Dark Blue: Study in Seduction, Book 1 (8 page)

Shit.
His cock
. What was she on? She gulped down her G&T, trying to suppress her fight-or-flight response.

“So. ‘How Darcy Lost His Virginity: Swiving and Whoring in Jane Austen’,”
he said without even glancing down at the essay. “Interesting concept. You’ve certainly amazed me, Carla.”

“Have I?”

He looked at her from those deep-lidded, dark-lashed eyes, and the temperature in the room rose so that she was surrounded by her own microclimate.

“I was rather taken aback at first, I have to admit.”

“Oh shit.”
Wow, that was articulate.

“Quite, but don’t panic just yet. I read on, and I’ve revised my initial opinion. This is impressive, Carla. It’s original and bold. I might even say daring.”

“It was…” She had been going to say it had been a joke. Now she was too high on the fact that Alex was impressed and thought she was daring to care. She barely had time to bask in the glow of his praise before her assertions and theories about how Mr. Darcy had lost his virginity were being probed and examined until her head spun.

He flipped through the sheets of paper. “You state here that because Darcy is an aristo and member of the
ton
, he
could
have lost his virginity to a poor-born whore from
Harris’s List
on a Regency lad’s weekend.”

Lad’s weekend
—what was she on when she wrote that?

“
Harris’s List
, of course, being widely known as
The Harlot’s Handbook
,” he added.

 
“Yes… I did know it was called that.”

“It’s an interesting idea that Darcy would have gone to a well-known prostitute, though I think it’s more likely that he would have been more discreet and used a courtesan or maybe even a young, high-born widow who knew to expect gifts in exchange for sex but never an offer of marriage,” he said. “Don’t you think he’d have wanted to be introduced to the full range of sexual experiences before he settled down to a vanilla life with Elizabeth?”

”I…um…hadn’t considered that. Perhaps he might have, erm, wanted to save…that sort of…um…thing for his wife.”

“Hmm.”

She fired up, just knowing that he thought she was being coy and naive again.

“Perhaps he might have tutored Lizzy in a few things?” she tried hopefully.

“Tutored?”

God, why did she use that word? “Introduced. Taught.”

“Perhaps. If she was open-minded enough. Even so, I doubt even the great Elizabeth Bennet would have been daring enough to try anal sex or some of the more unusual fetishes.”

Anal sex? Fetishes?
No gin could ever be whopping enough to carry her through this conversation without a blush. Her cheeks burned, yet Alex stayed as unruffled and cool as ever.

“She might not have known what he was doing…”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “I think that Darcy might have been up for a little S&M or back-door action, but may not have been sure if Lizzy would share his enthusiasm. As I said before, I’m no Janeite. Now, on to this theory that Darcy would have lost his virginity to a servant. I think it’s an outside possibility it was a maidservant at his estate, although, knowing Darcy’s morals, I doubt he would have risked getting his own serving girl up the duff.”

The intensity in those dark, French eyes seemed to sear her flesh and ignited hot embers of desire deep inside her core. It was all she could do not to grip the edges of her chair or squirm hard against the leather armchair.

“He might have…er…had sex with a servant. I’ve researched the period in depth, and I’ve cited several sources as evidence.”

“Mm. You’ve given your opinions. I wouldn’t say you’ve used credible evidence.”

What the hell did that mean? She crashed on, determined not to back down as Alex ripped through her essay, his every challenge whipped out with the speed of a cobra. She faltered; she um-ed and ah-ed; she rubbed her palms on her knees; she racked her brain, yet she responded to every point. She was determined not to yield but to argue back—to
defy
him. Each comment and challenge was like a slap, sharp and perfectly aimed. She should hate him for this, but she kept inviting another.

“Most of the high-class courtesans were ‘kept’ by rich and powerful men, like Harriette Wilson and her sisters…and Kitty Fisher, like in
Lucy Locket
. Some of them even went on to marry members of the peerage and wealthy Regency men,” she shot back at him.

Alex leaned forward, hand on his chin, eyes rapt on her face, hanging on her every word. He was fascinated. Yes, fascinated by her—or her arguments, anyway. Either that or he was thinking of calling the police.

“I’m still not sure. It’s not my area of expertise, and as you know, I’m not the biggest fan of dear old Jane.”

There he went again, dissing Jane. Her blood was up. “What would you have done?”

“Me?”

“Yes, if you were Darcy? Where would you have gone to…
do it
?”

The gin and bravado had taken over, and for a sickening moment, she feared she might have made the greatest mistake of her student career so far. Then Alex relaxed and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Mmm. Well, you know I think we underestimate Darcy. He could have any woman he wanted, of course, and if I were him, I think he might have used the
The Harlot’s Handbook
, which included ladies who cater for every fetish and taste, no matter how exotic. I’m using it in my TV series. It was probably one of the more enjoyable parts of my research.”

“I bet it was.” She finished the gin, high on delight and surprise, as her bones zinged with lust for him.

He leaned back in his seat and glanced at his watch. Carla had no idea how long she’d been in the room, but the sky was turning from azure to a darker blue outside his window. He got up and switched on the standard lamp, and when he turned round, his expression was serious again.

“You liked the essay, then?” she asked.

He frowned. “
Like
? I don’t think that’s a helpful word in this respect. Whether I
like
a student’s work or not is irrelevant. It’s my job to help you develop your own ideas, and this essay is definitely original. Unfortunately, it’s no use for your exams.”

The phrase “no use for your exams” sounded like a death knell. “You asked me to amaze you, you said I had done… I don’t know what else you expect from me. I’ve done what you asked. I worked hard on that essay.”

“I know you have, but…”

“There’s no ‘but’. I won’t have my work dismissed like this!”

“I can understand you’re passionate about this subject, but I have to be honest about it—brutal, even, or it won’t help you in the long term, and I really do want you to reach your full potential, Carla.” While he spoke, he glanced at his watch again, and she exploded with disappointment.

“You ask me here at this time of night, give me an almost impossible assignment, and I bust a gut and do it, and now you can’t even be bothered to spend the full hour with me. Don’t deny it; I can see you checking the time. I won’t be treated like this, Professor Lemaitre, no matter how bloody famous or brilliant you are. And I know it was you in the Zorro mask at Elena’s party, no matter what you say. Now go on, suspend me, see if I care!”

Oh God. His face. It was like a storm had gathered right over his head. No more unruffled waters. His nostrils were slightly flared, his lips parted, his eyes lit by a blazing black fire. She’d made him angry. The back of the leather chair was suddenly pressing against the muscles in her spine; her dress was damp against the bloodred hide. His fury had ignited a glow between her legs and sent a rush of dampness to her pussy.

All of this passed in what seemed like agonising minutes but could only have been a few seconds, because already Alex’s expression had switched from storm to calm again. Yet it was not the calm of untroubled waters. It was the melancholy cast of a misty sea in autumn—his eyes held dark pools of regret. He might genuinely be upset at having to throw her out of college. He leaned forward in his seat and steepled his fingers. He was calculating, deciding, weighing up her fate.

She felt he’d reached out to her, even though he hadn’t moved yet. If he did come over to her, if he touched her… That contact would be so electric, even the thought of it made her want to writhe in her chair. She slapped her palms down on the leather seat, fingers scrabbling uselessly, damp skin slipping. When she stood up, she was sure the chair would be moist with the imprint of her arousal.

“Carla, of course I’m not going to suspend you. What gave you that idea? I’m sorry if you feel I’ve not given you the attention you require, and I’m angry at myself for making you feel like that.”

He rose to his feet, and the room seemed to darken visibly, the air shifting as he stood in front of her, blocking out the light.

“And I’m not checking my watch because I’m trying to get rid of you, believe me, but time is running out.”

He held out his hand, and she was poleaxed by his sheer physical proximity. She gawped at his open palm as if she’d never laid eyes on a human hand before. Yet somehow, she reached out her fingers, and he took them. His hand was cool and dry as it folded around hers, and there was an expression on his face she’d never seen before. It was tender, intense and hungry. All her fantasies flew through her mind like birds scattered by a predator, and her heart tried to break free of her rib cage. Perspiration prickled at the small of her back.

She licked her lips and tasted the gin. “It
was
you, wasn’t it?”

He sighed. “Yes, it was me, but I warned you what would happen if you broke the rules.”

He let go of her hand and nodded at the wall opposite his desk. “Go and stand over there, please.”

“What?”

“Stand in the corner. Facing the wall.”

“You are joking?”

“I think you know that I don’t joke about things like this. Now, do as I ask.”

It was happening. What she’d longed for and feared, in equal measure, for so many nights since he’d threatened to take her to a dark, new, sensual place at the party. Her mind felt disconnected from her body as he took her hand again. He led her to the wall and positioned her about a foot away from it, carefully placing her hands by her side and gently tilting her chin upwards, all as if she were an exhibit in a gallery or a precious objet d’art in his collection. She might as well have been inanimate for all the resistance she put up. Outside, she was compliant; she allowed herself to be positioned and placed. Inside, her body was alive with a million nerve endings, all zinging at the same time from the soles of her feet to each hair on her scalp. The floorboards creaked, and his leather chair squeaked as he sat down behind the desk.

Coming to her senses, she wanted to giggle—nerves, of course. Instead, she focused on the fraying edges of the Chinese rug, trying not to laugh out loud or scream with lust. “They should replace this for you, you know. Typical college meanness,” she joked as the tension resonated from every beam and floorboard.

“No talking, please.”

“No talking?” She glanced behind to find him frowning at her over the top of his laptop.

“Not even to ask me if you can talk. And don’t turn around again until I tell you to.”

Right. Blimey. Gulp. He wasn’t holding her captive, and she was free to walk out the door at any moment, but her feet were rooted to the spot by a need that gnawed her to the core. She was fully a part of this…game? Scene? It could hardly be a
punishment
, for she’d done nothing wrong.

She started at the
tap tap
of his fingers on keyboard. What the hell was he doing? Grading her essay? Writing to the college nurse to get her a referral for psychotherapy? He wouldn’t really carry out his threat, would he? Not here in his study amidst the books and ancient walls? Perhaps any moment, he might call her to his desk, apologise for teasing her, and then he’d take her in his arms and kiss her, and her whole body would implode.

She began to count, to try to assess the passing time. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three… Her brain seized up. She couldn’t even count now. What if he… What if he had something more serious in mind for her than a spanking, like a caning or whipping? She wasn’t ready for anything that hard core, absolutely no way!

Yet he had said that if she’d gone home with him, it would have ended in tears. He was obviously experienced and skilled in the whole discipline-scenario thing, and she had provoked and defied him until he’d finally cracked.

Dampness pooled between her thighs, and her stomach clenched in lust and fear. The reality of actually waiting was so much more vivid in every way, so much more visceral. Every sense screamed.

The tapping stopped. She held her breath as the cheery singsong of the Windows sign off rang out, incongruous among the ancient walls. His chair squeaked again. Goosebumps popped out in places she didn’t know she had, and her clit throbbed so hard it hurt. The floorboards creaked, and she heard his voice behind her.

“You can come over here now.”

Chapter Eight

His voice sent a jolt through her like she’d been plugged into the mains. He pointed to a spot in front of his desk. “Stand here, please.”

Carla moved to his desk with all the grace of a jellyfish on invisible springs. “Alex, I’m not sure about this.”