The Earl's Wager (9 page)

Chapter Eight

Oliver had warned him that Georgia was a hellion of the first order, but this was to the extreme, even for someone like him, who grew up with a rebellious sister. In theory, Will should be the perfect tutor, but reality was oh so different.

Unfortunately, his current issue concerned answering her kissing questions with delicacy. Although relieved she hadn’t pressed him on the subject since their dance lesson this morning, he was convinced it was only a matter of time before she brought the conversation back around to this uncomfortable topic. Her body so close to his as they waltzed had nearly driven him over the brink, but coupled with her desire to learn how to kiss… Well, it was more than a gentleman like himself could take. And still remain a gentleman.

She sat across from him in the carriage, gazing out the window, her blue eyes locked on something in the distance, her lips parted slightly… Oh, yes, he could certainly teach her a few things about kissing. Only, if he allowed his mind to wander, he envisioned so much more than kissing.

If he were being completely honest, he imagined his hands moving to other places besides her waist while they danced. Tasting her skin when his mouth touched her throat. Nuzzling and caressing her, then pulling back on the bodice of her dress to reveal the straps of her chemise. His tongue would trace her full breasts until his mouth found the shadowy edges of her taut aureole. Then he’d tickle the tip as she gasped with pleasure.

Almost as though she’d been reading his mind, she poked out her tongue and swiped it across her bottom lip.

Good God—he needed to get her married off, and quickly, before he considered kissing her himself, never mind all the other things he imagined doing to her. These impure thoughts didn’t sit well with him—Oliver would never tolerate him kissing his ward.

Hell,
he
wouldn’t tolerate kissing Oliver’s ward. Will gulped and flexed his jaw.

Georgia turned her gaze on him and asked, “Is everything all right?”

“Perfectly.” As he shifted on the bench, he noticed that some of her hair had fallen out of her coiffure. He wanted to reach across the expanse between them, coil his fingers around a strand, and test the silkiness of it. He abruptly leaned against the window. “Why do you ask?”

“I have a feeling you don’t like tutoring me,” she murmured.

“That’s not true.” Her sudden lack of self-esteem bothered him. She’d been so confident when he’d met her after the race, then with cards, and dining—even dancing. This wasn’t like her. “You’ve been a quick study.”

She continued to stare out the window, watching the fields pass.

He searched for the right words to cheer her. “You’re intelligent and willing—a good companion. And agreeable most of the time.”

She crossed her arms smartly over her chest. “You make me sound like a hound instead of a woman. Is this part of you tutoring me in proper conversation with gentlemen—to speak of hounds?”

“Not at all.” His lips twitched; he almost smiled but not quite. “At least that wasn’t my intent. You don’t remind me of a hound.”
Far from it.

He sat straighter on the bench seat, panic settling in his bones that he might entertain the idea of teaching her about kissing after all. To reassure her that he very much enjoyed teaching her, of course. Build up her self-esteem. Nothing more. No, she was nothing like a hound at all, merely a warm-blooded woman. With soft curves, pillowy lips, and an enchanting smile.

Her measured gaze turned on him, her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, the sides of her generous mouth turned up, and she laughed.

So afraid he’d offended her, he blew out a nervous breath, happy that he hadn’t. She never took herself too seriously, and he realized he was laughing right along with her.

“Will.” She laughed some more. “The look on your face was priceless!”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“You English-born gentlemen are so staid. But in all seriousness, when you spoke of me being like a loyal, willing, agreeable companion, it did make me think of our four-legged, furry friends.”

Relieved she had no idea what he’d really been thinking—about allowing their bodies to rub together as they danced, about her lips molding to his when he showed her exactly how un-staid a gentleman could be—he shrugged. “I suppose I can see why you’d think that.”

“I know you only think of me as your pupil to tutor, not a friend, and certainly not a woman.”

The sunlight streamed in from the window, casting shards of light across her rosy cheeks.
Oh, if she had any idea.

“But it will take more than an offhand comment to offend me,” she quipped. She tipped her face toward the sun, basking in its warmth, and for one disconcerting moment, Will felt a sharp stab of…
something
.

He’d gotten wrapped up in her kissing questions. That’s all. Any man would. It’s not every day a man gets asked about kissing by a young lady. She drove him to distraction—nothing more. Whatever that
something
was, it would pass. Hopefully soon, so he could get back to the business of preparing her to find a suitable husband.

They pulled toward the Autumn Ridge estate, where torches lined the graveled driveway. Two large support columns stood on either side of the front entrance, where they stopped. “I will fetch your dresses from London in the morning and bring them to you before the party. It’s late. I’ll escort you inside before I take my leave.”

The footman opened the carriage door, and Will stepped outside first. He extended his hand to Eloise and Georgia as they departed.

“Go inside, Eloise.” Georgia stepped closer to Will, her skirts brushing against his leg. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, my lady.” Eloise bounded toward the servants’ side door.

Georgia glanced around. “I don’t know why she insists on calling me that. I’m not a lady.”

“She’s being respectful,” Will replied. As he’d sent the coach and driver to the stables, they were completely alone with only some torches for light.

“I’d prefer a little less
respectfulness
in my life.”

He chuckled. “You’re a quandary to me, Georgia. Truly, you are.”

“I don’t mean to be, but I do think we should go over a few more dance steps. A quadrille, perhaps?” Her pale-blue eyes peered up at him intently. “I want to make sure I’m completely prepared for the party tomorrow. Confidence comes with preparedness, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes. That’s an accurate statement.” Will extended his arm to escort her inside. The warmth of her gloved hand against his forearm sent a frisson of heat through him.

“I’ll change out of my traveling clothes and meet you in the drawing room.” Georgia ascended the stairs to her room and glanced back over her shoulder when she reached the top.

What was going on with her? The furrow between her brows and the intelligence shining in her eyes made him believe more was going on inside her brain than she’d have him know. Nevertheless, a few more dances before the house party wouldn’t hurt.

He paced across the drawing room while he waited and wondered what in her caused that
something
feeling, but before he could contemplate it further, Georgia appeared.

Now, she wore a pale-yellow dress with ruffles along the sleeves, but no gloves. She was panting, nearly out of breath. As she got closer, he realized the dress fit her quite nicely, the curves between her breasts and hips accentuated.

“Did you run the entire way?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Very nearly. I didn’t want you to have to wait long.”

There was something erotic about a woman out of breath. But it wasn’t just her breathing—her hair was in disarray. Usually pulled back tight, several lose strands curled around her face. And her cheeks were flushed from exertion.

A pang of
something
shot through his midsection again.

This wasn’t good—this wasn’t good at all.

“So,” Georgia said and clasped her hands together. “I’m pretty sure I know the quadrille, but if we could practice a little more, I’d feel better.”

“Since we don’t have another couple to practice with us, it will be kind of difficult.”

Georgia’s eyes fixed on him. “Can’t we just pretend?”

He blinked. “I suppose so, yes.”

“From what I remember,” she said as she approached him, “your right arm goes behind my waist.” She maneuvered her body next to his. “My right hand holds your right hand, here.” She placed her hand in his at her waist and looked expectantly at him. “Now, your left hand holds my left, but I can’t remember the steps for certain.”

The sooner he got this over with, the better. The flesh of their right hands touching skin to skin, without gloves to separate them, burned. He guided her through the dance steps with an imaginary couple moving across the floor with them. As much as he knew he shouldn’t, he wanted to pull her closer to feel the curves of her body against his. His hand itched to press harder against her warm flesh.

There was something changed about her, and it wasn’t just her hair. It went beyond good posture. The difference was very small. Maybe the way she was holding her chin or the light in her eyes. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it, but she was acting differently. Instead of wondering, he asked her, “Did everything go according to plan at the dressmaker’s?”

“Of course. Why would you ask?”

“You seem changed somehow.” He kept his hand in the appropriate place on her waist but wanted so much to feel more of the curve of her back.

She stopped. “I haven’t managed to step on your foot, so all is well, isn’t it?”

“I’m not talking about the dance… You just seem more accepting of your fate, perhaps. Maybe finding a husband isn’t such a bad thing after all?”

She tipped her head and gave him a curious look. “Maybe you know me better than I realized, my lord. Yes, I’m looking forward to the house party, where I might find a gentleman who will show me how to kiss.”

“You can’t do that,” he blurted.

“I most certainly can.” After a curt nod, she stepped out of his arms.

“It’s unseemly to kiss a man just for the purpose of learning how to kiss. You absolutely cannot do it.”

“Why?” She placed her fisted hands on her hips. “I need to learn how to dance, how to talk, how to walk with better posture, how to eat… Shouldn’t I learn how to kiss, too?”

Her logical arguments clouded his judgment, because the way she stated the facts so simply actually made sense. A kiss with her would be sweet and intense and impassioned and, hell, she was making him insane. He shook his head, hoping the fog of confusion might clear.

She raised a delicate brow. “I’ve asked you to fulfill the task as part of your instruction, but you’ve said no, so I’ll find someone else.”

“No,” he ground out and reached for her arm. “No, you won’t.” He pulled her toward him, firmer than he’d meant to. “You won’t find someone.”

He held her close, her body soft and compliant against his.

She gave him a look that spoke of conviction. “You can’t stop me.”

“Blast it, woman.” His thoughts jumbled in a war of what was logical and what wasn’t. If she truly was going to accept kissing lessons from some man, then certainly it should be him.

Her tongue crept out of her mouth and ran across the inner edge of her bottom lip as she stared at him, daring him with a look of defiance. Her body’s heat begged him to give her exactly what she wanted, but in this moment he didn’t want to be gentle about it. “
You
kiss me, then.”

All semblance of reason exited his brain, and only the baser needs of his body made any kind of sense. He crushed his lips on hers. At first, she arched back, leaning away, but within seconds, she kissed him back.

This vixen who claimed to know nothing about kissing was kissing him back. And all he wanted was more. Heat coursed through his entire body, lighting it on fire. His mouth devoured hers, demanding entrance.

She readily opened her mouth and let his tongue explore. Within moments she flicked her tongue against his, meeting him touch for touch, and he inwardly groaned. Tiny whimpers slipped from her mouth as he ravished her with exquisite gentleness. His hands explored the curves of her bottom and pressed her against his hardness.

Her hands pulled on the lapels of his waistcoat, coaxing him deeper into the kiss and deeper into his need. A soft mewling sound erupted from her throat.

Some form of reasoning found its way into his brain, and he severed the connection between their joined mouths.

His eyes opened. Then hers. Their panting breaths intermingled, their chests rising and falling in a romantic rhythm daring them not to stop.

“I-I want more,” she murmured.

Indecision crept into his thoughts. The answer should be so simple, so exact. He shouldn’t be thinking about anything other than telling her no.

There was a reason young ladies weren’t left unchaperoned. Because of men like him. He’d been entrusted with her charge, to keep her safe, but he’d broken that trust.

“Kiss me again.” Having no idea how close to the edge he was, how close he was to not sticking with honor and instead doing what he wanted, she pressed her sweet breasts against him. She pulled on his lapels. “Please.”