CHAPTER TWO THE PROPOSITION #5
He let his gaze move deliberately over her gown before returning to her face.
“The colour suits you.”
Eleanor inhaled.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Too quick. You sound relieved.”
“I am not.”
“Then do not rush to reassure me.”
Gabriel repeated the compliment. This time Eleanor waited. The pause lengthened just enough to make him wonder what she thought. Then her eyes moved over his face with quiet consideration.
“I know,” she said.
The answer struck with unexpected force.
Gabriel smiled slowly. “Better.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“Excessive confidence must be exhausting.”
“Do not reuse lines. It suggests limited imagination.”
“I was testing consistency.”
“Of course.”
He moved behind her. “Walk to the window. Imagine the room belongs to you and everyone in it is waiting to discover whether they deserve to remain.”
Eleanor glanced over her shoulder. “That seems rude.”
“Confidence often does.”
She walked. The first few steps remained too careful, but then something changed.
Her shoulders relaxed. She allowed her arms to move naturally rather than holding them close, and when she reached the window, she did not turn immediately.
Gabriel watched the line of her back. Her gown narrowed at the waist before falling over her hips.
He had seen women dressed in considerably less, yet the restrained elegance of Eleanor’s figure affected him more than exposed skin usually did.
Perhaps because she did not yet know he was looking.
Or because she knew and refused to acknowledge it.
“Turn,” he said.
She did.
“Slowly.”
Eleanor repeated the movement. Her eyes found his.
“Now walk toward me.”
She began. Gabriel expected another cautious approach.
Instead, she applied every instruction. Her gaze remained level.
She did not hurry. She allowed silence to accumulate around her as she crossed the room, and something in the deliberate pace transformed her.
Miss Finch disappeared. In her place came a woman who had observed desire for years from the edges of rooms and now understood that observation could be turned into power. Gabriel became aware of every step.
“Look at my mouth,” he said.
Eleanor’s gaze dropped. Desire struck him with such sudden intensity that his body tightened.
He had intended the instruction as another exercise.
Women looked at his mouth often. Some did so coyly, others boldly and many with enough calculation to make their objective obvious.
Eleanor looked as though she were learning him.
Not admiring. Not inviting. Assessing what his mouth might do and whether she would permit it.
Gabriel’s breath changed. She came closer.
“Stop,” he said.
Eleanor stopped inches away. The scent of lavender paper surrounded him. Her eyes remained upon his mouth for one final heartbeat before lifting.
“Like this?” she asked.
Gabriel could not remember what he intended to say.
He saw the small rise and fall of her breasts, the faint colour along her cheekbones and the intelligence in her grey eyes.
She was nervous and was also determined not to retreat.
He could have touched her. One hand at her waist would close the remaining distance.
A finger beneath her chin would tilt her face.
If he lowered his head, he suspected she would hold still until the instant his mouth met hers.
Then she would either freeze or answer him.
Gabriel wanted to know which. That was precisely why he should refuse. Instead, he stepped back before his body betrayed more than his expression had already revealed.
“You learn quickly,” he said.
“I have had practice being observed.”
“Not like this.”
“No.”
The admission softened her voice. Gabriel looked toward the contract upon the desk.
He had spent years teaching others to underestimate him.
Eleanor had spent years doing the same. Perhaps that was why he recognised the cost of remaining unseen.
Perhaps that was why the thought of teaching her how to command attention felt less like corruption and more like handing her a weapon.
He returned to the desk, took up the pen and signed only his initials beneath the conditions. Eleanor followed.
“You have agreed,” she said.
“To limited instruction.”
“That qualification appears unnecessary.”
“It may preserve my sanity.”
She offered her hand as though they had concluded an ordinary business arrangement.
Gabriel looked at it. Her fingers were slim, the ink stain still visible beside her thumb.
He took her hand. Eleanor turned her wrist slightly, whether by accident or instinct he could not tell, and his thumb settled against the rapid beat of her pulse.
Her heartbeat was fast. So was his. Neither of them moved.
Gabriel’s thumb pressed once, lightly, against the delicate skin. Eleanor’s breath caught.
“Your first error,” he said quietly, “is believing I am the only one in danger of misunderstanding these lessons.”