Beyond A Wicked Kiss (26 page)

"Swear you are jesting."

"If you insist."

West groaned softly. "You did not encourage that kind of talk, I hope."

"I did not participate."

"Except for initiating the betting book."

Finch's smile was maddeningly inscrutable. He turned back the covers on West's bed and inserted a warming pan at the foot. "Will there be anything else, Your Grace?"

"No. See to your own comfort, Finch. I am for sleeping late and taking my breakfast here."

"Then I shall see that you are not disturbed." He gathered up West's clothes for laundering and pressing and laid them neatly over his arm. "Good evening." It seemed to him that his employer was asleep before he had exited the room.

* * *

Ria waited until she heard Finch's retreat in the direction of the servants' stairs before she stepped into the hallway. It had been a narrow thing, for she had almost been at West's door when it had opened. She ducked into the nearest available room—Margaret's private reading salon, as it turned out—and remained there until it was safe.

She slipped into West's bedchamber as silently as she had the night before and approached his bed. He was sleeping on his side, facing the fireplace. That golden glow highlighted the angles of his face, the thrust of his jaw, the patrician cut of his nose, the sculpted line of his cheek. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes and another shadow that was this day's growth of beard across the lower part of his face. He did not have the look of one in an easy sleep. In contrast to the night before, he appeared older than his years, more world-weary than simply tired.

Ria stood there for more than a minute as she debated the wisdom of waking him. He was unlikely to appreciate the anxious state that had prompted her to leave her room. He would expect her to act more circumspectly, or better, not to act at all. They were very different in that way. Unease pushed her to do something, while discomfort quieted him physically and roused his dark humor.

She wondered what she might learn from him. Was it possible she could sleep as deeply as he was now? She turned to go, and that was when she saw the slim book lying on the table just inside the door. Curious as to why he would place it so far from his bed if he meant to read it, Ria crossed the room to pick it up. She tried to read the gilt lettering on the spine by holding it up to the firelight. It was not lettering at all, she realized within a few moments of studying it more closely, but decorative embellishment, like scrollwork in the mantelpiece and wainscoting. There was nothing on the cover to indicate the contents.

She walked closer to the fireplace to take advantage of the light and opened the book. If she had bothered to suppose what might be contained inside, Ria would have said it was verse. It wasn't, as it turned out, nor was it anything she might have had imagination enough to guess.

Heat rose in her cheeks as she stared at the illustration confronting her. Curiously enough, though it seemed to span both pages and little in the way of margins remained, the picture on the left was upside down. On the right a beautiful young woman lay in a pose of complete abandon. She was not naked, but her clothing had been arranged to make her very nearly so. Her arms were raised overhead and she grasped an iron headrail with her fingertips. The scooped bodice of her gown had been cut away along with her corset and chemise, and her full, sweet breasts lay bare, the nipples puckered and ripe as though for plucking. The hem of her skirt and all of her petticoats had fallen back to the level of her waist. Her hips were angled upward, supported by two large pillows that had been placed there for such a purpose. Her thighs were parted and the dark hair of her swollen mons glistened.

Ria's eyes swept upward to the woman's face, every detail masterfully rendered there by the skilled artist's hand. Her eyes were not entirely closed but lowered to half-mast, shaded by long lashes. Her mouth was parted, the lips were dewy, and the tip of her tongue could be seen either in advance or retreat. The long, slender neck was arched, her chin thrust upward. The woman's ebon hair lay in a tangle about her head and influenced the look of her as untamed, almost feral. The effect of the whole was an agony of delight or pain; it was not possible to know.

Kneeling at the foot of the bed and between the woman's legs, was a man of such perfect proportion and well-defined masculinity that Ria thought he must be the artist's idea of a god stepped down from Mt. Olympus. Unlike the woman, he wore no clothes at all. The muscles of his arms were sculpted, as were his buttocks and thighs. One of his hands rested on the woman's right knee, the other grasped his considerable erection as though he meant to guide something more than his courage to the sticking place.

Ria placed her knuckles against her mouth to stifle the nervous giggle this last errant thought produced. Because she had been slow to react and some small sound had escaped her throat, she quickly glanced over her shoulder to see if West had awakened. She sighed, relieved that he had not.

Ria was discomfited by what she held in her hands, but mature enough not to believe she would experience all the fires of hell for examining it. To that end, she turned the book around so the picture that had been upside down was now righted. It was a different couple on this side of the page. Here a man stood with his back to a marble column. He was wearing clothes that had been in fashion more than a score of years earlier: a coat lined in satin with braided cuffs and large buttons, a heavily embroidered waistcoat, and black, tight-fitting breeches with white stockings and buckled boots. On her knees in front of him, face and arms raised as though in supplication, was a woman whose powdered hair was carefully coifed in curls and ringlets. She wore a gown with a cinched waist, laced bodice, and flared sleeves. The man's pelvis was thrust forward, the flies of his breeches open, and he held her raised head between his large hands. In profile the intent of his actions was clear. He meant for the woman to take his jutting, swollen cock in her mouth.

Another partially strangled sound escaped Ria's throat, and she felt a stirring between her thighs that was more unwelcome than unpleasant. She did not know how to think about her disappointment when she turned the page and found it was identical to the one before it. She turned another and another and found they were all alike. It was the same when she reversed the book again and regarded the woman and her Greek god on the bed. Every page was like every other.

"Can you not determine how it works?"

The book fell from Ria's nerveless fingers and thudded to the floor. She spun on her heel and glared at West. He was reclining on his side, his head propped on one elbow. His coppery hair was a crisscross thatch, and his eyes had a certain slumberous appeal, but he looked perfectly at his ease, in no way weary as she had noted earlier. It seemed, no matter how improbable, that he was enjoying himself. Ria did not think she was mistaken that it was amusement lifting the corners of his mouth.

"Bring it here," he said.

"I... I wore my slippers."

West's grin deepened as his eyes dropped to her feet. He could not recall that Ria had ever been more off her stride than she was right now. "Yes, I see. It was good of you to remember." He pointed to the book. "Go on. Pick it up and bring it here."

Ria stooped. She continued to regard West somewhat warily as her fingers searched out the book's smooth leather binding. She caught one corner, edged it closer, then took it in hand as she stood again.

West indicated the space in front of him at his bedside. "Here." He noted that she walked forward slowly, with all the enthusiasm one might rouse for those final steps to the gallows platform. "I won't show you if you'd rather I didn't. I shouldn't anyway, so some encouragement on your part will be required."

Ria reached the bed and held the book out to him. "Did you find it here?" she asked. "Is it Tenley's?"

"If I found it here it could have been the duke's," West said. "Do not worry, though. I did not pluck it from this library." He took the book from her hand and opened it to a random page. His brows lifted a fraction as he regarded it, then Ria. "It is rather explicit, is it not? I gather from your expression that you have not seen the like before."

Ria shook her head. "I didn't know such things existed."

"That is because you had governesses and tutors while I went to a school for boys where things like this are as treasured as sacred relics."

"Then it's yours."

He chuckled. "No, not mine. I have borrowed it, so I suppose it is mine for the time being." An expression he could not quite define flitted across Ria's face. "That disappoints? Intrigues?"

"Confuses."

"That is all right, then, because I am confused as well. What are you doing here? I can safely assume you did not come for this." He watched her eyes stray to the open book, then lift quickly. Her curiosity was a palpable thing, but he pretended he had not observed it. He casually closed the book around his index finger. "I only arrived a short time ago. I should have thought you would be enjoying sleep at such a time. Were you perhaps waiting for me?"

"If you mean was I staying awake in anticipation of your return, then no, I was not."

"You are a very poor liar. I would wager that if you sucked on a lemon, your features would not pucker so severely."

"I was disturbed from my sleep by a noise in the hallway, and I rose to investigate."

"I admire the way you do not back down from the lie. It is a good strategy if one starts off well, but I have already informed you that you did not. Still, carry on as you wish. I am a rapt audience."

Ria sighed impatiently. "Will you not show me the workings of the book?"

West grinned. "Of course. We will get to the other later." He pointed to the bedside table. "To fully appreciate this, more light is required."

Ria was not certain he was talking about her appreciation of the book, but rather of his appreciation of her reaction to it. She wondered at what point she had become his entertainment. "Perhaps not."

"Very well. As I said I should not do it." He removed his index finger and set the book beside the unlighted candlestick. "We have come again to the point of your visit. I make it to be less that twenty-four hours since you left my bedchamber in a high dudgeon, vowing never to return."

"That is an exaggerated account. I was not so dramatic, either in manner or phrasing."

West moved closer to the middle of the bed to make room for her on its edge. "Come, else I shall have a kink in my neck."

Ria sat down much as she had the night before, turning slightly sideways so she might face him, and drew up one leg. "I want to know what occurred while you were gone. Tenley thinks you were meeting with Mr. Ridgeway on pressing matters regarding the estate. Margaret thinks you suspect my strong feelings for you and panicked. I think you were in Sunbury making the acquaintance of Mr. Beckwith."

"All intriguing possibilities. If it was Lady Tenley who believed I had taken off in such cowardly fashion, who is it that thought I was procuring a special license?"

"I had not heard that. You didn't, did you?"

"As you suspected, I was in Sunbury with Beckwith."

She nodded. Her relief that there was no special license was tempered by her concern that his introduction to Mr. Beckwith might not have gone well. "Am I still employed at the school?"

"Yes. I did not interfere, though he suggested he would understand if I did. If he is representative of the entire board of governors, then they are not quite as progressive in their thinking as you led me to believe. Apparently they are pleased to employ you, but cannot fathom that the duke permitted it."

"I am well aware of their confusion on this last count. I am only the second woman to have the position as head of the school since its founding. Except for my immediate predecessor, all the others have been men."

"What about Miss Weaver?"

Ria shrugged. "I cannot say. I've told you the school was founded by gentlemen. If Miss Weaver existed at all, she was simply a namesake. There is no record that she was ever headmistress. Pray, do not miss my point—the governors take small steps, but they are always moving in a forward direction."

"That is your opinion. One might take the position that permitting women to find purpose outside the drawing room and bedchamber is likely to bring about the collapse of society. That is hardly a forward direction."

"One might take that position," she said, "but you don't. It is far too late an hour to argue the devil's convictions. Tell me what became of your bid to join the board."

"No invitation was formally made, but I believe Beckwith intends to speak or write to the other governors about my interest. I have reason to hope." The dim light did not prevent West from glimpsing Ria's uncertainty. "You do not find this a helpful development?"

"I am not at all confident that anything will be gained by you joining the board. Jane Petty is my concern, not the board of governors."

"Miss Petty is also my concern. This is not a means to keep you on a short tether."

"I am very glad to hear it."

West grinned at her clipped accents. Clearly, she was offended by the notion. "Those are Beckwith's words, not mine. I have to say I did not care for the manner in which he said it. I think he has given some thought to the fashion in which he would like to restrain you."