Lady of Pleasure (30 page)

“You panic. And do you panic physically? Or mentally? Do you have certain thoughts that prevent you from wanting to kiss a woman?”
“No. Not thoughts. It’s definitely physical. It lends to me panicking and not being able to do it.”

“Describe this panic. Can you?”

He widened his stance. “Well…my mouth goes dry and I…I feel as if my skin is crawling as my throat tightens, leaving me unable to breathe. So I withdraw.”
“Have you ever tried to initiate a kiss?”

“No. I have never been able to.”

“Ah. And are you able to use your mouth against other parts of a woman’s body? Can you offer a woman pleasure using your tongue when you lower yourself to her cove of paradise? Or does that cause you to panic, as well?”

That was rather personal. “Uh…” Feeling his face bloom in heat, he winced, knowing he had to answer despite the fact that she was old enough to be his grandmother. “Yes. I am fully capable of using my mouth on…everything else.”

Her arched brows came together. “So you only have trouble with a woman’s mouth,
oui
?”

“Yes.”

“And how long have you had this problem? Do you know?”
He paused. He had never really thought about it. None of the women he had engaged throughout the years had ever argued with him over
why
he wasn’t kissing them once they knew he simply refused to do it. Nor did they ever ask. His jaw tightened. The only woman he had ever kissed was…Lady Stanbury. Whenever she visited him for their ‘sessions,’ her tongue had always gone so deep into his mouth and throat, it had always made him gag. “Fourteen,” he admitted. “I have been unable to tolerate a mouth against mine since fourteen. After…after an incident.”

She half-nodded, her features softening. “Hughes wrote about what this Lady Stanbury did to you.” She grew somber. “Forced seduction is like a blade through one’s soul. There is no mercy in it. None.”

It had, indeed, been a blade through everything he was. He tried not to let it be but it always swarmed back. “Knowing what you do, and that I wish to learn to be romantic, how long do you think it will take to cure me of my inability to kiss?”

Madame de Maitenon observed him. “It is a problem you may never resolve.”

Oh now, shit. “
Never
?” he echoed, leaning forward and toward her. “So after all your talk about kissing being unique to mankind, where does that leave me?”

She tsked. “You are not hopeless. I am merely implying that you must be patient. You may carry this
incapacité
in your pocket for life. But men often carry far worse. I will do my best to assist you in overcoming what makes you panic. We will also teach you how to balance your thoughts of
poom-poom
with more romance.”

He lowered his chin. Poom-poom? What the hell was that? Sex?
“
Oui
,” she offered, as if he had asked aloud. “I meant sex. What else does a man think about when it comes to women?” She sighed. “Being that this situation is unique, and that you are the nephew of the ever glorious Hughes, you and I will be spending additional time together outside of my school when it opens. Two hours every evening, except Sundays, until June. I suggest you ensure your schedule is free.”

He leaned back. He didn’t even want to know how much this was going to cost him. “And how much will it be for the school and these so-called personal sessions?”

She lifted a silvery brow. “How much is your problem worth to you?”

Which meant she was going to be expensive as hell. “Madame. I don’t know what my uncle may or may not have told you in those ten pages of parchment, but I am a gentleman of few means and therefore must plan all of my upcoming expenses. About how much do you
think
it will cost? I need to arrange my budget accordingly.”

Her mouth quirked. “Worry not about such unimportant details. I do not send creditors after my clients. There are other ways to collect from men. I will get what I want from you. Once I decide what it is. I simply have not decided what I want.”

This sounded dirty. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I don’t roll the dice that way. I need to know all costs up front or I am not proceeding. Set the price now, please.”
She lowered her chin. “You wish to set it now?”

“Yes. I have been hanged too many times to walk into anything blindly.”

She puckered her lips in consideration before pertly obliging, “I understand. We will set the price now. For you.” She pointed to the chair with a manicured finger. “Empty your pockets and deposit everything there. I will decide on something I want, based upon what you have with you now and all of your lessons will be paid in full until June. Agreed?”

He blinked. “I think you’re being a little
too
generous.”

“Hopefully you will remember that should I ever need a favor from an aristocratic man who has the ear of many in society. I have a granddaughter whose happiness I wish to oversee, after all.”

Ah. That was how she worked. No wonder his uncle loved this woman. She knew what she was doing. He pointed at her. “As long as this favor doesn’t send me to the gallows or into any beds.”

“No beds. No gallows.” She held up two fingers together and kissed their tips. “Upon my honor as a French woman and as a courtesan.”

He shifted toward her. If his uncle trusted her enough to write ten pages of his own nephew’s life to her, he knew he could trust her, too. “Then I agree. I owe you a favor as a gentleman and will empty my pockets here and now. Though I will warn you, they contain very little.”

She tutted and lowered her hand. “Do not insult yourself so. I am certain that I will be more than pleased with what I find.”

He snorted. “You would be the first.”

Ronan swung toward the chair and rummaged through each pocket, knowing he was about to showcase just how pathetic he really was. He pulled out a gold pocketwatch and fob, which his uncle had given him on his eighteenth birthday when he came into his title, but which sadly, had ceased ticking when he was in Paris. No clockmaker had been able to fix it. The watch meant more to him than the actual time, which is why he still carried it. Ronan set it on the chair.

He yanked out all thirteen of his calling cards and dug out the leather satchel containing a little less than ten pounds after the seventeen shilling donation he had made at the front door. He set them on the chair. Ronan pulled out the key to his house, which he hoped to God she didn’t want or need. He also pulled out an uncut Havana cigar he had purchased at the cigar shop on the way over. He set both onto the chair.

And that was it.

Ronan patted his pockets one last time to ensure he got everything and paused when his fingers grazed an object against the wool of his inner coat pocket. His throat tightened. His ‘lucky’ sovereign. The one thing he had left of Caroline. The one thing that represented the three years she had carried him in her heart. The one thing he had lost.

He hesitated, regretting he had brought it with him and dug it out. He slowly set it on the chair, letting it chink against the wood of the seat. His entire life was now laid out on that chair. It was sad. All of this was.

He sighed and gestured toward the chair. He hoped to God the sovereign survived. Though he doubted it would.

Madame de Maitenon sashayed over to the chair and lingered beside him, the flirtatious scent of mint piercing the air between them. Peering down at the amassed collection, she leaned over and paused. “Och. I haven’t seen a coin minted like this since I was a girl. British men from days of old used to toss coins like these when they visited Paris.” She plucked up his gold sovereign and held it up triumphantly. “
This
.”

Of course. The sovereign that had survived ninety-two years of history, that included Waterloo and his ten thousand pound investment of horses that literally burned to the ground, but a sovereign that could not survive the school tuition. Why he had
ever
considered the damn thing lucky was beyond him. The only luck it had ever brought him was that he wasn’t dead.

He shifted his jaw at the thought of it, but said nothing.

Madame paused, fingering the large coin. “You appear to be upset.”

He shrugged. “Think nothing of it.”

She wagged it up at him. “Who gave this to you?”

He sighed. “His Majesty.”

Her brows went up, her pink lips parting. “You have the ear of the King?”

He rolled his eyes. “Hardly. I only met the man twice.”

“That is twice more than I.” She smiled and placed the coin onto her bare palm with the date facing up. “So why is this so important to you? Tell me. You have ignited my curiosity.”

He shifted from boot to boot. “In my mind it was going to change my life.”

“And did it?”
“No.”

Her brows flickered. “Then why are you upset about giving it to me? If it did not fulfill its purpose, why this face?”

He knew why. “Because the lady I wish to make my own had carried it with her for three years in my name. So it is worth far more to me now than when I first received it from the King.”

She held his gaze. “You, my lord, understand the underpinnings of romance rather well. We simply have to tap into it more and tug it out.” She held up the sovereign. “I will keep this until you impress me enough to get it back.”

That was one way to motivate him into cooperation.

She patted his arm. “I have no doubt you will. And perhaps maybe even today you will.” She turned toward the chair again and perused the remaining items. She reached down and took up his cigar, running the length of it under her nose. “Havana?”
“The best cigar there is.”

She wagged it at him. “And worth the price of your tuition.”

Her generosity was beyond what he expected. She had to be doing it because of her association with his uncle. “I can buy you a box. I hope you will allow me to do that much.”
She crinkled her nose. “
Non
. This one here will last me a year. I only puff once. A lady should never puff more than one cigar a year. Otherwise, she becomes dependent on puffing all the time. And a woman should
never
be dependent on anything. Not even a man. It makes her frail.” She waved toward the chair. “Take the rest. I have no need for it.” She circled away, still running the cigar under her nose and strode toward the statues.

Wonders never ceased. Whoever thought stopping at a cigar shop a little over an hour ago was going to change his life. He was beginning to understand his uncle’s passion for this woman. She was amazingly quirky, yet brilliant.

Gathering everything from the chair, Ronan pushed it back into the pockets he had retrieved them from. Adjusting his morning coat around his frame, he glanced toward her. “So when do we begin, madame?”

She tucked the cigar daintily into the left pocket of the unbuttoned waistcoat belonging to one of the statues, as if adding to a collection she had acquired. She admired her handiwork with the playful tilt of her head, then turned with the sweep of her skirts toward him. “You will begin…
now
.”

God help him, he didn’t know if he was ready for this.

Madame slipped two fingers into the décolletage of her lace gown and withdrew his calling card with the turn of a wrist. She displayed it. “Yours?”
He eyed the ivory card, knowing it was. “Yes.”

She ripped the card into several small pieces and with the flick of her hands, sent them fluttering sideways to the floor. “Formalities between us no longer exist. You will entrust me with your secrets and I will entrust you with mine. Everything that is said between us will not be repeated to
anyone
, not even Lady Chartwell who oversees the application of my school. She will know nothing of why you are here for reasons I will later explain. Now sit. So we may begin.”

A breath escaped him, knowing she wouldn’t be sharing their conversation with anyone. Ronan sat in the gilded chair set in the middle of the room. He tried to direct his gaze toward anything but the oversized penis a few feet away. “About how…
long
will today’s session be?” He tried not to smirk.

“That will depend on how cooperative you are. And your humor is rather lame. Do away with it.” Madame de Maitenon promenaded toward the sliding doors and swept them closed to ensure their privacy before promenading back to him. She slowly rounded him, her blue eyes meeting his, and asked, “Do you enjoy life?”

What a question. “There could be more to enjoy.”

“Ah. I see. And do you enjoy taking your horse out into the city?”
How the two were connected, he had
no
idea. He shrugged. “I suppose.”

She sighed. “And we have found our first problem. A man who answers ‘could be’ and ‘I suppose’ clearly is not enjoying life. You are merely drifting. We must change that. Because a man seeking to be passionate and romantic should
never
drift.
Non
. He should know what he is most passionate about, no matter how insignificant it may appear. You must learn to coax the little boy in you out of the shadows and toss him into remembering what he enjoys and why. Cease focusing on your sorrows and focus on your joys. Go out riding next week. Force your horse into a stampeding gallop that will take your breath and move everyone out of the way. That is when you ask yourself if you are enjoying life. It will be your first step outside of this ‘could be’ and ‘I suppose’. Better to say ‘no’ than ‘I suppose’. I expect you to apply this way of thinking to everything. You must be either ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Do things you normally would not do and keep asking yourself whether you would do it again. The more you do and the more you ask, the more you will thrive and understand what ignites not only you but your passion. Will you take my challenge?”