“I do not know how!” she gasped, her trembling growing stronger as the pleasure of Algernon’s thrusting finger grew deeper.
“Yes, you do,” Algernon purred. “You just. Have. To. Trust. Me.”
He thrusted into her on every word then as he drew her bundle into his mouth after the final one, Beatrice’s felt everything in her body let go at once. Her head fell back, and her mouth opened in a low, heady moan as wave after wave hit her body so intensely, tears formed in her eyes.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“What the Devil am I doing?” Algernon growled, raking a hand through his hair.
He paced alone in his room, the taste of Beatrice still on his lips. The urge to stalk back into her quarters and have her again was great—urging him like an invisible force to drink from the well he’d instantly grown addicted to. He’d wanted to teach her a lesson, to open her mind. Instead, just as he had with teaching her to kiss, he’d only tortured himself.
His manhood had risen to attention thesecondhe’d stormed into the room and saw her there. Dressed in that nearly transparent summer nightgown, her soft brown hair curly and wild around her shoulders and smelling of the lavender oil she’d no doubt in her bath. It had consumed him—and that was a problem.
Beatrice was nothis.She was Henry’s—-or hopefully would be. He’d pushed back his revulsion to enter that despicable place—that auction house that had made his skin crawl the momenthe’d set foot in it—forHenry. Now… he wanted her for himself. It had taken all he had to leave that room. To stop himself from teaching her what would happen next in that book he’d given her to read.
His skin was on fire. His manhood was engorged and straining against his trousers, weeping for release.
“I cannot,” he rasped, pacing faster. “I cannot. I have gone too far already.”
Suddenly Algernon stopped his pacing, realizing that he was talking to nothing but air. Arguing with himself like a madman. He had gone mad though. He was sure of it. Why else would he have taken such liberties? No man sound of mind would have done so or would have thought any part of this plan of his would work.
He was losing control, and a man who could not control himself, he knew, was dangerous. It was lack of control that caused his father to gamble away most of their fortune and caused him to believe that taking his own life was the only rational choice he had left.
He could not go mad. Not now. Not when so much hung in the balance. He had to stay away. Had to pull back and put the plan on pause until he felt himself again.
Yes. That is what he would do. He would leave the lessons up to the dance instructor and Mrs. Sheer. Safe lessons that required no intimate touching or discussion of what two willing peoplecould do with their bodies. He would even leave Henry alone for a little while. After all, too much pressure would only drive his brother away, and he’d already discovered that no matter how much he willed it, he could not force his brother into something he did not want to do.
He just had to stay away. Focus on his other responsibilities for a while. When he was better—saner—he would resume his plan.
Satisfied with his decision, Algernon tore off his clothes and climbed into bed. He willed himself to sleep—to let what had just happened go. Yet as his erection pulsed, begging him for release, he fisted his pillow with both hands, buried his head into it, and let out a harrowing roar.
This was not going to be easy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Four Days Later
“Yes?” Beatrice called, feeling her heart flutter as she heard the knock at her door.
It settled even before Mira opened the door and revealed herself. She knew it would not be Algernon. He never knocked. Just strode in like he had the right—even though he had not acted on such a right in four days. Four long, hope-filled days that Beatrice had spent either reading or taking lessons from Mrs. Sheer or the dance instructor. When she was not doing that, she was thinking about Algernon and what he had done to her body. How he made her feel—how hestillmade her feel despite his absence. Even more so, how he had so gently plucked her from the windowsill, sleepy and pliant from her intense release, and had so very gently laid her in her bed, pulled up her covers, and commanded her to sleep.
No longer did Algernon come for meals, entrusting Mira instead to ensure she ate every bite. Nor did he appear to ask her any more questions about her reading material—even though she was longing to talk to him about it. She had known longing in her old life but not like this. She’d longed for a kind word, for the experience of being a lady as she was born to be. The longing she felt now, though, came from her body. To be touched again. To be tasted again. By Algernon.
“I just finished my luncheon an hour ago, Mira,” Beatrice said with a weary sigh, returning to her book. “It cannot possibly be time for dinner.”
“No, My Lady,” Mira agreed. “You have company.”
Beatrice’s head snapped toward Mira.
“Company?” she echoed, closing her book. “I do not know anyone well enough to receive company. Who did they say they were?”
“They would not tell Mr. Portnoy, My Lady,” Mira replied, looking tense. “But they are most insistent upon seeing you. Perhaps they are friends of His Grace? Or of his younger brother?”
Beatrice’s brows perked with curiosity, and she stood, facing Mira straight on.
“Do I look well enough to receive guests?” she asked, smoothing her hands down the baby blue taffeta skirts of her gown.
Mira immediately beamed back at her.