Chapter Twelve
Eden heard the dressmaker leave, then Tha?s’s footsteps coming down the stairs. She was humming a jaunty, if tuneless, melody. She truly could not sing, even without lyrics. It was endearing that she did it anyway.
She threw open his study door, as he knew she would. He looked up from his accounts. She was beaming like a child with a boiled sweet.
“Your wife’s a bloody genius,” she said, perching on the edge of his desk.
“What did you do?”
“Convinced Sophie to get Maria in her shop on Friday. As long as the girl agrees—and she’s a cheerful, sociable thing, so why wouldn’t she?—I’ll bring Elinor to town, and they’ll be able to have a secret meeting.”
“Very clever.”
“Are you proud?” She batted her long lashes at him.
“I am,” he said, somewhat honestly. He would not usually approve of bribing people to tell lies to children, but in this case, it was for an honorable cause. And he could not help but be impressed at Tha?s’s ingenuity.
“Give us a kiss,” she said, scooting closer to him and puckering up her lips. “I’ve earned a bit of love.”
He stiffened at that word. Love. It made him uncomfortable, the idea of them sharing such a connection, even if she was using the word glibly.
“You’re crumpling my papers,” he said.
She let out an annoyed breath.
“Is that what you’ll tell your wife when she comes to you happy and proud, wanting a kiss?”
He hoped he wouldn’t. He could see how that might sting.
“I, er—no?”
“No,” she said decisively. She leaned forward and smacked her lips at him.
He bent down and put a light kiss on them.
God, she was so soft. And she leaned closer, like she wanted more from him.
But he had no idea what to do next.
He moved away, annoyed with himself for his own clumsiness.
She didn’t move. Her eyes stayed closed.
“Is that all I get?” she asked, without opening them.
“I, uh... You want more than one?”
She opened a single eye and squinted at him. “Yes.”
He leaned back in and gave her another peck.
She opened her eyes and rolled them at him. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Won’t you even try? You did it earlier.”
That was the problem. He’d gone as far as he knew how.
It was excruciating, this business of lacking skill. As much as his body wanted to be near hers, his instinct to flee the room was just as strong. Which led to this awkward paralysis, which was just as humiliating as the lack of skill itself.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s difficult for me to... venture into learning new skills.”
“Your problem is you won’t relax,” she said. “And if you won’t relax, you can’t be taught. Romance isn’t in the mind. It’s in the body. In the heart.”
She put her hand on his chest, where his heart beat rapidly underneath it. It felt so good, so why was he so determined to get away from it?
“Perhaps we can try again later,” he got out. “It’s the middle of the day, and—”
“And you spend the evening cooking, then go to bed as soon as supper’s over and won’t let me join you there. So when do you think your lessons ought to happen?”
He sighed. She was correct. He was avoiding her attempts at initiating physical intimacy. He would not improve if he could not bring himself to try.
“You’re right,” he said. “The responsibility to try is mine entirely. You have acquitted yourself admirably, and I’m grateful for your persistence.”
She gave him a wry look. “Gratitude is not going to get you a happy wife, milordy.”
“No. I realize that.”
How to explain in a way that would make sense to her?
“You see,” he said, “I’m afflicted with reluctance. I want to learn the skills you offer, but I have no natural aptitude.”
“And how would you know if you won’t try?”
“I have tried. My past experiences do not reflect well on my innate skill, and I hate to impose my boorishness on others.”
She burst out laughing. “You couldn’t be boorish if you were an actual wild boar with tusks and all. You’d be as polite a boar as ever lived, going through the forest on the tips of your hooves asking the grubs permission to eat them.”
This image would be amusing if he were not so acutely uncomfortable.
“Nevertheless, Tha?s, I’m terrible at intimacy.”
“No. You’re scared of being terrible. You can’t be terrible at something you don’t know how to do. And you’d never have learned how to do anything if you hadn’t tried it first.”
“I’m quite good at most things I try. And I devote myself to becoming perfect. This is different.”
“Ha!” she squawked. “There’s no such thing as perfect. Even from the likes of you. Especially not in matters of tomfuckery.”
“Tom?” he inquired blandly, because he was at a loss to understand his own stubborn behavior. His resistance to attempting to learn might be counterproductive to his own goals, but it went bone-deep.
His dodge did not deter her.
“You’re good at arguing with me,” she said. “If you put in an inch of the effort into learning your lessons that you do avoiding them, you’d be fucking everyone in town.”
“Ugh. That notion is revolting. Imagine the crabs.”
She snorted. “Well, I don’t have crabs, and it’s impossible that you do, so maybe let’s just plunge in and have a frig and see if you’re as bad as you think. We have nothing else to do, and there’s two perfectly good beds in this house with no one in them.”
The idea of going to bed with her at three in the afternoon, light streaming in the windows, the country breeze dancing on their skin, was so wild he wanted to laugh at the idea of it. It sounded wonderful, for a different kind of person. One he could not fathom ever being.
“Oh, don’t look so bloody hopeless,” she clucked at him. “Let’s make a deal. You can teach me something I don’t know how to do, and then I’ll teach you something you don’t know how to do.”
This caught his attention. He liked to teach. And he was good at helping others learn.
After this miserable conversation, it would be restorative to do something he excelled at.
“What would you like me to teach you?” he asked.
“What are you good at?”
He considered this. “Athletics. Greek and Latin. Politics. Philosophy. Accounting. Land management. Agriculture—”
“Everything except bedsports,” she cut in.
He nodded. “Essentially.”
“You forgot cooking.”
“No, I didn’t forget. You interrupted my list.”
“Well, I’m not about to sit for a lecture on accounting, joyful as it sounds. So how about you teach me how to bake a cake.”