Chapter 3 #2
She took the first leather-bound book from its place.
A thin layer of dust coated the exposed top edge, the only portion accessible to the elements of the room.
No one had removed the books in many years—which meant the chance of someone noticing one missing was slim, especially if she only took one at a time and replaced the portraits carefully in their exact places.
The hearth was only a few paces away, and Sam hurried to its welcome light to delicately open the volume.
In Physica Educationem in Caritate: Volumen Unum.
An Education in Physical Love: Volume One.
No author listed. But why?
Sam had studied Latin enough to translate the title—exactly what she’d come searching for.
A shiver ran through her. Was it anticipation? Trepidation? Shock?
It was certainly a tremor of eagerness, a foreboding of what was to come.
Leaving London for the wilds of Derbyshire would not be as dreadfully dull as she’d suspected.
She could barely still her hand long enough to hurry back and replace the portraits.
She itched to turn another page—and begin her education in matters of the flesh.
Jude would be well versed within a matter of days.
Garrett was a man, and had therefore likely partaken of the nude female form on far more occasions than Sam was willing to ponder.
And Marce—their eldest sister, she was cultured in the art; the way her hips moved, her knowing smile, and the way she turned her neck at just the right angle to afford the best view.
All things Sam had witnessed during their outings in London.
Her sister was aware of the pleasure a man could give to a woman, she was certain of it.
That left only Sam and Payton—who, at seventeen and unmarried, should be too young to know or even suspect what happened between a man and woman within their marriage chambers.
She could not push from her mind all she’d learned about her youngest sibling—namely her tendency for games of chance and the mounting debt Marce had been required to settle on her behalf.
Could the young woman—truly past the age of being merely a girl—know more than Sam?
Sam moved back into the shadows and replaced the portraits—curbing her need to open the book to the first image.
Everything as it should be, she paused once more and listened for any movement in the hall outside the study. Nothing. Silence. Deep, resounding quiet.
A few more moments would not hurt, especially if the entire household had retired for the evening—it was more likely she’d encounter another guest on the floor above as she navigated the endless corridors back to her room.
But once inside, she’d be free to examine the book at great length for, unlike Craven House, Sam had been given her own bedchambers.
She sat on the edge of the chair closest to the hearth, affording her enough light to inspect the volume. It was almost weightless in her hands—an object so small could not possibly hold an education so vast.
Her hand shook as she ran her finger over the title, stitched into the soft leather by hand.
Sam wet her lips as one foot tapped the floor in anticipation.
She would not wait until she reached her chambers to explore the treasures within, she could not. Every inch of her trembled as she flipped the book open to the first drawing—and her mouth fell open.
The image should be terrifying to an innocent woman with no intimate knowledge of the nude male form. The glaring picture staring back at her was…it was…shocking, to say the least.
The male sex organ was certainly not compatible with her own passageway.
Certainly, this could not be drawn to size—the organ extended from the man’s nether region, standing proud. Erect. Was that the term?
Fully engorged. It was a drawing; however, the member appeared to throb on the page.
A sheen of moisture broke out across her forehead and on the back of her neck.
Sam glanced toward the door, fearing someone had entered with her unaware.
No one had invaded her privacy, so Sam turned back to the page before her. The man’s face was etched with ecstasy, his head thrown back, and his eyes clenched shut. Even his hands were in tight fists, and his mouth set in a compressed line. Had the illustrator enlisted the aid of a true naked male?
At the thought, a spark of damp heat settled between her legs as if her body knew exactly how his member would fit within her. Sam was not ignorant of the fundamentals of animal reproduction—they’d once had several horses in their stables.
She set her finger upon the photo of the man, tracing his exquisite form from head to toe.
It was inconceivable that every nude male was as impressive as the illustrator had made this one.
Closing her eyes, Sam conjured up her own image—committing the drawing to memory for later pondering; however, her imagination would not allow her to disregard her new understanding so quickly.
Her eyes popped open when she realized the man had taken on a very familiar appearance in her mind’s eye, right down to a certain dimple.
Sam’s gaze skipped to the open door of the study—to see the exact face her mind had conjured without her permission.
Lord Ridgefeld—Elijah—stood silently in the doorway.
He cleared his throat and stepped over the threshold. “My apologies, Miss Samantha. My intent was not to startle you; however, I also was not in favor of interrupting your concentration.”
“My lord!” Sam glanced down at the open tome on her lap and slammed it closed with a bit more force than was proper or necessary, only causing his attention to be drawn to the book she held. “Lord Ridgefeld,” she stammered. “I was unaware anyone was still about the lower floor.”
His gaze fell to the book she attempted to hide within her skirts as her face blossomed with heat to match that between her thighs.