He traced the flushed swell of her cheek and the outer rim of her ear, blowing softly at the curls trailing down from her temple. “Then either of us on our knees, or both of us for that matter. Hat still in place, of course.”
The scandalous portrait flashed in her mind. Newton’s apple! She was beginning to forget how letters were formed. And yet, she heard herself say, “That’s only six.”
He readily picked up the gauntlet and settled his hands on her hips, pulling her flush. His teeth flashed with wicked delight at her gasp. “Or I could just lift you in my arms right here until your hips and mine align, and your limbs are wrapped around me . . .”
His warm breath swirled around the whorls of her ear, slipping inside her body on a warm tingling current that reminded her how wondrous it felt to be in his arms.
However, with it, came the reminder that this wasn’t going to last—this arrangement or whatever it was between them. She was providing him lessons to fit into society and he was merely assisting her with her book. And she had her reputation to consider.
Absently, she realized she’d dropped the ledger. Her hands were fitted to the curves of his shoulders instead, her breasts taut and aching beneath her bodice. “I’m not . . . thinking properly at the moment.”
“Then you must be thinking improperly.” He nuzzled the underside of her jaw. “You need to share those naughty thoughts with your professor, Jane.”
A strangled laugh escaped her, the throaty sound wanton and foreign to her own ears. “I am the professor, remember? And our lesson isn’t over.”
“Mmm . . . I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured against her skin, skillfully teaching her about the quivering electric currents running through her body.
But from not too far away, she heard her name being called by one of her siblings in a plaintive, “Ja—ane.”
They both turned to look at the open doorway, their breaths quick and harried.
“Damn,” he cursed and turned away to face the trestle table, his palms splayed on the surface. “I forgot where we were. It’s no wonder with all these lessons. They’ve made it impossible to sleep. And I’ve eaten that entire bloody jar of damson jam.”
“I wish I had more to give you, but that was the last we had in the larder,” she answered automatically. But when he looked over his shoulder and his heated gaze dipped to her mouth, she realized he was saying something else.
He just told her that he thought about her when they were apart. He wasn’t sleeping. He’d consumed an entire jar of jam. Apparently, he wasn’t clearheaded either. And it was because of her.
Her! Jane Pickerington, the plain, forgettable bluestocking.
Her heart fluttered fast and wobbly like the wings of a nectar-drunk hummingbird, crashing into her lungs and leaving her breathless.
Drat! Why hadn’t she kissed him when she’d had the chance?
But she knew why.
Because, for her, this was starting to feel like more than just kissing. And more than research, too. Much more.
Chapter 20
After he’d nearly debauched Jane seven different ways in her conservatory, Raven decided to take a few days off from lessons.
They’d both agreed it was for the best.
Lately, it had become nearly impossible to control his desire to bed her. Though, it might have helped if he’d been able to slake his lust elsewhere. And he’d tried, too.
During the previous two days he’d spent apart from her, he’d gone back to Moll’s to see if she’d grant him admittance again. She did. After hearing the rumors about his birth, she’d decided to let bygones be bygones. And before he knew it, he was in the parlor with Hester and Venetia on his lap, ready to give him the warmest of welcomes.
Strangely, their cloying perfumes had soured his stomach. Their skillful caresses had made his skin prickle unpleasantly, their hands not nearly as soft as a kitten’s underbelly. He’d tried to ignore it, to immerse himself in the wicked delights they’d promised him with heated whispers as they’d nibbled his ears. But time and again, his gaze had strayed to that shadowed alcove in the corner of the room.
Like it or not, all he wanted was Jane.
So he’d paid the girls handsomely for their conversation and left, knowing that he wouldn’t return.
He thought about Jane at all hours. He couldn’t eat without thinking of the sweet taste of her mouth. He couldn’t sleep while her scent still lingered in his bedchamber. Hell, he couldn’t even don his clothes without remembering the way her body had felt against his.
In short, he’d become obsessed, lust-addled, and irritable.
For the past few days he’d been ready to bite the head off of anyone who even looked at him sideways, let alone those who muttered under their breath that he was a charlatan and a pretender.
The fact that he still felt like a fraud only made it worse.
All the lessons were starting to make him feel the same as when he’d dressed the part of a gent in order to be allowed into Moll Dawson’s. Because of that, he’d stopped his visits to Warrister, as well.
He needed a respite to gather his thoughts about where all this was going. Even though he liked spending time with the old man and hearing tales about young Edgar Northcott and his penchant for mischief, Raven had no desire to become part of the aristocracy. He’d spent too many years abhorring it.
He’d told Warrister countless times that all he wanted was to connect the puzzle pieces of his life, and to find out where he came from. But the earl kept pushing for more.
He wanted to introduce him to society. What a joke!
If the past week of taunts and jeers had taught him anything, it was that society didn’t want him. Gents who’d never bothered him before were now issuing insults, begging to draw him into a fight.
Even tonight, as he passed by the faro tables, he heard, “Look, there, at that pretender. He is the very mongrel I spoke of earlier.”
“The one trying to rise above his station?”
“Indeed. Though it is clear by his brutish posture and bestial gait that he is more animal than man, and certainly no member of the nobility.”
The pair of haughty gents had raised their voices to ensure they were heard. But Raven didn’t give them the satisfaction of responding.
Gritting his teeth, he walked on with his head high.
But he hated that Sterling’s had become a constant episode of confrontation. Even the ushers and croupiers were treating him differently, some with obvious disdain and others with tongue-tied awe.
If there was anyone who understood these daily provocations it was Reed Sterling. Unfortunately, he’d been at his country estate for the past week and hadn’t yet heard the news. Or so Raven thought before he walked into his office the afternoon of his return.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Raven began the instant he crossed the threshold. In the back of his mind, however, he imagined how Jane would chide him for such a greeting.
She’d spent an afternoon’s lesson on the intricacies of polite tête-à-têtes. But she’d been wearing a plum-colored frock that had distracted him with thoughts of jam and kissing, and his contributions to their conversation had been more on the wicked side of things.