The Earl's Wager (8 page)

She raised both her brows. “All right, but I don’t think you’ve set a very good example of how these dinner parties are supposed to go.”

“I’ll have to make it up to you,” he said over his shoulder as he left. “We’ll meet at our regular time tomorrow.”

“I think you are more of a rule breaker than you let on,” she called back from behind him.

Perhaps she was right. All he knew was he needed to get away from her so he could think—he needed to reassess his tutoring plans and perhaps take another approach. But what approach could he take where he wouldn’t wish something more was between them? The idea of it was preposterous.

…

The next morning, when Will returned to continue lessons with Georgia, he was determined to stifle his interest in her. He attributed his momentary weakness to the fact that he hadn’t been with a woman in a long while. Also because he delighted in seeing his sister so happy in her marriage. Maybe it was time for him to consider a wife of his own, and the party at Lady Laurel’s might be a new beginning not only for Miss Duvall, but for him as well. If he was going to continue the Sutton lineage he needed to have a child, otherwise his holdings and all the improvements he planned to make at Black Pine Hall would pass to Arabella’s boy child or a distant relative.

As he waited for Georgia in the drawing room, he gazed out the window and determined to be a better instructor.

“I received word from Mrs. Marchant this morning,” Georgia’s voice sounded from behind him, giving him a start. He welcomed the distinct pitch of her voice, even grew to enjoy the unique timbre of her accent, but he batted down any untoward thoughts of wanting her by reminding himself he was here to be a tutor—to do a job, nothing more.

He moved toward her. “When you enter a room, you might want to say hello first. Or better yet, have the butler announce you.”

She rolled her eyes before saying, “All right, all right. I was hoping we could go to London this afternoon. A messenger arrived. Mrs. Marchant said she needs to see me for more fittings.”

“We could do that, although I had planned a dancing lesson for you today.”

“Could we do both?” she asked, the distinct line across her pale forehead dimpled inward.

“Yes, I suppose. And while we are at the modiste, perhaps she could make some day frocks for you as well?” he inquired, determined to keep his mind on the business at hand, not the way her bottom lip quivered the tiniest bit.

“I’m certain she could, as long as Oliver agrees. This is going on his account, after all.”

“Marsdale won’t mind.” He paced across the room, recalculating the time he’d have with her this morning if they had to make a trip into London. “What kind of dancing experience do you have?”

“I know how to waltz, if that’s what you mean.”

“A waltz would be a good place to start, although I didn’t arrange for any music.” In his grand determination to ignore the interest he had in Miss Duvall, he may have miscalculated when he’d scheduled dancing lessons—dancing would require touching her person.

“We can waltz without music.” Her matter-of-fact, no-nonsense way of approaching things gave his heart a squeeze.

“You’re quite right.” He approached her in measured steps, resolute about not letting the idea of his hands touching her waist send him from the room. “If you’ll place your hand on my shoulder—my hand goes here.” He positioned his hand on her midriff. A pulse of heat stretched up his arm. Immediately, he determined that he shouldn’t have planned for dancing lessons at all. He clearly had not given enough forethought to the idea or how his body would react. And react his body did.

“I said I know how to waltz.” She stood stiffly.

“If that’s so, why don’t you show me?” Logic trumped desire, and he concluded that he would overcome his temporary fascination with her. Somehow. He pressed his hand on the curve of her back.

“There’s no need to drag me.”

“I don’t believe I was dragging you,” he said once their feet began to move.

Georgia stepped on his foot and said, “I beg your pardon.”

“Are you trying to injure me?” he quipped.

“It was accidental, I assure you.”

He spotted a wisp of a smile on her upturned face, he was quite certain of it. They moved around the room in a waltz without music, but Will felt at ease. Although she was small in stature, she fit perfectly well in his arms despite his height. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to spend too much time teaching her to dance, but he enjoyed holding her in his arms just the same.

She pressed her breasts against his chest. His body itched to keep her there, but propriety dictated he inform her she was too close, that an ample amount of space should be left between them. But he didn’t. Despite the manners he knew he possessed but chose to ignore, he let himself feel the heat from her body on his. He relished the softness and sweet lilac smell of her.

Under normal circumstances, he’d never be allowed to be alone with an unmarried, unchaperoned woman, which demonstrated how much Oliver trusted him. Stopping abruptly at that thought, he set her apart from him—he could never violate that trust with his improper feelings. He cleared his throat. “A little more distance between us is more appropriate.”

Blinking several times, she said, “I thought being close, well… It felt quite nice, actually.”

The way her blue eyes stared raptly at him, he believed her a complete innocent. No malice or artifice tinged her words. “Well, yes, it feels nice, but it isn’t appropriate.”

“Why?” A V shape infringed upon the space between her eyes, but despite this, she remained lovely.

“Because it’s not.” He retreated a step. How was he supposed to explain this? He wasn’t her mother. Women were supposed to teach these boundaries to other women, not an unmarried, eligible bachelor. “Good God.”

“What is it?” Georgia looked behind her, as though someone had entered the room by mistake.

He hadn’t considered the implications of teaching her these things, with him being an unmarried man. “I just realized my job is more difficult than I thought.”

“How so?” she inquired. Her skin flushed pink with exertion from dancing. Her hair was tied back in a severe knot at the base of her neck, but despite this, she was lovely. Even with the less than desirable clothes she wore, she was very attractive.

His groin tightened. He couldn’t do this. He had to tell Marsdale the wager was off. If he danced with her any longer, he’d certainly crack under the pressure of keeping his hands in their proper places.

“For me to explain why we shouldn’t dance with our bodies touching is unseemly,” he said with exasperation. Didn’t she understand his hands wanted to involuntarily pull her hips into his so there would be no distance between their bodies? His random thoughts had become increasingly erratic. All the more reason to pace away and put the length of the room between them.

“When I think back to the dances I’ve attended at home, it seems as if my body touched my partner. But it was quite some time ago,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I was younger, certainly, but… If I want to find the right match, wouldn’t I…shouldn’t I, know how a man’s body feels on mine?”

He stared at her dumbly.

“It’s a legitimate question.” She raised her brows, as though understanding his silence to some degree. “What if I don’t like how his body feels against mine? And when dancing, it’s with several layers of clothing. If I didn’t like the feeling, then I certainly wouldn’t like the feel of… Well, you know what I’m saying.”

Praying for patience, Will stared at the ceiling. The tightness in his groin grew uncomfortably rigid. In the grand scheme of things, he had more patience with women than most men, because his sister had constantly questioned his authority, but this was an entirely new level in endurance. He nodded in her direction. He wanted her to know he did understand her reasoning, but that there was no need for her to repeat what she said, and hopefully his nodding was enough to silence her.

“That is not how you test the potential of a future husband.” He swallowed hard. “No, you cannot see what it feels like.”

“But I just did. And like I said, it felt quite nice.”

He could come up with nothing to say in return, because she was absolutely right—it did feel nice. To him it felt better than nice. It made him want to grind his hardness into her female curves. He wanted to unwrap the coiffure at the base of her neck and run his hands through her chestnut hair.

And those desires could never happen. From her. Or him. They weren’t right for each other. She wasn’t a biddable Englishwoman like he’d always imagined he’d marry. She was completely wrong for him in every way—and she was his brother-in-law’s ward, who’d been entrusted to his care.

“Will? What is it?” she asked.

Contemplative, he left his spot near the window and approached her. “I thought you weren’t going to call me by my given name.”

Her expression sincere, the line across her forehead creased. “I’ve decided if I’m going to ask you personal types of questions, it would be all right to call you Will. If it’s not, just tell me.”

He liked the way it sounded to hear her say his name, and it bothered him that he liked it. He was in a position of authority with her—she was
his
ward. Of sorts. “I’m supposed to be your teacher, so, yes, you should feel comfortable asking me anything.”

“Well, then, I do have some questions to ask. My mother died when I was twelve, and it’s not as if I could ask my father, so that leaves you.”

As soon as he’d said she could ask him anything, he knew he’d regret it. He just didn’t think it would be mere seconds afterward.

“I was actually getting closer to Arabella and Oliver and have become more comfortable with them since my arrival, but now with her
expecting a child
—see I didn’t say pregnancy—I can’t really bother her with all my ‘how to gauge a potential husband properly’ questions. Don’t you agree?”

Knowing the inevitable—that she’d most certainly ask him personal, if not embarrassing, questions regarding marriage, he still heard himself answer, “Yes, I agree.”

He should change his response and tell her to ask Arabella—he should—he knew he should, but there was a curious niggling in the back of his mind that he truly wanted to know what she’d ask. In some obscure way, he wanted to be the one to answer her questions regarding husband-hunting, no matter how outrageous. And when it came to Georgia Duvall, he’d come to expect the outrageous.

“I have no family left and no one to ask, so I’ll get right to it.” She strode across the room with confident steps. “When I find a man I want to marry…I’ll want him to want me.” She gazed up at him with an expectant look on her face. “Shouldn’t I know how to…at least know how to kiss?”

Deafening silence engulfed the room. Will knew his mouth hung open, so he forced it shut. “Many women marry a man without kissing him first.”

Vehemently, she shook her head. “I don’t think I believe you. And even if that’s true, I don’t want that person to be me.” She swung around and paced across the polished wood floor. “I want to see that list of yours, because I want to add kissing to it.”

Swallowing hard against the parched length of his throat, he had the urge for a drink of whiskey. Actually, no—he had the desire to get stumbling drunk. What on earth had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Seven

Her arms crossed, Georgia sat in the carriage and gazed out the window, frustrated with herself for bringing up the notion of kissing, not knowing what had possessed her to be so bold. Yes, she adored provoking him, but this time she’d pushed him too far, and she absolutely had no intention of adding kissing to the list.

The waltz with Will had left her breathless. Not from the physical exertion, but rather his physical proximity. She glanced across the carriage and looked for the shaving cut he’d had before, but it had healed.

She wondered how sharing some silly lessons with him had changed her perception of him so quickly. He had been Lord Grandleigh, but now he was Will. She wanted to call him by his given name, even if it wasn’t entirely proper.

While dancing, she’d stepped on his feet not because she didn’t know how to dance, but because she hadn’t expected the shocking, yet exhilarating, thrill of being in his arms. She was taken completely off guard. He’d even been complimentary and appreciative of her suggestions for his stable. During the card game, she’d expertly maneuvered him into playing piquet. He could have gotten angry with her, but instead he only said,
You’ve beaten me quite soundly
. It was at that moment her heart melted a tiny bit. Most men took offense when she bested them at cards, but Will didn’t. He appeared to take delight in it, almost—although she wasn’t quite sure—admired her for it.

She’d decided Will was the enemy, but now the enemy had contrived a way to soften her defenses. Had he chosen dancing lessons to get under her skin, make her warm to him, so she’d go along with whomever he endorsed as a husband for her? Perhaps it wasn’t a conspiracy exactly, but she still felt as if she’d been ambushed. She needed to keep her goal at the forefront of her mind—Will Sutton was not going to derail her plans.

Once they arrived at the dress shop, Will asked Mrs. Marchant to make her some day frocks as well as gowns appropriate for a country ball. They discussed taffeta and muslin, silk and satins, painted cottons and brocades. Georgia began to feel like a dress-up doll instead of a person.

Finally, Mrs. Marchant asked Will to leave and to retrieve her after an hour’s time.

As soon as he left the shop, Georgia got straight to information she wanted to know and asked, “How do you seduce a man?”

“You’ll have the clothes, but you need the proper appearance and look,” Mrs. Marchant said pointedly.

“What do you mean? What else do I need besides the correct clothes?”

Mrs. Marchant directed Georgia to a settee in the back room. “By appearance, I mean you need to know how to look at them—at men. First of all, don’t be afraid to hold a man’s gaze. You’ve no reason to look away.”

“All right,” Georgia said eagerly. She sat across from Mrs. Marchant, holding her hands on her lap. “What else?”

“Choose your words with care. Listen to what he’s saying and compliment him. Act interested in his endeavors. A man wants to know he is the only person in your world—that he
is
your world. He wants to protect and cherish you.” Mrs. Marchant nodded. “Let him do that.”

“I’m not sure I completely understand, but I’ll try.”

“Tell him your dreams and desires. Tell him you’ve never told anyone else your secrets except him,” Mrs. Marchant continued smoothly.

“But isn’t that like lying?” Georgia queried. “I’m not sure I want to be dishonest.”

“I’m giving you information,” Mrs. Marchant said simply. “You choose to do with it what you will.”

Georgia nodded. This capturing-a-man business required a lot to learn.

“Your coiffure is too conservative.” Mrs. Marchant pulled some of Georgia’s hair from the knot at the back of her head. “You need it loose. Have a few strands curl along the sides of your face, to soften your features.”

So far, everything she’d said, Georgia could do. Well, except the lying part. “What else?”

“Walk with confidence, hold your head up, straighten your back. Any man would be lucky to have you as his wife, and you must believe and show it. You are a prize to be won.”

“I’ve never thought of myself that way before. I’m not sure I know how to be…be a prize, like you say.”

“It will take time to change your thinking,” Mrs. Marchant said confidently. “Consider the areas in which you are knowledgeable. You said yesterday that you wanted to be a horse trainer or jockey, yes?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“The horses you train, do they know how fast they are? Do they know they are going to win?”

Georgia held her lips firm and contemplated the seamstress’s question. “No, probably not.”

“But with time and practice, your horses get stronger and faster, and more confident, no?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you, too, will know your worth with time and training. The first step is changing the way you think.”

Some of what she said started to make sense. “Perseus didn’t know he had the heart to run, but I did. I helped him believe he could run and win.” Georgia pointed to her breastbone. “Now I must do the same for myself.”

“There. You are already making progress,” Mrs. Marchant said with a knowing smile and clapped her hands together. “Seducing a man has more to do with how you view yourself than anything else.”

“What a fascinating concept. But I don’t know how to kiss. Or rather, I’ve never been kissed.”

“Well, there isn’t that much to it, but isn’t the Earl of Grandleigh helping to prepare you?”

Not exactly. “Oh, yes, he’s made sure I know how to waltz, eat, play cards, enter a dining room, and which utensils to use at a dinner party. He’s told me what kinds of things gentlemen like to talk about—the weather, hounds, or something equally boring. I was angry about him
tutoring
me at first, but he’s not so bad. I know he only means to help.”

“Kissing is another matter entirely, but once you’ve mastered being confident in yourself, I know you’ll be fine with the kissing side of things as well.”

“Do you really think so?” Georgia asked. Everything Will had taught her, or thought he taught her, were things she already knew—except kissing—that was different, because she truly didn’t know.

The dressmaker grinned. “I know you’ll be able to kiss with great expertise someday. Don’t you worry.”

“I think I want to kiss someone before I marry.” Georgia’s eyes widened—she’d said what she was thinking out loud. “Is that inappropriate?”

“I kissed several different men before I married.”

The idea sounded scandalous, but Georgia was determined to embrace the confidence she knew she possessed and discover what it was like to kiss a man. Only, whenever she thought about kissing a man, Will’s face came to mind. “May I ask, what do you know of Lord Grandleigh?”

“What exactly do you mean?” the modiste asked.

“From what I understand, his family had come upon hard times and Oliver helped them. Is that true?”

Mrs. Marchant stacked the fabric in neat piles and put pins in their proper pincushions. “Yes, his family wasn’t well respected for a time, its true. The previous Lord Grandleigh had so many creditors after him, I believe he barely escaped debtor’s prison. Had he not passed on, he surely would have perished in prison.”

“But that’s horrible.” Her stomach sank at the thought of her father in prison. What a terrible burden for Will, as the oldest and only heir, to bear. “Arabella and Lord Grandleigh are so nice. How could their father do that to them?”

“He was so distraught over the death of his wife. I’m afraid he never recovered. Some businessmen took advantage of his vulnerability when the younger Grandleigh was away to university, so I doubt he really knew everything that was happening.”

Deep sadness filled her soul. As much as she disliked Will, or so she thought, she would never want him to carry the weight of financial burdens. “But things are better now, are they not?”

“Yes, his debts have been paid, but I fear the
ton
has a long memory, and in the eyes of many, he should have served time since his father did not.”

Georgia’s defensive hackles rose. “That’s not fair. It wasn’t Lord Grandleigh’s fault—what his father did.”

“Yes, but he’s still trying to make amends.”

“He paid his debts.” Or in this case, she knew that Oliver had paid them. “He doesn’t owe anyone anything.”

“As I said, the
ton’s
memory is long. I would imagine Lord Grandleigh is eager to make a good match for himself with a well-titled family of means. That way his status among
beau monde
will rise, possibly even higher than it was before his father made poor choices. Let’s go back out front. I’m sure Lord Grandleigh will be back any moment.” Mrs. Marchant directed Georgia toward the front of the shop. “But for propriety’s sake, let’s keep this conversation between us, no?”

Georgia strode toward the entrance and remembered to stand straighter and keep her shoulders back. She had to project confidence, and she would, but her thoughts kept drifting to what the seamstress had said about Will marrying into a family of means. She had a healthy dowry, but she would never elevate her husband’s status in society. Not as long as she lived in England.

She must not concern herself with Will, because she had to decide who she’d select to marry. While her plan had been someone who wouldn’t live long, having spent time with Will made her start to question her plan. Why had it become so important to her to kiss someone? Granted, she wanted to goad Will into being annoyed with her. She loved ruffling his impeccably somber feathers. Being unpredictable and seeing how he responded to her antics was amusing. Yes, she’d told him she wanted to kiss before she married, but did she want to kiss any man…or Will?

As the front door opened, Mrs. Marchant said, “You will do quite well at seducing a man and get exactly what you want.” Will entered, and she said to him, “My lord, we’ve finished. Three of the dresses will be ready tomorrow.”

“I’m anxious for the house party at Lady Laurel’s.” Georgia rubbed her gloved hands together and said to the modiste, “I’m thrilled to wear one of the dresses you’ve made for me. And I appreciate your insight into…well, into what to expect at the party.”

“Haven’t I given you enough preparation for the party?” he asked as he guided her toward their carriage. “Do you feel ill-prepared? Perhaps we should talk more this evening? We haven’t much time.”

“My lord, you seem more worried about this party than I do,” she said.

“You thanked Mrs. Marchant for her insights. I thought perhaps I haven’t been doing my job.” He held out his hand for her to take as she stepped up.

“I think I would feel better if we went over a few more things tonight after dinner, because I have questions.” She took his hand briefly, and a frisson of warmth spread through her. The touch ended in less than a second, and she was left wishing it was longer.

“I will stay for dinner this evening, then.” Inside the carriage, he tapped on the roof to proceed. “You can ask me any question you’d like. In fact, you can ask me now. We don’t have to wait until this evening.”

She peered at him across the coach. She wanted to ask him about the
ton
and what it felt like to have some of the members scrutinize him—all because of something his father had done. But that would be too personal.

Instead, she could ask him who might be in attendance at Lady Laurel’s, and if there was someone in particular she should meet. Privately, she wondered if another gentleman in attendance would be interested in teaching her how to kiss. But still, the idea of kissing anyone other than Will didn’t enthuse her.