Chapter Seventeen
Eden hid in his study for the rest of the day, emerging only to tell her he was going to bed early, claiming he had a headache. (A lie, she was certain.) This left Tha?s to be the most bored woman in the world, except when she remembered falling in the mud and became the most irritated one, or when she remembered making Eden come with nothing but a kiss and was the most smug.
She scavenged in the kitchen for bread and cheese and apples, muttering that she wasn’t a damned mouse. Unfortunately, the house was not built in such a way that there was hope her muttering would disturb Eden in his bedchamber, so her display was entirely for her own benefit, which seemed a waste of ire, as part of the pleasure of cursing was shocking the people who heard you.
And Eden was so easy to needle, it was hard not to enjoy it.
But she’d learned something else about him this afternoon in the kitchen: he was a pleaser. Appealing to his kindness got him to do things he otherwise wouldn’t dream of.
And he liked tenderness. She’d called him love, and his eyes had gone soft with emotion. He must not have had enough affection in his life.
She knew how that was.
Maybe she didn’t need to shock him into learning how to fuck. Maybe she needed to seduce him.
But not the usual way.
She could tell he was already sick with lust for her. No man would pop like that from just a little kissing if he wasn’t half-mad. No, she didn’t need to tempt his passions. She needed to tempt his heart.
Be sweet to him.
It wasn’t really in her nature, sweetness, but she could always rise to a performance when required. She was, after all, the best in her trade.
She’d begin her assault in the morning.
For now, she occupied herself by looking through her leaflets and making notes in her special code for what she wanted to buy. She’d ask Eden to help her with a letter and to check the sums tomorrow. He liked to assist her.
Squinting at drawings and tiny letters by the dim flickering of the candle made her tired, and she was a bit sore from falling in the mud. So at nine—nine!—she went to bed.
The trouble with going to bed at nine was that she was more apt to wake up with the bloody cocks.
“Shut your beaks,” she groaned in the general direction of the window. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”
She wanted to go outside and make rooster stew of every last bloody fowl, but with her luck, they’d peck her, and she’d fall into the chicken coop, and Eden would have to wash bird shit from her hair.
She suspected this was not how to seduce an earl, even one who liked to help.
So rather than storming into Eden’s room yelling about poultry poison, she dressed and went downstairs.
Eden was in the kitchen, drinking tea as Hattie fried up eggs for breakfast.
“Good morning,” he said to her. “You’re up early.”
She glared out the door toward the roosters. “’Tis difficult to sleep through that, I’m afraid,” she said in her governess voice.
“I’m sorry they disturb your rest. I know you don’t get much of it. If there was anything I could do to quiet them, I would.”
“Well, I know one way,” Hattie said, making a gesture like wringing a bird’s neck, and winked at Tha?s.
“Please don’t encourage her,” Eden said. “She’s being polite in front of company, but she might very well murder them yet.”
Hattie laughed. “Mr. Smith said you had a spill yesterday,” she said to Tha?s. “I’ll take your dress home to launder it. Pretty gown. Shame to see it covered in mud, and you with so few things to wear.”
“Well, seeing the kittens was worth it,” Tha?s lied. “And anyway, I have an appointment to visit Sophie’s shop Friday to pick up two more gowns. That should be enough to suit me until it’s time to leave.”
“Glad to hear it,” Hattie said. “Breakfast?”
“Please,” Tha?s said. She was ravenous from her rodent’s meal the night before.
Hattie chatted with them about the weather while she served them, and then Tha?s went upstairs to take a nap, now that the crowing had stopped. When she went back downstairs, Hattie was gone, and Eden was in his study, reading.
“Milord, I need your help,” she said, hoping those words would do their magic. “I don’t suppose you could spare a quarter hour?”
“Of course,” he said, rising. “How can I be of assistance?”
“You can help me carry all my things into your bedchamber.”
He squinted at her, looking far less inclined to be useful.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because Elinor is arriving tomorrow, and she’ll need somewhere to sleep.”
“I was assuming she would sleep with you.”
“Won’t she think that’s odd? You keeping me as your mistress, but not wanting to touch me?”
He considered this. “If she does, surely it’s better than what she might think of us sharing a bed.”
She felt like beating her head against the doorframe. He was so stubborn, and he’d ruin his chances of learning if she couldn’t speed him up.
“I’d feel a bit shameful if she thought I wasn’t doing my job,” Tha?s said. It was a lie. Elinor was the least judgmental person she knew. But appealing to Eden’s emotions seemed more effective than appealing to his loins.
He ran a hand through his hair, looking like he couldn’t make up his mind.
“Besides, love,” she said, “it’s getting time for us to move on with your lessons, if we’re going to teach you how to please your lady before we have to leave.”
He nodded, slowly. “I suppose you’re right.”
“So you’ll help?”
“Yes. Shall we do it now?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“No, I could use a chance to stretch my legs.”
He followed her up the stairs and into her room.
“It’s the contents of your wardrobe you wish me to move?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “You take those, and I’ll take my bits and bobs.”
They set about transferring her things across the hall. When they were done, he had laid out all her clothing on his bed.
“You can hang them in here,” he said, gesturing at his wardrobe. “And the bottom two drawers of that bureau are empty. I didn’t bring much here.”
He turned to leave.
“Before you go,” she said, “would you like to pick out something nice for me to wear tonight?”
His usual reply—no—flashed across his face.
But then something new happened.
A bit of color bloomed on his cheeks, beneath those distinct bones that made him look so handsome.
He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I would.”
Delight fluttered in her chest. She was pleased with herself and proud of him and a bit excited to see what he would choose.
She gestured at the open wardrobe. “Dress me, milord.”
He winced. “Please stop calling me that.”
“Very well, Your Earlship.”
“That’s not even a word.”
“Pardon me, Your Highness.”
“Could you just call me Alastair? This formality between us seems a bit absurd, given the circumstances.”
That flutter happened again, and this time she was less sure why. But it made her not want to make any more cracks at him.
She nodded. “Alastair it is.”
He quirked up a lip. “I like how you say it.”
The flutter turned into a flash of hurt. Was he making fun of her accent? Lord knew she could use a nicer one, but it was still mean of him to mock the way she spoke.
“How do I say it?” she asked.
He smiled. “As though you like forming the word.”
She let out her breath, surprised by the look on his face. Like it brought him genuine joy that she liked his name.
“Well, I do,” she admitted. “Sounds nice. A bit like music.”
“Thank you. Though I must admit, I didn’t pick it out myself.”
“Would’ve been awfully clever for a newborn if you had.”
“I would imagine I was only clever at crying, sleeping, and securing milk.”
“And shitting,” she added.
He winced. “How detailed of you.”
She grinned at him. She very much enjoyed making him wince. It was almost as good as making him cringe. Though, the best was when he closed his eyes and said “Tha?s!” in that voice that sounded like he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
He was quite vivid, in his own way, her stiff Alastair.
Stiff. A reminder of the task at hand.
“Enough stalling, now,” she said. “Choose what I’ll be wearing for you.”
“Right.”
He turned to the wardrobe and began rifling through her things. He paused here and there to look at something closer, then kept rummaging until he pulled out a long, lace, ivory-colored dressing gown. It was one of her scantiest robes: you could see her whole body through the delicate lace, unless she wore a chemise beneath it.
Which she wouldn’t.
He flushed as he held it out to her. “This is rather nice,” he said bashfully.
“Oh, I look delectable in that,” she agreed.
He blushed brighter, looking at the floor, and cleared his throat.
“Well, off to work for me.”