His Scandalous Lessons

by Katrina Kendrick

  “I’m sure she is,” he said, testing her.

  “I beg your pardon,” Miss Cecil murmured. “You looked as if you knew her well.”

  “How so?”

  “I recognize familiarity.” Miss Cecil shrugged. “And your hands tightened on me. I’m not imperceptive, sir.”

  “No,” he said with a widening smile. “No, you’re not, Miss Cecil.”

  “So you did remember.” Her smile was friendly. “I’m glad. Perhaps I’m not so hopeless after all, in the shadow of your striking lady.”

  The waltz ended. Richard bowed and pressed a brief kiss to the back of Miss Cecil’s hand. “I’m afraid I am not in the market for a bride. But any gentleman would be lucky to have you.”

  She sighed as he escorted her in the direction of her chaperone. “This is what they tell me.”

  “Who?”

  Her smile was brief. “Everyone. Good luck with your lady, Mr. Grey. You may not be in the market for a bride, but you are no fool, I gather. She will not remain a debutante long.” With a brief nod, she rejoined the older lady who was acting as her chaperone.

  “No fool,” Richard murmured to himself, once again seeking out Anne. “I feel like the biggest bloody fool.”

  Before he could intercept his target, the Earl of Montgomery strolled over to him with a glass of champagne in hand. “Who is that? Do you know her?”

  Anne. Of course he was talking about Anne. Montgomery’s gaze made it exceedingly clear she had captured his interest. Richard couldn’t help the stirring of protectiveness, especially after the afternoon in the gazebo. He had kissed her. He had placed his mouth on her. He had tasted her.

  “She’s not for you,” he said tightly, before he thought better of it.

  Montgomery’s smile was slow. “Claiming her for yourself?”

  “Miss Sheffield is the prime minister’s daughter. No one ought to claim her unless he intends to marry her.”

  Montgomery didn’t seem deterred. “At this point, I could use any distraction from Miss Cecil.”

  Richard thought of the young woman he’d danced with. “What did she do, have the audacity to expect you to behave like a gentleman after intimacy?”

  “Don’t look so bloody judgmental. I haven’t touched her. The girl is besotted and has fancied herself in love with me for years.” He glanced at Anne. “I need a method of deterring her. Something to very clearly communicate that she ought to find some other man.”

  “Listen to me,” Richard said, leaning in close. “Miss Sheffield isn’t your fucking method.”

  Montgomery’s smile widened. “How fierce you look. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you cared for her. But you and I have been quite wild together, haven’t we?”

  There had never been a moment when Richard resented his past more. His performance had to have some basis in reality, so he’d done enough drinking and carousing to incapacitate a lesser man.

  Montgomery, though? He seemed to have some demon driving him. Some past ugliness that urged him to the bottom of bottle after bottle and whore after whore long after Richard — even in the midst of his performance — had given up.

  It was this darkness in Montgomery that made Richard long to bundle Anne up and get her to safety. She’d seen enough of the devil in men. She deserved better.

  “Don’t make me regret our friendship, Monty,” Richard said in a low voice, almost like a growl. “We had rules. No debutantes.”

  But Montgomery seemed surprised. “So you do care about her. Interesting.” His eyes found Anne across the ballroom. “Any particular reason why?”

  “Forget the question. Forget you’ve seen her. There are at least two lonely widows here to fuck. If Mrs. Hunt and Lady Baden don’t suit, I’m certain you can find some village girl eager to warm your bed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with our lovely hostess.”

  Richard crossed the ballroom to intercept Caroline. She was in the middle of introducing Anne to yet another gentleman — the Marquess of Granby.

  Now there was a man for her. A true gentleman, easy to handle, would defer to her desires. Rather boring, Richard supposed, but at least he wasn’t some reprobate like Montgomery.

  Anne glanced at him, then settled her attention once more on Granby.

  Good. Let him think nothing else is worth noticing.

  So why did Richard wish she would look at him again? Why did he count the minutes until they met in secret and he could have her to himself? So he could speak in frank language again, touch her skin, whisper words against her throat, pleasure her?

  No. She is not for you, he reminded himself, for what seemed like the thousandth bloody time.

  “Mr. Grey,” Caroline said, pulling him from his thoughts. “You remember Lord Granby? He was at my art exhibit this last Michaelmas.”

  And the bloke liked art. Staid, boring. Perfect. Good for Anne.

  Jolly fucking good.

  Richard forced a smile. “I remember. Good to see you again.” He returned his attention to Caroline. “Your Grace, if I might have this dance?”

  Anne gave Richard a calculating expression, which he chose to ignore. Let her converse with Granby. Anne was intelligent enough to understand that of the dozens of men here, Granby had the title, influence, money, and personality to be her best choice. And unlike Montgomery, he wasn’t likely to take up with a mistress after matrimony.

  As Richard led the duchess onto the dance floor, she murmured, “You seem flustered.”

  “House parties fluster me.”

  She made a noise as they started to dance. “You know what I mean. You’re brooding. Is it Anne?”

  “It’s Montgomery. What were you thinking, inviting him?”

  Ever the perfect hostess, Caroline did not even look at the gentleman in question. “Isn’t he a friend of yours?”

  “I have a number of friends I wouldn’t invite to house parties when there are vulnerable debutantes about.”

  Caroline raised an eyebrow. “So this is about Anne.”

  “Don’t be obtuse. Why did you invite him?”

  “He’s my cousin, Richard. And a patron of a few of my charities. It would have been impolite.”

  “He? He, a patron? What, was he trying to impress a woman?”

  The duchess scowled at him. “I’m quite sorry, I didn’t hear that. I was busy musing over the irony of a rake criticizing another rake for being a rake.”

  “I have other hobbies.”

  “Blackmailing politicians? Threatening them? Buying them off? Ah yes, quite the paragon of virtue, you are. I can see why you’d wish other men to follow such a sterling example.”

  Richard clenched his jaw. “Don’t bait me, Caro. I do those things for good reason.”

  “Is that what you tell yourself?” she said softly. “And what of Monty? Would it make a difference if I told you that he returned from his years of travel changed and deserving of a little kindness?” Her eyes flickered to Anne. “She’s lovely. He’d be blind not to notice her. And perhaps she’s just what Monty needs.”

  “She deserves better than to be what some man needs. What about what she needs?”

  This answer seemed to surprise her. Caroline stared at him. “She will decide that for herself, won’t she?”

  Richard shook his head. He was saying too much. “Just keep an eye on him, Caro,” Richard said as the music came to an end and he escorted her off the dance floor.

  “I will tell her of Monty’s scandalous habits,” Caroline said stiffly, just before they made it back to Anne. “But I will not hover over her, Richard. Now if you will excuse me . . .“ She disengaged herself from his grip to approach Anne. “Miss Sheffield, let me introduce you to a few more people I think you’d like.”

  Richard watched as Caroline very deliberately led Anne away.

  Chapter 13

  Anne waited until the house went still.

  She’d gone to bed early, listening as the other guests made their way to their rooms. Just wh
en she thought everyone was abed, some noise from the hallway interrupted her progress to Richard’s bedchamber.

  House parties were infamous for scandals and trysts, guests taking advantage of close quarters to meet in secret. She couldn’t risk anyone spotting her entering a gentleman’s room; it would only destroy her cause and send her home sooner. She had to be careful.

  So Anne kept waiting.

  Once the house had settled, and the only thing to be heard was the rustle of trees outside, Anne slipped from her room and hurried across the hallway.

  Without bothering to knock, she let herself into Richard’s bedchamber and quietly shut the door behind her. She was greeted by the sounds of even, unconscious breathing.

  Disappointed, Anne gripped the doorknob — about to retreat to her room — but then Richard made some sleep sound that gave her pause. By some compulsion, she drew closer to the bed.

  Ah, god.

  How could she have forgotten how beautiful Richard was in bed? His lean body was tangled in the bedsheets, the naked curve of his hip exposed. It wasn’t enough to admire that form in a painting; perhaps she ought to have requested to see it that day in the gazebo. She regretted not doing so, now.

  When she returned to her bedchamber, she would think on that. She would pretend she had been braver, made some different choice. Asked him to take off his clothes. Would he have complied? She was almost certain he would have. That he would have stared at her under those lashes framed with raindrops as he drew his shirt off. That he would have stood still as she touched him, explored him—

  Anne sucked in a breath and turned to leave.

  “Coward.” That amused voice was rough with sleep. It sent heat through her.

  “I thought you were sleeping,” she said. She marveled at her calm voice, for her body still trembled. “You’re ferocious about it, remember?”

  “Was sleeping. Heard the door.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “Contrary to my ferocity earlier in the week, I’m a light sleeper when I’m agitated.”

  “Agitated?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  “Haven’t fucked in a while.” Though it was too dark to see her flush, he must have noticed the way her head dipped. “Honest language,” he said, as if in apology.

  “Yes. I gathered.”

  Her cheeks were scorching. How could she look at him? Would he understand how his answer thrilled her? How she burned not from discomfort, but a need to relieve his agitation — for she was unsteady, too?

  “Anne.” He sounded as if he were holding back laughter now. “Turn around and tell me why you came. I’m perfectly harmless.”

  Anne held her breath and did as he asked.

  Good god.

  He was lying there with a hand tucked under his cheek. His hair was tousled, and those full lips curved into a smile as she stared. Was this what his lovers saw in the morning? How did they resist him? How—

  No. Stop this.

  It was excessive. He ought to be ashamed of being so tempting. She ought to be ashamed of being so weak as to forget why she came.

  Tamping down her desire, Anne strode toward the bed. She didn’t have time for his pretty body, or for imagining the way he’d touched her in the gazebo. Now that the other gentlemen had arrived at Ravenhill, she had to focus on her task.

  Eleven days.

  That was all she had.

  “I require your guidance.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “In the middle of the night.”

  “Yes. Granby has invited me to walk with him tomorrow morning. You were very clear about not rising until noon, and this couldn’t wait.”

  “Let me guess: Granby rises before noon. Perfect, utterly dull Granby,” Richard said with a sigh.

  What was wrong with him? “Are you drunk?”

  “Wish I were, sweetheart.” He patted the bed beside him. “Come here.”

  “It seems like a bad idea, getting into bed with you after what happened in the gazebo.”

  Richard gazed up at her, his eyes darkening with some emotion she couldn’t identify. “Do you regret that now?”

  How could a single question throw her so off balance? She had just begun to build some defense against him — feeble, yes, but enough to last the moment.

  That one question ripped through her armor like a bullet through paper. No, she could never regret something so lovely. When she found her husband — Granby, or whoever else — she would still think on it as the first time she had ever experienced tenderness, consideration, desire, lust. And the man who married her would never compare because this one had already left some mark on her.

  What do you want? he’d asked.

  Didn’t he understand how significant that question was? How four words could change her life?

  “No,” she whispered. “How could I regret that when I've spent every night dreaming of it?”

  Richard’s expression grew heated. He reached for her. “Anne—”

  “No.” She caught his grasp. “I can’t. I have eleven days, do you understand?” She heard his shaky exhale before he nodded. “Good. Now how do I speak with Granby? This isn’t like a dance. I’ll have to spend an hour or two alone with him.”

  “You’ve successfully managed to spend an hour or two alone in my company without perishing.”

  Anne waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, but you don’t count. I can make mistakes in front of you. You can’t compare a rehearsal to a performance, Richard. And I like you. Come now, you’re an expert in the art of small talk, remember?”

  “While these are exceedingly nice compliments to me, they don’t bode well for Granby.”

  “Well, I’m not here to flatter Granby, am I? It’s you I must praise excessively tonight, Narcissus.”

  “Oof.” He pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me. Very well, I’ll play.” He shifted in bed to sit up. The movement did strange things to his muscles — made them flex — and — “Granby likes horses.”

  She blinked up at him. “Horses? What?”

  “Large creatures. Four legs. Good for traveling—”

  “I know what a bloody horse is,” Anne said impatiently. “I just don’t know a damn thing about horses.”

  Richard shrugged. “Even better. Granby knows more about equines than women. Have him talk about horses, express the tiniest interest in the creatures, give him that one smile you do, and he’ll be eating out of your palm by the end of the day.”

  “The smile I do? What smile?”

  Now he looked irritated. “The one.”

  “So I’ve surmised. The question is which one?”

  “The one with the dimple.”

  Anne pressed her lips together to stop herself from laughing. “You noticed my dimple?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “It’s nice. I’ve a fine appreciation for a woman with dimples. Yours are no exception.”

  “Do you have dimples? I can’t recall.”

  “No.”

  “Will you smile so I can judge for myself?”

  “Anne.”

  She reached for him. “I think you do.” He dodged her hand, but she was persistent. “I think you—”

  “Anne.”

  “Have a dimple right—”

  He burst into laughter as she tickled him along his sides.

  “There — aaack!”

  Anne fell against Richard. His warm, muscled body was pressed firmly enough to her own that she felt his heart pulse against her chest like a trapped thing. Somewhere in their tussle, he’d captured her hands in his and threaded their fingers.

  Like lovers in the midst of intimacy, Anne thought, her smile disappearing.

  Their lips were so close that Anne considered breaking her rule and kissing him. She thrilled at the growing proof of his desire against her hip, for it meant he was as much a victim of this madness. A spell had been cast over them both.

  But it wasn’t enough. Bodies were straightforward, simple. They responded to the smallest stimuli. It was his mind she wonde
red about — had it fallen prey to this obsessive longing, too? Did he think of her at night? Touch himself? Wish?

  She did.

  “Do you dream about the gazebo?” she asked before she thought better of it.

  “Yes,” he breathed. “Every night.”

  A flutter went through her. Gratification and, also, some sadness. For that day no longer seemed real.

  Perhaps this really was madness. Perhaps it was enchantment. For that was the only explanation she had for why she leaned forward and grazed her teeth along the shell of his ear before whispering, “In your dreams, do we stop?”

  Something crossed his expression. Heat, yes. But something savage, too. A need that matched her own.

  “No. We don’t stop.”

  That answer ignited her — she was on the cusp of exploding — but when she reached for him again, he drew back.

  The distance in that movement — so infinitesimal as to be nonexistent — was as much a shock as standing on the edge of a cliff. It left her dizzy. The fire in his expression was gone, smoothed over. Controlled. She envied him that, for she remained hot all over.

  “Time for you to go back to bed, sweetheart,” he said. “You’ve got a busy morning.”

  “Yes,” she said, but he hadn’t yet released her hands. “Yes, I do.”

  “Horses,” he reminded her.

  “Horses,” she echoed.

  Richard let her go. “To bed, Anne.”

  “Yes.”

  She scrambled up and headed to the door, dazed now. Her body had yet to regain its equilibrium. When she reached for the nob, she was struck by some wild impulse to confess to him the way he had with her. “Richard?”

  She thought she heard him loose a breath. “Yes?”

  “I wish we hadn’t stopped that day.”

  Before he said anything, Anne slipped out of the bedchamber.

  Chapter 14

  In the span of an hour with the Marquess of Granby, Anne learned more about horses than she cared for. He told her how to raise and saddle them, their various gaits and body shapes, the name of every horse in Granby’s stables, and those of his racing horses.