Chapter 9 Lessons #2
Exhaling, he assessed the room with a quick, calculating eye.
Despite the poor lighting, he could see a nightstand, a desk by the window, and parallel to his left was a vanity with several jars and a jewelry box.
Interest piqued, he appraised the area more closely and realized a small pin holder sat alongside Clara’s washbowl.
There you are, he gleefully thought. But that was when he heard it: the soft, feminine tread of footsteps, followed by the click of an opening door.
Benjamin frantically blew out his candle and Clara entered the room, shutting the door behind her as he stood frozen in terror.
Backlit by the faint glow from her hearth, his heart stuttered as the redhead briskly moved past him, clearly intent on the dying fire.
She pushed and prodded at the kindling, and then, after the flames came back to life, she set aside the poker and rose, stifling a scream once she realized just who was inside her bedroom.
“You!” she exclaimed.
“Er…me,” Benjamin weakly affirmed. “I’m sorry, I—”
“What are you doing here?”
“Books…ah…I’m searching,” he quickly lied. “You seem the most well-versed in regards to…i-in regards to certain subjects, so I wished to investigate.”
Clara scoffed, irritably folding her arms. “And you couldn’t think to ask? Nor check the library?”
“What I’m researching is a delicate matter,” Benjamin continued to fumble. “The truth is, Charlotte thinks I lack experience, so…I was hoping you might have some books to reference.”
Finally, there was a softening in Clara’s stance—had she truly accepted that hogwash?—yet her expression remained skeptical. “Lottie wishes for you to do…what, exactly? Brush up on the art of feminine pleasure?”
Good God…
Squirming with disquiet, Benjamin nodded. “Yes,” he lied. “I beg your pardon for stealing into your room like this, but surely, you can understand why I felt the need for secrecy?”
Clara hummed. “There is no shame in inexperience, Philip. But unfortunately, when it comes to our dear Lottie, you are right: She’s a rather demanding sort.
And if this is what she wants, you won’t hear the end of it until she gets her way.
” Sighing, she gestured him forward. “Have a seat. I can gather some books for you…and perhaps you can show me the precise issue?”
A spike of heat flared up beneath his collar, and swallowing, Benjamin choked, “Show you?”
“Of course.” Clara shrugged, taking the candlestick from his hand and setting it aside. “If you don’t know how to please, then if I am to help, I must at the very least know what to fix. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“W-well…”
She gestured toward her bed. “Go on. Sit. Evidently, we have much to discuss.”
Benjamin hesitated, then slowly did as she asked. This woman was confounding. Had she not sniped at him for such topics mere hours ago?
After gathering a few books, Clara approached with growing amusement. “Why are you acting like this is your execution?” she teased. “The thought of kissing isn’t that abhorrent, is it?”
Anxious, Benjamin darted his eyes in between her face and the floor, perplexed. “Kissing?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “We’ll discuss other things first, of course, but being a good kisser is essential to the art of lovemaking. I figured that’s where we should start. Charlotte will surely appreciate it.”
Heat pooled within Benjamin’s stomach and he looked away, swallowing sharply. “I don’t need to learn how to kiss,” he said.
“Oh, no?” Unconvinced, Clara prodded, “Does Lottie agree?”
“Yes,” he coolly assured her, “Lottie does.” His only experience was a quick, dry peck on the lips during his formative years, but she didn’t need to know that one small detail.
“How wonderful!” Clara exclaimed. “I can’t wait for you to prove me wrong.
” With a look that suggested she did not, in fact believe him, she took a seat alongside him near the head of her bed.
“Here you are,” she declared, setting the tomes into his lap.
“I want you to read these over the next few days. Some have diagrams, like with Rueff’s book on midwifery, but most are vital life lessons. ”
Bewildered, Benjamin lifted the top book and scoffed. “Hamlet? What does this have to do with intimacy?”
“The fact you have to ask tells me all I need to know, Philip.” Gesturing to the book, Clara explained, “In Act 3, Scene 2, Hamlet asks Ophelia if he should lay his head upon her lap—if she thinks he is alluding to ‘country matters.’”
Benjamin shrugged. “And?”
“Goodness, do I have to sound it out for you? Country matters. He is quite literally speaking of her private parts.” Catching his alarm, she simpered. “It’s a clever pun, wouldn’t you agree? I love a good innuendo, and most especially whenever said innuendo is geared toward a woman’s pleasure.”
Benjamin squirmed, embarrassed. “How is referring to her…carvel’s ring an allusion to female pleasure?”
“Because, Philip, the act alluded to is what you could and should do for our Lottie—preferably, with your mouth.”
The heat in Benjamin’s stomach spread, his hands tensing as he set aside the stack of books. “I’ve heard talk of such things, but…I-I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.”
Clara laughed, the sound soft and airy. “Most men don’t,” she assured him, “so I expected as much. But I can assure you, women do enjoy a nice, fervent surprise as much as menfolk.”
He drew a breath. “Then you…?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I must admit, it’s very unusual to come across a man who does it well, but practice makes perfect.
” Noting his horror, she laughed brightly.
“Fear not! I don’t intend to make you do anything of that sort.
” Tapping his knee, she said, “First thing’s first. I want you to kiss me.
And not in some dry, platonic way you’d kiss a cousin. ”
Benjamin’s chest quivered. “I…uh…”
“What? Haven’t you and Charlotte kissed?”
“Well yes, but—”
“Do what you did then,” she said, curling her fingers through his shirt collar. “If I am to salvage your upcoming marriage, I must find out precisely what to fix.” Gaze flickering between his eyes and mouth, she commanded, “Kiss me, Philip.”
He breathed out as though winded. Clara was soft and warm and confident, and when he cupped her face between his hands, he grew wholly ensnared by the jade fire of her eyes.
Throat dry, Benjamin brushed his lips over hers, trembling as he angled in for a light, careful kiss. It was quick and closemouthed, chaste, and when he pulled back, he grew intimidated by the scornful look in Clara’s eyes.
“Does Lottie not inspire passion?”
He balked. “W-what?”
“If this is how you kiss my sister, then I understand why she is so concerned.” With a pointed look, Clara took his face between her hands and dragged his mouth firmly into her own.
Benjamin’s breath hitched, and his hands fell to her waist, his grip tightening as their kiss grew fiercely enthusiastic.
Helpless and touch-starved, he met her tongue with his and fed the growing need for distraction—for feeling good instead of the pain, the hurt, the suffering—and he groaned into her mouth once her fingers snagged through his hair and pulled.
A warm, pleasant heat rippled through Benjamin’s limbs, and clumsily, he tried to mimic her passion. That was when she broke the kiss.
Humming in thought, Clara pressed a hand to her lips and cleared her throat, a pretty pink staining her cheeks. “That was…adequate,” she decided. “I’ve certainly had worse, but I’ve also had better.” Raising her eyes, she instructed, “When you try again, please don’t lap at my mouth like a dog.”
Embarrassed, Benjamin swallowed and looked away. “That was new to me, I must confess.”
“You don’t say?” Grinning, Clara lifted a hand and tapped below his chin.
“Kissing with tongue is an acquired taste, but if done properly, can make one wholly weak in the knees.” Amused, she tucked a loosened lock of hair behind his ear.
“This time, I want you to envision those ‘country matters’ we discussed.”
Benjamin frowned. “Why?”
“Because, if you picture how you would perform orally between Lottie’s legs, you might actually do well with the kissing aspect.”
Benjamin’s face flooded scarlet, but he nodded in response, dumbfounded.
“Show some initiative,” she continued. “Lottie loves confidence, so that will get you far in her good graces.” Scooting forward, Clara encouraged, “Try again.”
By this point, it felt as if he were floating.
Overwhelmed by the huskiness of her voice, the scent of her rose water, her very presence, Benjamin cupped her face and crashed his mouth into hers, emulating her assertiveness.
Clara’s soft gasp caught between their lips, and emboldened, Benjamin glossed their tongues and tilted her head back, devouring her whimper once her hand fell to his lap.
Her palm pressed downward and he made a small, helpless noise, his breeches tightening as he rocked up into her touch.
He attempted to deepen the kiss, but she pulled away, pink cheeked and astonished.
“That was better,” Clara allowed, shakily pushing back a wayward curl. “I’m…I-I am actually a little besotted after that, so you are an exceptionally fast study.”
Heart pounding, Benjamin took her hand. “I apologize,” he choked. “It wasn’t my intention to become so…enthused.”
“Nor was mine,” Clara whispered, lowering her gaze to his mouth. “Perhaps we should postpone areas of stimulation for another day.”
Benjamin attempted to calm his breath, perplexed. “Areas of stimulation?”
“Yes…” Glassy-eyed, she tugged down his collar and cravat and pressed a deep, open-mouthed kiss against the side of his neck.
Her lips were warm and wet, and an immediate shiver lanced up his spine.
When she withdrew, she explained, “That was an area of interest. You felt added pleasure, did you not?”
Trying to ignore the hard, throbbing ache tenting his breeches, Benjamin nodded, mortified.
“I…think I should return to my room,” he stammered.
Fumblingly, he grabbed the books at his side and rose, unable to meet her gaze.
“I’m appreciative of your expertise, but to delve further would be inappropriate. ”
Clara snorted, a wry smile curling her mouth. “Yes, well most men are appreciative,” she teased. “I love Lottie and want what’s best for her…but you’re right. This is a little inappropriate.”
Very, very inappropriate.
Clearing her throat, Clara rose and clasped her hands, her eyes darting between Benjamin and his books. “I hope you’ve learned something today, Philip. If you need more instruction…”
“I’ll come find you,” Benjamin said, nodding. “Thank you for helping me and Lottie.”
Silence burned between them, thick and palpable, and as he gazed upon Clara’s upturned face, Benjamin was stricken by how small she looked…defenseless. As much as she tried to hide behind bluster, every now and then, he could see little cracks in her armor.
Why had she agreed to their intimacy in the first place? Did she only feel valuable whenever touched?
“Philip?”
Benjamin blinked away his internal fog, then forced a melancholy smile to his lips.
“Forgive me,” he murmured. “Good night, Clara…I hope you sleep well.” Tentative, he lifted a hand and cupped the side of her face.
Clara peered at him in confusion, then tensed when he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
“For Charlotte,” Benjamin whispered into their kiss.
“For Charlotte,” Clara whispered back, dazed.
He withdrew and she wobbled, folding her hands as though in prayer.
“Good night,” Benjamin murmured again. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, reeling from both the desire and danger he’d narrowly escaped.
With the arrival of morning’s light, the lambent sunshine streaming in through Clara’s curtains did little to conceal her sin.
She wasn’t cleansed nor unashamed. In fact, while she lay there, the first thing that came to mind was Philip’s eyes—his hands on her face, firm and steadfast, and the way he’d kissed her with both aggression and a lingering sweetness.
And his parting touch… It was the softest, gentlest kiss she’d ever received, and something deep inside of her fractured at the realization.
While most men leered at or groped her, this man, this Philip Ashby, held her with the utmost care as if she were precious, worthy, and not just some desirable plaything.
For the first time in her life, she felt wanted.
“Oh, tar and sugar,” Clara muttered under her breath.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Bolting upright, she gasped and drew up her quilt. “Yes?” she called, cursing the slight break in her voice.
“Mademoiselle, it’s Angélique,” the servant replied. “You have a letter. May I come in?”
Exhaling in a slow rush of air, Clara straightened and agreed, “You may.”
There came a pause, then the door clicked open, and the young woman entered. She held out the letter. “I didn’t open it, mademoiselle, but I recognize the hand…it’s from your sister.”
“Oh! Charlotte!” Clara exclaimed, delighted. She pushed back her partially closed bed curtains to get a better view. Though once she accepted the letter, that same rush of staggering guilt slammed between her ribs. She winced and chewed her lip. “Thank you, Angélique. That will be all.”
Her servant curtsied and left the room.
Alone, Clara tore open the seal and instantly felt warmed by the sight of her sister’s careful, practiced hand. Though as she continued to read, that smile wiped from her face.
With an unsettled gasp, Clara dropped the letter and drew a hand over her mouth. The gleeful message was forever seared into her mind with those six little words:
Philip cannot wait to meet you!