‘Yet another rule.’ Christopher heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘No questions that might reveal an embarrassing ignorance. What subjects might I enquire about which even a narrow-minded mama would consider appropriate?’
Ellie looked over from her perusal of the shelves, her eyes sparkling in amusement at his exasperation. ‘You can safely ask her preferences in sketching, watercolours, and musical perform—oh, my! I’d not expect to find this in Lady Sayleford’s library!’ she exclaimed, looking down at the book she’d just pulled from the shelf, a blush suffusing her face.
Unable to resist discovering what had caused it, Christopher paced to her side—and saw the volume in question was Ovid’s Ars Amatoria. ‘It is in the original Latin,’ he noted. ‘Lady Sayleford—or more likely, her late husband—probably believed no one who might be offended would be able to read it anyway.’
‘You mean, no respectable ladies would be able to read it. On the other hand, it sounds just like Lady Sayleford to have deposited such a volume in her drawing room. How she might smile, knowing that the assembled arbiters of the ton would be shocked out of their chemises, if they but understood what it was.’
‘You understood it,’ he realised suddenly. ‘Did your father possess a collection of...scandalous writings?’
‘No, but Summerville did. I’m not sure he could read Latin—he generally preferred the crude illustrated volumes he kept in a locked cabinet. I discovered the Ovid when he’d gone off hunting for a week, and I was looking for something to occupy myself. I used it to review my Latin, until I bought some Sophocles and Euripides as more suitable material. Still, good for naughty Lady Sayleford, if shelving the volume here was her idea.’
Christopher couldn’t help imagining Ellie perusing the descriptions of lovemaking so graphically detailed at the end of the third volume. What would please her most? Ah, that he had the chance to experiment! That was a study to which he would enthusiastically devote weeks, months, years.
He came back from that thought to discover her gaze on his face. From her expression, he knew she must be imagining, as he was, reading the elegant poetry aloud to each other and then acting out the instructions, combining erotic and erudite into one delicious lesson of pleasure.
‘You must have studied the arts of seduction in Books One and Two,’ she murmured. ‘You arouse with just a glance.’
He stepped closer, drawing his thumb across the plump softness of her lower lip. She moaned, parting her lips, and sucked his thumb into her mouth. Hard, aching, he stroked in and out along that wet surface, all the ferocity of his desire for the deeper, longer strokes he’d prefer confined to those small movements.
They were both gasping by the time he withdrew his thumb. He wasn’t sure what idiocy they might have committed had the butler not opened the door to announce, ‘Miss Wanstead has arrived. Shall I have her join you here?’
Avoiding his gaze, Ellie stepped away. ‘Yes, please.’ As the butler withdrew, she pushed the volume back into place with shaking hands. ‘I can only hope Sophie’s later governesses were not as learned as mine.’
‘Before your sister arrives, have you decided on the next lesson?’ If, given their lapse in conduct today, there would be a next lesson? But he must see her again!
To his relief, she replied, ‘I called on your mother and asked her to assemble the loveliest and most seductive matrons she knows. There will always be bored or neglected wives around to tempt you. If you hope to make your marriage a success, you will have to train yourself to resist them.’
‘Ignore lovely and seductive ladies who tempt you,’ he said wryly. ‘A rule I definitely need more practice to perfect.’
‘Will you be able to visit Lady Vraux tomorrow afternoon?’
He nodded, relief filling his chest at the knowledge that he would see her again soon. ‘My afternoon is free.’
‘Good. So, you may greet Sophie, exchange some innocuous remark about London or the weather, and take your leave.’
‘Do I greet her...like this?’ Craving one last touch, he seized her hand and brushed his lips across the ungloved fingers, setting off tremors he felt to his boots.
Only when she gently pulled free did he realise he’d held on far longer than courtesy permitted. ‘It would be wiser not to,’ she replied, her voice unsteady. ‘Some mamas might find the gesture too...personal.’
Ah, how correct they would be. He’d shared intimacies with a score of talented, seductive women trained to draw out every pleasure. He never would have believed he could be this shaken by such a simple, limited touch. Or respect a lady as fiercely as he desired her.
‘Very well. No kissing of hands. No discussion of literature without first ascertaining whether the young lady enjoys it. Make polite conversation only about her views on London, sketching, painting, music and needlework. Turn her music pages but absolutely do not touch her. Do I have it all aright?’
‘I think you’ve mastered the lesson for today. Ah, Sophie, how lovely to see you!’ Ellie exclaimed, turning to the smartly dressed young lady rushing into the room.
‘My darling Tess!’ her sister exclaimed, enveloping her in a fierce hug.
‘Sophie, you’ll remember Mr Lattimar, an associate of Lady Lyndlington’s husband, and my...friend. Mr Lattimar, my sister, Miss Wanstead.’
She made him a curtsy. ‘I’m always happy to greet one of Tess’s supporters.’
‘Your servant, Miss Wanstead,’ Christopher said, bowing. ‘But you’ve come for a good long chat with your sister, not to exchange politenesses with me, so I’ll take myself off. Miss Wanstead, Miss Parmenter.’
Bowing again, Christopher left them in the Blue Salon. And strolled out to summon a hackney, still chuckling at the notion of Lady Sayleford hiding her scandalous book in plain sight.
His mirth subsided at the sober realisation that, after his lack of control in the parlour today, he’d probably not get another chance to listen to Ellie play the pianoforte. Regret and bittersweet yearning coursed through him. Whatever the spell she’d cast over him with her music, he wanted more of it.
Could he find that with someone else?
Recalling Ben’s advice made it even more difficult to stifle his growing doubt that pursuing a Virtuous Virgin was truly the road to lasting happiness. But how else was he to find a woman of unimpeachable honour to become the mother of his children?
What if he couldn’t find a respectable virgin to whom he felt he could remain faithful for life? Should he just abandon the notion of marriage, and return to his former life? Follow his mother’s advice, and pursue Ellie for his mistress?
The brief flare of euphoria engendered by the idea of making Ellie his fizzled out at once. Hell and damnation, Ellie neither wanted to fill that role again, nor could he insult the lady he knew she was by asking her to. Neither his reformed self, nor his former self, would ever be able to claim her.
Black rage, with an edge of despair, revived at the thought. With difficulty, he once again suppressed it.
He couldn’t go back, he could only move forward. A Virtuous Virgin had to be the answer. No matter how much desire and inclination tried to lead him down a different path.
Chapter Fourteen
Early that evening, Ellie walked from her solitary dinner to the wing chair in her sitting room, setting a glass of wine on the table beside her.
How strange that only a few months ago, after Summerville’s death, she’d rejoiced at having this place all to herself, freed from anyone with the power to tell her what to do and when. Now, it seemed to echo with aloneness.
Perhaps it was seeing Sophie again, the joy of catching up on and hearing of a life wrapped in the warmth of a family’s love, that made her feel the silence so keenly.
She’d better get used to it. She and Sophie would continue to meet at Lady Sayleford’s, and she
might even receive an invitation to dine at her aunt’s house, but associating too often with her sister wouldn’t be good for Sophie’s chances of contracting an advantageous marriage. Once Sophie did marry, her husband might well want her to break all connection with her disgraced sister. The rest of her family had already made it clear they didn’t wish for any closer contact.
So there would be no warm family life in her future. No playing pianoforte in the soft glow of a fire, as she used to for Sophie. As she had for Christopher.
Ah, Christopher. If she were truly honest, yearning for him was more responsible than anything else for her present melancholy.
Perhaps playing for him had been a mistake.
She was supposed to be cutting him out of her heart and her life, not drifting into nostalgically thinking of him as family.
Even worse for her ability to keep her resolve was the fact that, the more time she spent with him, the stronger grew the desire he seemed to inspire just by breathing. When he’d kissed the back of her neck as she played, sending ripples of shock and pleasure throughout her body, she’d felt an unprecedented need to have him caress her, from her bared shoulders down over her bodice.
But that had been just the beginning. Later, when they’d teased each other with veiled references to Ovid? Oh, my! She’d been mildly amazed when she’d read the poet that long-ago winter. But to imagine Christopher doing those things to her, doing them with her, aroused not the incredulity or distaste she’d previously felt, but a...feverish excitement.
She was beginning to believe the other courtesans hadn’t been exaggerating when they boasted of the delights of pleasuring. She quivered within with a strange, heated urgency at the thought of intimacy with Christopher—and she craved it.
She shook her head in aggravation. Rather than making progress in surmounting her desires, it seemed she stood in ever greater danger of succumbing to them.
Fortunately, she’d had the happy idea of conducting the next lesson at Felicia’s, in the company of the most naughty, seductive matrons her friend knew. Though the ostensible reason for the lesson was to teach Christopher to ignore the allure of other women, he was only a man; he couldn’t help being attracted by beauty. It would be useful for her to see him tempted by other women, see other women try to beguile him.
As his wife would. As his wife must. His caresses and his devotion were meant for that lady, whoever she might be. Never for her.
How much more could she teach him? He seemed to have absorbed the basic concepts of proper conversation, deferential treatment and the absolute necessity of maintaining a physical distance. Once he created an initial, favourable impression on cautious matrons of the ton, some charming, well-read, enthusiastic girl who hadn’t had her life blighted and her innocence ripped from her would beguile him, marry him, and delight him for the rest of his days.
Perhaps she would play Beethoven piano sonatas for him without error.
With a huff of frustration, Ellie walked to the desk and retrieved her list of Christopher’s faults. Most serious of them, the one that ought to put an end to all these futile imaginings, remained number four: He doesn’t think I’m good enough—to be his wife.
Tonight, as she struggled to contain her desires, a rare burst of anger escaped. Seizing the pen, she underlined that sentence over and over, pressing down with such force that the nib cut through the paper.
The unusual fit of rage vanished as quickly as it had arisen, leaving dull emptiness in its wake. Ellie put the list away and drifted back to the sofa.
Were it not so late, she would pay a visit to Dean Street. Seeing Artis’s bright face, the excitement in the eyes of the other girls as they did their lessons or practised their stitching, would lift her spirits. Remind her of what her life’s work was meant to be.
Resolutely, she chose a book from the shelf and set her mind to reading it.
* * *
The next afternoon, Ellie presented herself at Lady Vraux’s home at the appointed hour, curious to see whom her friend had summoned. As vehemently as his mama opposed Christopher’s desire to wed, she knew Felicia would have chosen ladies she felt most likely to break her son’s resolve.
Halting inside the sitting room door, she found the salon empty but for her hostess. ‘Good afternoon, Felicia. How lovely you look! But—did I mistake the time?’
Christopher’s mother came over to give her a hug. ‘No, you didn’t mistake it. I asked you to arrive a little early, so we might have a chance to talk before Christopher’s “tempters” arrive.’
Ellie chuckled at her friend’s choice of descriptive. ‘Who did you invite to play that role?’
‘Alice Fairchild—old Lord Malmonsey’s wife. She’s always had an eye for Christopher, and is quite beautiful enough to distract him. Jane Dalrymple—the on-dit says she’s been scorching the sheets with a succession of young lovers since her husband died. And Elizabeth Falconer. She and Jane have always competed in everything, and with her husband enamoured of his latest mistress, Lizzie is trying to beguile the most appealing young men before Jane can entice them. It should be amusing to watch them at work.’
‘You believe Christopher can be distracted from his resolve?’ Ellie asked curiously.
‘I’m nearly certain of it. At least, I hope so.’
Ellie hesitated before replying carefully, ‘I know you have no affection for wedlock, but truly, taking a wife would be useful in advancing his Parliamentary career.’
‘Not if it leads to a lifetime of regret.’ His mother frowned. ‘My son possesses a passionate nature—as do I, I’m afraid. I grant he may have grown tired of sowing wild oats and be ready to settle down with one woman. But to choose a wife in such a dispassionate manner? I cannot believe he could make a success of such a marriage. No, to quell his wandering tendencies and remain happy, Christopher must be completely, madly in love with the woman he makes his wife. No career is worth personal misery. And being imprisoned in marriage to a partner you cannot love is misery.’
Saddened for her friend, who knew that bitter truth from her own experience, Ellie clasped her hand in wordless sympathy. ‘Christopher is too intelligent to rush into marriage, or choose a wife for whom he doesn’t feel genuine affection.’
Lady Vraux squeezed Ellie’s fingers before releasing them. ‘Let us hope not. Now, what of you? I’ve heard glowing reports about your worthy project, but I still cannot believe the school alone will be enough to keep you content. Are you still set on living like a nun? You could have Christopher, you know, if you but crooked a finger.’
Avoiding responding to that for fear of what her face might betray, Ellie said, ‘You found fulfilment in raising your children. Why shouldn’t I, even though they are not my children by blood?’
‘I had masculine...attention as well,’ Lady Vraux said, giving Ellie a wicked look.
Her thoughts flew back to Christopher, kissing her neck, caressing her lips with his finger. To her chagrin, she felt her face heat.
Naturally, her perceptive friend noticed. ‘Ah, not quite so dismissive of that now, are you?’
There seemed no point denying what her blush had already betrayed. ‘No, not as much. Though I still think I can exist quite comfortably without it. I...might consider a relationship at some point—but not without marriage. Which rather limits my prospects, since no gentleman would marry me now,’ she said, adding a smile to take some of the sting out of that fact. ‘Except perhaps an earnest, reforming cleric, with an interest in helping me run the school.’
Lady Vraux made a face. ‘He’d doubtless look down on you, as men always do when a woman’s behaviour fails to meet their standards. Hypocrites! And he’d be more likely to try to take over your school than help you run it.’
Nodding agreement to the truth of that, Ellie said, ‘I could always consider a man of business. Or a printer or
a lawyer. Either of those would at least be educated and literate.’
‘An ambitious, enterprising young lawyer of talent, ability—and seductive charm—might be just the thing!’ Lady Vraux agreed. ‘Like Christopher’s friend Davie.’
‘What’s this about Davie?’
The sound of Christopher’s voice jolted Ellie out of the conversation. As if pulled by an invisible magnet, her gaze swung over to meet his, and every sense stirred in anticipation.
She was dimly aware of Lady Vraux looking from her son to Ellie and back, a little smile playing about her lips. ‘We were just discussing who might be right for Ellie,’ his mother replied. ‘Not your friend Davie, of course, but someone of similar background. I’d still rule out that reforming cleric, Ellie, but a clever solicitor or barrister, perhaps even one of Christopher’s fellow MPs, might well do. If he’s a reformer, he’d probably be excited at the notion of helping poor girls to a better life. What do you think, Christopher? Should it be a politician for Ellie?’
‘A politician to do what?’ Christopher asked. ‘Join Lady Sayleford as one of the school’s directors?’
‘No, silly,’ Lady Vraux replied, waving an impatient hand. ‘A politician to marry her. Since she refuses to entertain the idea of taking another protector. Such a waste of beauty it would be, were Ellie to remain celibate the rest of her life! A man like your friend Davie wouldn’t care a jot about Society’s disapproval. Enterprising, intelligent, fair enough to consider Ellie for her own merits, a man like that might be just right for her.’
A look of almost...consternation on his face, Christopher made no immediate reply. As for Ellie, the idea of finding companionship and affection with someone other than Christopher, some day in the misty future, was one thing. She felt no more enthusiastic than Christopher looked at the prospect of embracing such a relationship any time soon.
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