Chapter 29 #2
It was a sitting room of sorts, she realized.
The walls were dark blue, accented with black fleur de lis patterns.
The chair she sat on and the other furniture in the room were black velvet.
His jacket, shirt, and waistcoat lay discarded over the back of the couch placed opposite of her, and there was a half-drank glass of some sort of brown liquor sitting atop a dark wood table between the couch and her chair.
“You were sleeping here?” she asked, slowly bringing her gaze from her surroundings back to Algernon.
Algernon’s face was stoic as ever as he sat down on the couch opposite of her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands absently rubbing together.
“My sleeping quarters are just through there,” his deep voice rumbled, nodding to a door she had not noticed before. “It is a large space. Sometimes the emptiness of it makes me uncomfortable, so I sleep out here.”
Beatrice only nodded. Algernon had always appeared comfortable in his apparent solitude, but now, she wondered if she had been mistaken.
“You wished to speak of our lessons,” Algernon said, reminding of her of her purpose. “What about them?”
She gathered her courage with a deep breath.
“Tomorrow, you wish to change the subject of our lessons. However, I do not believe our previous ones are quite finished.”
Algernon went utterly still in front of her—in fact she was sure that he had even ceased breath.
“Beatrice,” he rumbled her name, this sound of it sending shivers of pleasure down her spine, “I do not think—”
“You gave me books to read,” she pressed on, not wanting to hear what he was about to say next. “You had me study them greatly. I confess I was appalled by their nature at first, but now that I have read them all, I am curious. I have questions, and I want answers before…”
She drew in a breath, feeling her heart clench strangely at what she was about to say.
“Before I am to wed Henry.”
The expression on Algernon’s face was one of a man being tortured, and he shook his head as his gaze fell to the floor.
“Sometimes men like to teach their wives certain lessons in pleasure,” he answered, his rasping tone sounding as tortured as the expression on his face looked. “I do not believe it is my place to teach you everything,” he went, rubbing his hands together.
“You do not have to teach me everything.”
The words flew out of Beatrice’s mouth before she could even think about them.
He was telling her no. She knew that. Yet despite such understanding, she found herself pressing him.
Her body had grown too warm, too itchy for his touch.
She shifted in the chair uncomfortably, the dampness between her legs growing as she watched his powerful hands continue to rub together.
“Henry…” he rasped, shaking his head again.
“Henry has been kind,” she interrupted. “He has been cheerful and friendly, but he has not shown any intimate interest in me. If you were right—In the beginning, I mean—about me having to be the bolder one, I want to make sure I do it right.”
Another long moment of silence passed between them, but finally, Algernon raised his head and looked at her again.
Heat and desire leapt from his forest green eyes, amplifying the need already growing inside of her.
Another moment later, what little was left of his resistance in his gaze faded, and something dark shifted in his eyes.
He rose. Slowly. His powerful hands trembled as he let them fall to his sides, their veins seeming to dance in the firelight as he flexed his muscles. Beatrice’s eyes followed him, drinking in the sight of him deeply.
“Come to me.”
There was a sharpness within his deep voice. It was not harsh, but she knew that it was not an invitation but a command. Trembling, Beatrice rose to her feet and closed the small space between them. As she looked up into his eyes, Beatrice’s heart hammered as she forced herself to draw in a breath.
Slowly, he brought a hand up. She nearly gasped as his heated touch wrapped around the side of her neck, and she did roll her eyes back as he smoothed his palm over her neck and slid his fingers into her hair at the back of her scalp.
His grip on her was strong, tight, as he forced her head to tilt back so that her lips were tilted up to his like an offering.
“I prefer you like this,” he murmured, his other hand coming up to caress her collarbone then up to her shoulder. “Fresh from a bath. Barren of cosmetics and fancy dresses.”
Beatrice forced in another shuddering breath as his free hand roamed from her shoulder to her upper back.
She let out a whimper as that hand then trailed down her spine to the small expanse just above her backside.
Then with a movement so fast it made her gasp, she was brought to his body; her hips were flush against his, and she could clearly feel his arousal through the fabric of his trousers and her nightgown pulse between her legs.
He then leaned in. Not to kiss her lips, even though she offered them to him, but to dip his head toward her neck, and inhale her deeply. His nose barely touched the flesh of her neck as he did so, but even so, the barest brush made her whimper.
“I am not my brother,” Algernon rasped against my throat, making her lashes flutter again as they barely caressed against her flesh. “And in this moment, I do not care what he would like. Nor do I care to teach you seduce him.”
Beatrice reached for him, her nails digging into his shoulders and holding him there, frightened that he might pull away.
“I do not care,” she breathed, feeling his powerful body tremble at her touch. “Just touch me. Please.”
A tortured sound erupted from Algernon’s throat as she said please, and before she could think of anything else to say, he gruffly pulled her back further and kissed her.