Tutoring Lady Jane Read online

  She gasped again. The idea was scandalous and the thought of sharing him with those two tarts, revolting. It had been a long time since she harbored secret fantasies of the viscount, and the very thought of sharing him was inconceivable. In her dreams, he had wanted no one other than herself.

  "What is it you wish for? For I know you want. I am aware of it coursing through your veins. I can feel it on your skin; I can smell it." And as if to make his point, he leaned into her, his lips teasingly grazing her neck. "Most definitely I can smell it. Tell me, Lady Jane, is it desire I sense? Do you yearn to be seduced by the wicked India Rat, or is your penchant more voyeuristic? Do you want to watch me have sex with those women, then sneak out and rut with a more respectable gentleman, all the while thinking of me?"

  "I want you to teach me to be the type of woman a man desires."

  There, she'd said it. The only thing left to do was steel herself against the eerie silence and his ensuing mocking laughter.

  But the laughter did not come. Instead, he placed his warm hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. She was instantly met with his legendary eyes. They were not teasing and sensual, but dark and haunting in the dim candlelight that poured through the French doors.

  "The tutoring of Lady Jane," he murmured his voice dark and dangerous. "I vow, I'm astonished."

  "Well," she huffed, irked by his words and the reminder that she was unable to capture a man's attention. She didn't need any reminders that her body was not made to fascinate a man. "You needn't be disagreeable, sir."

  "I have neither agreed nor disagreed."

  "But you--"

  "--was already preparing my lessons, I assure you."

  She was speechless as she looked up into his handsome face. A face she had always been drawn to, and lips she had dreamed of kissing.

  "I know what it is you want, and I assure you, you could not find yourself a better, or more knowledgeable teacher."

  "Well, yes," she said, licking her lips once again, fear and uncertainty suddenly clouding her excitement. "However, I'm not at all certain that we will suit. Perhaps we should not proceed with this ... with this bargain."

  "We will suit very well, never fear. I know what it is women want, but most of all, I know what it is you want, Jane. And believe me, I'm more than capable of instructing you."

  "Capable, yes, but willing?"

  He looked into her eyes and she swore he was seeing her deepest desires as well as her darkest fears.

  "Willing? I'm more than willing to take you to bed and show you everything a man desires."

  "And what do you wish for in return for your tutelage?" she asked. "I have some money and jewels."

  His eyes darkened and his hands gripped her shoulders. The silence stretched on, and Jane fought the urge to squirm beneath his cold glare. "I don't give a damn about jewels and I have more money than I could waste in a lifetime. What else have you to offer, Jane?"

  She felt her face fall. She could grant him nothing more than monetary rewards. She had neither her virginity nor a beautiful face or body to offer him--nothing else to tempt him. "I have nothing, my lord, that you would want."

  "You're wrong, Jane. There is something I want. Your corruption--and all at my experienced, debauched hands. I shall tutor you, Lady Jane, in the pleasures of the flesh. And in the end, we will see who is the pupil and who the master."

  Chapter Two

  The rain streaked down the window in rushing rivulets as Gavin stared out into the black night. Howling wind sent the rain splattering against the glass once again, temporarily blinding him before a brilliant streak of lightning forked down from the heavens, illuminating the inky darkness.

  Damn it to hell, what was he doing pining for Lady Jane? How long had it been since he'd taken up his post by the window, searching through the dark for a glimpse of a carriage lamp? Too bloody long.

  She obviously was not going to meet him tonight or any other night, for that matter. Why the hell had he accepted her outrageous offer? He was setting himself up. He knew it. He should never have agreed to be her tutor in the sexual arts. And he damn well should not have invited her to Richmond. What the hell had he been thinking? That she was different? That she didn't think of him the way the rest of the ton did? When he'd penned his invitation to her, he'd had the foolish notion that perhaps this bargain of theirs might go beyond what either of them had planned. Bloody fool. It had no doubt been the lingering effects of too much claret and the empty-headed attentions of a notorious Cyprian that had sparked such a ludicrous thought.

  "My lord?"

  Gavin glanced over his shoulder, not bothering to lower his arm that rested against the window frame. "Yes, Prakash?"

  "I have brought you your tea."

  Nodding, Gavin returned his watchful gaze to the window and the black night beyond. He could see Prakash, his majordomo, in the reflection of the glass. He was a small man, short and narrow shouldered. His long black hair was concealed by a brown turban and he wore the muslin tunic and pants of India.

  Prakash set the silver tray down upon the desk and straightened. "The rains are heavy tonight," he said in his Bengali-English accent. "It will not be easy to travel these roads. But your Dharma shall arrive nonetheless."

  Gavin shifted from the window and strolled to the desk, helping himself to a steaming cup of tea laced with cinnamon and aniseed--a special brew common to India, and one of his favorites.

  "And what do you know of my fate?" he muttered, sipping the spicy tea.

  "You wait for a woman, yes?"

  Gavin straightened and pierced the servant with a glare. "That is none of your concern. We might have grown up as friends, Prakash, but that does not mean you are entitled to know all of my business."

  Prakash chuckled and his brown fingers, so much darker than Gavin's came up to scratch his beard. "Now I know it is important, this business that has you brooding and pacing. You only remind me of my place of servitude in your house when you are trying to play the arrogant viscount. This woman, she must be very important for you to be this unsure."

  "I don't know what the devil you're talking about. Unsure of what?"

  "Yourself."

  "Don't be absurd," Gavin growled, replacing the gilt cup and saucer back on the tray. "I know perfectly well what I'm about."

  "Do you?" Prakash asked. "You have been lost for a long time now."

  "Because we've known each other since we were in swaddling clothes does not give you the right to talk to me in such a fashion. I pay your wages, if you will but recall--a very handsome stipend if the gowns on your wife are any indication."

  Prakash laughed and bowed before him. "Indeed you do. Maya is kept in the finest silks and embroidered cloths. And you are a very a good employer, but a terrible friend."

  Gavin raked his hand through his hair and fought the urge to shift his gaze to the window. "I should not have spoken to you so harshly. You've been my greatest friend and ally." My only true friend, he silently added.

  "You are forgiven. I understand what drives you to speak such things. We are of like backgrounds, yet I am accepted much more readily than you. I am but a Bengali. Born of Indian parents and brought to England with my family to serve in your parents' home. I am respectable as long as I stay within my bounds of service. You, on the other hand, are neither English nor Indian. You are lost, bondhu, searching for the place in which you will fit."

  Old wounds threatened to reopen. Not wanting to listen to or examine what his friend was telling him, Gavin returned to the window and peered out into the black nothingness. It was rather like opening the door of his soul--black and empty.

  "You walk away from me because I speak the truth."

  "Go back to Maya. She is no doubt waiting for you. I shall see to the candles and the locks."

  "Maya asked that I see to you. She cares for you, too. She worries."

  "She needn't. I have no need of her concern."

  "You have only one need," Prakash mut
tered. "Your need is revenge and humiliation upon those who talk behind your back. You seek vengeance on those who cast aspersions on you and your parents."

  "You know nothing of what I seek."

  "I know what it is you search for, bondhu. This is the first time a woman other than your mother and sister has set foot inside your home. No woman has ever garnered such an honor. This woman must be very special. It is love like that which your mother and father shared that you truly seek."

  "This woman has made a deal with the devil," he snapped before he could stop himself. "And I intend to hold her to it."

  "All this pacing for a bargain? You're more foolish than I thought."

  "Go to bed, Prakash. I have no need of your predictions or insights. I know perfectly well what I am, and what I want."

  "I will not. Not until I see the lady who is making you suffer so. Ah," Prakash murmured, his dark brown eyes widening as he cocked to his head to the right. "A carriage, with at least two teams approaches."

  Gavin peered into the darkness, searching for any sight of a carriage. There was nothing there, save for the swaying branches of the large willows that lined the drive.

  "She will be approaching any time now. I must leave you, bondhu, and prepare to greet the lady."

  He nodded, knowing that his friend's declaration would turn out to be true. Despite what he had told Prakash about his predictions, he knew beyond a doubt, that his friend, or bondhu, as they called each other, had the sight.

  As the door closed behind Prakash, a black carriage led by four grays came into view. The full moon magically appeared between the parting clouds, the white light glinting off the top of the carriage. A carriage lantern swayed with the rhythm of the horse's canter and Gavin followed its yellow light like a beacon. The windows were draped in cloth, and the carriage door was free of a family crest or marker. It was her. He felt it in his bones, in the way his blood quickened in his veins. She had come at last, to be tutored in the art of pleasing a man.

  The carriage rolled past the window only to stop before the entrance of the front door. The coachman jumped down from his perch and lowered the step from beneath the carriage frame. The door opened and strangely Gavin felt himself holding his breath. At last she appeared, swathed in black velvet, her face concealed by a long lace veil that billowed out when the wind caught it. The sight was arousing, in a mysterious, forbidden sort of way. A veiled woman, shielding her impeccable reputation in order to tryst with a rake such as himself. The wind caught the lace again, and he was helpless to stop from wondering what her face would look like behind a shimmering red face veil, her chocolate brown eyes outlined lavishly with kohl.

  The wind howled louder as the front door flew open and Prakash rushed out, holding an umbrella above her and signaling the coachman to drive around to the stables and carriage house.

  What was she thinking? Were thoughts of him running through her mind? Did the idea of sharing a bed and their bodies appeal to her as much as it did him?

  Voices, low and hushed echoed in the hall and Gavin had no time to stalk to his desk before Prakash opened his study door. That familiar and arousing hushed breath sounded throughout the room, making his blood run hot. Glancing over his shoulder he met the pale, yet beguiling face of his pupil.

  Jane couldn't help but gasp at the sight that greeted her. There, standing before her, arm propped against the window casing stood the Viscount Grayson. He looked dangerously handsome dressed in a black velvet robe with scalloped edges and elaborate gold embroidery around the cuffs and the collar. Beneath the garment he wore a white linen shirt, edged with a minimum of lace. Lace cuffs dangled from the sleeves, and Jane was struck by the beauty of his elegant hands as they rested against the window. He wore no stock and his shirt was opened, revealing a naked throat and a small, but intriguing glimpse of his chest. His black hair, thick and straight was unbound, lying against his shoulders.

  Taking a deep breath, she swallowed hard and watched as he lowered his arm and slowly turned to face her. Turquoise eyes scanned her from head to toe, and when his gaze rested on her veiled face, he raised one inky brow.

  "Good evening, Lady Westbury."

  For some silly reason her breath left her lungs in a whoosh. Elation swept through her that she had actually found him home waiting for her. She forced her hands not to tremble as she reached for her veil.

  "My pleasure," he said silkily as he strode toward her with predator-like grace.

  There was something in the way he was looking at her that suddenly made her remember where they were and who was standing behind her. Lowering her head, she darted her eyes to where a turbaned man stood waiting. Grayson's eyes followed hers and he nodded to the servant.

  "Thank you, Prakash. You may retire for the night."

  "As you wish, my lord," the man said, bowing. "If there is anything you wish, you have only to ring."

  Lord Grayson said nothing while the servant, obviously his butler, reached for the door. Before he closed it, the man spoke. The language was foreign, and the sound somewhat harsh to her ears. The viscount answered him, while never taking his eyes from her. His voice was deep and melodious, and the language, which was obviously Indian, rolled from his tongue with ease. The words sounded evocative, their exoticness intrigued her, and she was left feeling more breathless then when she first entered the room.

  "Now then," he said when they were alone, his index finger tracing the lace that rested against her chin. "Where were we?"

  A log in the hearth cracked. His eyes narrowed when she jumped, and he tipped her chin up with his finger. "You're no doubt rethinking this bargain of ours."

  "No," she said, shaking her head. "I am not." Good heavens, she hadn't thought of anything other than this very night since receiving his summons. Indeed, her every waking thought had been consumed with images of him and what he was going to teach her.

  "You do not lie, do you?" he asked, tracing her lips through the lace with the pad of his thumb. "You're not coy and artful like the other women of the ton."

  Her belly tightened when his thumb passed over her bottom lip. "I despise deceit."

  "A novel attribute in a woman, and one I have never had the pleasure to encounter. I'm sure you're aware that the women of my acquaintance are the very definition of deceit."

  "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, my lord."

  "A lie. I can see it reflected in your eyes, Jane, and it displeases me."

  Unable to stop the action, her lashes lowered, immediately shading her eyes from his.

  "Open your eyes, Jane."

  She could feel his finger tracing her brow then sliding down to her closed lids. With a soft brush, he fanned her lashes with his fingertip, the sensation heightened by the lace. When his finger rested on the small indentation at the corner of her eyelid, she opened her eyes and peered into his.

  "Don't ever lie to me again, Jane," he whispered as his mouth lowered to hers. "I will not tolerate falsehoods from you. It is beneath you. I want only honesty from you, Jane." His breath caressed her lips through her veil. "Now then, I'll ask once more, does my touch disgust you?"

  Her gaze flashed away from his lips only to land on his eyes, which were veiled by a long fringe of sable lashes. He was staring at her mouth, at his thumb as it pressed into the corner of her lip. "No."

  His chest widened as he took a long breath. She could feel the heat from his body penetrating the dampness that had seeped through her silk gown.

  "Do you know, Jane, I don't know that I've met with a more powerful aphrodisiac than truth." His eyelashes lifted and she met his gaze through the black lace. His lips curled in an arrogant grin and Jane felt her stomach clench in anticipation of whatever was to come. "I am quite undone, Jane."

  With a quick swoop he took her lips, the lace buffering the feel of his mouth against hers. His hands framed her face and he kissed her softly, his lips nipping and tugging at hers.

  It was over before she knew it, and as soon he pulle
d his mouth from hers, he reached for her veil. With slow determination, he raised the lace, inch by inch, his eyes scouring all of her as if he was seeing her for the very first time.

  When her face was bared to him, he took his finger and traced the same path as he had when her face was covered. When he was done, he reached for her bonnet, tugging at the silk ties in a slow, hypnotic fashion. He pulled it from her head, dislodging pins from her hair. One by one, he removed the remaining pins, only to rake his fingers through her thick brown hair.

  Twining a curl around his finger, he brought it to his lips. Closing his eyes he inhaled softly, kissed her hair, then lay the curl atop the mound of her left breast. His finger pressed the ringlet into her flesh, and his eyes slowly lifted to meet hers.

  "You please me. And that, Jane, is the truth."

  Chapter Three

  Gavin looked down into Jane's upturned face. Her porcelain skin was flushed a pale peach and her lips, which had been thin before his kiss, were now plump and glistening. Her eyes had darkened to a richer shade of brown and he could see his reflection staring back at him in their dark depths. He was aroused--painfully so. When was the last time a simple kiss had made him hard as iron? When was the last time he had even enjoyed kissing?

  His gaze lowered, past her chin, down the column of her throat where a black velvet ribbon encircled her neck. Below that, a lace fichu was tucked artfully into her bodice, barely concealing the large ivory mounds that edged above her gold brocade gown. He watched the slow rise and fall of her breasts, studied the way a charming freckle inched its way above the fichu as her breathing became deeper and more rapid. Unable to resist touching her, he reached out, trailing his finger down the cleft of flesh to the row of cream-colored bows that lined the front of her bodice.

  She was every inch the lady, dressed as she was. The bodice was tight, molding her breasts into perfect peaks, shaping her waist so that he could see the womanly flare of her hips. Her breath caught as he reached out and trailed the back of his finger up along her bodice, directly over her breast to pluck the fichu slowly from her ivory flesh.