Schooling the Viscount Read online

  She put the food in the ice chest and left a quick note for Henry on the kitchen table. To be safe, Rachel would just tiptoe upstairs and make sure Henry was comfortable. Place a hand on his brow and check his temperature. Watch him sleep for a minute to make sure his breathing was even. Up the narrow stairs she went, ducking under a belligerent beam.

  Oh my. Rachel tripped over her own feet in the doorway. Henry lay on the bed, his clothes on the floor by the window. He was…he was…

  Absolutely, gloriously naked.

  He was flat on his back, spread out for her visual delectation. His skin was as she remembered, burnished from the hot sun of Africa. Lean and muscled, his was a body that had worked hard and fought hard. There were random white slashes and divots—healed wounds acquired in the army, she supposed. And fresh bruises too that he had acquired in the supposedly safe haven of Puddling.

  His poor mangled foot was not a pretty thing. Rachel knew it still gave him great pain, particularly if he was tired. She wished she could do something to help him. Her eyes swept up over his muscled legs. His manhood, partially obscured by his broad brown hand and a nest of golden-brown curls, begged for closer inspection.

  Rachel bit a lip, and ventured a few more steps into the room. She might never get another chance to see a nude man again.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Henry’s beauty stirred something inside her that would no longer be repressed. She might not marry the man, but why couldn’t she—

  So many reasons not to go any further, either into the room or their relationship. But none of them were of interest to her at the moment.

  Goodness, she was a voyeur, taking advantage of a helpless man to examine him in his well-deserved repose. Rachel held her breath as she advanced, promising herself to look but not touch.

  The curtain flapped in the breeze from the open window and she nearly jumped out of her own skin. Leave now, leave now, leave now…

  Henry’s eyes fluttered and opened. Rachel was as still as if she were a butterfly pinned to a board. He gave her the laziest, most infuriating grin.

  “Like what you see?”

  She stepped back but his hand darted out to catch hers. “Don’t go.” He was lying on the rumpled coverlet—had he made his own bed this morning?—and scooted over and threw half of it over his body.

  “There. Better?”

  Rachel found she could not speak. She had been caught and had no innocent excuse. From the devilish gleam in his bright blue eyes, Henry knew it, too.

  “Sit down, sweetheart. You’re listing to the side.”

  It was a wonder she was standing at all.

  She tumbled into the warm spot he’d recently vacated. Now what? What could she possibly say to make this any less embarrassing?

  It appeared she didn’t have to say anything at all. Henry gently tugged her down on top of him and proceeded to kiss her. This was nothing like the slow, dreamy kiss of a few hours ago. His was a kiss of possession. Purpose. Rachel knew without a question where it would lead.

  Where she would follow.

  “I dreamed of you,” he said raggedly when he broke the kiss. “Please let my dream come true.”

  She’d be a fool to say yes, and she had never been one of those silly girls whose head was turned by a handsome man. But her heart, not her head, did the talking now.

  “Yes. Please.”

  He shut his eyes. “Thank God. I shall make this right, Rachel.”

  She hoped so. This would probably be her only chance to experience sexual congress.

  “Do it quickly. Rufus is outside.”

  He raised a sandy eyebrow. “Quickly? I don’t think you understand what’s involved, my angel. And hang Rufus. He can wait.”

  And then he showed her with agonizing slowness, brushing his lips across her eyelids, mouth, throat until she wanted that mouth everywhere. He was nimble with the buttons of her Sunday dress, deadly efficient with her corset strings even as his tongue and teeth explored each revealed inch. She was soon as naked as he, and couldn’t meet his eyes. She was restless and so hot, even without her clothing.

  “Beautiful. Better than the dream. I l—um, I like you so well, Rachel. You are perfect for me.”

  Had he been about to say something else? She could wish it so and make this easier. Henry said he didn’t believe in love, but she did. She knew she loved him—hadn’t wanted to, was stupid to, but couldn’t seem to help herself. There was nothing possible ahead for them but this grim spring afternoon as the skies opened and rain fell. He was going to be a marquess one day, and she was a teacher—if she could hold onto her job.

  He placed her on her back, her generous breasts flopping awkwardly. Hell, all of her felt awkward. Henry sensed it and gave her a look so full of longing she began to believe what he saw. He buried his fair head on her chest and breathed deeply, then took one breast in his mouth, a hand cupping the other. Rachel thought she might just die, and be relatively happy about it. She’d never felt as good or desired in her life.

  He was thorough in his kisses. Disciplined. After disarming her defenses, he eased his way down her bare skin to kiss her as he had yesterday. She opened to him like a wanton. No wonder brazen women followed him home—he was a complete genius at this.

  Sensation built within her, higher and sharper, and she rose to meet it. In seconds she was crying his name, rolling with each exquisite wave.

  This time he wouldn’t stop at a wicked kiss. This time it wasn’t just for her. They would be partners in bliss.

  At least Rachel hoped it would be bliss. She knew a woman’s first time was often painful. But it would be worth it to return some of the joy to Henry, who so deserved it.

  He was bending over her now, his expression questioning, his manhood pressing somewhat insistently into her belly. Rachel nodded.

  “You don’t have to.” His voice was rough. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I want to.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Oh, do stop talking, Henry.” She pulled him down to taste him again. With a jolt, she realized she tasted herself as well. She should be horrified, but she wasn’t. What was happening to her?

  How very, very odd this all was, but the awkwardness had passed. Rachel’s body felt alive. Free. The man that she loved was about to change her life forever.

  Henry was gentle yet firm. He parted her thighs, centered himself and eased into her, watching her for any sign of refusal. She held her breath at the invasion and he stopped at once.

  She squeezed his corded arms. “No. Do it.”

  “I can’t cause you pain, Rachel.”

  “I don’t care, I really don’t.” She lifted her hips and forced him in deeper.

  “Ah.” He sounded as if he were in pain. “Oh, damn it. You feel incredible.” With a thrust, he seated himself fully inside her.

  She welcomed him the only way she could, with another blistering kiss. Hands smoothing his rough skin, her own body liquid and flexing. The discomfort was almost forgotten as she responded, driving them both just a bit mad. His halting words blurred amidst his kisses, but when he said her name, she exulted.

  She knew what her body expected and needed and reached for it. Her release wasn’t very long in coming, but it triggered Henry’s immediate withdrawal. She felt a hot spurt of wetness along her thigh and knew from his growl he’d found his satisfaction as well.

  They lay tangled in the sheets, too stunned in wonder to speak. Henry pushed her damp fringe from her forehead and kissed her as if she were a little girl. But she was a woman now. The thought of what she had so shamelessly done brought her to the blush. Did she look different? Would people be able to tell?

  “Much, much better than my dream,” he whispered. “And now, Rachel Elizabeth Everett, you will have to marry me.”

  Chapter 33

  “What?”

  Henry winced. She had squealed into his bad ear but he still heard her too loud and
clear.

  “I am a gentleman, Rachel, and you, no matter how much you deny it, are a lady. Respectable. A gentleman doesn’t take his pleasure with a lady unless he has honorable intentions.”

  She wriggled beneath him, causing his cock to twitch further. “Don’t be an ass.”

  He knew she would fight him on this; she had fought him on everything with the exception of the glorious time they had just spent in his bed. It hadn’t been long enough, either. When they married they might spend days in bed. Weeks.

  “I proposed to you within minutes of meeting you, didn’t I? I might not have meant it then, but I do now.”

  She opened her mouth and he decided to kiss her again to shut her up. When he’d finished and she was dazed and tingling, he continued, having lost a little of his focus himself.

  “I know all your objections. Puddling is important to you and your father, and I swear I’ll work a way around our difficulties. When it comes to my father, what more can he do to me?”

  “He can shut you away!” she said, angry. “I heard him this morning, Henry. He’s not a man to be trifled with.”

  “He wouldn’t do that to his heir. He values the Challoner family name too much. How mortifying it would be to have it known that his son is a lunatic. That sort of thing can be inherited, you know. It would reflect badly on him, and the pater’s much too full of pride to put up with any scurrilous gossip. I have my own money, you know. I can get us a house in the country somewhere and we can live as we please.”

  Nothing too grand. Henry had come to appreciate the simpler things in life since he came to Puddling. How many bedrooms might they need? How many children would they have?

  Rachel would be good with children, no matter how many they had. If she could corral a classroom full of them, a mere half-dozen would be child’s play. But he wouldn’t want to wear her out. He was a modern man, and didn’t expect his wife to be a drudge.

  “What on earth are you thinking of? You have the oddest expression on your face. But then, you are odd.”

  My, she sounded cross. This was not how she should be feeling after such a delightful encounter. More than delightful. Henry thought the top of his head might blow off at the end.

  “Right at the moment? Real estate, my dear.”

  She pushed her hair from her face and tried to slide out from under him. Henry had no intention of letting her loose and gripped her white shoulders, then kissed them. Were shoulders an erogenous zone for her? He threw himself into the inquiry. Rachel squirmed and sighed. Apparently they were.

  And then she pinched him. Not too hard, but just enough to get his attention. “Henry, let’s be realistic here. As much as I, as we...” She stopped, her eyebrows scrunching. How adorable she was. “I won’t deny that this was extraordinary this afternoon. It’s left me…breathless. But it cannot happen again, and we will not be needing to buy a house.”

  “Let’s not argue. It might bring on a relapse.” He rolled off and curled her toward him, feeling the beat of her erratic heart. He was breathless, too.

  “Are you ever serious?”

  “Not if I can help it. Really, Rachel, why go through life all doomy and gloomy? Believe me, I’ve seen my share of unpleasantness. That’s what I was trying to forget, only I went about it all the wrong way. The pater was right to send me here, for here you are.”

  “I’m not your cure, Henry.”

  “Oh, aren’t you?”

  Rachel struggled to sit up. “A new person can’t change what’s wrong inside you. You overindulged for a reason. If there’s anything I’ve learned living in Puddling, it’s that change comes from within, and you have to want it for you. I’m…superficial to you. What if you hadn’t met me?”

  “But I did!” Henry objected.

  “But if you hadn’t, wouldn’t you still be asking the shopkeepers to sneak you some alcoholic spirits? Looking for young women to seduce? Chafing at all the restrictions?”

  Would he? Very possibly.

  “Are you saying I’m weak?” His father had certainly thought so.

  “We’re all weak, Henry. I can’t pretend to know what you went through, or how I would have responded in your place. But what if something awful happens again? Suppose someone you love, God forbid, dies, or you lose your fortune through bad investments? You’ll need inner resources—yes, of course you can depend on friends for support, but you must first and foremost rely on yourself. Clouding your senses only dulls and then prolongs the pain.”

  She sounded very much like old Vincent. They’d all been fed the same Puddling Principles—there was probably a primer somewhere that all local children learned along with their ABCs.

  He nodded. “I know you’re right. I’ve tried to change. I think I have.” He’d had that idea about a soldiers’ retreat, hadn’t he? He was prepared to put his own funds into the scheme. And he’d not touched any of the vicar’s liquor stash, had not even taken advantage when the man was so deep in his cups he wouldn’t have known the difference. That said something about Henry’s sobriety, surely.

  He could manage his life. Find a purpose. But it would be so much better with Rachel by his side.

  He couldn’t blame her for doubting. He was only at the midpoint of his Puddling stay.

  Which gave him two more weeks to convince her she was not just any port in his storm.

  “So you understand then.”

  “You’re not ready for me. I respect your feelings, but I don’t like them.”

  She bit a lip. They were already pink and swollen, and Henry could hardly bear looking at them without acting on his desire.

  “I’m not ever going to be ready for you, Henry. When you leave, I’m sure you’ll find someone more suitable. You are—you are handsome and rich. The world is your oyster.”

  Henry had never understood that expression either. What had shellfish got to do with anything? Who wanted to climb into a slimy mollusk?

  “So, we’re at an impasse. Again. I’m very grateful you gave me this past hour, Rachel. It was the most perfect afternoon of my life so far.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “So far. See? The best is yet to come.”

  “One can only hope. Are you all right? Let me fetch some water and a cloth.”

  “I’ll do it.” With remarkable grace, she rose from the bed and headed to his bathroom. She walked away as proudly as a queen, as if she marched around in her spectacular nudity all the time.

  Henry lay back and stared at the ceiling. He had his work cut out for him on so many fronts. But he’d never shied away from a challenge, no matter how much his challenge shied away from him.

  Rachel returned, her dark cloud of hair twisted back up. She gathered up her clothing and began to dress without speaking. She didn’t need his help for her corset—of course she didn’t. She did for herself every day. It was not long before she looked as respectable as any other church-going miss.

  “There is supper for you in the kitchen,” she said, her voice strained.

  “Thank you. You shouldn’t have.” Henry wasn’t hungry at all, his mind whirring with too many possibilities.

  “Mrs. Grace should be back tomorrow. Maybe even tonight.”

  Oh, joy.

  “I’m fine. Much better. You needn’t worry. If I need anything, I can summon my father from Sykes House.” Henry tried to imagine his father in a kitchen and failed.

  And he really was feeling better. Rachel was like a cure, even if she didn’t want to be.

  “Will I see you again?”

  She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be wise. Your father—”

  “Blast my father! I want to see you. We don’t have to do this again if you don’t want to.”

  “Want has nothing to do with it. Of course one would want it.”

  So, there was a sliver of hope. She wasn’t entirely cold to him even if she was trying to guard her heart.

  Henry’s own heart felt open for the first
time in his life. It hurt to feel, he realized. It was worse than when his foot was almost shot off. He had more in common with old Vincent than he realized. The two of them were goners.

  From somewhere below, Rufus barked, protecting his mistress. Too late. Henry could only be grateful the dog was not inside chewing off his good foot in retaliation for what he had just done.

  Chapter 34

  Rachel let herself into the cottage. The walk home had been…peculiar. It was as if her legs had not made the journey before. Her knees felt liquid and there was an ache in the region of her heart.

  She was so slow, Rufus had darted ahead. No doubt he was annoyed to have gotten no scraps after actually staying put under the bush, and was hoping for better luck when he got home.

  He had been oddly obedient, barking just the once. Could he sense what transpired?

  And what was not going to transpire again.

  She had done the right thing discouraging Henry. She’d also done the right thing sleeping with him. Technically no sleep had been involved, but she wouldn’t take that hour back under any circumstances.

  She had no regrets. She might be an idiot for doing what she had, but she’d have been an idiot not to.

  Rachel wasn’t apt to meet another Henry Challoner in her life, even if she grew into an ancient crone in Puddling. None of the Guests would ever have his allure. It wasn’t because he was a viscount and heir to a marquess. It wasn’t even because of his disheveled golden curls and sky-blue eyes. His broad brown shoulders and his absolutely magnificent c—

  She shivered. Best not to even think about that particular appendage. She would not be seeing it again.

  Henry was an odd mix of braggadocio and vulnerability. It was the soft side that interested her, the ruefulness. The loneliness. The emptiness. He’d been in an awful hurry to fill it up before he came here.

  Rachel couldn’t complete him. Fix him. One sensual encounter was not going to set him on the path of righteousness. If anything, it might hurt him even more.