Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

B arbara studied the glass door on the patio that led to Ambrose’s study. What version of him was she going to see this evening? His lessons were helping, that much was obvious, but how they accomplished anything between their arguing and kissing was beyond her.

The door in front of her opened then, and Ambrose appeared, looking down at her with a raised, mocking eyebrow. She had only seen him a quarter of an hour ago in his dining room with Helena, and yet her heart leaped as she now took him in.

“Are you going to come in, or are you waiting for my sister to catch you?” he asked sarcastically, his eyes roaming over her figure.

Annoyance rushed through her, and she shoved past him to go into his study.

“Forgive me for not being overly excited for our lesson,” she retorted snidely. “Sometimes it takes me a moment to steel myself against your annoying presence.”

Ambrose’s eyebrow rose in question. “Against me?” he asked lazily. “What do I do?”

“What do you do?” Barbara fumed.

She wanted to drag her nails across that handsome face! Then kiss him until she was breathless.

Shaking her head against the thought, Barbara stepped toward him, a finger raised accusingly. “What are these kisses that you give me, Ambrose?” she asked, her stomach churning with nerves. “Is it another part of your lesson?” she pressed when he did and said nothing. “Or is this some price I must pay for your lesson?”

Ambrose’s dark blue eyes flattened, then he began to stride toward her. His hand wrapped around her own with her finger still extended and held it tightly. He pulled it to his chest, making her take another step toward him, pulling her so close that their shoulders brushed.

“I assure you, my lady, when my kisses are monetized, I make the deal well ahead of time,” he said in a curt, deep tone.

The flatness in his eyes had turned into something else, making the light dance in them like blue flames.

“And if another man puts his hands on you like that without your permission, I want to know immediately, and the matter will swiftly be settled, am I understood?”

Though he still had a hold on her, Barbara took a step back from him. He spoke his words like a commandment, like a deadly promise to anyone who laid a hand on her. She had only ever heard him speak like this regarding Helena, when he had promised ungodly harm to anyone who dared violate her.

“Barbara,” he growled, his hand tensing and twinging to get her attention, “tell me you understand. You tell me if anyone hurts you.”

“I understand,” she found herself saying softly.

After a moment, some of the flames simmered out of Ambrose’s eyes. He then took a long breath through his nose, exhaled the same way, then released her hand. His grip had not hurt her, not once. Even when she had struggled against it, his strength had not wounded her but kept her still.

She swallowed silently as her released hand burned and tingled at her side, and watched him take a step back. As he did so, the air around her cooled, and she almost took an unconscious step toward him to step back into his warmth.

Catching herself, Barbara brought her still-tingling hand to her mouth, coughed, and then pulled at the ribbon on her cloak. Ambrose’s gaze shone with approval as she pulled the cloak off her shoulders, revealing the gown he had requested she wear. Quite stealthily, she had brought it along as requested but had changed into it before exiting the front door to come around to his study, keeping her cloak tight around herself to hide the change in her wardrobe.

“You remembered,” he stated, looking her up and down. “Here I thought you had forgotten.”

“I am not so addle-brained,” she replied, hoping she sounded as confident as she hoped.

In truth, she did not feel so. This ground with Ambrose was becoming unsteady, and she did not like how her anger toward him seemed to flee a little more every time they met.

“But I want to know why you requested this,” she went on. “You have already made it clear that I am helpless in fashion. Are you simply going to mock me again? Because if so, this lesson could have been avoided.”

Ambrose chuckled, his body relaxing as their banter naturally resumed. Barbara felt relieved to see him relax and felt herself begin to do so. It wasn’t as biting as usual, but it was at least familiar.

“I requested you wear it because tonight, we are going to combine lessons. The fashion, the etiquette, the conversation, we are going to bring them all together,” he explained. Then, with a grin, he added, “Except this time, you are going to take them all seriously from the start.”

“I really have to be dressed up for this?” Barbara sighed. “This is a nice dress! Why must I waste it on this?”

Ambrose’s grin turned into a smirk as he reached into his pocket, and Barbara’s eyebrow rose in confusion as he held out a small black velvet bag.

“What is that?” she asked, wagging her finger toward the bag.

“Barbara, you are building a future for yourself,” he explained, walking toward her. “Piece by piece, you are taking these lessons and creating an opportunity that could provide you with the freedom you desire. But as with any project, it cannot all come together at once.”

Ambrose stopped just a step before and then unstrung the black bag. Barbara said nothing as he reached in, but her eyes grew wide as he pulled out a set of the most gorgeous earrings she had ever seen. They did not just match her dress. They matched her. Her very essence glistened in those green and purple stones, and for the first time ever, Barbara became excited over a piece of jewelry.

“My sister reminded me yesterday that adornments are necessary to pull an ensemble together,” Ambrose went on, holding the earrings up carefully. “I believe that is true for you too. You are nearly there, Barbara. You just need to pull all of the pieces together.”

Palming one earring, he took the other between his fingertips and gingerly clipped the first one to the lower edge of her earlobe. The little device stung softly as it bit into her flesh, but when Ambrose brushed his thumb delicately over it, the sting faded away. The same happened when he clipped the other earring into place, and as he stepped back so she could admire her reflection, her eyes grew wide with shock.

“Thank you,” she breathed, taking in the sparkling gems at her earlobes.

“You have earned them,” he stated sincerely behind her.

Then, as if he could not take the sincereness of the moment, Ambrose huffed out a laugh at her and flicked the left earring.

“That being said, there is still much for you to learn before we find you a husband. So, I suggest that you do not get too confident.”

Barbara scrunched up her nose at him and made a face before rolling her eyes, but then she looked back into the mirror. She could not believe how large the difference the earrings made in her entire appearance. It completed her somehow, made her look whole—regal. In the mirror, she raised her head a little higher and stood a little straighter. When she turned back to him, she beamed with satisfaction.

“Well?” she prompted, crossing her arms as she raised a haughty eyebrow. “Shall we get started with our lesson?”

“Well, that seems like a very personal issue, my lord,” Barbara replied sweetly, smiling far too wide to be serious. “Perhaps it is a physician you should be speaking to, not I.”

Ambrose bit back the annoyed chuckle in his throat. He knew Barbara would feed on it like a delicacy and use it as fuel for her obstinance. Instead, he merely threw her a weary glance and paced back to his original spot.

“Again?” she groaned.

“Until you take this seriously, yes,” Ambrose retorted.

“I am taking this seriously,” Barbara shot back, a hand going to her chest. “It is you who cannot be serious! Do men really say such things when courting? Do they truly expect us ladies to care about such things?”

“It does not matter what a man says. It is how he feels around you when he talks, and if you do not keep such humorous remarks to yourself, you shall chase a man off before he even has a chance to become interested,” Ambrose explained, growing more frustrated.

“You never run from my humorous remarks,” Barbara replied, raising an eyebrow at him. “Nor does Morgan. Are you saying you are the only two men of the ton who have a sense of humor? If that is so, then perhaps I would be better off seducing him into marriage. He is financially stable, is he not?”

Something dark and possessive rose in Ambrose as Barbara brought up his friend’s name so casually, and he shifted on his feet.

Morgan? Absolutely not. An image of them entwined and kissing flashed through his mind, and he felt his body rebel against it. It was obvious that she was not taking this lesson seriously if she was saying such things, and she would have to pay for that.

Ambrose felt roiling, pent-up energy skitter across his shoulder blades as he smirked at Barbara. He had warned her over and over again that he would punish her if she did not take the lesson seriously, but she just had not believed him. Though, he did not know why. He had never made a false promise before.

“One article of clothing. Lose it. Now,” Ambrose demanded, sliding his hands into his pockets. “You want to keep being sarcastic, let us see how far your bravery gets you without clothes.”

Barbara balked, her smug smile quickly vanishing at the command. “I will not,” she scoffed, speaking each word slowly for emphasis.

“You are not taking this seriously,” he said.

“And you cannot be serious.” Barbara laughed haughtily. “Is this truly how men will talk to me when we are more comfortable? Am I truly supposed to care about all of these things?”

“A good wife displays the ability to listen to her husband and comfort him when he is in need,” Ambrose explained as calmly as he could. “If you want him to come to you instead of another woman, you need to be able to take his matters seriously, no matter how trivial you may find them.”

Barbara seemed to perk up at this. “A mistress!” she said happily. “Oh, that would be perfect, would it not? That way, I truly would not have to deal with my husband.”

Ambrose gave her an exhausted look, and when she stuck her nose in the air, he lunged for her ankle. Barbara let out a muffled gasp as she kicked at his hands, but he wrapped his fingers around the delicate joint, and with his other hand, he yanked off her purple satin slipper.

“Give that back!” Barbara huffed as he held it up after releasing her.

“Stop being sarcastic,” he retorted, then flung it toward the opposite end of the room. “Or lose another. Now again, let us practice the conversation.”

This time, Barbara did not make it a few moments into the conversation before she rolled her eyes. Ambrose aimed for her other foot, but this time she jumped away from him, then bent down and removed the other shoe on her own. He gave her a smug smile and was rewarded with the shoe being flung at his chest.

“Again,” he demanded, tossing the second shoe over his shoulder.

Over the next several moments, as Barbara lost one piece of clothing after another, Ambrose started to wonder if the woman truly could not keep her sarcastic comments to herself. It seemed like a compulsion.

For now, as she stood before him in just her plain white corset and shift, glaring at him with both fury and defiance, she had once more failed another conversation.

“You really cannot help it, can you?” Ambrose asked.

He had given up trying not to stare long ago and was now blatantly taking her in as he stood a few paces away. Barbara’s breasts were barely contained by her corset, her cleavage so pressed together and upright that her nipples threatened to break free of the rigid undergarment. Her waist, so incredibly small, tapered down along the corset’s cinches, flaring the white shift around her hips, the ends of it brushing against her calves.

“You cannot help who you are,” Barbara replied. “I do not see how you can ask me to do something that you yourself cannot. We shall simply have to find me a husband who can put up with my particular way of talking, that is all.”

“That may be harder than you think,” Ambrose replied, smirking at her blush as she followed him with her eyes. “Not many men I know can understand your particular style of communication, Barbara.”

“Sempill did,” Barbara retorted.

Ambrose bristled for a second but then shrugged. “But he was also playing you for a fool,” he pointed out. “Which is why we must practice. A man might not understand your humor, but he may pay your bills. You might just have to sacrifice one for the other.”

Ambrose hated what he said the moment he heard it. He did not want that for Barbara. But it could possibly be the horrid truth. He waited for an angry glare, for her pinched nose and crossed arms that came before a barrage of insults, but they did not come. Something changed then on Barbara’s face. Subtle yet transformative. Heat replaced the anger in her eyes, and when they flicked to his feet to slowly look him up, Ambrose felt a tingle surge through his body.

She took her time, it seemed, and Ambrose noted every time her gaze paused. At his chest, his arms, his… He swallowed as her eyes lingered there. He had been ogled by women before. It was not the first. But this was the first that it got to him—that it made him worry there was nothing much to ogle. When Barbara’s gaze finally made its way back up to his face, she met his eyes and slowly raised an eyebrow.

“You truly believe that I could not find my way out of such a sacrifice?” she asked.

Her tone had become sultry, enticing, and Ambrose felt every muscle in his body harden. When he did not answer, she took a bold step toward him. As she did so, her chemise drew up her thigh, and when she walked, he noticed the extra sway in her hips immediately.

“You think I can’t offer him something that could make him forget about my mouth?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly.

Ambrose’s eyes were constantly darting from her hips to her eyes and then to her earrings. The delicate, sparkling things swayed with each movement she made, creating an almost hypnotizing display.

“You should not speak this way,” Ambrose said, taking a step back.

His body screamed at him in protest, desire, and lust urging him to do the exact opposite.

“Is there something wrong with my tongue, Your Grace?” she asked coyly, taking another step toward him. “You seem to have so many things to say about my mouth, I assume there is something amiss with that too.”

“Enough with the innuendos,” he cut in, growing frustrated at his body’s response. “Take this seriously, or leave.”

Barbara tsked as she drew her lips into a sensual pout, then shook her head. She took another step toward him, exposing her thigh once more, and though Ambrose told his body to move, it remained rooted to the spot.

He had been having fun with this game at first, but something had shifted. This was not the playful joy he felt from watching her strip each piece away one at a time, but instead a heavy anticipation.

“What is the matter, Your Grace?” she asked sweetly, taking another step toward him. “I am being most sincere with my questions, as you told me not to be sarcastic. Am I doing something wrong?”

“Barbara, this is no longer funny. Put your dress back on. This was a mistake, I took the lesson too far.”

Ambrose hated the way his voice thickened as he spoke—he could practically hear his arousal in his tone. How long had it been since a woman affected him in such a way? Made him unable to think clearly or tamp down his lust? Had such a time, such a woman, even existed?

“If you were my suitor,” Barbara purred, closing the space between them by locking her wrists behind his head, “would you truly not like it if I talked sweetly like this? Is it not what you have been asking me to do this entire evening?”

Her hand came down to his face, her fingernails gently trailing down his left temple, jaw, then chin. The tips of fingernails had barely had a chance to pull away from him before Ambrose had her crushed to his chest, his mouth fused to hers. Barbara’s lips parted for him willingly, as if remembering what he liked, and he greedily took her proffered tongue. He suckled and coaxed and nipped, moving from her mouth to her neck, and she did the same.

In his arms, Barbara made no protest against his touch but instead clung to him as tightly as he did to her. Her arms were once more wrapped around his neck, her thighs parted and pressed tight against his own. He should stop this. He could sense it. This would not stop at kissing, not tonight. Not with the way her desire so obviously matched his.

Ambrose pulled away slightly, trying to gain some sense, but Barbara was flush against him once more in an instant, his back thudding against the wall before their lips met again. What little restraint he had left evaporated as a growl of approval rumbled in his chest. Taking her wrists in his hands, he forced her arms apart and spun her until it was her back that was pressed against the wall.

Barbara gasped then grinned against his lips at his sudden display of dominance, and when he pulled away from their kiss, she was smiling at him like a river nymph would smile at a helpless wanderer to seduce him into her waters. She was like this mythical creature, he realized then. Silently strong and deceptively sharp with her talents. He could not help but smirk back in response before he spun her once more, slamming her palms against the wall. He pressed his lips to her ear as his hands went to the strings of her corset, teasing the sensitive flesh with the softest kisses and lightest nips.

“You keep trying to prove to me how wicked your tongue is for some reason,” he murmured in her ear, releasing her from her confining corset. “Perhaps I should now prove why mine is much more wicked than yours.”

Barbara shivered against him as her head lolled into his chest, and he could not refuse the opportunity to trace his tongue along the length of that beautiful column of flesh. Barbara nearly melted into the wall, her grip loosening just as he finished undoing the corset’s strings. It dropped away uselessly to the floor, quickly forgotten.

She thought that he would pull her shift up her body next, making her take her hands off the wall once more. But instead, he gripped the hem of it with both fists and tore the delicate white linen in two—from the hem at her calves all the way up the small of her back.

She gasped, her knees buckling slightly as she felt her knickers being pulled down next. Ambrose’s hot breath against her bare backside, then the feel of his lips on her right cheek. Pleasure shot through her as his teeth came next, nipping the virginal flesh, causing just the tiniest bit of pain.

“Part your legs farther,” he commanded, his voice a gruff contrast to his gentle touch.

Barbara did so immediately, her toes digging into the polished wood beneath her as her palms began to leave moist imprints on the wall. Heat prickled over her skin, causing a fine sheen of sweat to appear on her brow and neck as Ambrose’s hands came up to her buttocks. His rough fingers kneaded and massaged the ample flesh there as his kisses traveled further down the right cheek and toward her mons.

Just as his tongue slid against her already moist labia, Barbara felt his left-hand slip around her hip. His fingertips dove to the tight bundle of nerves she’d only ever found and touched once, and pleasure rocked through her body. Suddenly grateful to have the wall to brace herself against, Barbara leaned her weight into it, letting her breasts rest there as her breathing deepened.

Stop, a small voice whispered in the back of her head as Ambrose began to feast on her with fervor. This is not smart. Stop.

But she did not. Could not. Already a tightness had formed in her lower belly, a tremor in her legs as pleasure continued to mount between her legs. It felt too good. He felt too good. And she did not want him to stop.