But her attractive person wasn’t all that captured his interest.
She’d entered the library prepared for battle, armed only with her pride and talent—but, oh, what formidable weapons those turned out to be!
A fire burned inside her and Stacy had seen the flames—hell, he’d been scorched by them—when she spoke of her ability. She’d faced him with an arrogant confidence that had been damn near erotic, and, as it turned out, not at all unwarranted.
And then he’d become aroused when she’d played.
He should be ashamed by his body’s earthy reaction, but he wasn’t. A man would have to be dead from the neck down not to become hard. She’d swung from tightly laced to tempestuous and flushed—like a woman in the throes of passion—in the blink of an eye. The experience had not only been arousing, it had been soul-shattering: Stacy could practice for a hundred years and never play half as well.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.
There was no doubt in his mind Signora Stefani had much to teach him—but would he be able to learn anything in her distracting presence?
You are not some rutting buck sensing a mate. Surely you can control your urges?
Of course he could control his urges, but control or lack of it was not the bloody question. The question was: Would he be able to concentrate on his music or would he spend his lessons fantasizing about bending her over the piano?
Stacy grimaced. It sounded more than a little pathetic when put so baldly.
But the truth was pathetic: He was randy. Terribly randy, in fact. He’d spent most of the last two months in Barnstaple, busy with the refitting of two new ships. As a result, it had been ages since his last visit to the Plymouth establishment where he satisfied such urges.
Ha! Establishment?
Fine. The brothel I frequent. Is that better?
Stacy refused to be ashamed of what he did. Paying a prostitute was a far better practice than getting bastards on one’s servants or local maidens, a thing the local squire did with disgusting frequency.
There is always a wife.
He didn’t even bother to justify that ridiculous thought.
The truth was that he should’ve set up a mistress long ago, but the notion left him cold. What a lot of bother not only for him, but also for some poor woman. What must it be like to sit around one’s house all day waiting for a man to arrive and mount you?
Thoughts of mounting made his body tighten and he dropped his head against the back of his chair. A month was a bloody long time and he was already lusting after the poor widow, a woman who was only here to earn her bread.
Stacy frowned, sobered by that thought. He’d always been sickened by men who preyed on their tenants, servants, or other dependents. So, all he needed to do for the next thirty days was think of Signora Stefani as just another servant. Just a month, and then he would do what he should have done this morning and send her away. Surely he could suppress his unseemly urges for a month?
“Hell,” he muttered, squeezing his temples, it was going to be a long month.
THANKS FOR READING! Click on the cover below to grab your copy!
More books by S.M. LaViolette
& Minerva Spencer:
THE ACADEMY OF LOVE SERIES
THE MUSIC OF LOVE
A FIGURE OF LOVE
THE OUTCASTS SERIES
DANGEROUS
BARBAROUS
SCANDALOUS
NOTORIOUS
THE MASQUERADERS SERIES
THE FOOTMAN*
THE SEDUCERS SERIES:
MELISSA AND THE VICAR*
JOSS AND THE COUNTESS*
S.M.’s Historical Erotic Romance Series: VICTORIAN DECADENCE
HIS HARLOT*
HIS VALET*
HIS COUNTESS*
ANTHOLOGIES:
BACHELORS OF BOND STREET
THE ARRANGEMENT
You can discover more about Minerva’s books at https://www.minervaspencer.com
A Second Chance for Love: A Bachelors of Bond Street Novella Page 13