Tutoring Miss Molly (4 page)

An awkward silence filled the spacious chamber.

He stared at her. Judging her…sizing her up, and no doubt found her unworthy. She knew she was no classic beauty. Her hair was too red, freckles covered her face from being out in the sun too long, and she did not want to think about her unusually tall height. Nevertheless, did he have to make her feel uncomfortable about it? Fidgeting with her hands, she shifted her gaze to look at anything besides the handsome marquess.

He chuckled beneath his breath.

Was he making fun of her discomfort?

She shot him a scathing glare, challenging him. “Have you finished staring?”

“No, not by far,” he answered and settled back into the chair, crossing one leg over his knee. “I thought you were older…never mind.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You are in need of water and soap.”

His probing gaze rested on her face.

Sweet Mary, she just remembered she had not cleaned the soil stains from planting that morning. She resisted the need to cover her grimy face.

Devlin rose from the chair. “Follow me.”

Molly bent to gather the carpetbag and bonnet.

“Leave them,” the marquess called over his shoulder while continuing to the door.

Wiping her moist palms onto her skirt, she followed Devlin’s stiff posture. His nutmeg hair fell without interruption to his wide shoulders. It seemed his hair would not move unless his lordship dictated it. Molly lifted a loose strand of her messy thick hair, which despite her best efforts always managed to frizz.

Frantically, she tried to pin the wayward strands into a wobbly bun while racing on the heels of the impatient lord. His long strides led them down a narrow hallway when suddenly he pivoted. Molly abruptly stopped, her hands still poking in her hair.

“This way,” he said with annoyance.

He opened a heavy oak door leading into an elaborate garden filled with red and yellow tulips. Magnificent statues of naked men and women posed in various sexual positions, their granite faces almost life-like. The brass lanterns threw shadows upon the statues while night sounds of a hooting owl and buzzing insects created a surreal atmosphere.

Wishing she had more time to inspect the statues, Molly hastened her steps to keep pace with her tutor’s dogged march. From behind, she watched the way he glided with confidence while his black jacket pulled tightly across his straight back.

Was he the man she saw with the dogs when she first arrived?

She cocked her head to the side.

It had to be him.

 His long powerful thighs propelled him through the thick white mist like a ship in the sea. Molly wondered what it would be like to run her fingers down the sinewy muscles starting from his neck to his firm buttocks, then sinking her teeth into the taught flesh of—

Devlin glanced over his shoulder. His licentious eyes glistened as he granted her a lopsided smile. Did he read her thoughts or was he used to women admiring him from behind? The man was too beautiful by far, his presence compelling as well as aggravating.

He continued forward, and she focused on his backside once more. Without looking, she tripped over a jutting rock and almost fell onto Devlin. She balanced her step in time before further disgracing herself.

“Beware of the cobblestones. They can be uneven in some parts,” he said.

Molly glared at the back of his head.

They rounded a tall hedge with rose vines entwined in the foliage. Molly stood next to her tutor and sucked in a gulp of sweet air. Before them was a beautiful, grand lake. In the distance, a thin mist lightly hovered while undisturbed water mirrored the moon casting a shine upon its surface.

“It is enchanting,” she whispered.

Standing with crossed arms, his eyes were half closed. “Disrobe.”

“I beg your pardon?” she choked, knowing exactly what he had said. She hoped the moonlight would not show her telling blush.

“Remove your clothes and let me see what I have to work with.”

Molly remained motionless, unable to budge. She had never undressed in front of a gentleman before. In fact no man had ever seen her naked.

Tsking, he shook his head with displeasure. “How are you to be a courtesan if you will not undress?”

“Well I—”

“Do you want to be a courtesan or not?”

“I—”

“Then take off your clothes,” he commanded, his tone rising with frustration.

She remained speechless, her heart racing.

He turned to leave.

“Wait…please.”

He faced her again with a black layered look, his eyebrows arching with expectation.

Irritated by his mocking stance, she peeled off her shawl and slowly untied the bow at the back of her high waistline dress. She raised her hands and lifted the garment over her head, leaving her in a soft muslin stay.

Devlin’s pulse raced, his mouth was dry and hot. She stood with her hands clasped together, her chin held proudly even though her body trembled. Her white stays gleamed in the moonlight as petticoats flared around her shapely calves. Bending over, she pulled off her boots, affording him a delicious show of cleavage.

Catching his breath, Devlin’s chest constricted. She was exquisite. The most unique creature he had ever seen. The shifting emerald lights of her eyes and nervous hands fascinated him. The painful erection in his breeches could attest to her untamed beauty.

He had the urge to rip the undergarments from her back, throw her on the dewy grass, and sink into her delicate entrance. He shook his head of the vision. He had to remember she was just like all the other conniving women. A courtesan.

Cursing his eagerness as if he were the one untutored in the ways of pleasure, he growled, “I do not have all evening, Miss Molly.”

“My apologies, my lord.”

In one swift tug, her petticoats gathered at her feet, exposing her feminine red curls between the apex of her long, creamy legs.

Devlin licked his lips again. He wanted to push his tongue between her thighs. Good Lord, his cock pulsated with a yearning he had not felt in years.

Seemingly unaware of the impact she had on him, Molly continued to her stays. Untying the shoulder straps, she released her ample breasts that fell free from restrictive confinement. Her soft, ivory skin glowed while her nipples pebbled against the cool breeze. Completely naked, she looked more beautiful than a woman had a right to. She would make a most desirable courtesan. Of this, he was certain.

Devlin stepped closer to her, so close he could almost kiss her pink lips. Charming freckles peeked through the soot, drawing his attention to the becoming flush on her high cheekbones. He was taller than her, but only just. Usually he towered over ladies, but not this one. Her shadowed eyes met his, silently daring him. Devlin knew it to be false bravado. She had to be scared.

He removed the pins that held her hair in an unruly bun. Thick scarlet locks tumbled past her shoulders, caressing her skin around the tops of her breasts. Devlin sank his fingers into the lush cherry mane and lowered his head to smell the sweet fragrance of her hair. Unlike the rest of her it produced an aroma of flowers as if she rolled in a bed of roses.

“My lord?” she breathed, her voice husky.

Devlin jerked away, as if woken from a hypnotic spell. What was he doing? He was acting like a love-sick youth and with a farm girl, no less.
Remember, she was just like the others—hungry for money and power.

“I am in no need of another courtesan,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“I would never presume…”

“Just so you know, I am here only at my father’s request. I am your tutor. That is all!”

Molly nodded vigorously, her eyes wide with innocence.

“You’ll not be forcing me to pay for the pleasure of your body,” he stated with more vigor than he intended.

“I understand, my lord.”

He grabbed her arm and led her to the edge of the water. “Wash yourself. You are filthy.”

Her green eyes widened with hurt, and Devlin instantly regretted his harsh words. Unwilling to apologize, he turned away and retrieved a small chest concealed within the shrubs. Straightening, he opened the box and threw Molly a bar of scented soap. It landed near her feet with a splash.

Without another word, Molly swooped down for the bar and entered the icy water. Her teeth chattered, but she would not complain. She was going to obey the conceited marquess even if he asked her to lie down in front of an oncoming carriage. She would prove to him that she was worthy to be his student—worthy to be a courtesan in the infamous sex society of Harman Manor.

Scrubbing her skin until it was pink; Molly peeked from beneath her eyelashes at the forbidding man. With his arms crossed, he stood still as if he were one of the statues, cold and hollow. The whites of his eyes glistened on his shadowy face, giving him a menacing appearance.

Wading out of dark water, Molly boldly faced him, steeling herself for his disapproval. A rustling came from behind the hedges, and the butler appeared carrying a drying cloth. The old man crudely tossed it at her. Molly caught it and covered herself while the butler studied her with smug rudeness.

She stood before the two men for what seemed an eternity when the marquess glanced over his shoulder at the butler.

“Leave us!” Devlin ordered the servant.

Molly jumped from the tone. Was he angry with her or the butler?

The old man bowed toward him and sniffed with indignation at Molly, then disappeared beyond the hedge.

“He does not like me very much,” Molly said, readjusting the cloth around her shoulders.

“He was brought here by my mother,” Devlin answered and stepped on her blue dress before she could pick it up. “This gown, along with those boots, will be burned.”

Her muscles stiffened.

“From this moment you will wear what I choose.” He lifted a strand of her hair and cocked his head to one side. “Perhaps an emerald gown to compliment your hair and…olive eyes.”

Her mouth turned in the shape of an O. Did he just give her a compliment?

He caressed the side of her cheek with the back of his smooth hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her lips. He smelled of fresh pine and leather, an intoxicating combination when he was so close. Despite herself, his nearness affected her composure.

She edged forward, willing him to kiss her. He lowered his head and pressed his tender lips to hers.

Closing her eyes, Molly almost collapsed. Her knees threatened to buckle while the pit of her stomach fluttered into a wild swirl. It was a simple kiss, almost chaste, yet she felt branded by the heat of his lips.

He pulled away.

Lost in thrilling sensations, Molly’s lips remained puckered for more. She heard the marquess chuckle low in his throat. She squeezed open one of her eyes. No doubt her naiveté was amusing. She cursed her foolishness to think he would find her alluring. He must think her a ninny. Tilting her chin a fraction higher, she vowed to show him how unaffected she was by the intimacy.

“Come,” he ordered, as if commanding one of his hounds and left her standing on the embankment.

She swallowed a spiteful retort and followed, struggling with the wretched towel that persisted in slipping off her shoulders.