Chapter Seven
Your list is highly enlightening, dear Fanny, even if I have some doubts about my ability to follow your counsel.
—Roslyn to Fanny
For her lesson the next morning, Roslyn awaited the duke in the library, since she felt most at ease there and thus should be better able to hold her own with him there. Reading had always been her favorite pastime, the library her refuge and her haven whenever the tribulations of life became too difficult.
She was curled up on a cushioned window seat—her preferred spot because it offered both comfort and ample light—when Arden was shown into the room. He was dressed much less formally today, his buff riding breeches and burgundy coat more appropriate to the attire of a country gentleman, but the superb London tailoring only emphasized his devilish virility.
Setting aside her history tome, Roslyn rose to greet him, then watched as Arden glanced appreciatively around the library. Every wall was filled floor to ceiling with gleaming walnut shelves of leather-bound books.
“Impressive,” Arden murmured, inspecting the titles on the nearest wall.
“What is impressive?” she asked curiously.
“That you would have tackled a collection of this size. Eleanor said you had read most of the volumes here.”
“Except the ones in Greek, since I never learned. Regrettably I was never able to attend university because I wasn’t born male.”
Arden gave her an amused look. “You actually wanted to learn Greek?”
She felt her cheeks warm but lifted her chin. “It would have been helpful to know the original language of the classics. As it was, I had to rely on translations.”
Not replying, he moved on to the next section. “Judging from the titles here, I would say that significant thought went into compiling this collection.”
Roslyn smiled at his surprised tone. “It did. My step-uncle was a skinflint except when it came to his books. His scholarly bent was the chief thing I admired about him.”
“From what I hear, there was little else to admire about the late Lord Danvers,” the duke said dryly.
“Yes, well…. It isn’t polite to speak ill of the dead, but he was very…disagreeable.”
Roslyn crossed the room to a chair and invited Arden to have a seat on the sofa opposite her. “I am happy to report that a letter from Fanny arrived this morning. She made out a list of suggestions for me to consider.”
“Regarding tricks of the mistress trade?” he asked as he settled on the sofa.
“Yes, or rather, her advice on how to captivate a gentleman.”
“What does she have to say?”
Drawing out three close-written sheets from the pocket of her skirt, Roslyn decided to read parts of Fanny’s letter aloud so she could question the duke about the effectiveness of some of the techniques.
“Her first recommendations have to do with physical appearance…grooming, clothing, hairstyles…which we needn’t go into. Then—”
“Why not? You could use some improvement in that area.”
“Perhaps,” Roslyn retorted, “but I believe Fanny’s counsel will be sufficient on such intimate subjects as my personal grooming. Now where was I? Oh, yes. After that she discusses how to attract a man’s attention in other ways. She begins by saying ‘It is imperative to be a good listener.’”
Arden smiled. “I already told you as much.”
“I remember.” Roslyn let her gaze sweep further down Fanny’s list. “She also says a woman must learn to exchange witty banter, but not so witty as to intimidate her potential patron. To quote: ‘Her purpose should be to make him feel clever, never dull and insipid.’”
“Quite wise,” Arden agreed. “He will preen his feathers if he feels clever.”
Roslyn shot the duke an amused glance. She wouldn’t have to work to make him feel clever, since he had a sharp mind and was rarely without a quick comeback.
Returning to her list, she read the next recommendation. “‘Make him feel strong and powerful, as if he is the most important person you have ever known. In short, make him feel like the most fascinating man alive.’”
“Your friend Fanny is highly perceptive. Does she suggest how to make him feel fascinating?”
“Not really, only that she should make him the sole focus of her attention, which is precisely what you advised.”
“Has Fanny any advice other than what I suggested?”
“There are several ideas regarding the woman’s behavior. For one thing, she suggests being a little mysterious. ‘If you have secrets,’” Roslyn quoted, “‘he will be eager to ferret them out.’”
“What sort of secrets?”
“She doesn’t say. But I suspect she would agree with you—that honesty and frankness are not the best policy.”
Arden nodded. “What else?”
“‘There are times when she should remain a little elusive. She should make him pursue her in order to spark his interest. Under no circumstance should she appear to chase him.’”
“I agree. Even if you are chasing him, you cannot let him know it, since that’s the fastest way to drive him away. Pray continue.”
“‘Sometimes,’” Roslyn read, “‘you should make him wait for your favors, to rouse his…’ never mind.”
“Rouse his what?” he prodded.
“‘His lust to a fever pitch,’” Roslyn said hurriedly. Knowing Arden’s eyes would be gleaming with laughter, she carefully avoided his gaze as she moved on to the next item. “‘Strive to be unforgettable. Be different from anyone he has pursued before. The trick is to make him think of you frequently, to yearn to be with you and only you.’”
“That seems excellent advice,” Arden observed.
“Yes,” she replied, perusing the last page.
When she folded the list and returned it to her pocket, he raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”
Roslyn felt her face warm. “No, but the rest has to do with physical aspects of attracting a gentleman’s ardor.”
“I should very much like to read it,” he said innocently.
She gave him a sharp glance. “No doubt you would, but it is too risqué for me to discuss with you.”
“Your modesty is showing again, fair charmer.”
She ignored the endearment, just as she ignored his provocative tone. “The question is, how do I apply Fanny’s advice in my dealings with Lord Haviland? Her suggestions all seem rather abstract.”
“True, but you are getting ahead of yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You cannot overlook the physical aspect of seduction. It is much too important.”
Vexingly, Roslyn felt her blush increase. “I don’t intend to ignore it, your grace. I merely would rather discuss such details with Fanny.”
“You should call me Drew. If I am to be your tutor, we can dispense with the formalities.”
Certain she didn’t want to be on such intimate terms with him, Roslyn shook her head. “Thank you, but the formalities will do perfectly well.”
“As you wish,” he said amiably, but then he held out his hand. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Giving him a wary glance, she hesitated. “Why?”
“Because I mean to give you your next lesson.”
Suddenly recalling their situation, Roslyn checked the clock on the mantel. “I doubt I have time for another lesson. My appointment with Lord Haviland is set for eleven.”
“We have plenty of time for this. You are only going next door. Now come here.”
His charming smile did nothing to reassure her, but she obeyed, albeit reluctantly. Rising, Roslyn moved to sit beside him on the sofa, holding her spine stiff.
“Closer,” the duke ordered. “This won’t hurt, I promise.”
That is what worries me, she thought nervously. She was afraid his demonstration would be too pleasurable, not too painful. But she shifted closer so that only a few inches separated them. “Now what?”
“Give me your hand. I want to show you one of your most effective feminine weapons—the power of a simple touch.”
Roslyn’s brows snapped together. “Is this really necessary?”
“It’s not only necessary but important. You need to learn just how arousing a careless brush of fingertips on bare skin can be.”
“Can’t you just explain it to me?”
“Not effectively. There are some things that must be experienced.”
“Very well then,” she said, holding out her hand.
His fingers curled over hers, letting her feel their warmth. Then turning her hand over, he slowly began to stroke the center of her palm with a fingertip.
Roslyn’s breath caught in her throat, and it was all she could do not to show it. She stared down at their joined hands, wondering how he managed to infuse such sensuality into a mere touch.
“When you are with Haviland, you should contrive to touch him occasionally,” Arden murmured.
“Why?” she asked, striving to keep her voice even.
“In order to increase his awareness of you.”
There was no denying her awareness of the man beside her; she was maddeningly conscious of his body next to hers. Yet she was determined to pretend indifference to him, despite the arousing effect he had on her senses. There would be no repetition of that awkward moment in the folly yesterday when she had longed to kiss him.
His stroking fingertips skimmed over the heel of her palm to her wrist. “Make it seem accidental if you can. Just graze his skin with the slightest pressure. He will feel it, believe me.”
She had no trouble believing him; even that light caress left her breathless.
Then Arden shifted his attention further upward, letting his fingers glide along the sleeve of her gown to her elbow. The glancing touch sent pleasure rippling all the way up her arm and down again to her breasts, assaulting Roslyn with a potent memory of their passionate encounter on the balcony during the Cyprians’ ball. A heated tremor eddied deep in the pit of her stomach at the remembrance.
“See how powerful a mere touch can be?” he asked, his gaze locking with hers.
“Yes…I see.”
“You should consider it a chief weapon in your arsenal.”
His caress was indeed a weapon, Roslyn realized; a weapon of sensual enticement. It ignited an explosion of sensations in every part of her. And that was even before he brought his hand to her face and grazed her jawline with his fingertips.
Her pulse became a rapid tripping as he traced her cheekbone with his thumb and down over her lower lip.
The erotic gesture reminded her of the fantasies she’d woven of the duke’s hands and mouth after that first stunning experience with him. She hadn’t been able to forget his expert ministrations.
But of course, Roslyn thought as she struggled to calm her racing heartbeat, a legendary lover like Arden would know just how to make the most of a simple touch. He was clearly a master with women. His skilled hands knew just where to linger, how to arouse.
As if to prove that very point, his fingers curled beneath her chin and slid down to the hollow of her throat. A tremor coursed downward between her legs in liquid warmth, shocking her with its strength.
Roslyn tried to swallow as slowly Arden ran the back of his hand down her throat to her collarbone and then lower to the neckline of her gown. When his fingers hovered over her bodice, her mouth parted in a breathless protest….
And then suddenly he stopped. To her vast relief, his hand fell away.
There was an unreadable light in his eyes as he scrutinized her. “There,” he said casually, “that should give you some indication of your power.”
The careless remark was like a douse of chill water.
Stiffening, Roslyn forced a bland smile. “That was very…educational, your grace. And now I had best try to put your instruction into practice.”
“Yes, you should go now. You don’t want to keep Haviland waiting.”
Smoothing her skirts, Roslyn rose and made her way to the library door, where she risked a backward glance at the duke. She couldn’t tell at all what he was thinking, though; he hid his thoughts so skillfully behind that lean, handsome face.
“Won’t you wish me luck, your grace?” she asked, deliberately imbuing her voice with a note of flirtation.
His mouth twisted in an ironic half smile. “I doubt you need any luck, sweeting. You’re sure to be a success if you apply the arts you’ve learned. I expect a report when you’re done. I shall wait for you here.”
“As you wish, your grace.”
When she was gone, Drew blew out a long breath as he fought against his maddening feelings of desire and his even more irrational pique. Admittedly Roslyn’s appearance of cool serenity irked him. He had to be losing his touch with the fairer sex if she could remain so unaffected when he was throbbing with heat from such a simple encounter.
“Hell and the devil,” Drew swore at himself. “You were a fool to become so involved with her.”
His lessons in seduction had unexpectedly backfired on him, he realized. He’d craved to take his instruction much further just now. He’d wanted Roslyn to touch him in return, wanted those delicate hands caressing his own body, drifting over his bare skin….
It had required supreme willpower to draw away from her. Just that brief physical contact had left him in a state of severe sexual frustration.
Drew grimaced, feeling his erection straining painfully against his breeches. The innocent enchantress had no idea how powerfully she aroused him. The damnable truth was, he wanted her. More than he could remember wanting any woman. And he was beginning to be positively haunted by visions of bedding her.
He muttered another mild oath. His loins were aching, no doubt because he hadn’t sated his lust in the scented arms of a courtesan last night as he’d expected to. When it came right down to it, the thought of taking his pleasure with a voluptuous tart had held little appeal, especially when he kept comparing all the Cyprians he knew to Roslyn’s elegant, regal beauty.
But his decision to abstain last night had left his control with her this morning tenuous at best.
His jaw taut, Drew closed his eyes. He would have to assuage the painful pressure in the privacy of his bedchamber tonight, he knew. If he didn’t give himself relief soon, he might very well lose control with Roslyn and do something they would both regret.
Even now he couldn’t restrain his lascivious thoughts about her, couldn’t help picturing her there with him. His imagination insisted on undressing her…stripping her gown away and baring her exquisitely lovely body…laying her back against the sofa.
She looked wildly desirable, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders in a pale, tawny mane, her ripe breasts beckoning, her creamy thighs parted in invitation. In his fantasy he covered her with his body and sank into her, thrusting deep and hard. He could almost feel her inner tightness, her sleek warmth as her sheath clenched and shivered around him….
Grinding his jaw in frustration, Drew rose abruptly. He couldn’t explain why Roslyn filled him with such hunger, but he was not about to let his lust for the woman run away from him.
“You would be mad to cross that line,” Drew muttered to himself.
Still aching and restless, he took a turn around the library, yet his thoughts remained on Roslyn. She was supremely dangerous to him, but not only because he felt an extraordinary attraction to her. It was because she managed to get beneath his guard so easily. Except for Marcus’s sister Eleanor, he had never been able to relax around a genteel young lady. He was always on the defensive, alert for matrimonial traps. But being himself with Roslyn felt entirely natural.
And so did his fierce sexual urges.
Giving in to them, however, was strictly forbidden. Not only was she under Marcus’s protection, Drew reminded himself, but he had promised to help groom her to ensnare the affections of another man.
He suddenly frowned at the inexplicable twinge of jealousy that stabbed him. He had no right to be jealous. And in truth, he was eager to help her win Haviland as a suitor as soon as possible, so she would cease plaguing his own thoughts, and worse, his fantasies.
It might take some time, since Haviland appeared to view her as much as a cordial neighbor as a potential bride. Roslyn’s affections weren’t fully engaged yet, either, she had admitted so. Drew had carefully scrutinized her response toward the earl yesterday. While she’d been perfectly amiable, there was little sign they were more than friends, although she hoped for so much more.
Wondering what success she was having at the moment, Drew strode to the window to look out, even though the landscaping prevented him from seeing the earl’s estate next door. He was impatient for her return, yet she had barely been gone ten minutes, and would likely take a good while longer.
Chiding himself for even caring, he glanced down at the window seat where Roslyn had been sitting upon his arrival. When he picked up the heavy tome she’d been reading, his mouth curved at the title…. Volume VII of William Cobbett’s The Parliamentary History of England.
Drew shook his head in mingled amusement and admiration. The contrast between Roslyn’s delicate beauty and her scholarly mind was highly intriguing.
He’d always valued intellect and education. Marcus and Heath were his closest friends in large part because their minds were sharp enough to keep up with his. At university, he’d been the studious one. And his library at his London town house was even more extensive than this one. So he couldn’t help but be pleased to find a woman with a thirst for knowledge as great as his own.
Remembering Roslyn’s complaint that she had never been permitted to learn Greek, Drew found himself grinning. She was certainly not simply a beautiful featherhead. Rather she was extremely well read and well educated, with a sparkling intelligence that presented a challenge even to a man of his intellect.
In fact, he’d already read the twelve volumes of Cobbett’s History that had been published to date and had a standing order with the publisher for future volumes. But he settled in the window seat with Volume VII and lounged back, prepared to pass the time reading until Roslyn’s return.
Perhaps she should have been born male, Drew thought, still amused, although it would have been a damned shame to waste all that remarkable beauty. A beauty she didn’t even appreciate.