by Darcy Burke
“Closer,” Madame de Maitenon added pertly. “Foot to foot. He is your friend.”
Right. Ronan moved in close, edging in around that muscled arm and set the tips of each scuffed boot against those stone bare feet. He now stared into the features of a perfect, expressionless, carved face whose deeply set eyes were rimmed, but whose pupils were smooth and blank.
“Look at him,” she prodded.
“I am,” he assured her, still staring at that expressionless face.
“Tell me what you see.”
He lifted a brow. “A well-carved, naked man with no expression who happens to have a corset hanging from his arm for reasons I have yet to understand. That is what I see.”
“There is more to him than that.”
He kept his brow lifted. “Is there? Really?”
“Oui. What is he made of?”
Oh. “Stone.”
“Ah. Not flesh, but stone. Bien. Now look at his face,” she prodded. “Is he a man capable of affection, romance and great passion?”
He smirked, noting how it stared mindlessly. “If he is, I would be well surprised.”
She tapped four fingers delicately against her open palm, mimicking a dainty clap. “Bravo.” She used those same four fingers to gesture toward the sculpture’s left cheek. “And this is a face you do not wish to own. This is a face that knows nothing about passion, affection, romance or women. And this is what you have been accused of being, my lord. This. For despite his perfect appearance, and a body made for a woman to admire and desire, his lack of passion will end in him tragically standing with his arm outstretched and alone for the rest of his stone-like life.”
A breath escaped Ronan at the comparison. Is this what Caroline saw?
“Do you want to be like this man?” she asked. “Do you want to feel nothing? Do you want to be alone?”
He shifted his jaw. “No. I do not.”
“I am pleased to hear it. That means you are not made of stone but clay. And clay can be molded. Your first lesson begins now. You must learn to face what you fear most. Given you panic during a kiss, we will bring the kiss to you in a less intrusive manner. You will practice on your friend here.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Practice on him. Trace his lips with a finger and when you are ready, mold your mouth against his and count to ten before disengaging. Would you like me to leave? Or would you like me to stay and offer you assistance in this?”
Ronan paused in disbelief and glanced back at her. “You can’t be serious.”
“Worry not. He is clean. The servants dust and wash him every week.”
Laughter overtook him. He slowly held up both hands. “His cleanliness is the least of my concerns.”
She adjusted her pearls. “Shall I bring in Harold? He is fully dressed. You can practice on him, if it pleases you. I pay him well. He won’t mind.”
He choked. “Now, now, hold on, hold on. Is there a reason you wish for me to practice my kissing on…men?”
“Oui. Given you are attracted to women, the thought of kissing a man, especially a well-endowed naked one, should make you panic. And that is what we want. We want you to push through your panic and still deliver a kiss.” She patted the sculpture’s shoulder. “Show me a kiss. Use your tongue.”
Ronan snorted and pointed to the large stone head. “It’s a statue.”
“If you cannot entertain a statue, there is no hope for you, or your incapacité, is there?”
Ronan burst into laughter and almost staggered against the Greek sculpture in an effort to keep himself from stumbling against the stone feet. “Yes, but I can’t— This is— It’s—”
“Absurd?” Madame rounded the backside of the statue behind its shoulder and gave him a long, pointed look. “What is absurd is your inability to take this lesson seriously. You come to me for help and I am offering it. You are expected to kiss him. Mold your mouth and move it against his, then count to ten and disengage. You only need to do it once and will never be expected to do it again.” She eyed him. “You appear nervous. I will not watch. Instead, I will leave you two alone.”
His amusement died in his throat. She was serious.
Walking past him toward the sliding doors on the other side of the room, she opened them and stepping out, closed them in an effortless manner behind her.
Ronan could swear that the sculpture’s masculine lips set before him now held a smirk. He shifted from boot to boot. This was fucking ridiculous.
Crossing his arms slowly over his chest, Ronan stared at that life-size smooth carved face and those slightly parted lips. One had to wonder if women bought these statues and placed them in their rooms for the specific purpose of molesting something without it being considered a sin. He didn’t even want to know how many times this statue had been molested. He shifted from boot to boot again and eventually muttered, “I’m not giving you my tongue.”
“I can hear you,” Madame de Maitenon called out from the other side of the doors in a muffled tone. “I am listening with an eager ear pressed to the wood, and do not hear the melodious sound of your lips adoringly indulging in stone.”
He groaned. “His stare alone is unnerving.” He gestured toward that molded cock with both hands. “Look at it. That size isn’t normal. I can’t kiss…that. I can’t.”
“Cease looking at his Mount Olympus,” she chastised in a muted tone through the closed doors as if she could see right through them. “I am not asking you to kiss Mount Olympus. Focus on his lips. His lips. Begin by tracing them with a finger, preparing yourself to be his and when you are ready, mold your mouth and move it sensually against his with your tongue. Then slowly count to ten and you are done. I will not ask you to do it again.”
He released a breath through his nostrils. It was obvious she expected him to do it. Edging in closer, Ronan lifted a lone finger. Looking at his held-up finger, he poked at the stone’s parted lips, watching both. He sighed and leaned in closer. Grudgingly and with one squinting eye, he used his finger to follow the cool line of those petrified lips and tried to envision Caroline’s mouth instead. Her lips. He eyed the stone. Her lips would certainly be so much softer than this. Fuller than this. Moister than this. Better than this.
He dropped his hand. He felt stupid.
“Have you kissed him? Because you will stand before him and his Mount Olympus until you do,” she tossed in a riled, reprimanding tone. “End this by kissing him now or you may end it eighteen hours from now. You decide. Because you are not leaving until you do.”
He was not standing here for eighteen hours.
Ronan glared at that expressionless stone face that had officially turned into his nemesis. A nude nemesis. Male statue be damned. If he couldn’t do this in the name of Caroline, what else wouldn’t and couldn’t he do?
Glancing toward the closed doors, he huffed out a breath and leaned in. Angling his head, he set his lips against that stone mouth, its cool, smoothness greeting his mouth. He forced his lips apart and slowly, slowly used his…tongue. The taste of stone grazed his lips and tongue. Cringing, he closed his eyes, intent on ignoring that gritty, salty taste.
Desperately needing to disregard the fact that he was moving his mouth against a nude, male statue, he focused on Caroline. Caroline. One, two, three. He reveled in remembering how Caroline’s chestnut hair had escaped from its pins and lay in a mass of disheveled curls well past her shoulders in his carriage. Four, five, six. He reveled in remembering how the sleeves of her gown had slipped down her slender arms and exposed that pale blue corset in the carriage. Seven, eight, nine. He reveled in how beautiful she was and that for a breath she had been his. Ten.
He disengaged.
He edged back and wiped his mouth and his tongue hard against the sleeve of his coat, trying to rid himself the taste of stone.
“Did you kiss him?” Madame de Maitenon called out.
He set his shoulders and gruffly admitted, “Yes. I did.”
The doors
slid open and she entered, walking toward him with the rustle of skirts. “Did you panic?”
He rolled his eyes. “Why would I? It’s just a statue.”
She tightened her lips. “Just a statue? I see. And what made you set aside the absurdity of knowing that you were kissing a statue? What did you think about that made you set aside the absurdity of my request that allowed you to then kiss it?”
A breath escaped him. “Caroline.”
An arched silver brow went up. “Is that so? Such a pity. Imagine what you could have accomplished, my lord, if this statue here had been your Lady Caroline. You would have given her the one thing she wanted. The one thing you cruelly denied her without any regard for her pride or for her heart. Was that not absurd? And yet…you chose to do something even more absurd than deny your Lady Caroline a kiss. You chose to kiss this man of stone merely because I told you to.” She tsked. “What does that say about you as a man?”
He swallowed. Now he felt like an idiot. And a bastard.
She dapped at his cheek. “There. I can see you are thinking. And that was the point of this lesson. To make you realize that it is not so daunting or life changing to do something you dislike in the name of the person you wish to love. Overcome this fear of yours, my lord. It lies inside your head and can only be dug out by you. If you can move past the discomfort you feel and engage your Lady Caroline’s lips, the moment you do, nothing will control you and that discomfort again.”
Damn.
Holding up his sovereign, she tucked it into his pocket. “You have earned it back.” She brought her hands sweepingly together and lowered her voice. “Tomorrow afternoon at three, you will return here and put in a formal application with Lady Chartwell. During your interview, she must know nothing about the real details pertaining to why you are applying. Tell her whatever you so please and comes to mind, because we cannot have her or anyone else saying something to Lord Hawksford before or after he applies. For that is for us to unfold to him at the right time. Now. Prior to you bringing Lord Hawksford here to the school next week, given today is Thursday, you have nine days to complete three simple tasks.”
She held up a single slim finger. “One: strawberries are ripe and in from the fields. Have a servant purchase a small basket for you each day. Take those strawberries, bite into each one and use its inner flesh to sensually explore and rub against your lips and your tongue. Suckle it, taste it, and above all, revel in it each day for as long as you can. It will acquaint you with the sensation of moist lips against your own. Go through the entire basket, if you can.” She added another slim finger to the one she was holding up. “Two: go riding, like we discussed. Give yourself permission to bring out the untamed boy in yourself. It will teach you to be passionate again. You must learn to live again and not give into the past.” She added another slim finger to the one she was holding up. “Three: Learn to be more you. Not the statue.”
He nodded. “Thank you. I am genuinely astounded. I did not expect you or this.”
She smiled and inclined her head. “It is my pleasure. I will see you tomorrow evening, after you have put in your application with Lady Chartwell. Au revoir and assure your uncle that despite my inability to bow to the marriage he seeks, he will be seeing more of me. We shall see what becomes of it.”
His uncle was going to piss himself.
Ronan blew out a breath knowing all of this was going to be a lot of work. And it didn’t even include dragging in Hawksford or telling the man. And it certainly didn’t include winning Caroline back, either.
Bugger and…bugger.
Lesson Seventeen
Growth in one’s spirit and in one’s mind unleashes a wayward soul that
has been trapped into a way of thinking. Once a soul has been unleashed to
its true potential, greater possibilities unfold and the passion
becomes so great, nothing can or will be able to break it.
-The School of Gallantry
Two and a half weeks later, afternoon
Rotten Row
Directing her horse alongside her mother’s, and keeping it at a steady, calm pace, Caroline fixed a burdened gaze on the shaded path leading through the vast park before her. The sun brightened endless green leaves and a warm breeze tinged with everything fresh and in bloom rustled her riding habit, sending the decorative veil tied around her hat floating behind her. Even the blue sky above boasted that spring was finally at an end and summer was bursting and about to begin.
She tightened her kid-gloved hands on the leather reins, desperately trying to savor the one thing she did best: riding. She had learned to ride incredibly well out in Bath with her sisters these last three years. She would dash her horse across endless green hills and fields leading into the main roads of the town with the governess straggling behind on her horse. She missed that. She missed the genuine freedom she used to have that had allowed her to look around and see nothing but possibilities.
Now, riding in the open air, with birds flying and darting before her and the other riders, she could see nothing outside of a harried, superficial life known as the Season where dinner parties and gatherings all blurred into one. Her dreams of being married by June and sailing into France and Paris with Ronan by July to meet his nieces and nephews had been replaced with spinsterhood now holding out a rotting hand.
How had it come to this? How had she reduced herself into thinking that a man was what completed her? How had she reduced herself into thinking that without Ronan, she had no other purpose in life? She had crawled and crawled for him and his affections for so long, she had forgotten how to stand.
Brainless and annoying though it was, she had even secretly hoped Ronan would try to win her back. That he would try to prove to her that she was wrong about all the things she had said about him. But the silence these past two and a half weeks had been so deafening, she could do nothing but quietly cry into her pillow almost every night. She had finally come to face the one thing she had been unable to face since she was sixteen: that the dream of love was far different from the reality of it.
She was tired of dreaming. It was time to grow up. It was time to live life and actually find joy in it. After all, there was more to life than a man.
The dowager drew her horse closer and glancing toward Caroline from beneath the rim of her veiled, top hat, smiled and offered, “Lord Gifford will no doubt be riding on the path today.”
Caroline sighed. And it was back to the idea of how a man only completed a woman’s existence. Gad. “Mama, if you must know, I burned the letter he sent to Alex. It is done. It is over.”
That smile faded. “Caroline. You aren’t even giving Lord Gifford an opportunity to—”
“I don’t need a man to complete me, Mama. In fact, I don’t want a man to complete me for that is exactly what led me to my heartbreak. I have decided when the Season is over, I intend to return to Bath and Grandpapa for a few months and decide what I wish to do with my life next. I know traveling will be in order. It annoys me that I have never stepped outside of England. Why is that?” Caroline set her chin. “Now let me ride without further talk of marriage or men. Please.”
Her mother fell silent.
Caroline scanned the path before them, trying to focus. She paused, noting none other than Lord Gifford himself riding toward them at a half-gallop. She groaned at the horrid timing of it all, slowed her horse and brought it to a complete halt on the dirt path.
As did her mother.
With his black top hat set perfectly atop rusty hair, Gifford rounded them and the path and fully turning, trotted forward and drew his well-brushed black horse to a halt directly beside her, barely an arm’s length away. He inclined his head gallantly. “Lady Caroline.” He leaned forward enough to acknowledge her mother. “Dowager.”
“Lord Gifford,” her mother obliged.
Blue eyes intently searched Caroline’s face, brightening Gifford’s vastly freckled, boyish features. “The day is rather splendid, i
sn’t it? One meant for breathing in deep and riding.”
Caroline inclined her head and offered, “It is indeed a splendid day to ride. A good-afternoon to you Lord Gifford. I hope you are well.”
“I am very well, thank you.” Shifting on his saddle, he scanned her appearance and gestured toward her with a gloved hand. “The sun may be shining, but I see nothing but you. By God, you look glorious.”
Ronan could certainly learn a few things from this man. It was as if Lord Gifford practiced his words before a mirror every day. She knew she had to tell him right now and right here on the path. Even if meant breaking that poor, genuine heart. Because it wasn’t fair to him.
Caroline tried to keep her voice steady to better impart what needed to be said. “I think it rather timely you are here on the path today, my lord. I have been meaning to speak to you about the letter you sent my brother almost three weeks ago.”
His grin faded along with the faint lines around his mouth. “The letter. Yes.” His rusty brows flickered. “I was hoping to hear from him about it.”
And here it was. “I intercepted the letter, my lord, and as such, you will not be hearing from my brother. I didn’t want him to know of your offer, and I ask you to forgive me for taking the upper hand in this.”
He stared and leaned toward her in his saddle. “Did I offend you by advancing too fast?”
Caroline drew her horse closer to Gifford’s, met his gaze, and admitted in a sincere tone, “No. It wasn’t anything you did. I simply didn’t want my brother to know as he would have insisted I accept your proposal and I cannot accept. I admire you as a gentleman and a father, my lord. I hear many a good thing about you. I also admire that you already proved how willing you were to go up against your own peers to court and marry me. Despite that, I confess that my affections are for another, and though they are unreturned, it would never allow me to submit to you in the manner you deserve. I, therefore, must decline your generous offer and ask that you forgive me for any hurt my refusal will cause you or your boys. For that is not my intention. I admire you too much to wish you any suffering.”