CHAPTER TWO THE PROPOSITION #4
Eleanor’s lips parted. The movement was slight.
Gabriel felt it low in his body. He had meant to frighten her.
Instead, he had created an image neither of them could ignore.
Eleanor looked directly at his mouth. Not accidentally.
Not with the embarrassed curiosity of an inexperienced woman.
Deliberately. Gabriel forgot his next argument.
She held the glance for one long second before lifting her eyes to his.
“You see?” she said quietly. “Instruction.”
He stepped back. The loss of her warmth felt immediate. Eleanor turned toward the desk and withdrew a clean sheet of paper.
“What are you doing?”
“Establishing terms.”
“You have mistaken silence for agreement.”
“No. I have interpreted your lack of argument as intellectual progress.”
She dipped a pen into the ink. Gabriel watched as she wrote a heading in her precise hand. Conditions Governing Instruction
“This is not a publishing contract.”
“It concerns the use of expertise and the protection of both parties. A contract seems appropriate.”
“You intend to put seduction lessons in writing?”
“I intend to put the rules in writing.”
“Imagine the joy of the person who finds it.”
“No names will appear.”
“That makes it considerably more scandalous.”
Eleanor ignored him and began to read.
“Lessons will occur only in private rooms within houses where trusted servants are present.”
“Agreed,” Gabriel said before remembering he had not agreed to anything.
She looked up.
He sighed. “Continue.”
“Nothing will occur without explicit consent.”
“Obviously.”
“Obvious rules are the ones most frequently ignored.”
Gabriel inclined his head.
“Either party may stop a lesson at any point and without explanation.”
“Agreed.”
“You will not mock my inexperience.”
His gaze moved over her face.
“I would never mock inexperience.”
“You mock everything.”
“Only vanity, stupidity and men who wear yellow trousers.”
“Then we shall add yellow trousers to the list of prohibited subjects.”
“Cruel.”
Eleanor wrote another line. “I will not interpret instruction as a promise of affection, courtship, fidelity or marriage.”
The pen scratched steadily across the page. Gabriel’s amusement thinned.
“You include fidelity?”
“You are a rake.”
“Your confidence in my consistency is touching.”
“I prefer clarity.”
“Then write that nothing occurring during the lessons creates obligations beyond the agreed purpose.”
She did.
“No details will be discussed with society members,” Eleanor continued, “except where immediate safety requires disclosure.”
“Beatrice will interrogate you.”
“She will fail.”
“She is a duchess.”
“She is also impatient.”
Gabriel smiled. “You understand her well.”
“You will teach only what is necessary for the masquerade,” Eleanor said.
Gabriel rested one hand upon the desk. “That condition is too vague.”
“Why?”
“Because you do not know what will be necessary.”
“Then we define each lesson beforehand.”
“You wish to approve a syllabus.”
“Yes.”
“Will there be examinations?”
“If your instruction is competent.”
The image arrived unbidden: Eleanor seated upon the edge of the desk, her composed expression altered by pleasure while Gabriel tested precisely how thoroughly she had absorbed a lesson. Heat moved through him. He straightened.
“I have conditions,” he said.
Eleanor turned the paper toward him.
“You tell me immediately if you become uncomfortable.”
“That is already covered by the right to stop.”
“No. Stopping is an action. I require honesty before discomfort becomes fear.”
Her brows drew together. “I do not frighten easily.”
“I did not say you did.”
“You implied it.”
“I know you are brave, Eleanor. I need you honest.”
The use of her name passed between them again, quieter this time. She lowered her gaze to the paper and wrote.
“You do not attend the Mercury Club without me,” Gabriel continued. “Under any identity, in any disguise or by any entrance.”
“I do not intend—”
“Write it.”
She looked at him.
“Your irritation is not an objection,” he said.
Eleanor’s mouth tightened, but she added the condition.
“You will accept no private invitation from any club member. You will not drink anything you have not seen poured. You will not become separated from me in the private galleries.”
“What if separation is required to obtain evidence?”
“Then we plan it beforehand.”
“That may not be possible.”
“Then you follow my judgement in immediate danger.”
Eleanor set down the pen. “No.”
“Yes.”
“You do not acquire authority over me merely because you possess experience.”
“I acquire responsibility if I bring you inside.”
“Responsibility is not control.”
“No, but survival occasionally requires obedience.”
Her gaze cooled. “That sounds like Julian.”
“Julian remained alive through several wars. Some of his habits are defensible.”
“I will agree to follow instructions relating to immediate physical danger, provided you explain afterward why they were necessary.”
Gabriel considered.
“Agreed.”
She wrote the compromise.
“One final condition,” he said. “You will not pretend bravery when frightened.”
Eleanor looked up slowly.
“I object.”
“I expected you to.”
“Fear is not information I owe you.”
“It is if I am expected to protect you.”
“I do not require protection.”
“Every person entering that club requires protection.”
“Including you?”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised her. Gabriel leaned closer, placing both hands upon the desk between them.
“Bravery is not the absence of fear,” he said. “It is useful only when fear is acknowledged. If you hide it, I cannot tell whether you are making a decision or enduring something because you believe stopping would disappoint me.”
Her expression changed. The anger remained, but something softer moved beneath it.
“I do not care whether I disappoint you,” she said.
“That should make honesty easier.”
Eleanor held his gaze, then added the final rule. Gabriel looked at the completed list. They had negotiated as though the arrangement already existed. Perhaps it did. He should have torn the page in half, returned the programme and told Julian to find another scholar.
Instead, he said, “Stand over there.”
Eleanor glanced toward the empty space near the door.
“Why?”
“Your first lesson.”
Her fingers stilled upon the pen.
“You have agreed?”
“I have agreed to determine whether instruction is possible.”
“That sounds deliberately temporary.”
“It is.”
Eleanor moved to the far side of the room. Gabriel stepped away from the desk and studied her. She stood with excellent posture, hands loosely clasped and expression attentive. Every inch of her communicated intelligence, restraint and a desire not to inconvenience the furniture.
“Walk toward me,” he said.
She did. Her steps were graceful and quiet. She might have been crossing a library to retrieve a reference volume. Gabriel folded his arms.
“Again.”
“What was wrong?”
“You walked toward me as though I were a bookshelf.”
“Bookshelves are generally more useful.”
“Imagine every man in the room wants your attention.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“It is an exercise.”
“And I have observed no evidence supporting the premise.”
Gabriel walked toward her.
“The men in the Mercury Club will look at you because you are a woman they do not recognise. Some will desire you. Some will distrust you. Several will do both. Your first task is to make them believe their attention is expected.”
“How?”
“Lift your gaze.”
She did.
“Not your chin. Your eyes.”
Eleanor corrected the movement.
“Do not search the room for approval. Choose one person and look as though you have already decided what he wants.”
“That sounds presumptuous.”
“It is.”
“I dislike presumption.”
“You intend to impersonate a confident widow at an illegal masquerade. Modesty has limited practical value.”
Her mouth twitched again.
Gabriel continued. “Receive attention. Do not ask for it.”
“What is the difference?”
“Invitation.”
He approached slowly and stopped before her.
“If I tell you that gown makes your eyes look darker, what do you say?”
“It is blue.”
“You deny the compliment.”
“I correct the observation.”
“You hide behind accuracy.”
“Accuracy has served me well.”
“Not here. Try again.”