Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“His Grace will be most pleased when I tell him of your progress, Lady Beatrice,” Mira said.
Beatrice blushed as she dragged her eyes up from her book. She stopped nibbling on her thumb, only then realizing that she had taken to doing so as she read, and she quickly dropped her hand into her lap.
“What do you mean?” Beatrice asked, as if Mira knew what she was reading.
However, Mira only smiled wide as she held up the empty tray.
“You seemed to be able to eat this evening without difficulty,” Mira explained. “I did not have to sit with you nor did His Grace. In fact, it seemed you attacked the meal with much enthusiasm.”
“Oh,” Beatrice sighed in relief then pressed the book to her chest. She then did her best to give Mira an innocent smile—despite what she had just read.
“Yes, well, it seems that my appetite is coming back,” she replied, “Though it quite helps that Alice is such a talented cook. Everything she makes is delicious.”
Mira’s smile grew, and she looked genuinely happy for Beatrice’s progress.
“She is indeed,” Mira agreed. “Do you need anything else before I take your tray away? Brush your hair perhaps? Get it into a braid before bed?”
Beatrice bashfully drew her eyes down herself as she sat at one of the tableside chairs.
She had made time to bathe and wash her hair and draw on a clean nightgown, but besides that, she had not prepared for her evening as usual.
Her long hair had dried on its own, leaving it in a mess of curls that tumbled down her shoulders.
“No, I can manage on my own. Thank you, Mira,” she replied.
“Well, ring for me if you change your mind,” Mira insisted, heading toward the door. “It is still quite early in the evening, and I will be up for a time.”
Beatrice only nodded as she drew her book from her chest and began to read again.
She did not want to admit it, but she was enraptured into the story.
It started off quite innocent. Two main characters—a princess and a knight—forced by circumstance to take shelter in abandoned cottage in the forest after a surprise attack on the kingdom.
The knight believed that the princess was spoiled and arrogant.
The princess believed the knight was barbaric and pompous—and yet, as they adjusted to their new surroundings, their feelings toward one another were beginning to change.
It did not take long for Beatrice to fall into the story again, her eyes rapidly consuming the words as her blood began to pulse with excitement and—to her surprise she realized it was how she had felt when she had kissed Algernon.
Curious to learn more, Beatrice picked up her wine glass, taking a deep sip as the scene moved from kissing to something quite…
“OH MY HEAVENS!” she exclaimed, dropping the glass. It bounced off the table, and as she tried to catch it, she fumbled it, knocking into the bottle of wine instead. Both crashed onto the hard floor, clashing loudly as the glass shattered to a million pieces.
For a moment, Beatrice didn’t move, still overtaken by what she had just read.
She looked from the mess to the book, not sure if it was more urgent to keep reading or clean up the mess.
Then a moment later she heard pounding footsteps echo from the hallway, and without warning, her bedroom was shoved open. Algernon appeared, and Beatrice gaped.
Never had he appeared before in such a state of undress.
His black trousers and matching leather boots remained, but his black cotton shirt was open almost to his navel, exposing the rigid expanse of smooth pectoral and abdominal muscles.
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showing off muscled forearms. He wore no cravat, no waist coat or jacket either, but he had wrappings around his knuckles, as if he had been midway through a boxing match or practice of some sort.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and the cords of his neck. One particular droplet caught her attention as it slowly traveled from the center of his throat between the small valley of his pectoral muscles and down those rigid abdominal muscles until it disappeared from sight at the part in his shirt.
Beatrice inhaled, trying to remember how to speak, but as she did so she caught the most sinfully delightful scent. Something deep and masculine that made nipples harden and her mons pulse with want.
If that was not bad enough, the sight of him made a twinge set off in her lower belly as her palms tingled; as if by their own volition, they wanted to reach out and explore such rigid planes of surprisingly tanned flesh.
How was he so deep of color?
“What is it? I heard a crash?!” he demanded, his eyes wide and wild as he took in the room and Beatrice.
Beatrice blushed deeply as she drew her bottom lip between her teeth and forced her eyes up to his. How on earth was she supposed to explain this?
“Beatrice!” Algernon snarled, and her attention snapped back to him.
“I asked if you are all right?” he added with vehemence. “What happened? Did you trip? What is this mess?”
Suddenly, for a reason Beatrice could not identify, she felt angry with him. She drew her arm behind her head and with all her might, flung the book at Algernon’s head. He caught it with a grace that did odd things to lower belly, and she grew more frustrated that he had not been hit.
“What in God’s name was that for?” he demanded.
“What happened,” Beatrice bit out, “is that sinful book you are making me read! What I just read was so scandalous that it made me drop my wine and knock the bottle over! This is your fault!”
Algernon’s angered look shifted to one surprise as he looked from the book in his hand to the mess on the floor and then he drew his head back and laughed—laughed! A deep, truly amused laugh that came from very depths of his chest.
“This is not amusing!” Beatrice yelled, pushing up from her chair. “This is filth!”
“Oh, if it has you reacting this way, I highly doubt that is how you truly feel about it,” Algernon replied, chuckling.
Beatrice wrinkled her nose as she glowered at him.
“Do not dare to presume to know me in this moment,” she warned. “And furthermore, if what I just read in that book is what is expected of me, then you can go ahead and call this plan of yours a failure, for I will not be doing that!”
Again, Algernon surprised her as instead of taking on his usual commanding nature, he laughed once again.
“Ah, I see you have made it past the seduction stage and into actual play then,” he replied, smiling as he began to flip through the pages. “I am most curious to see which passage has so consumed with passion.”
Beatrice blushed deeply, feeling heat shoot not just into her cheeks but down her neck and over her chest.
“It is not passion, it is disgust,” she retorted. Then reluctantly she added. “I just got to the part where the knight was chastising the princess for using all of the water he collected to take a bath instead of using it for consumption.”
“Mhm,” Algernon murmured, flipping to the page. “One of my favorite scenes. He shows her another way she can be made clean.”
“Abhorrent!” Beatrice snapped.
Though even as she said so, heat prickled along her flesh, and her stomach tightened at the image the words had conjured.
Algernon slowly raised an eyebrow as he looked her up and down.
“You are many things, Beatrice, but at this moment you are certainly not abhorred,” he mused, snapping the book shut.
Even the sound made a jolt move up Beatrice’s spine, forcing her to gasp.
“Do not act as if you know me, Algernon,” she tried to warn, but her voice came out breathy, as if she could not quite catch it. “I… do not like that look in your eyes.”
He was staring at her with an intensity like never before, as if he were wolf and she was a mere bunny. One muscle moved on him making her feel as if she’d be caught in his teeth within the moment—and it excited her, despite her protests.
“Do you know what the word aroused means, Beatrice?” Algernon asked. He took a step. Not toward her but in parallel to her. Then another.
“I…” Beatrice stammered, her eyes on him as he began to walk a slow circle around her. She swallowed forcefully, trying to make her mind and mouth work.
“I do now.” Her words came out in a whisper. “The book helped me understand its meaning.”
“Mhm,” Algernon murmured, continuing his slow circle as his eyes cut deeply into her flesh.
“Tell me, from what you read from the book, what does a woman experience when she is aroused?” he asked, carefully placing the book on the table.
Beatrice took several steps back, away from the mess on the floor and from Algernon. The mess stayed put. Algernon did not.
“I do not want one of your lessons right—”
“Answer me,” Algernon commanded, his eyes not leaving hers.
She could scream, she thought. For Mira or Mrs. Sheer. Anyone who was still awake would come running if they heard her scream—but as her body began to tremble, Beatrice found that she did not want to. As frightened as she was, she was just as curious as to where this particular lesson was going.
Gathering her bravado, Beatrice drew in a steadying breath and forced her mind to think. Again, she was hit with that delicious scent of his, making it nearly impossible to do so.
“The flesh grows sensitive,” she answered after a moment, her tone soft and rasping.
The green in Algernon’s gaze erupted with slivers of gold as he perked a brow and smirked.
“Very good,” his deep voice praised. “Is it painful?”
“No,” Beatrice whispered then gasped softly as her back bumped against the drape-covered windows, stopping her retreat.
“What does it feel like?” he asked, taking another slow, stalking step in her direction.
As he asked, Beatrice became overcome with the feelings he was making her explain.
“Hot,” she breathed, feeling dots of perspiration form on her forehead and chest. She felt her blush spread a deep crimson from her cheeks to her chest.