by Dare, Tessa
When she opened her eyes, he kissed her forehead. “That was magnificent.”
“I think I’m supposed to be the one saying that.”
“Well, you can say it, too, if you like.” His mouth widened into a lopsided, cocky grin. “I’m not stopping you.”
Alex rolled onto her side and gave him a coy smile of her own. “You are magnificently arrogant. But apparently the arrogance is well deserved.”
She reached for him, skimming her fingertips down the expanse of his chest and hooking her fingers under the waistband of his trousers.
He put his hand over hers, halting her progress.
“Don’t you want . . . ?” She darted a gaze at the pronounced tenting of his trousers. “I mean to say, it would seem you need some relief of your own.”
“Pleasuring you was pleasure for me. I don’t want you to feel you must reciprocate out of obligation. Lovemaking isn’t a market trade. Not the way I go about it, anyhow.”
“I don’t feel any obligation. I feel curious. You promised me a lesson. But I know my own body already. I don’t know yours.” She placed her hand over the bulge in his trousers, cupping his hardness and tracing the shape of him through the thick wool. “May I?”
He groaned. “Do with me what you will. I’ve no strength left to protest.”
She found the buttons of his trouser falls and undid them one by one. Once the last button slipped loose, however, her courage faltered.
What came next?
Was she meant to push his trousers down, or pull his erection out? Did she grasp it by the tip or by the root? How was she supposed to react on introduction? Ought she compliment its noble shape, or ooh and ah over its size?
Alex was totally unaware of lovers’ etiquette. She feared she’d do it all wrong.
Sensing her hesitation—or perhaps simply too impatient to indulge her dithering—he took her hand and guided it inside his trouser falls, introducing her by touch rather than sight.
Oh, this was so much better.
Her first impression was the softness. She hadn’t been expecting such a silky, smooth quality to meet her touch. As she ran her fingertips along his length, lightly tracing him from root to tip, he drew a shaky breath. Then she curled her fingers around his shaft, squeezing tight and letting his hardness fill her grip.
He lifted his hips, pushing his trousers down to his thighs. His cock sprang free, jutting into plain view. She continued her explorations, fascinated by the ruddy hue of the tip, and the veins that wound around his shaft and shivered under his skin. Even when his breathing grew harsh and fast, he allowed her to stroke and touch him as softly and slowly as she pleased.
She looked up to find him watching her, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight.
She bit her lip, feeling unsure. “Is it . . . ?”
He nodded curtly. “It is.”
“Am I . . . ?”
“Oh, yes. You are.” He reached to caress her cheek, and his thumb traced the shape of her lips. “You are perfect.”
Her chest swelled with relief, and not a little bit of pride.
A drop of moisture welled at the tip of his cock, and she covered it with her thumb, spreading it in circles around the broad, smooth crown. His cock jumped in her hand, and the muscles of his abdomen went hard as cobblestones.
He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a curse. As she touched him again, his hips bucked and his shaft pumped into her hand.
Alex had never felt more powerful. Even in her ignorance, she could reduce this powerful man to a single raw, quivering nerve. She had him, quite literally, in the palm of her hand.
“Teach me,” she whispered. “Teach me what to do. What you like.”
He reached down and covered her hand with his own, guiding her into a rhythm of tight, swift strokes. Pumping faster and faster, until their linked hands were a blur. She watched his face contort, flashing back and forth between pleasure and pain. His head was thrown back, and his eyes closed tight.
He seemed to have gone somewhere else, somewhere inside himself. She wondered where his mind had traveled. Whether he was with her, or with someone else. Or perhaps he’d been transported to a place where there were no names, no faces—only sensation.
A low, primal growl forced its way through his clenched teeth. His body shuddered with release. Warmth spilled over her fingers. He released his grip on her hand, and she caressed him—equally fascinated by the softening of his cock as she had been by the hardness.
“Alexandra,” came the hoarse whisper. His hand drifted to her hair, and he tangled his fingers in her unbound locks, drawing her down for a kiss.
Wherever it was he’d journeyed to, he’d returned. He was back in the here and now, with her.
As his breathing returned to normal, she considered her options. Mutter a word of thanks and flee to her room? Pretend to fall asleep and sneak out in the middle of the night? Both of those seemed beneath her dignity.
Instead, she rolled onto her side to face him. If she avoided him now, it would only grow more and more awkward. What had just happened between them would need to be confronted, discussed.
He stared at the ceiling. “That was . . . unbelievable.”
She smiled, thrilled by his evident satisfaction and more than a bit proud of herself.
Until he went on.
“So ill advised,” he continued, groaning. “Inappropriate. Unforgivable of me.” He stood, hiking his trousers, and reached for a handkerchief to wipe away the evidence of their encounter. “I’m sorry, Alexandra. You should go up to your room, and we’ll agree that this never—”
“Don’t.” She sprang to her feet. “Don’t you dare say this never happened. It happened. I’m glad it happened. I want it to happen again.”
“Truly?”
Could that be a hint of anxious uncertainty in his eyes?
Surely not. Infamous rakes weren’t anxious or uncertain with women. Certainly not with women like Alex.
“Truly,” she assured him. “I want this.”
I want this. I want you. I want to feel wanted. Even if it’s only for a short while.
Alexandra knew she was ignoring several possible disadvantages to this affaire she’d proposed. There were dangers, certainly. He understood how to prevent both pregnancy and emotional entanglement. She, on the other hand, could only be assured of avoiding the first. After the bookshop, she’d spent months infatuated with him on the basis of a mortifying wreck of a conversation, green eyes, and a charming smile. After a summer of sensual “lessons,” she shuddered to think what fancies could bloom in her imagination.
Dreams were only that—dreams. She would have the rest of her life to forget them.
But mercy. For as long as she lived, she didn’t think she’d forget the sight before her eyes now.
As she watched, Chase lifted the far edge of the bed, hefting the heavy mattress and frame onto its end to return it to the cabinet. The powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders were on dazzling display.
Flexing.
Straining.
Licked by amber tongues of candlelight.
Lord, he was a beautiful man.
His low grunt of effort pulled her out of her reverie.
Ho there, Alexandra. Perhaps you ought to help?
She rushed to help him shove the mattress back into place, fold the bed frame’s wooden legs, and lock the cabinet. Having managed it, they turned to face one another, each resting one shoulder against the closed cabinet doors.
“So we’re agreed? On continued . . . lessons?”
He studied her face. “If you’re certain you want them.”
“Quite certain. It makes sense. The only alternative is to avoid each other all the time, growing progressively more frustrated. That’s not good for anyone in the house.” She swept a gaze about the room. “And thanks to your industriousness, we do have a secluded, private place for liaisons.”
“I’ll need to rename it.”
“Cave of Carnality do
esn’t suit anymore? I thought you’d ordered the plaque.”
“If I’m giving you lessons, I think it needs something more . . . tutorial in nature. School of Sensuality,” he proposed. “Climax Classroom. Perhaps the Office of Orgasms?”
“Anything’s an improvement over the Virility Vault.” Alex smiled. She’d missed this back-and-forth with him. She looked at the fireplace mantel. “I don’t suppose you might take down the antlers?”
“What do you have against antlers, anyway?”
“I just think they could be replaced with something more welcoming. A nice landscape, perhaps.” She gave him a teasing look. “Or maybe a sampler in needlepoint? The place could use a woman’s touch.”
He took her by the waist and pulled her flush against his chest. “There’s only one thing in this room that needs a woman’s touch.”
Oh, that seductive growl in his voice did unspeakable things to her.
“Of course,” she said in her firmest governess voice, “it goes without saying we must be absolutely, entirely discreet.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll never know. Why do you think I installed new paneling? To prevent any sound from escaping. The drapes are heavy enough to keep light out, and in. And that door”—he tipped his head toward the kitchen entrance—“has three locks.”
Apparently, none of those three locks was engaged at the moment. The door swung open.
“Mr. Reynaud? Miss Mountbatten?” Daisy rubbed her eyes as she stumbled into the room.
Alexandra deftly sidestepped, putting distance between her and Chase. She wrapped her arms about her torn nightclothes. “Daisy. You surprised us.”
“I couldn’t find you.”
“And now you have. Let’s go back up to bed.”
The girl looked from Alex to Chase. “Why are you down here in the middle of the night?”
“Oh, we were merely talking. About . . .” Alex rummaged through her brain for a topic. “Needlepoint.”
Which would have been an excellent reply, had Chase not simultaneously said, “Antlers.”
Daisy’s face scrunched with confusion.
“Antlerpoint,” Chase said with authority. “It’s a traditional handicraft in the Finnish Lapland.”
Alex looked at him. Antlerpoint?
He shrugged. “I’ve been looking into the schools there, as you know. So it’s an important educational matter. One that couldn’t wait until morning.”
Alexandra went to her young charge. “Why are you out of bed, darling?”
“Millicent has a small bowel obstruction.”
“Goodness. We’d better make her an infusion of buckthorn, now hadn’t we?” She looked cautiously at Chase. “Would you care to join us for a cup of tea?”
“Thank you, no.”
The words had Alex feeling deflated. Perhaps Daisy’s interruption had changed his mind, and he’d be calling off their arrangement before it had scarcely begun.
Instead, he searched out and lifted his hammer. “I have a lock to install. The fourth.”
“Oh.” Alex smiled and nodded. “Good.”
Chapter Twenty
Alex woke in the night again—trembling all over, her lips cracked with thirst.
Somehow the episodes came and went in an insidious rhythm, disappearing just long enough that she could almost forget and feel safe, before crashing back with a cruel vengeance. The past had a hold on her, and she’d long given up on breaking free. The best she could do was keep a full glass of water next to her bed. She hastily drained the largest share of it—saving a little bit to wet a cloth and dab the perspiration from her neck.
Dawn had begun its slow creep through the house. She wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, and her charges wouldn’t wake for a few hours more—she hoped.
Since she was awake, she decided to dress and have a stealthy wander downstairs. Even after all these weeks, there were parts of the house she still hadn’t explored.
Namely, the library.
The room called to her. Any roomful of books called to her, but this particular library wailed like a bevy of sirens.
Maybe—just maybe—somewhere in those shelves was her lost copy of Messier’s Catalogue of Star Clusters and Nebulae. The book he’d absconded with after their collision in Hatchard’s. The one she’d imagined him to have kept tucked in his breast pocket for months, desperately hoping to see her again.
At the memory, she inwardly cringed.
She began her search on the lowest shelf, scanning the full breadth of the bookcase before working her way upward. By the fourth shelf, she was straining on tiptoe to make out the titles. The fifth—and topmost—was hopelessly beyond her reach.
She looked about for a book stair or stepstool, but her search proved fruitless. Undeterred, she pushed an ottoman toward the shelves and climbed atop that.
Much better.
“Good morning.”
Alexandra lost her footing on the ottoman. Her hands closed on the bookshelf. For a moment, she dangled, feet twisting in the air. There was only one option—to let go and drop to the floor. Her body would survive the fall, even if her dignity didn’t. It was only a matter of two feet to the ground.
Go to it, then. The longer you dangle, the more ridiculous you look.
However, in the same instant that she released her grip, the shelf—already groaning with books—caved under the added weight of her body.
She fell to the carpet in a heap. And then a shelf’s worth of books fell atop her.
Alex curled into a ball, tucked her head beneath her crossed arms, and waited for it to be over. She winced as volumes pelted her from above. A few of the weightier tomes landed with a force hard enough to make her yelp.
At last, the blows came to a halt.
She cautiously lifted her head and peered upward. Perhaps the bookcase had vomited up the last of its leather-bound knowledge.
No. It hadn’t. There was one book more. A formidable, encyclopedia-sized volume bound in crimson leather. And as she watched with horror, it slid off the unhinged walnut shelf—plummeting directly toward her head.
Alexandra ducked, squeezed her eyes shut, and braced herself for the worst. However, instead of the skull-crushing thwack of oblivion, she heard only a soft thud.
“Good God. Tell me you’re alive under there.”
“I am,” she said weakly. Though she rather wished she weren’t. As deaths go, it would have been a kind one. There were worse ways to meet one’s demise than being buried alive in literature. Daisy could have named dozens of them.
As she attempted to sit up, Alex found herself aided by a large, strong hand hooked under her upper arm.
Chase.
He cast aside the book he’d caught, and Alex watched it land atop the heap. He must have caught the thing an instant before it bashed in her brains.
It wasn’t an overstatement to say he might have saved her life. At the very least, he’d saved her a splitting headache.
He crouched before her. “Anything broken?”
“I don’t think so.”
He searched her gaze. “What month is it?”
“July.”
“And what day of the week?”
“Wednesday.”
“How many tiny buttons on the back of your frock?”
“I don’t know. Who counts such things?”
He shrugged unrepentantly. “I do.”
“Of course you do.” She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “I’m fine, thank you. You merely startled me.”
“I expect so. Chase Reynaud, in a library? Searching for missing estate ledgers, no less? Who wouldn’t topple with surprise.”
“I didn’t mean to say—”
He brushed off her attempt at an apology. “I’ve also been drinking wine and entertaining a great many impure thoughts, so it’s not a complete break with character.” He lowered his voice to a teasing murmur. “If you were looking for the erotic novels, they’re hidden behind the books of sermons.�
� He nodded toward the opposite side of the library. “Second shelf from the bottom, over there.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t looking for those.”
“I wouldn’t think less of you if you were. I read them all the time.”
“I don’t think they’d suit my purposes today. I was searching for new reading material for the girls.” She knelt and began to gather the fallen books.
He joined her in the effort. “Why? I purchased a great many books for the schoolroom, months ago.”
Yes, I know. I was there, in Hatchard’s. You made me drop all my books then, too. I was probably even wearing the same frock.
Alex absorbed the timely reminder. No matter what they were doing in the dark of night, nothing else had changed. They had a temporary physical arrangement. She mustn’t hope for anything more.
“Rosamund’s read all the books ten times over, and Daisy needs something different. Something suited to her interests.”
He stood to have a look at the broken shelf. He teased the splintered wood with his thumbnail. “Rotted through,” he pronounced. “I’ll have to replace the plank.”
“Good. Then I needn’t apologize. Instead, you can thank me for finding your next project.” She drew to her feet. “Look,” she said, flipping through the plates of a human anatomy book. “This would be perfect for Daisy, budding physician that she is.”
“Budding gravedigger, I think you mean.”
“Just look at the detail in these illustrations.” She moved closer, angling her body so that he could peer over her shoulder.
He reached over her arm to turn the page. As he did so, his forearm grazed her shoulder. His breath caressed her ear.
Alex stared at the line drawing of the respiratory system. Perhaps the illustration could help her identify exactly which features of her own anatomy were failing her—because his proximity made it difficult to breathe.
“I took an interest in anatomy as a youth,” he murmured. “Continued my studies all the way through university.”
“Truly?”
“Oh, yes. I found it fascinating. But I did the majority of my learning from life, rather than books.” He took the volume from her hand, closed it, and set it aside. “Do you know, I think it’s time for another lesson.”
