Chapter Five
Grace stiffened her spine. She would not begin her lessons in Ian Swift’s bedchamber. He could consider her resistance the first step in his lessons.
Never make a lady uncomfortable.
She allowed herself another glimpse of the bed. Heavens, it must have been custom-made to fit his large frame.
“Will the library be a more acceptable choice for your delicate sensibilities?” His tone was caustic, not at all accommodating. She’d have to work on that as well.
“Yes.” Any place was better suited to her than his bedchamber.
He closed the door and steered her down the hall. She wasted no time in keeping up with his long strides. He stopped at another door at the end of the hall and held it open for her to pass. “I hope you find this more to your liking, my lady.”
Grasping her skirts, she swept inside, then stopped short to gasp in wonder. Row after row of books bound in supple leather lined the walls. Tall mahogany shelves held volumes on history, art, ancient Greek, and Roman architecture, even economics. One entire shelf held works of fiction by Jonathan Swift, Grimms’ fairy tales, and many others. Another held Shakespeare’s plays. A wheeled ladder hung on runners that could be moved back and forth to reach the books on the highest shelves. Two leather chairs were arranged before a fireplace, and a pearl-faced ormolu clock rested on the mantel. A desk sat before a tall bay window, and its surface looked similar to the desk she’d seen in his office at the Raven Club. Stacks of papers and ledgers were piled in the corner. A blotter and inkwell stood ready.
Grace imagined sitting in one of the leather chairs and reading as natural sunlight streamed through the window and illuminated the room.
“You read?” she asked incredulously as she stepped close to run her finger down the spines of a row of books on a shelf. Most of the aristocrats she’d met owned books, but they never bothered to read them.
One dark eyebrow shot upward. “From your tone, I take it you thought I didn’t know how.”
She pulled a book off a shelf. Hamlet by Shakespeare. “It’s just that…that I never pegged you as a scholarly type.”
He came close. “I don’t deny my club’s finances are of the utmost importance, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a good book.”
She met his gaze. “I suppose I owe you an apology. My opinion of you was a bit different.”
“An apology is not necessary. I cannot fault you for your opinion.” He stepped forward. “May I take your cloak?”
She allowed him to help her remove the garment. His fingers brushed her shoulders and seemed to linger a moment longer than necessary. His touch upset her balance, and she took a deep breath just as he whisked the cloak off her shoulders and draped it across one of the chairs.
To put distance between them, she stepped to his large oak desk. Her eyes were drawn to the stacks of papers and leather-bound books. “What are all these?”
“Club ledgers and correspondence. A ceaseless stream of work.”
Her fingers itched to open one of the ledgers, to study the figures and learn the true worth of the Raven Club. The value of his library alone was enough to pique her curiosity. She dropped her hand. Other than her maid, Rose, and her friend, Prudence, no one knew about her secret bookkeeping work for the widowed milliner, and she wasn’t about to enlighten him.
He motioned to the pair of leather chairs before the fireplace. “Please sit. Let us speak of how you plan to teach me.”
She felt safe discussing the topic, and she sat and smoothed her skirts. Instead of joining her, Ian walked to a sideboard and lifted a crystal decanter. “Would you like a drink?”
Grace didn’t normally imbibe in alcohol, but she needed all her nerves to be alone with him all evening. The simple brush of his fingers on her shoulders had been enough to disturb her senses. “Yes, please.”
He poured two fingers worth in a glass and offered it to her, then poured himself a full tumbler. “Brandy.”
Grace sipped the drink. Smooth and sweet, the brandy went down easily. She may not be a connoisseur, but she could appreciate fine French brandy.
He sat across from her and crossed his long legs at his ankles. “Where do we begin?”
She’d had a well-thought-out plan for her lessons, but as he sat across from her, his dark gaze watching her, her thoughts fluttered like leaves in a strong wind.
The library was intimate in a different way from his bedchamber. She couldn’t cease envisioning him here—sitting in the large leather chair before the hearth, reading a book with his stockinged feet resting on a stool.
She blinked, trying to erase the image. She didn’t want to think of him that way.
Approachable, likeable.
“Well?”
She cleared her throat. “A gentleman is expected to be elegant in both manner and dress.”
Elegant, yes. That was the first item on her mental list.
He tapped the edge of his glass. “I watch the men in my club. Most slouch over the tables. Drink in excess. Curse when they lose. I wouldn’t call their behavior ‘elegant’ by any means.”
“Perhaps. But do you believe those same men behave in a similar fashion in the ballroom?”
“Good God, I hope not.”
“Appearances are important,” she said. “We should begin with your clothing.”
“I’m aware my clothing is not as fashionable as you are accustomed to seeing on a man.”
“It’s far from fashionable. You dress like you stepped out of a boxing ring.”
He scoffed. “That’s because I frequently do. There’s no better way to judge a man than by his footwork in the ring.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Your dress is one of the first items on my list. Please stand.”
“Your wish is my command.” He downed his glass, set it on an end table, and stood.
Grace set her half-full glass beside his and rose. She slowly circled him, noting the jet shirt and trousers. The material appeared costly and the clothing well-made, but the shirt was outdated and not acceptable for a gentleman, certainly not an earl.
She continued her perusal. Without a coat and waistcoat, his broad shoulders were clearly delineated. She realized he didn’t need the padding that most men required in their garments. Despite her resolve, she felt a sweeping pull in her stomach. There wasn’t an inch of softness about him. He was all hard angles, sinewy and unforgiving.
She stopped circling him. “As I said, entirely inappropriate.”
“Truly? I thought I was appropriately dressed to meet a lady in the middle of the night.”
“How often does that occur?” she blurted out, then bit her lip. “No. Please do not enlighten me.”
He chuckled, and she spotted a teasing gleam in his eye. Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears.
“It’s not just tonight, but what you wore the first evening I saw you at the Raven Club,” she said. “Entirely inappropriate.”
“Something tells me you are going to enjoy insulting me during my lessons.”
Her lips twitched with the urge to smile. “I must receive some satisfaction from agreeing to tutor you.”
“Splendid. I shall have to instruct Jenkins to keep the brandy decanter full.”
She ignored his sarcasm. “Who is your valet?”
His brows slashed downward. “I don’t need a valet. I can dress myself.”
She looked at him in surprise. “All gentlemen have valets.”
“All the men of your acquaintance, perhaps.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “You will need an entirely new wardrobe. You must arrange to see a tailor. It will take numerous fittings over the course of several weeks.”
“Jenkins will see to it.”
She didn’t think that was in the realm of a butler’s duties. “Where did you get Jenkins? He seems a proper English butler.”
“He came with the home, along with a cook and most of the furnishings. The books are my own.”
That explained the artwork and the elegant drawing room. She hesitated, unsure how to broach the subject, then decided straightforwardness was best. “Now that you are the earl, have you thought of living with your mother, the Dowager Countess?” She knew of Lady Castleton, of course. Ian’s mother had been a well-known hostess of the ton when her husband had been alive.
He looked at her incredulously. “No. I’m my own man. I haven’t lived with family for years. I left a decade ago when the old earl was alive.”
“Your father?”
“We never saw eye to eye.”
The bitterness in his voice made her wonder what had caused it. She bit her tongue to keep from asking. It was not her affair.
His brow crinkled. “Although I would prefer for Olivia and Ellie to live with me.”
“Olivia and Ellie?”
“My two younger sisters.”
She tilted her head to the side and regarded him. “I didn’t know you had sisters. Have they had their debut?”
“Ellie is seventeen and will have her debut next year. Olivia turns sixteen next month.”
Something about his tone aroused her curiosity. “You care for them, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
His answer was unhesitant and sure.
Her thoughts spun. “They are the reason you agreed to attend Lady Crowley’s ball and take your place as the new earl?”
“Yes.”
Again, no hesitation. She had thought his motivations were different. Never had she suspected he was going through with his lessons because he cared for his sisters.
“Now as for the tailor, will you accompany me?” he asked.
She turned her attention back to the matter at hand and what he was asking. “I cannot. Surely you realize we must not be seen together.”
“The tailor will come here. As for tattling tongues, money will buy his silence.”
“A good tailor does not make house halls.”
“He will for me.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “How can you be so arrogant?”
“It’s not arrogance. In my experience, tradesmen will accommodate a customer who pays them for their work rather than take months or even years to compensate them, like many members of the aristocracy tend to do.”
She couldn’t argue with that assessment. Creditors had been hounding her father for over a year to pay for their services.
“You speak so confidently as if people can easily be bought,” she said.
His gaze wandered to her face. “In my experience, most can, although there are exceptions.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. She lowered her gaze and pretended interest in his clothing. “Your dress is only a start. It’s not just the clothing, but how you wear them. A gentleman must move gracefully.”
“I never slouch.”
“No, you don’t. But you walk differently, like you’re always on guard.”
He walked like a predator, a large jungle cat. Dangerous, cunning, and graceful in a different way. Like he was ready to pounce on an enemy at the slightest provocation.
“A man must always be ready to protect what belongs to him,” he said.
“But you must appear at ease. Elegant, remember?”
He snorted. “Ladies are elegant.”
“Gentlemen are as well.”
“Not real men.”
As he said it she realized he was right. The men of the ton with whom she was acquainted acted more feminine than masculine. The dandies of the beau monde were more consumed with their appearance than most women. She was startled by her thoughts: she didn’t want to agree with him on any topic.
She also didn’t want to feel the slightest attraction for him. Ian Swift was different. The man radiated power and pure masculinity. It was unnerving.
“Don’t be difficult. You were raised in an earl’s household. You must have been properly tutored. You should be familiar with everything I’m saying.”
“I don’t want to talk about my upbringing,” he said in a clipped tone. “I left my father’s house long ago.”
“But you must take your deceased brother’s place as the heir to the earldom.”
“I may now be the legal heir, but I will never take my brother’s place.” His voice grated harshly.
For the first time, she realized he was not happy with the turn of events—that there was real loss beneath his armor of indifference. His tone was different than when he spoke of his father. She wondered what his relationship had been with his brother and how it had affected him.
She tilted her head to the side and regarded him. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to suggest you would replace him.”
“Then don’t,” he said. “As for tonight’s lesson, shall I show you how a real man can move?”
Before she could protest, he pulled her into his arms. She staggered forward and fell against his chest. Strong arms caught her and immediately tightened around her waist. His mouth swooped down to capture her lips. She was unprepared for the man. He was raw power, almost overwhelming. It was not a gentle or coaxing kiss but a dominant form of mastery. She stiffened and her hands came between them.
But just as quickly, the kiss changed, slowed and eased. His lips, which appeared hard, were soft and enticing as he brushed them against hers. When she gasped, he slipped his tongue in to slowly stroke hers, and a delicious heat raced through her. Never had she experienced anything so consuming. He was a master seducer. She felt herself swiftly slide into unknown territory.
She pressed a palm against his chest, whether to push him away or pull him closer she wasn’t certain. But at the first touch she felt his heart beat against the linen and the hardness of his chest, and she froze. She kneaded the hard flesh, reveling in the power she felt in his muscles. It was weakness, for certain, but she wanted to lean against his strength, to feel more of him. What would it be like to have such a masculine man?
He groaned, pulled her flush against him, and deepened the kiss. The touch of her sensitive corseted breasts against his chest was shocking. She came to her senses. This wasn’t a harmless lover’s tryst. His kisses were dangerous and could easily lure a lady—inexperienced or not—to her ruin.
He kissed a path across her cheek, then flicked his tongue against the sensitive shell of her ear. The sensations were purely erotic. Oh my.
Her mind struggled to hold on to her train of thought. She mustn’t allow him these kisses. Mustn’t allow him to think of her as anything other than a lady. He may be hurting from his brother’s death, but that didn’t give him a right to use her in such a fashion. If she let him have the upper hand so easily, they would never be on even ground, and her task would fail before it ever began. He would never be ready for Lady Crowley’s ball. He could easily rescind their agreement and demand her father pay the six thousand pounds, or worse, demand that she share his bed in exchange for all or part of the debt.
Where would she be then? How could she provide for her young brother? She pushed against Ian’s chest. “Ian, stop.”
He tightened his arms to keep her near, his head lowering to capture her lips once again.
She turned her head to the side and shoved more forcefully. “Ian, stop!”
He took a step back. “What is it?”
Her heart was racing, and she struggled to keep her features controlled. “This is wrong.”
“It didn’t feel wrong to me,” he said.
Her brows drew downward. “If this is how you’re going to behave, then I cannot see how we can work together.”
That got his attention. A familiar mask of coldness that she’d seen at his gambling club descended upon his features. “Pardon my behavior. I had thought you had enjoyed it as much as I had.”
She had enjoyed it. She hadn’t experienced anything like his kiss. Not even the quick kiss she’d experienced during a garden stroll at a ball. But she must never admit it to him.
“I don’t see how I can tutor you if you kiss me.” She reached for her cloak with trembling hands.
“You’re leaving?”
Was that surprise in his voice? “Yes.”
“Will you return tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know.”
Dark eyes narrowed. “We had an agreement.”
Her hand hesitated on the door handle. “I remember.”
“You needn’t worry. I shall restrain myself. It won’t happen again.”
Dare she trust his word? Could she afford not to?
“All right,” she said.
“I shall escort you home.”
“No,” she said, a note of desperation in her voice. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with him in a carriage. She frowned, realizing she sounded anxious. “I will be perfectly fine on my own.”
His dark, brooding expression returned. “As you wish.”
She tried not to run as she threw open the library door and rushed down the stairs.
…
Ian parted the curtains of the library window and watched as his coach drove off. Damn. What had possessed him to kiss her? He crushed the silk fabric in a fist.
If their arrangement was going to succeed, he had to keep his distance from her.
He hadn’t intended to kiss her. But she’d brought up his brother’s death and he wanted the topic to cease, and there was one sure way to stop a woman from talking.
The problem was he hadn’t anticipated his response to the kiss. He’d experience a jolt of raw lust. Possessive. The last thing he wanted was for Grace to cease his lessons before they ever fully began. What would that gain him?
His mother was right about one thing: he owed Matthew. Even though their circumstances had been different from birth—Matthew had been the firstborn son and heir, and Ian had been the spare—they’d shared a bond. Their father’s dislike of Ian had not severed their friendship, and Ian grieved over the loss of his brother.
Matthew was gone, but he still had his sisters. Olivia and Ellie’s happiness and social success were his goals. Nothing else. He would go through this ridiculous charade for his siblings.
As for Grace, he needed her tutoring as much as she needed to pay off her father’s debts. Lady Crowley’s ball hung over his head like an axe.
He’d have to restrain himself where Grace was concerned. She was to train him, as she would say, into becoming an acceptable gentleman. She was a means to an end, nothing more.