Jillian Stone - [Phaeton Black 03] Read online

  She was tempted to answer in Alice-speak, something memorized from childhood. But was he baiting her? Exeter often accused her of being immature, but in actuality, it was he who was uncomfortable with the notion of her maturity. She slid a sultry smile his way. “As long as it’s not poison, wot?”

  Emboldened by several sips of brandy, Mia turned to Jersey. “And what more can you tell us of this—bookshop proprietor, Mr. Eden Phillpott?”

  Jersey puffed slowly on his cigar. “Valentine and I were escorted into a small room in the back of the shop. He sat in a large chair with his legs crossed—part human with the head of a lion.”

  Mia stared. “Like the Egyptian goddess, Hathor, or . . . male equivalent?”

  Jersey cracked a lopsided grin. “He wore a tweed shooting jacket with elbow patches and smoked French cigarettes, lighting one from the butt of the other.”

  Mia leaned forward. “You mentioned his teachings—knowledge that must be imparted to my body. How might this be accomplished?” She looked from one man to the other. “I take it that someone—must instruct me, personally?”

  Exeter set his brandy down. “How are you feeling this evening?” Gently, he took hold of her arm, placing his thumb on her wrist. Hooking a finger into his waistcoat pocket, he slipped out his watch. Mia waited for him to finish taking her pulse. He asked the same set of questions every evening.

  “Somewhat agitated, I suppose.” She exhaled, a bit loudly. “There is this—I don’t know how describe it. It feels like tension. And sensations of hot and cold—as if something is building inside me.”

  “Your pulse is up, slightly, from last night.” Exeter released her wrist. “No headache?”

  She shook her head no, then yes. “There is a dull pressure in the back of the skull. Nothing painful, as yet.”

  Exeter settled into the wing chair opposite. “Mia, there is a doctor on Harley Street. In fact there are several physicians who treat women’s hysteria with a massage therapy. I thought we might consider—”

  Mia cut in. “But, what if something went badly wrong—a shift in the middle of treatment?”

  He sighed. “That is one of the complications.”

  Mia’s cheeks flamed with heat. “This is all so humiliating.” She slid her gaze from Jersey to Exeter. “Why couldn’t you do this therapy?”

  When Exeter hesitated, Jersey snuffed out his cigar. “Someone has to relieve her, Jason. If you won’t do it, I will.”

  Exeter’s frown darkened into something truly menacing. “You will do no such thing.” The two men stared each other down.

  Finally, Jersey broke the deadlock. “Mr. Phillpott kindly provided us with instructions—a version of this very technique has changed things dramatically for me. I believe it will work for you, as well, Mia.”

  “And yet, we actually know very little about this therapy,” Exeter’s argument was more of a warning.

  Jersey stood and stretched. “I’m off to play a cutthroat game of backgammon with Valentine.” On his way out of the study, he tossed a conspiratorial wink at her just to irritate Exeter. “Ask him for Valentine’s notes.”

  Mia smiled. Everything about this brave and stoic Nightshade had always seemed a bit dark and tormented. But lately he was less morose—as if a great burden had been lifted. “Good night, Jersey.”

  “It’s good to feel human again.” Jersey shut the door softly.

  Exeter poured them each another brandy and settled into a wing chair. He studied her with steely eyes. Not his usual evaluation, this was more like the way he studied a chess piece when his king was threatened, and there were few moves left on the board.

  Mia finally released a sigh. “You’ve been staring at me all night with those angry eyes, like I was in for a good paddling.”

  No answer from him, not a peep, just the ticking of the wall clock.

  He sipped his brandy and continued to stare over the rim of his glass. Finally, he lowered the snifter. “Oh, I’m not going to paddle you, Mia. I’m going to make you climax.”

  She gulped hard and his eyes dropped to her throat. He raked a strand of hair behind his ears, and something wild and thrilling stirred in her belly. All she had thought about these last few months was this man—so calm and reserved—so completely and perfectly handsome. He was her protector. Her teacher. Her knight in somewhat tarnished armor.

  He was . . . her Exeter. And he was everything she had ever wanted in a man.

  She had dreamed about doing things with him—wicked fantasies that were about to come true . . . only in the oddest way possible. She would experience intimacy with him, even though he did not love her passionately.

  That he cared for her deeply was a certainty—just not in the way a man loved a woman. These physical intimacies were being foisted upon him. Mia sighed. If she took into account his most recent behavior, there were signs he might be reevaluating their relationship—like last night. Exeter had kissed the inside of her wrist, and then quickly apologized. “From here on out, I will have to keep a close watch on myself.” And there had been a flicker of desire in his eyes—she was sure of it.

  “I take it you are talking about a kind of release.” She raised a determined chin and met his gaze. “I will reach some kind of apex of pleasure, after which the involuntary urge to shift will diminish.”

  With a flick of his eyes Exeter read the mantel clock. He reached inside his dinner jacket and handed over a piece of folded notepaper. “Here, take this.”

  “Valentine’s notes?

  He nodded. “Read them in your room.”

  Mia rose from her chair. “When shall I expect you?”

  “I am going to finish this brandy. Make an appearance in the parlor, and retire early.” He looked up at her. “Will that give you enough time?”

  “Good Lord, Exeter.” Mia rolled her eyes. “Could we please get this small matter over with? Don’t leave me pacing.”

  He swirled a slosh of amber around his glass. “This is not a small matter, and you will see me—when I get there.”

  She shut the study door louder than necessary. Not a slam, but something good and testy.

  Exeter closed his eyes and lay his head back against the tufted upholstery of his wing chair. He pictured Mia reading Valentine’s notes and immediately fell to massaging his temples. At least the notes would prepare her, but it made his task no less precarious.

  He was already teetering on the edge of lasciviousness with his lovely ward and yet he had held back. He was twelve years her senior—nothing new in that, of course. And this certainly wouldn’t be the first time a gentleman formed an attachment to a younger cousin. In fact, marriages of this kind were almost commonplace.

  So what held him back? Mia had grown into one of the loveliest creatures he had ever set eyes upon. There were times when all he wished to do was look upon her. Once or twice she had caught him admiring her and he had not shifted his eyes, but had allowed his gaze to linger, even caress her.

  His gaze moved to the chess table in front of the hearth. Several nights past, she had opened with the queen’s gambit and immediately sacrificed a pawn—only to get her pawn back seven moves later! He was quite sure it would not be long before she would beat him at his favorite game.

  That same evening, Mia had called him stubborn to a fault and he had called her recalcitrant. Exeter exhaled a silent sigh. All he had ever wished for Mia was a happy, normal life. Grow up, meet a solid young man, and marry. Establish a home of her own and children. Everything that was no longer possible for her.

  He drained his glass and tried not to think too hard about what he was about to do. Leaving his study, he noted the jump in his pulse, well beyond its usual sixty-eight beats per minute. He checked in with his guests in the parlor. Just Valentine and Jersey hunched quietly over a backgammon board. America had retired early. He walked the perimeter of the room in silence, not unaware of the fact that he was poor company this evening.

  Exeter pivoted on his heel and said good n
ight.

  He climbed the curve of the grand staircase slowly, not in dread, but with considerable caution. It was very likely this night would change his relationship with Mia forever. They would have to find a new path together, a new way of seeing each other, relating to one another.

  There was a possibility, if he handled this experience right, it could open up a whole new life for her. But if things went badly—if she shifted unexpectedly—the experiment could end in heartbreak.

  Exeter didn’t bother to turn up the gaslight in his bedchamber. He found his dressing room by feel and removed a freshly pressed cravat from the highboy. Raising his chin, he loosened the tie he wore and slipped it through his collar. With both neck cloths looped in one hand, he collected his medical kit and made his way to Mia’s room.

  He rapped quietly before he slipped inside. It was to be expected Mia would be nervous—but he could palpably feel his own anxiety heighten, as he pressed the door shut. He turned around and found her standing near her four-poster bed, wearing nothing but a pale damask counterpane. As she turned, the gossamer quilt fell off one shoulder and the loosely wrapped coverlet parted. Exeter inhaled sharply. A deep angle of exposed flesh invited his gaze. Rounded breasts, and lower—past her navel—a darker hint of curls. She had removed all but the pillows and sheets from her bed, and had lit several lamps and a number of candles. The effect against the pale peach skin tones of her body was mesmerizing.

  Twice this evening he had seen her swallow hard. Now it was his turn. “This won’t require a complete disrobing—unless . . .”

  “And if a shift happens?” she asked.

  “In a heightened state of arousal? I should think I’m either dead or badly maimed.” Exeter winced a bit. “Sorry. You must forgive my poor attempt at gallows humor.”

  Mia managed a soft, skittish laugh. “And here I was trying for lovely and seductive.”

  “And you are all of that.” He closed some of the distance between them. “But this is not a seduction, Mia—this first time is to be a lesson in how to use your sexual release to control the inner beast.”

  She glanced up at him shyly. “I read the notes, Exeter. There is some kind of connection, a state of being that happens during the shifts which correlates to the act of pleasure.”

  “If it wasn’t for the fact that you could injure yourself—or me—I would have given you the notes and let you experiment in private. But we need to be careful here. You read the example of the young man who died?”

  Mia nodded. “It happened during a partial shift. He stopped breathing and never recovered. The lion-headed creature, Mr. Eden Phillpott, advises there be a mentor or guide present, like yourself.”

  “Someone with experience.” Exeter bit out, making sure she understood their relationship—that of instructor and student. He leaned over the sheets and stacked a number of pillows near the middle of the headboard. “I believe it would be most comfortable for you if you would lie back—in the middle of your bed.”

  As he straightened, he became aware of Mia’s gaze locked on the ties in his hands. Her eyes quickly darted back up to his face. She nodded weakly as the color drained from her cheeks.

  Hoping to appear less stern, Exeter raised both brows. “I am obliged to ask, what would pleasure you most? I am willing to do whatever it is you need of me tonight.”

  She turned her back and stepped out of the coverlet, letting it fall to the floor. “I thought this wasn’t to be a seduction.”

  He took in every inch of her lovely lithe body—the curve of her spine, and soft shoulder blades—not too angular. He reached out to caress her round, smooth buttocks, and stopped himself. “Perhaps you might order me to do things to you . . . if the thought excites you.”

  Her skin glowed in the candlelight—not the typical rosy porcelain of the winsome English lass, but something warmer, sleeker, in pale tawny-colored tones.

  “Something like . . . look at me, Exeter.” Unpinning her hair, she pivoted, slowly, arching her back as she turned toward him. He felt as though his eyes devoured her breasts, which were small and perfect with brown nipples set high on the slope of the curve. Stunning. Arousing.

  Last night, he had glimpsed her standing in the open window, so achingly beautiful bathed in nothing but the pale moonlight. Then later, so vulnerable—in a shivering, insensible state—her rigid body as cold as ice. He had cared for her many times in the aftermath of her return shift to human form—carried her home and placed her in a warm bath. During those times, he was her protector or her doctor—not the man who was about to become her . . . Exeter exhaled a silent groan.

  Waves of chestnut hair fell down her back. Yes, he had seen her before, but this was exquisite, and sensuous. He cleared his throat and yet his voice remained husky. “Or . . . you could ask me to be more forward—more aggressive.”

  Her eyes gleamed with the heat of a young woman whose sexual interest was building. “Then do to me with your hands, what your eyes are doing to me now.”

  Exeter brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. “Open your mouth.”

  He pushed deeper and her tongue swirled around the tip as he slipped in his thumb. She wrapped her lips around the thick digit and sucked. Exeter closed his eyes, momentarily, to temper his pleasure. He knew this would be difficult beyond measure, but he was wrong.

  This, in fact, was the trial of his life.

  He dropped his hands down to her breast and rolled a nipple between slick fingertips. She swayed forward, moaning in pleasure.

  He cautioned himself. She must not become overwhelmed, consumed by sensation. He could not let passion overtake either of them. The doctor in him asked, “How are you feeling?”

  Mia’s lovely dark eyes shimmered with light.

  “So, the cat prowls.” Exeter withdrew and studied her for other signs of a shift. “What I am about to do is primarily for my safety, though it may also help to discourage a transformation.” He helped her into bed and she reclined at a comfortable angle against the pillows.

  Exeter could not help but stare. “You look like a nude by Edgar Degas—one of those ballet girls he so loves to paint.” Exeter loosed one of the ties looped through his fingers. He reached out for her hand, winding the cloth around her wrist several times before he made a knot. “Too tight?”

  Gleaming eyes looked at him—eyes that were aroused. She exhaled a sigh and her belly shuddered. “I’m fine.”

  Exeter pulled the neck cloth taut and wrapped it around the bedpost. “Are you cold?”

  She shook her head. “When the cat is near, the elements don’t seem to bother me.” Exeter removed his jacket as he walked around to the far side of the bed. “Do you want the candles?”

  Her smile was shy, and so beguiling. “I want to see you—and everything you do.” Exeter looked up from his wrapping and tying. “Would you like me to disrobe? That might make you more comfortable—or no?”

  Mia moistened her lips, scraping the bottom lightly with her teeth. “Odd, I suppose, but there is something wonderfully wicked about being undressed, on display as it were, for my fully clothed instructor.”

  Exeter smiled at her candor and her irony. “That is because everything about this intimate little tableau is erotic.” He finished tying her other arm to the bedpost. “Your initiation into physical intimacy is happening too quickly for any young lady. But I also must be honest. As experienced as I am, this is arousing for me, as well.”

  A slow smile curled up the ends of her mouth. “That makes me glad.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, and rolled up his sleeves.

  “There’s warm water in the washbasin, and soap—are you planning on doing surgery?” She was teasing him—making light of the situation. Perhaps he should follow her lead.

  Exeter reclined onto an elbow. “No, but we could play doctor.”

  He enjoyed her round-eyed look so much he allowed himself a grin. And something else—this wasn’t nearly as awkward as he had thought it might be. “I
could place my stethoscope to your heart. Or I could take your temperature . . . rectally.” When her mouth dropped open, he chuckled out loud. Good God, this might even turn out to be pleasurable.

  She looked wonderfully naughty—her cheeks flushed with desire as her mouth opened to him. How he wanted to ravish those lips. Exeter knew he was riding a fine line, and he was dangerously close to taking her—giving in to every carnal thought he’d ever had about Mia. And there had been so many of late.

  She interrupted his lustful thoughts with one of her own. “You were being serious—about the . . . the thermometer?”

  “Entirely serious. Much of arousal is in the mind as well as the heart.” He traced the curve of her breast and tweaked a nipple. Her entire body jumped, then shuddered from his touch. “As you can see, some of it is pure anatomy. The human body has a number of arousal receptors, including the anus.” He moved to the other breast and circled the areola so lightly he barely touched her, yet the nipple quickly puckered into a hard point. “What do you feel when I do this?”

  Mia’s only answer was a sweet gasp for breath.

  “Of course technique plays a role, as well.” Exeter trailed a fingertip down her torso, over ribs barely felt, and lingered for a teasing swirl around her navel. “Where does your body tell me to go, Mia?”

  She raised her heavy-lidded gaze from his hand to his eyes. “Lower.”

  Exeter hesitated just long enough to elicit the cutest growl. “Was that the panther or Mia?” A testament to the veracity of Phillpott’s notes. As her arousal grew, she would likely exhibit signs of an emerging shift.

  Her pupils were round and black, and she smiled slyly.

  So far, he thought they were managing well. The trick was to keep the arousal slow and steady. When Mia drew close to her climax, he would help her focus—keep her sharp and present, even as she surrendered to pleasure. If she didn’t transform—if she kept the cat at bay—that meant this system of shift management was going to work. With practice, she could use these same techniques to shift back and forth at will.