more inflamed that center of all my senses: my heart palpitated, as if it would force its way through my bosom; I breath’d with pain; I twisted my thighs, squeezed and compressed the lips of that . . .
She trailed off, embarrassed and terribly over-heated. The room was so hot she thought she might faint. “I can read no more.”
“I’ll finish it,” he offered, his lips brushing against her exposed ear ever so lightly. She choked back a moan.
He began reading, his voice possessing an odd lilt to it, a throaty quality that roused her almost as much as his kiss had:
. . . and compressed the lips of that virgin slit, and following mechanically the example of Phoebe’s manual operation on it, as far as I could find admission, brought on at last the critical extasy, the melting flow, into which nature, spent with excess of pleasure, dissolves and dies away.
His narrative trailed off, leaving a highly charged silence in the room. She took the book from him and closed it, bewildered yet tantalized by many things she’d heard this afternoon. “What is this critical ecstasy?”
He smiled. “You’ll have to find out by yourself.”
Eyes downcast, she turned the book over in her hands, ostensibly studying its cover but not really seeing it at all. Yearning for him brought a flush of warmth to her secret places. “Perhaps you would teach me,” she murmured, her face growing hot with her own boldness.
“I suggest you take Fanny Hill upstairs to your bedchamber,” he said, “for some private reading instead, in case you can’t sleep.”
Feeling even more embarrassed at his gentle rebuff, she arched an eyebrow. “You know very well that I won’t sleep a second.”
“Neither will I, my lady.” With one last lingering glance, he stood and made his way to the study door. “Neither will I.”
The next four weeks proved torturous for Colin. While he read to Sarah and took her riding and taught her to read, he otherwise did little to satisfy his growing desire for her, one both physical and spiritual. Now he could barely look at her without becoming rock-hard, his body aching for release between her soft white thighs, even as he wished to claim her purity and sweetness for himself . . . forever.
He recognized that he’d begun to count on her presence beside him every afternoon on their horseback tour of the grounds. Her delightful, and sometimes haunting stories of her past in the Highlands fascinated him, and her practical, if earthy advice often had him laughing, even as he recognized the value in it. At night, he contented himself with merely watching her across the dining room table and later, in the drawing room.
Hour by hour, she was becoming increasingly essential to his existence. Her laughter, her smiles, her soft touch on his arm when he revealed some painful incident from his childhood were a balm to his wounds. Even though it scared the hell out of him, he knew he could stop himself from feeling this way no sooner than he could leave Inveraray itself.
And yet, June had already come and gone. He had less than two months left before she debuted and found a husband, while he returned to London and his old, now unappealing ways. Her debut had now become linked to disaster in his mind. The mere thought of it was enough to send his mood spiraling downward.
This morning, he and Phineas had agreed to meet and discuss Sarah’s progress. When the duke’s man of business appeared in the study, Colin pushed away from his desk, stood, and invited Phineas to have a seat on one of the chairs clustered in an informal circle near the hearth.
Phineas, the very picture of propriety in his severe black suit and gray hair styled a la Brutus, selected a hard-backed chair. Colin sat across from him and engaged him in a few minutes of desultory conversation, chat about the weather and various estate problems. At length, however, they got down to the real business of the day.
“How is she doing, in your opinion?” Colin asked, stretching his feet out in front of him. “Do you think she’ll be ready for her debut?”
Phineas observed him with a grave expression. “Her accent is greatly improved.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed. But will people believe she’s the duke’s daughter?”
“She’s coming along quite well with regard to manners at formal meals, and has nearly memorized the various forms of address and standard seating arrangements for members of the aristocracy. We’ve also discussed the more delicate matters of etiquette, such as dealing with self-invited guests, problem drinkers, obnoxious guests, and the guest who simply won’t leave.”
“So she might be able to hostess a fete at this point, as long as she didn’t have to dance,” Colin surmised.
“Yes, it’s possible she could.”
“You don’t sound very confident, Phineas.”
“Well, there is so much left for her to learn, such as dancing, and singing, and household management. To make matters worse, she doesn’t possess the basic skills upon which these other abilities build. For example, how can she approve Mrs. Fitzbottom’s dinner menus if she can’t read properly?”
“I’ve been helping to improve her reading skills. We’ve had three lessons so far. Her progress is exceptional.” Colin didn’t add that all of those lessons had been focused on Fanny Hill, at Sarah’s insistence.
“Thank God for that,” Phineas muttered, then shot an apologetic look at Colin. “Pardon, my lord, I did not mean to sound critical —”
“No offense taken. These past weeks have been trying for us all.”
The two men fell silent, Colin thinking of their most recent lesson, where the beguiling floral scent of her hair had dared him to
press a kiss against the tender spot at the back of her neck.
“And the riding lessons?” Phineas asked after a while. “Has she learned how to ride properly?”
“She looks very natural in the saddle,” Colin observed, remembering the way the horses always fawned over her, as though she were the queen of all things equine.
“Her riding skills are good, then?”
“Very good.”
Phineas narrowed his eyes. “Have you ever noticed how well she gets along with animals? I’ve seen her with His Grace’s dogs on occasion. They’re completely infatuated. Usually the dogs will growl at anyone they don’t know from birth.”
Colin shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned. “I see nothing unusual in the dogs’ behavior toward her. In fact, they’re friends with more than a few of the duke’s tenants, whom they certainly didn’t know at birth.”
Phineas’s shoulders slumped. “Perhaps it’s just me they don’t like.”
Colin sought to divert him. “I’ve taken Sarah on several rides across the property. She now has a good grasp of the estate and its tenants.”
And he’d had more than an eyeful of her luscious curves and jaunty veil, which whipped him in the face if he came too close. Although he hadn’t surrendered to his desire to kiss her deeply, he wondered how much longer his resistance would hold.
Phineas shook his head. “If only she didn’t possess such a keen interest in animal husbandry, she should get along very well. It’s a most unsuitable occupation for any duke’s daughter.”
Colin nodded. “Several of our rides across the property have ended in some farmer’s barn, with Sarah peering into a sheep’s mouth.”
“God forbid.” Phineas shuddered. “She must give this up.”
“The duke has asked her to. She refuses.”
“Did you hear that her fox raided cook’s henhouse for a third time last night?”
Colin frowned. “I understood she had taken measures to keep the fox from the hens.”
“Apparently her measures haven’t proven successful. The duke plans to ask her to allow him to cage it.”
