Chapter 5

5

A ri might have left his profession behind him, but he had managed to retain some of the skills enabling him to become Edinburgh’s most successful barrister. One of those skills was the use of the element of surprise. From the expression on her face, Ari would not even need a feather to knock Lily Venable over. In fact, she fairly dropped into the chair he held for her like a sack of stones, or perhaps like a pair of boots tossed over a balustrade. He returned to his seat and offered her his most amiable smile.

“You must try the eggs, Miss Venable. Your cook is exceptional. May I call for tea or do you prefer coffee?” He picked up the silver coffee pot and held the spout poised over her pretty pink and gold cup.

“May you call for—? Of course I’ll have coffee. That is why it is on my breakfast table.” She snatched a triangle of toast from the silver toast rack and began to slap butter on it with such force Ari expected it to either crumble or burst into flames. He filled her cup and went back to his own breakfast, head down but glancing up surreptitiously to observe her. She spooned some raspberry jam from the jam pot onto her toast and shoved half of the triangle into her mouth, where she tore it in half with a vicious bite.

Stay away from the lady’s teeth.

Not to mention her knife.

“I trust you slept well?” he asked after several long minutes of silence. He had certainly slept soundly. Once he had locked the bedchamber door and barred the way to his bed with his trunks.

She flashed him a quick hard glare and stuck the serving spoon into a serving dish to deliver a scoop of the fluffy eggs to her plate. He shrugged and set to cutting a thick juicy ham steak into bite-sized pieces. The only sound from the other end of the table was the deliberate clank of cutlery punctuated by the occasional indignant huff.

He did his best not to smile at her obvious pique. Her unwillingness to engage in conversation gave him the opportunity to truly study the woman she’d become. When he’d seen her on the stage in Edinburgh, she could not have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old. The last ten years had provided her the sort of siren’s beauty he would not have expected in someone who had left the stage for the role of mistress.

In his experience, a woman who had to enter the hard life of selling her body to survive, even if she landed in the care of a benevolent keeper, showed the price—in her eyes, her face, even in her figure. Lily Venable, impossible as it seemed, had only grown more exquisitely beautiful and far more self-assured and intimidating than she was when he’d wandered into the green rooms backstage or joined the group of gentlemen vying for her attention at the back door of the theatre.

Whilst he’d conducted his observations of his supposed pupil, she’d finished her breakfast. She shot to her feet, kicked back her chair, dropped her serviette on the table, and left the room, slamming the door behind her. Ari crossed the room in three strides, flung open the door and caught up to her in the foyer. He wrapped his hand around her elbow and turned her to face him.

“Miss Venable, I know we—oompf!” Ari was bent double almost in the same instant he realized she’d balled up her hand and punched him in the stomach. She scampered up the stairs on light and graceful feet whilst he tried to draw air into his lungs. He heard a muffled cough behind him. Once he gathered his strength, he swiveled around to see the footman, Rutherford, standing in the drawing room doors. Ari managed a few quick breaths and straightened, though he still held his hand pressed to his middle.

“How long has she been Framlingwood’s mistress?” he asked.

“Two years,” the footman replied.

“How the devil has he survived?” Ari rubbed his gut and gave his body a shake.

“By not telling Miss Venable what to do. Sir.” The young man stepped into the foyer. “Please don’t put your hands on her again.” He executed a curt bow and walked down the corridor toward the back of the house.

“Rutherford?” he called after the footman who turned and looked at him inquiringly.

“Duly noted. It won’t happen again. Do you have any idea where she might be?” A fuzzy white kitten sauntered toward the foyer, past the footman, and started up the stairs.”

“Upstairs drawing room. Miss Lily’s library. Follow Titania, she’ll show you the way.” He indicated the ball of fluff that stopped at the top of the stairs and blinked at Ari with bright green eyes.

Ari took the stairs two at the time and reached the landing in time to see the kitten pause before the white and gold gilded doors to the right. When he reached the kitten, he scooped her up and stepped into the room without knocking. He glanced about and took in the tasteful black and pink brocade furnishings complimented by rich rosewood tables, cabinets, and commodes. However, what stunned him were the walls of bookshelves filled with books, beautifully bound tomes as far as the eye could see.

“What are you doing with Titania? Give her to me.” Miss Venable appeared out of nowhere and came toward him hands outstretched. Ari held the kitten out as if to ward off an attack. Once the lady drew close enough, he pulled the soft purring creature close to his chest and took a step back.

“What are you doing?”

“This kitten is the only thing standing between me and further physical harm. I’ll not hand her over until I have your word you will not punch me, knife me, or throw anything at me.” He stroked the kitten who reached up with a tiny paw and batted gently at his nose.

“You are afraid of a mere woman,” Miss Venable declared, hands on hips. “And trust a kitten to keep you safe?”

“You are no mere woman. And the kitten has yet to shy any books at me or drop a shaving box on my head.”

“Very well.” She held out her hands once more.

“Say the words.” He forced himself to maintain a serious expression. Suddenly the idea of negotiating with an earl’s mistress for possession of a kitten struck him as the most ridiculous moment in his life.

“I give you my word I will not seek to harm you in any way,” she said. He handed her the kitten. “Today,” she added. Lily subsided into one of the chairs before a pink marble fireplace. The kitten settled onto her lap and promptly went to sleep. Ari wandered up and down the walls of books. For someone who supposedly had not learned to read she had amassed an impressive collection of novels, philosophy books, and volumes on every subject imaginable.

“Why are you still here, Mr. Barker-Finch?”

He stopped and turned to face her. “At present, I have nowhere else to go. Framlingwood and Lady Camilla have seen to that.”

“What would possess a man like you to even consider taking a position as tutor to an earl’s mistress? You are a barrister. As I understand it, a very good one.” She stroked the sleeping kitten and Ari found himself unable to take his eyes off her delicate hand moving over the kitten’s silky fur. He blinked a few times to rid himself of the erotic sensations that danced across his skin.

“I was a barrister. I am one no longer. I have not been since I returned from Edinburgh.” He strolled languidly across the plush Aubusson to sit in the chair opposite her.

“Edinburgh?” He caught the slight rise in her voice, the rapid flutter at the side of her elegant neck, and the subtle flush of color beneath the creamy tone of her skin. A twitch of discomfort flicked his shoulder. Ari had never found the study of a witness in the box distasteful, but to turn that sharp instrument on this woman did not sit well with him. He had no notion why.

“Yes.” He leaned back in the chair and adopted an attitude just shy of indifference. “I lived and practiced there for ten years. Have you ever been to Edinburgh, Miss Venable?”

“No. Why are you no longer a barrister? You are yet a young man.” Her precipitous change of subject answered one question and provoked several more.

“I was no longer effective in my position. Why do you wish to learn to read?”

“Why do I—You mean why would an earl’s mistress bother to acquire a skill for which she has no use? After all, mistress to a titled gentleman is the height of her profession for a whore.” The kitten, as if sensing her mistress’s sudden change in mood, awoke and sat up to fix Ari with an unblinking stare.

“Few women resort to…selling their favors as a profession. Unfortunately, there is a dearth of employments a woman might take on when she needs must support herself. In our world where men determine what women are allowed to do in spite of what women can do, a position such as yours is not a choice, but the result of a lack of choices. Men do not suffer such limits. If they did perhaps more of us would sell our favors. Yes?” He wiggled his eyebrows and offered her a brief smile.

She laughed and the bright, bell-like tones sent little shafts of light into his heretofore heavy spirits. “I assure you, sirrah, many men do ‘sell their favors,’ as you so delicately state. There are a number of brothels here in London where men service both women and other men. Some are very highly paid indeed, whether they can read or not.”

“That is good to know. Should my performance as your tutor prove unsatisfactory, I pray you provide me with the addresses of these establishments so I might secure employment better suited to my talents.” He propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

She snorted and shook her head.

“Do you wish me to teach you to read, Miss Venable?” he asked in all solemn sincerity.

“Do you think you can?” Her quiet inquiry, wistful and replete with doubt, tugged at him as if from a cord drawn from his chest to her dainty fingers.

“If you have the will, I most certainly have the talent. Shall we make a start?” He pushed out of the chair so abruptly the kitten arched her back and hissed at him.

“My apologies, Miss Titania,” he bowed. “A pox on me for daring to trespass on your delicate sensibilities.” He scooped up the nearly weightless sprite and strode to an ornately carved escritoire between two long windows overlooking some gardens and a mews next to a cobblestone lane behind the row of townhouses. He retrieved several pages of clean-cut parchment and a fully stocked quill and ink stand. With a fine bit of juggling, he made his way to a long library table at the other end of the room without dropping the writing accoutrements nor the kitten.

A somewhat bemused expression on her face, Miss Venable came to the table and sat in the chair he indicated. “Now what?” she asked.

“When one is about to begin a journey, one should first ascertain from whence one intends to start.” He arranged the writing tools in front of her and sat down in a leather library chair at the head of the library table. The kitten curled up in his lap, decidedly uninterested in the affairs of her human companions. “Do you know your letters?”

She hesitated so long before answering he feared his question had offended her. No matter Lady Camilla’s assertions he was the man to teach a grown woman to read, he truly hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about doing so. He’d fallen back on what he could remember of his own early education under the gentle tutelage of his nanny. Hence his stiff posture and pedantic speech. Two things which had nothing to do with his very real fight against the overpowering urge to touch her glorious hair or to draw his fingertips down her silken cheek.

“I think I do,” Miss Venable finally said.

“I would wager you know far more than you think you know. Write down everything you remember. We shall start from there.”

She took a deep breath, which drew his gaze to the generous swell of her breasts against the scoop of her bodice. He shifted in the chair and was rewarded with a disgruntled meow from Miss Titania. Miss Venable set to the task he’d given her with admirable determination. Her quill-strokes were slow and deliberate. Her concentration deep enough to produce tiny furrows in her brow. After several letters the tip of her tongue peeked from the corner of her mouth and stayed in that position as if in aid of the labors of the dainty fingers that clutched the quill with a fervor he seldom saw in even the most devoted law clerks.

After a quarter of an hour, she put down her quill and shoved the parchment at him. “That is all I can remember. I know there must be more, and I know my writing is worse than any child’s, and I—”

Ari held up his hand to silence her. Her voice held an uncharacteristic wobble. The longer she spoke, the swifter and more breathless her words. And he could not bear the anxious, self-recriminating tone of her every word. “This is an excellent start, Miss Venable. I have read letters from belted earls far less clearly written than what you have done here.” He perused the smudged piece of parchment. She’d managed to remember twenty of twenty-six letters. Her script was indeed unschooled, but she’d tried, and he made out each letter with little trouble.

“Lily.”

He'd been studying the parchment so carefully she startled him when she spoke. He glanced up at her, and his heart began to bang against his ribs mercilessly.

“You must call me Lily.” She folded her hands on the table and met his gaze with a steady, unwavering gaze of her own.

“Very well. Lily. You must call me Ari.”

“Ari? What an odd name.” Her green eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Not nearly as odd as Aristotle, which is my full given name.”

“Oh dear.” She snorted and immediately pressed her hand to her lips.

“Do go ahead and laugh. But I beg you do not reveal that information to anyone. I can only provide entertainment to so many people at one time.”

“Aristotle,” she murmured and then let loose a completely unladylike burst of laughter.

“Very well. As you are so amused by my name. I demand you write my name five times on this piece of parchment as punishment.”

As if she were a candle suddenly snuffed out, she grew quiet and still. She picked up the quill and slowly dragged the piece of parchment from beneath his fingertips. A light sheen shone from her eyes.

Clumsy oaf!

He took the piece of parchment back, removed the quill from her shaky fingers and wrote his name in clear bold letters with a bit space between each letter on one side. On the other side he wrote her name in the same fashion.

“You can do this,” he said quietly as he passed the parchment and quill back to her. “And if you can write, I can teach you to read. You have my word.”

She gave him one last look of pointed skepticism and set to work. When he’d had enough of the sound of the quill scratching ever so slowly across the page, Ari stood and deposited the kitten on his chair. He strolled casually to one of the walls of bookshelves and pretended to study the titles of the various volumes. When the scratching grew more steady, he took surreptitious glances at her, fiery head bent over the parchment hard at work.

What the devil was he about? He’d never wished for this task in the first place. He’d certainly never agreed to live in the same house as a woman who might be a murderess and was most definitely the target of some deranged person or persons unknown. After William’s death he’d vowed never to have anyone’s life in his hands again. His current dilemma wasn’t quite the same, but was bloody damned close. Not to mention his forced proximity to a woman who had haunted his most fevered erotic dreams for ten years. A woman who was lying about her identity and had no notion that he knew who she was. He needed a brandy in the worst possible way.

“Queen Bess’s bubbies,” Lily muttered under her breath.

Make that, two brandies.

“Here,” she said with a huff of exasperation as she pushed the parchment across the table toward him. “That’s me finished. Your mother should be drawn and quartered for saddling you with such an impossible name.” She folded her arms and slumped back into her chair.

“You will provoke no argument from me,” He came to stand beside her chair and look over her work.

“What are your other names? You barristers are usually tonnish types and have names by the handful.”

He gave a half-hearted laugh. “My full name is Aristotle Lycurgus Solon Barker-Finch the Third.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she blurted out and immediately covered his mouth with her hand.

“Any of those names would have been preferable to the ones I was given.” He pointed at the writing on the parchment. “By the time you wrote my name for the last time you very nearly matched what I wrote. Do you see that?” She leaned forward and studied where his finger rested.

“Really?” She looked up at him, so terribly pleased his chest hurt at her excitement. “I think you are crediting me with far more talent than I possess.” She pointed at her own name. “Though I will own to this part of your name looking particularly fine, if I do say so myself.”

“That,” he said, as he drew a line under her final version of her own name. “Is not part of my name. That is your name, L-i-l-y. Those four letters spell Lily.”

She ran her finger over the letters and brushed his fingers as she did. A shiver passed through him at her touch. But then she gazed up at him and her expression staggered his heartbeat and filled him with a sensation, half pain and half something warm and unfamiliar.

“I wrote my name,” she whispered.

“Yes, you did and very beauti—hmmm.”

She was in his arms and kissing him senseless before he knew it. But once he realized what was happening, he certainly did not waste any time thinking. He wrapped one arm around her to steady her as she’d nearly knocked him over when she leapt from her chair and threw her arms around his neck. At first her kiss was all enthusiasm and no finesse to speak of at all. He met the press of her lips with tender sips at her top lip before he drew her plump bottom lip between his teeth and sucked gently. When she gasped, he darted his tongue inside her mouth. She sank into their kiss, meeting him stroke for stroke. Her hands stroked the back of his neck and she ran her fingers through the long hair that hung over his collar.

She was all searing heat and fierce passion, and he completely forgot where he was and why he was there. He slid his free hand up her arm, along the side of her neck and into the mass of satiny curls arranged at the back of her head. Which sent hairpins falling onto the table next to where they stood. The singular ping as each one fell startled them both. Lily pushed against his shoulders and took a step back out of his embrace. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath. Ari failed to breathe at all.

“What…was that?” she touched two fingers to her lips and stared at him in disbelief.

“I…” Ari drew in a long breath. “You don’t know? You started it.” God, he sounded like a petulant schoolboy. “And if you have to ask, my chances of finding employment in one of those places you mentioned are decidedly unlikely.”

“The way you kiss,” she said hoarsely, as she picked up the piece of parchment in one hand, the kitten in the other, and backed away from Ari. “Only a fool would refuse to hire you, Mr. Barker-Finch.”

“Are you a fool?” he asked before he thought better of it.

“I…” She shook her head and fled the room.