An Experienced Mistress (6 page)

“Flory,” she said, “if anyone in the village happens to ask why a fine carriage has been seen outside our cottage...you may simply tell them that I am giving someone art lessons.”

The maid’s face became perfectly bland. “Very well, Miss Genny.”

Chapter Four

On Tuesday evening, Genevieve stood in the middle of her drawing room. She didn’t seem able to remain seated. For what must have been the hundredth time, she checked the mantel clock. Five minutes to seven.

She studied her reflection in the mirror. At least she didn’t look like an unkempt mess, the way she had when Will Creighton visited her last week.

She had put her hair up in a simple chignon in the back, allowing some curls to hang loose at the sides according to the current fashion. She had also persuaded herself to wear a more conventional dark green dress.

Unfortunately, that made it necessary to wear her corset a little tighter. She knew that women in Society cinched their waists much more restrictively than this, but she couldn’t imagine how they suffered it. When she tried to calm herself with a deep, steadying breath, Genevieve felt the pressure against her breasts and belly.

Did she still smell of turpentine, from painting earlier that day? No, surely not; she’d washed and splashed herself with lavender water. Probably it was just the unfamiliar smell of the brandy, which she set out on a tray with a decanter and two glasses.

After she’d paid what she owed to the shop in London, she bought the liquor. A very expensive indulgence, especially considering that Genevieve hardly ever drank as much as a glass of wine. But as silly as it seemed, she’d have felt embarrassed serving anything but good brandy to a fine gentleman. Besides, she still had money left over.

Genevieve took another deep breath and exhaled slowly, but it didn’t make her any less shaky. She grew a bit nauseated, too. Surely she wasn’t going to be sick?

What on earth possessed her to think that she could go through with this? She hadn’t kissed anyone in years, let alone a perfect stranger.

A too-perfect stranger, at that.

And of course he wouldn’t be satisfied with just kissing—that was a ridiculous notion. She’d make a complete and utter fool of herself.

For the last couple of days, she had practiced the things she would say, even imagined speaking in a serene, knowledgeable voice, but now she was sure she’d wasted her time. He’d realize right away that she was a sham, trying to play a game for which she hadn’t the least skill. He wouldn’t be able to resist telling all his grand friends about it, and she’d be the laughing-stock of London.

Why did she have to be so unrealistic? This had always been her problem: she made rash decisions, pursued mad plans that had no chance of success. Any woman with a modicum of good sense would have realized this was a bad idea. No, a sensible woman wouldn’t have thought of the idea in the first place. Would she never learn how to live with just a little dignity?

Two minutes till seven. Maybe she should hide upstairs, and Flory could inform Mr. Creighton that she was ill? Laid low with some dreadful and very contagious disease.

Syphilis, perhaps. That would get rid of him.

But no, it was no good. Flory wasn’t even here, of course: Tuesday was her night off.

Genevieve heard the clattering of hooves and carriage wheels outside. He’d arrived.

Suddenly, her mind went completely calm. All right then, she thought.

She lifted her chin up higher and walked over to the front door.

****

“Good evening, Genevieve,” Will said when she answered the door. She looked even lovelier than he remembered.

True, she didn’t possess the delicate, sweet features so prized in ladies like the Tudbury sisters. She looked nothing like a bisque china doll. With her large eyes, full mouth, and broad oval of a face, she was too alive for that. Too sensual.

Her hair was more properly arranged than the last time he’d seen her, and Will was sorry about that. He loved to see it tumbling loose past her shoulders and down her back. It made her look like the Lady of the Lake, in the book of King Arthur tales he loved as a child. A beautiful, mysterious woman turning up unexpectedly to offer a precious gift.

“Mr. Creighton. Pray come in.”

“I hope you won’t continue calling me Mr. Creighton,” he said as he followed her inside. “It seems too formal.”

She motioned for him to sit. “Well, Mr. Creighton,” she informed him, “I imagine I shall be calling you whatever I please.”

Will smiled as he took his place on the settee. He’d enjoy this. She knew exactly what she was doing, and as far as that went, he knew exactly what he wanted to do with her, too.

In fact, he wondered why they sat in the drawing room. Maybe she felt it more civilized to talk first before going off to bed. He understood that, and he was content to follow her lead. Especially when she sat down next to him on the settee.

She didn’t wear those blasted cage-like contraptions under her skirts. He felt the captivating contour of her thigh, right alongside his own.

And he smelled her. No heavy French perfume, but something fresh and almost herbal, as if she’d wandered on a heather-filled moor. Just a hint of another scent, too, unusual but too faint to identify.

She smelled good. Felt good. How long since he’d been this close to a woman? Too long, that was certain.

“Did you have a pleasant ride here?” she asked.

“Certainly. Lovely landscape.” He surveyed her form.

“I have always thought so.”

“Where is your maid this evening?” he asked. “Flora, isn’t that her name?”

“Yes, Flory Tate. She’s visiting her sister. She has Tuesday nights off.”

“No wonder you thought Tuesday would be a good choice.” Will stretched one arm behind her along the back of the settee.

She jerked forward. “Quite so. Will you have some brandy?” She poured a generous glass.

“Certainly.”

She startled him by setting the full glass in front of herself, then filling another and handing it to him. A true lady served her guests first. A true lady would have had sherry, not brandy, and she wouldn’t take more than a few sips, at that. Will watched as she gulped a healthy swig of the amber liquid, seeing her throat move as she swallowed.

Here was a woman who knew what she liked, and wasn’t ashamed to take it. Some people would call it selfish or wicked, but to Will, it seemed very refreshing.

He took a drink himself. “It’s excellent,” he commented. The rich liquor was actually much better than he expected.

As she set her glass down, he thought he saw a slight tremble in her hand. “You’re cold,” he said and impulsively clasped her hand between both of his own.

Her green eyes widened, as if he surprised her. He looked down at her hand, with its slender, graceful fingers. “I was mistaken.” He half-laughed, releasing it. “You’re quite warm.”

“Yes. I am, thank you. I...what was it you were saying?”

“What? Oh, nothing. I was just saying it’s good brandy.”

“Ah.” She looked pleased. “I guessed that you would have refined tastes.”

“I flatter myself that I do.” He enjoyed the look of her.

“You flatter me, I think.”

Will loved the way she flirted without being simpering or silly. On the contrary, she had an intelligence and self-possession that one hardly expected from a woman in her walk of life. “I don’t know about that. I think I’m just being honest.”

“While we are being honest,” she said, “I think I best tell you that I do have certain conditions if we are to proceed with lessons.”

“Conditions?”

Jack mentioned some of his mistresses asking for extra gifts besides the money. If that was what Miss Bell wanted, well, he supposed she could have them. He had more money than he needed; he didn’t spend it on art and antiquities the way Coventry did, or have Jack’s habit of running up gambling debts.

“Yes. Just so you understand, I’m going to have to set the pace.”

“Very well,” Will agreed—then wondered what the Devil she meant.

Was she concerned about his stamina in bed? It had been a while, but he was fairly sure she wouldn’t be disappointed on that account.

“Excellent,” she went on. “Because you see...Well, I mean no offense to you, of course. But I cannot abide going to bed with a man who is not even well-versed in the preliminaries.”

Will didn’t like her serious tone. “The preliminaries. I’m not quite sure I follow...”

“Mr. Creighton. Do you realize how many men do not even know how to kiss properly?”

Did her cheek flush? No, of course she wasn’t blushing; she was the last woman in the world who would blush. Her complexion naturally held a hint of pink, something he noticed about her before.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that with me.” What a strange conversation to have. He hadn’t expected to discuss anything they would do. He supposed he thought they would just go off to bed.

In fact, that still seemed like a fairly good plan, but he was curious to see what she’d say next.

“Nonetheless, Mr. Creighton. It seems to me that in their rush to get their trousers off, men often pass by the first, more...subtle expressions of sensuality.” She looked at him sidelong, as if to ascertain whether he comprehended her.

“You mean...kissing. Touching,” he said.

“Precisely.”

Will shrugged. “I think that men simply don’t enjoy those, what did you call them, preliminaries, as much as women do.”

“I think you’re wrong.” She gazed at him. “I think it’s a lack of education and refinement.”

“How so?”

“Think of it as a meal.” She really did sound like a schoolteacher. Strangely enough, her academic tone did nothing to dampen his heightened awareness of her body. His mind still fixated on the feel of her thigh through the deep green damask of her skirts and the wool of his trouser leg.

“An uncivilized man reaches right for the main course and devours it,” Genevieve explained. “A gentleman of refinement, on the other hand, takes his time. He samples every course, from the appetizer to the dessert, and savors it. Now, which man do you think enjoys his meal more?”

“I take your point.” The logic of the argument impressed Will. He was even more affected by the pleasure of hearing this bewitching woman talk about sampling and savoring.

Had she expected him to be a brute? “I assure you, I have every intention of sampling each course.”

Her face went hard. “You misunderstand me. Tonight is to be a preliminary lesson only.”

Damn. This wasn’t what he’d bargained for.

“I don’t know,” he said, after a pause. “As you can imagine, Miss Bell, I was expecting a different sort of evening.”

“The choice is yours, Mr. Creighton. I need to be sure about who I take on. I’m very particular.” She shrugged. “Why should I not be?”

“Well...”

“And as I say, it takes a certain kind of man to enjoy every stage of lovemaking. Not every man even has the patience.”

The vixen. Is that what she thought? That he was no more than an eager schoolboy?

Well, she would learn differently, damn it. He’d kiss her like she’d never been kissed in her life.

“I think you will find, Miss Bell,” he leaned a tiny bit closer to her, “that my patience will last far longer than your own.”

Genevieve straightened. “Well, then. I suppose we may begin.” She drained the rest of her brandy in a prodigious gulp and set it down.

“Lovemaking,” she told him, “begins with the mouth.”

“I fully agree.” Will pulled her to him and captured her mouth in a kiss.

He heard the whimper at the back of her throat, a sound of surprise and sudden response.

His tongue explored and reveled in the taste of her, of expensive brandy and her own indefinable taste, almost like an autumn pear, spicy and sweet. Pleasure flowed through him at the sensation of her full lips under his, her warm body up against his own.

Will had almost forgotten how soft a woman felt. How welcoming.

She pulled back, her mouth in an indignant frown.

“I meant,” she said, slightly breathless, “that lovemaking begins with
speech
.”

“Indeed,” he said dryly. He thought there’d been quite enough speech already.

“Mr. Creighton,” she chided him. “Do you not want to know how to make any woman...even the most proper lady...warm and willing to do anything you might desire?”

Well. “I suppose so.”

“You may not think much of words. But if you’re wise, you will know that a woman lives for them.”

For a moment, she had a faraway, almost wistful look in her eyes. But then it passed so quickly that Will wasn’t sure he’d seen it in the first place.

“One or two well-placed compliments,” Genevieve went on to say, “a declaration of affection...and you’ll find that a lady will melt like wax.” She shrugged. “You may begin.”

“Just like that?” Annoyed to be put on the spot, he snorted. “I have no talent for empty flattery.”

“Then it’s well we’re having this lesson. You seem clever enough. Can you think of nothing to say?”

Her green eyes fixed him in a challenging stare.