Chapter 4 #2
“Are you a man who values discussions of the weather and other inconsequential things when women are near?” Sam was uncertain why it mattered so much to know whether he found worth beyond her beauty.
She would be the first to admit she hadn’t sought attention using her stellar talents beyond her charm.
Intellect was Jude’s ability.
Cunning was Payton’s skill.
And Marce, her persuasive capabilities were legendary.
Sam had been given her beauty, and beyond her grace, men did not seek to know if she possessed a wit to rival her exterior exquisiteness.
She’d always found it suspect that a man would tie himself to a woman without knowing if she possessed the common sense necessary to find her own way out of a horse stall without assistance.
Eli sat heavily in the chair Sam had vacated moments before.
“I have found meaning and importance in discussions of all topics. I once found myself stranded during a monsoon in South America. I—as well as the other locals—were made to strip naked and press our bodies close to avoid freezing.” Her eyes widened at his words.
“Come now, Miss Samantha,” he prodded. “You cannot think that all discussions about the weather hold little…passion.”
Sam longed to demand he tell her of the passions he experienced during his stay in South America. Had he fallen in love? Had he been made to leave the woman behind and return to England? Why did she care in the first place?
There was so much she didn’t know about him—far more than she did, in fact.
What was a man of noble English birth doing in South America, where disease and famine were rumored to run rampant among local villages?
The thought of another woman sitting somewhere halfway around the world, dreaming of Lord Ridgefeld’s naked body was too much for her to process. Without realizing it, her eyes traveled from his head to the toes of his Hessians, and back again.
His smirk told her he knew exactly what she was picturing—and he didn’t seem annoyed or put off by it.
He only folded his hands across his lap and allowed her to look her fill.
While she thought of his time in South America and whether he’d taken a lover, Lord Ridgefeld apparently was not.
He seemed solidly in the present, assessing her as she did him.
“I have shared my outlandish story,” he said, tilting his chin up, and for the first time in their short acquaintance, he looked the arrogant nobleman he was—his eyes challenging her. “Are you prepared to offer a showing of your trust in me?”
How had their conversation turned to the subject of trust—especially between two people who’d been strangers only hours before?
However, if she were to obtain more information about his adventures, then she need be a bit more forthcoming. “Certainly, what do you have in mind?”
Unexpectedly, he stood and took the few steps to stand before her, only stopping when their noses were scant inches apart. “I would see the book you are so overtly hiding behind your back.”
“I have no book, my lord,” she murmured.
He could not push. He would not. No man would demand a woman show him what he sought—then again, he was demanding nothing of her. It was merely a request, a show of trust as he’d so adeptly called it.
“Oh, but we both know that is a falsehood, Miss Samantha.” His warm breath cascaded across her cheek, sending yet another tremble through her.
Did the man have any idea how his closeness affected her?
Certainly, he would not cause her such discomfort if he did…
or maybe this was transpiring exactly as he’d planned. “The book?”
Blessedly, he stepped back, but held his hand out, waiting for her to set the tome in his hand.
“My lord,” she breathed. “I cannot.”
“You cannot, or you will not?” he asked, his voice deepening.
Yes, he knew the precise effect he had on her…and he enjoyed it immensely.
“I never pictured you for a scoundrel, my lord.”
“Call me Elijah,” he countered. “Any woman who dares insinuate I am a scoundrel should call me by my Christian name because, I regret to inform you, you do not know me at all. However, if you insist on using the term, I shall live up to its meaning.”
He snaked his arms around her waist, grazed her neck with his lips and for a brief moment she feared he’d kiss her. Right there in Cummings’ study, the door open wide for any passerby to see. Instead, he did something she dreaded far more—he snatched the book from her grasp.
“Let me inspect what you seek so hard to hide.” Elijah took the book and turned from her, pacing back toward the door from which he’d entered.
When his steps faltered, she knew he’d opened the cover to the first image—or more than likely, he was fluent in Latin.
She wished she could assess his face when he fully saw the risqué book she’d been about to abscond with.
His shoulders stiffened once more, and she feared he’d be repelled by her improper choice of reading material.
“My lord—“
A deep rumbling filled the room, and it took a moment to recognize the sound. The blasted man was laughing—at her.
No one dared laugh at her, just as he intimated no one dare call him a scoundrel.
Her face flamed with embarrassment—it gnawed at her insides, making trails with knife-like strikes.
He’d begged her to trust him—and now, he laughed at her.
“Miss Samantha.” He pivoted to face her. “I must admit, you are full of surprises…surprises so grand, you can make a male of my ilk blush like a freshly introduced debutante.”
His eyes sparkled with merriment as she turned her glare on him. He certainly was not blushing—not even in the slightest.
“I have not partaken of anything so…scandalous…outrageous…and enthralling since my time in West Africa. Did you know there is a native tribe which inhabits a part of Ghana that doesn’t wear a stitch of clothing?
Not a single loincloth to be had in the entire village.
Men, women, and children, alike, walking about as naked as the day they entered the world. ”
The wretched man was teasing her—and all Sam could do was picture him under the blazing desert sun without benefit of clothing to protect his skin from the harshness of the heat.
In her mind’s eye, she stood beside him, similarly dressed, or in this scenario, undressed.
He reached his hand forward, entwining his fingers in her long hair, her only protection from the scorching sun above.
Her throat was dry as sand, and her words stuck, her mouth unable to voice any sound; however, he seemed to understand her discomfort and took her hand, turning her toward a paradise oasis in the distance—why hadn’t she heard the water before?
Noticed a sanctuary from the heat lay within walking distance?
They began their trek toward the tall, shade trees—a waterfall peeking through the foliage.
The sand burned under her bare feet.
Again, Elijah came to her rescue, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to safety—their blazing hot bodies pressed close…
“Miss Samantha?” The whisper was close to her ear—a deep, rich murmur of promise.
Her eyes sprang open. Elijah stood before her once more. Closer this time. The book long forgotten in favor of the here and now. They were in this moment, together and alone. No need to view such images on paper for they could not compare to the real thing.
Would Elijah show her the reality if she asked? Begged? Pleaded?
She barely stopped the question from passing her lips, though a sigh did escape.
“My lord?” The simple words, barely audible to her own ears, were all he needed to close the distance between them.
He pressed his lips to hers, demanding but in no way controlling. He sought permission as he allowed her to set the pace of their kiss.
Sam had not wanted to allow this moment, this gift, to slip away unexplored.
No book, no picture, no discussion could have prepared her for the glorious feel of his mouth moving against hers. The warmth of his lips sent a current of need pulsing through her.
Shocking herself—and him judging from the sudden jolt of tension that tightened his back—Sam slipped her arms around Elijah’s waist and stepped closer to him, their bodies now connected from chest to thigh.
He parted his lips, his tongue blazing a trail across her bottom lip, hotter than the sun in the African safari. It was a welcome heat, and a sensual thrill raced through her and pooled between her thighs at her most intimate spot.
Sam allowed her hands to explore his back, dipping low to settle on his rounded buttocks.
Yet another aspect of the male form that could not be adequately conveyed by a mere image on a page.
Too soon, he pulled back, and emptiness filled the space between them. He moved so quickly, her hands fell to her sides as he paced across the room toward the open door just as a servant entered, his arms laden with seasoned wood to stoke the fire for the night.
Sam hadn’t heard him approaching, hadn’t sensed anything but her heart beating erratically, Elijah’s matching her rhythm.
“M’lord. Miss.” The servant nodded as he passed them, likely anxious to have his task completed so he could retire for the evening. “Pardon the intrusion. I will only be a moment.”
Elijah cleared his throat and nodded to Samantha when the man kneeled before the hearth, his back to them.
She dared a quick glance at the servant, his attention fully on his task before looking down to discover her two top buttons had become undone. How had that happened?
The ribbon that held her hair back only moments before now lay at her feet, discarded. She placed her hands against her heated cheeks.
Her heart beat so loudly, she barely heard Elijah’s words over the heaving of her chest.
“I will bid you good evening, Miss Samantha.” With a curt bow, he departed the room, leaving her decidedly alone—besides the servant—and highly unfulfilled.
Sam glanced around the room.
In Physica Educationem in Caritate: Volumen Unum was gone. Disappeared.
Stupendous.