CHAPTER THREE THE FIRST LESSON #5
Gabriel froze. The stillness arrived so abruptly that she felt it before he tore his mouth from hers.
He stepped back. The loss of contact was shocking.
Cold air reached the dampness upon her lips.
Eleanor swayed, and Gabriel caught her elbow before releasing it almost immediately.
His breathing was uneven. The public mask had disappeared entirely.
Gabriel looked less like London’s most accomplished rake than a man who had opened a door and found danger waiting on the other side.
Eleanor’s own breath came too quickly. Her lips tingled.
The skin at her neck still held the imprint of his fingers, while the lower part of her body throbbed with unfamiliar, insistent heat.
Neither spoke. Gabriel turned away first. He walked toward the wine table and braced one hand against its edge.
“That,” he said, “was not the proper response.”
Eleanor looked at his back.
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
The answer was too light. She heard the strain beneath it.
“What did I do incorrectly?”
Gabriel lifted the decanter and poured wine. Some struck the rim of the glass before settling inside. Eleanor noticed. He drank.
“You gripped my coat.”
“You told me not to appear afraid to touch you.”
“Resting is not gripping.”
“You did not seem offended.”
He glanced over his shoulder.
“I was attempting to preserve the realism of the lesson.”
Eleanor nearly smiled.
“Which other part displeased you?”
Gabriel set down the glass. He did not answer. She stepped toward him. His body became still again, though he kept his back partly turned.
“The way I opened my mouth?” she asked.
“No.”
“The way I touched your tongue?”
His jaw tightened.
“The way I moved closer?”
“Eleanor.”
She had never heard her name sound like that.
A warning, a plea and something darker beneath both.
Confidence spread slowly through her, not because she had mastered kissing but because Gabriel could not lie convincingly about wanting her.
He had spent years controlling rooms with beauty, charm and experience.
She had disrupted him in one lesson. Eleanor allowed herself the smile she had been taught to use: quiet, deliberate and free of apology. Gabriel saw it. His eyes darkened.
“That expression,” he said, “will cause considerable trouble.”
“Then your instruction is effective.”
“You learn too quickly.”
“You object to competence again.”
“I object to consequences.”
Eleanor stopped several feet away. The distance seemed necessary for both of them.
“Was that performance?” she asked.
Gabriel looked toward the open door.
“No one was watching.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“A performance can be rehearsed in private.”
“Was it?”
For once, he did not reach for charm immediately. The pause lengthened.
“It began as one,” he said.
Eleanor’s heart struck harder against her ribs.
“And then?”
Gabriel lifted his wine but did not drink.
“Then you forgot the lesson.”
“So did you.”
“Yes.”
The admission felt more intimate than the kiss.
Eleanor looked down at her hands. The fabric of his coat had left faint creases in her gloves.
She should have been embarrassed. Instead, she wanted to know what might have happened if Gabriel had not stopped.
She wanted to know where his hand would have moved from her waist, how his mouth would feel upon her throat and whether that hard evidence of desire would have grown more insistent if she pressed against him again. The thoughts were not abstract.
Her body answered each one. Heat remained pooled low inside her, and the tips of her breasts felt tender beneath the bodice.
She understood now why women spoke of desire as hunger.
It did not resemble intellectual curiosity, though curiosity sharpened it.
It was physical, demanding and impossible to reason away simply because reason found the timing inconvenient. Gabriel turned toward her fully.
“We should end the lesson.”
“Because I performed badly?”
“No.”
“Because you did?”
His eyes narrowed. Eleanor waited. At last, he laughed, but the sound lacked its usual ease.
“You will be insufferable once you understand your effect upon men.”
“Only men who deserve it.”
“That will not narrow the field.”
He retrieved his coat from the chair where he had left it. Eleanor watched him put it on. His hands were steady again, his cravat still perfect and his expression almost restored. Almost. The corners of his mouth remained tight, and he avoided standing close enough to touch her.
“When is the next lesson?” she asked.
Gabriel adjusted one cuff. “We have not decided.”
“The Feast is in less than three weeks.”
“I am aware.”
“Then delay seems impractical.”
“So does haste.”
“What will you teach next?”
“Public behaviour.”
“That sounds less interesting.”
His gaze lifted to hers.
“It may be safer.”
“Is safety the objective?”
“It should be.”
“But it is not?”
Gabriel looked at her for a long moment. Then he moved toward the door. Eleanor followed as far as the centre of the ballroom.
“You promised to teach me what a kiss can mean,” she said.
He stopped.
“I did.”
“That one was not performance.”
Gabriel did not turn immediately. When he finally looked back, the charm was gone again, and the man beneath it appeared more honest than he wished to be.
“No,” he admitted.
Eleanor’s heartbeat quickened.
“What was it?”
Gabriel held her gaze. For one suspended second, she believed he might answer. Then he walked through the open door and left without saying another word.