Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

I t was Gwen’s turn to arrive early at the Droxfords’ home, so Lazarus braced himself to see her as soon as he walked into the library. He was both anticipating and dreading their meeting. He’d done little but think of her the past day and a half since the literary salon.

The butler greeted him, but said nothing further. By now, he understood that Lazarus and Gwen were having clandestine meetings in the library. However, he didn’t acknowledge it in any way.

Lazarus hesitated just outside the library and summoned his most charming smile. Then he let it fall from his face. What was he doing? Did he think he could flirt this problem away? That would only make things worse.

Taking a deep breath, he walked into the library. Gwen stood near the table and turned to face him. She wore a simple, pale pink walking dress with a lace fichu. She looked feminine and alluring, and Lazarus had to work very hard not to rush over and take her in his arms.

“Should I close the door?” he asked, thinking that small act held more weight after their kiss.

“I had thought no, but I think you must. Else, the truth of our meetings—and your secret—may become known.”

Lazarus wasn’t sure it mattered, but he was still sensitive to his problem. Though his reading had improved—slightly—in the time they’d been meeting, he didn’t feel confident enough for anyone to know that he required help to memorize and deliver a speech he’d written. He was beginning to wonder if he ought to try just speaking without memorizing it. If only he could have a person beside him who could murmur something to him if he lost the thread of what he was saying or had missed a point that he wanted to make.

He closed the door and went to the table, standing behind his chair so he was not close to her and there was furniture between them. He saw that she’d already put out parchment, pencil, and a book for their work together.

“I hope you have been well,” she said, smiling tentatively. He could tell she felt strangely. He did too.

“I’m not sure we can act as if nothing happened,” he said.

“We must try,” she said gamely. Slipping into her chair, she motioned for him to sit. “Let’s begin. Focusing on our work will ensure we aren’t distracted.”

Did that mean she was having difficulty not thinking of kissing? Lazarus should not contemplate that. Better to do as she said—focus on their work. He sat down and willed himself to relax.

“How have you been coming with memorizing the speech?” she asked. “Would you like to practice and show me your progress?”

The truth was that he’d been so distracted since the salon that he’d barely made any. “I suppose I could try.”

“Let us practice reading first, and perhaps that will put you more at ease.” She gave him an encouraging smile that made him want to kiss her. Hell, everything made him want to kiss her.

He needed to pull himself together. If he could not, his chance at improving his reading would be gone.

She opened the book and put it before him on the table. She’d written on the text, making the same sort of marks—underlines and slashes to break up syllables and sounds—she’d done on things she had copied.

“You ruined your book,” he said.

“Bah, it’s not ruined if it helps you.”

“I’ll buy you another. I know how dear they are to you.”

Her gaze locked with his. “Teaching you is also dear to me.”

She was dear to him. Lazarus brought one hand beneath the table and squeezed his fingers into his leg. It was torture not to touch her. To bask in her warmth and tenderness.

Forcing his gaze from hers, he looked at the book and began to read. Shockingly, it was easier than usual. Which wasn’t to say it was easy. But he had a weird confidence he hadn’t felt since his father had died. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he had a true ally—someone who genuinely cared about helping him and wanted to see him succeed.

He read for ten minutes or perhaps much longer. He wasn’t sure. The words were flowing a little more easily. Until they didn’t. He reached a word that made him falter, and he sat back in the chair, silently cursing.

“That was so wonderful!” she cried, her features alight with pride. “Do not be discouraged. You were reading marvelously! And you seemed to be enjoying yourself. That is the ultimate goal.”

“But then I stumbled.”

“ I sometimes stumble when I read,” she said. “You mustn’t chastise yourself. You are making true progress. I hope you can see it. Please tell me you can, or I shall feel as though I’m failing you.”

“You are not,” he said quickly. “I could not ask for a better tutor.”

“Thank you.” There was pink in her cheeks again, as if she were embarrassed by his praise. Or was it something else? “Do you want to practice your speech now?”

“I suppose I can try.”

Gwen pulled a piece of parchment from her bag. “I’ll follow along with my copy in case you need any prompts.” She held the paper, but watched him expectantly.

He felt suddenly nervous. “I should probably stand,” he murmured, rising and pushing his chair back. He walked away from the table then back, loosening his shoulders as he moved. He took a position between the chair and the table and began to concentrate.

“Do you always close your eyes when you practice?” she asked.

Lazarus hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. Opening his eyes, he fixed on her. “I hadn’t noticed, but yes. I should try not to do that when I’m in the House of Lords.” He’d look an idiot speechifying with his eyes shut.

“You can do it for now if it helps. We can work on one thing at a time.”

“I’ll try not to close them.” Indeed, if he kept his gaze on her, he wouldn’t want to close them. And yet, doing so might also distract him from saying anything beyond “Kiss me again, Gwen. Please.”

“Begin whenever you are ready.” She glanced down at the paper briefly before leveling her expectant stare on him.

It should have been unnerving, but he found it surprisingly comforting. Perhaps because she looked at him with such eagerness and confidence. And pride. She absolutely believed in him, even if he didn’t believe in himself. To have someone in his life who seemed to truly understand him after so long without his father filled him with the strength he’d been lacking.

He felt a moment’s pause, for he didn’t wish to discount his mother, who had always shown him love and support. She just hadn’t been aware of his reading difficulties because his father had managed his education and she’d been focused on their three daughters. Then, after his father died, Lazarus hadn’t been able to tell her the truth. For the first time, he thought perhaps he could. Why had he ever thought he couldn’t be honest with her? Because the shame he’d long carried had eclipsed everything else.

Setting aside his long-held emotion and focusing on the courage Gwen instilled in him, he somehow found the beginning of the speech in his mind and began to orate. Word after word flowed from him, and since he wasn’t reading, it all sounded right and natural. After a while, he noticed she wasn’t looking at the parchment. He stumbled then, the next words escaping him.

She prompted him with the next word, but didn’t look down to see what it was.

“Have you memorized the speech?” he asked, incredulous.

“I may have done,” she said with a faint shrug.

“Then why are you holding it in front of you?”

“Just in case I didn’t have it memorized completely. You are not the only one who doubts themselves. You are quite normal in that, you see.”

Lazarus knew in that moment he would never meet another woman like her. Someone who could see into his soul and somehow saw the best parts of him, who shared herself with him in ways that made him feel whole. It had been years since he’d felt that kind of understanding and connection. Not since his father had died.

“Do you need the next word?” she asked.

He recalled what she’d said and gave his head a light shake. Picking up the thread, he went on, but only for a few lines because that was all he’d memorized. “That’s all I have,” he said.

She leapt up from her chair. “That’s half, Lazarus!”

Her use of his name and her boundless excitement made him grin. She set the parchment down and moved around the table to where he stood. Then she hugged him, her arms curling around his neck. “I’m so proud of you,” she said softly, her lips near his ear.

Lazarus froze. But only for the barest moment. Then he snaked his arms around her and held her tightly against him.

She pulled her head back and looked him in the eye, her lips parted. Giving him the slightest nod, she lifted her mouth to his.

Lazarus needed no further urging, nor did he want to hear the voices in his head telling him to stop. He kissed her eagerly, desperately, passionately. This was not a tentative embrace like the other night. This was a meeting of two people who wanted nothing more than to be in the other’s arms.

He should not want this. He should not allow this. And yet, if the house were on fire as her veil had been, he would not have been able to stop.

She met the thrust of his tongue with her own and clasped the back of his neck, her fingers tugging gently on his hair. Lazarus pressed his hands into her back and clutched her hip, pulling her pelvis to his.

Their incoherent noises and soft moans surrounded him, plunging him into a seductive haze. The kisses ended, then started anew, then deepened as their bodies moved together, seeking and touching. Lazarus picked her up and set her backside on the table, moving to nudge himself between her legs as best her garments would allow. He kissed away from her mouth, exploring her jawline and her neck, moving down to the hollow of her throat.

Gwen clutched at his head, her fingers tangling in his hair. He brought one hand to the underside of her breast, cupping her. She arched toward him, eager for his touch. Lazarus was fast losing control, if he ever had it to begin with.

He should step away from her. Hell, he should run away from her. Instead, he lifted his head and kissed her again as he stroked his hand over her breast. She kissed him back with a passionate zeal that killed any inclination he had to stop.

Nipping at her lower lip, he flattened his hand against her bare skin, above and between the lace fichu that was tucked into her gown. How he wanted to slip his hand into her bodice and explore as much of her flesh as he could. But he couldn’t risk disrobing her in his friend’s library.

He shouldn’t be risking any of this.

Reason finally took control, and Lazarus dragged his mouth from hers. He took a step back, his breath coming fast and his pulse racing. His cock throbbed with urgency, desperate for release—for her .

Gwen’s lips were dark pink and kiss swollen, her eyes luminous with desire. Lazarus wanted her more than ever.

“Why did you stop?” she asked, her voice low and seductive. “I was enjoying that immensely.”

“As was I.” Lazarus took a deep breath to try to calm himself. “However, we must not continue. We weren’t even supposed to start. I recall you saying we would put what happened at the salon behind us, and you were right to say that. Today was a mistake.”

“It didn’t feel like a mistake,” she said with an utterly charming smile.

Lazarus nearly groaned with frustration. She was not making this easy. But then, he doubted tearing himself away from her and doing what he must do next would be nothing but excruciatingly difficult and painful. “Nevertheless, it was a mistake. Even our meeting was a mistake. We will need to forgo future tutoring sessions.”

Her eyes rounded, and she pushed herself off the table. “No. We can’t do that. I’m committed to helping you.”

As she moved toward him, Lazarus took another step back. “I do appreciate that. However, I am committed to not ruining you, which means we can no longer see one another.”

“You won’t ruin me,” she said with such earnestness that he nearly believed her. He wanted to believe her. But he knew himself. And while he was a rogue, he was something else entirely with her. She consumed his thoughts, and if he didn’t back away now, they risked being trapped together forever.

Would that be such a bad thing?

Lazarus nearly gasped at the tiny voice in the back of his mind. He had to have misheard it. Bloody hell, he was so far gone, he was listening to nonsensical utterances in his head.

“Gwen, please understand that this is not about you—it’s entirely me. You know what sort of man I am. Apparently, I can’t even help myself when it’s in my best interest to do so.” An ache centered in Lazarus’s chest. He knew her tutoring was helping him. To walk away from it now seared into him and left him feeling…less. But what she’d done so far would have to be enough.

Her brow puckered. “This is my fault. I never should have asked you to kiss me. And today, I’m afraid I was swept away by the same impulse. If you weren’t such an excellent kisser?—”

Now, Lazarus did groan. “Please stop. We can’t even talk about this.” His body was already on tenterhooks in her presence. Discussing their mutual attraction and how much she liked his kissing was not going to help matters.

Her lovely face fell, as if he’d just told her that her horse died. “I’ve let you down, Lazarus. I’m so sorry.”

“You have not .” He wanted to touch her, to assure her she’d done everything right, but he couldn’t dare. “You have given me something I have long been without—hope. My father started me on a journey to read, and you have helped me along that path. For that, I will be eternally grateful.”

“Will you let me know if I can help you at all? Anytime. Anywhere.”

Lazarus allowed a smile. Did she have any idea what that sort of invitation conjured in his salacious mind? “I will,” he lied. He had no intention of seeking her out. He could not. She was on her way to finding a husband, and he would likely toast her wedding come June.

“I don’t suppose you’ll rescue me at Almack’s again tonight if I need it?” she asked hopefully. “We didn’t go last week, but my mother thinks we must attend tonight since my fortunes seem to have improved.”

Watching her dance with a parade of eligible bachelors would be certain torture. And yet, he was drawn to want to protect her, to ensure she enjoyed a wonderful evening. “I don’t think I will be there,” he said regretfully.

She nodded, then moved around the table to collect her things. “You should keep practicing reading every day. If you don’t mind, I’d be happy to send you things to practice with the markings I’ve made.”

“Would you?” The words leapt from his mouth before he even considered her offer. But it would be fine. Sending him things didn’t mean they would see one another.

“Of course. In fact, I’ll do it anyway, if you don’t want me to,” she added with a chuckle.

“I do want you to,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

Picking up her bag, she gave him a lingering stare. “Thank you . For everything. You have altered the course of my life.”

Then she turned and was gone from the library. Gone from him . Forever.

T he following afternoon, Gwen donned her dancing slippers for another lesson with Mr. Tremblay. She was not looking forward to the next hour or however long he would be there. She would much prefer another tutoring lesson with Lazarus, especially if there would be kissing.

But there wouldn’t be any more tutoring nor any kissing. Gwen had felt as though she were in a fog since leaving him yesterday afternoon. She would blame that for her mishap at Almack’s last night, but since she was clumsy on any given day, she could not.

She’d tripped during a longways dance and managed to fall onto a rather short, slender gentleman, knocking him to the floor. Thankfully, he’d laughed and helped her up, but her partner for the dance, Mr. Brentworth, hadn’t been impressed. She was fairly certain that was the last she’d see of him.

Before that, she’d danced with Mr. Markwith and believed he was interested in a courtship. He had to leave London early this morning to visit a family member in Kent, but said he would see her when he returned. Instead of feeling excited by his attention and interest, she was still feeling foggy—or something—about Lazarus.

She needed to move on from their exciting interludes. He was precisely the man she thought he was—an utter rogue—and thus, the type of man she’d vowed never to wed. Not that he would have been interested in marrying her. Indeed, he hadn’t been able to get away from her quickly enough. All because he couldn’t manage his rakish tendencies.

She thought of what her mother had said regarding his reputation and that he would not make a good husband. Perhaps she was right—her opinion mattered to Gwen. And here Gwen was behaving inappropriately with a known rogue. Her mother would be horrified. Gwen couldn’t help but flinch inwardly.

Knowing Lazarus wasn’t a good choice didn’t make the pain of losing their friendship any less. But if she could focus on the fact that she was better off without him, perhaps the ache would ease.

“Gwen, why are you staring at the wall with that forlorn expression?” her mother asked. She was already seated near the window with her magazine.

Shaking her head, Gwen blinked. “Just lost in thought. Thinking of a book I’m reading,” she fibbed.

Mr. Tremblay and his musician arrived, and Gwen forced a smile while her body tensed. “Good afternoon, Miss Price. Are you ready to waltz?”

“I don’t suppose we could start with a simple longways dance?” Gwen asked, and not just because it would mean he wasn’t touching her for very long. After last night, she could use the practice.

The dancing master frowned, his forehead pleating gently as his bow lips pursed. “Is that really necessary? I should think you ought to move beyond that.”

“Just a quick review would be helpful,” Gwen said. “I, ah, sometimes have trouble with it.”

“I see.” He suddenly smiled brilliantly. “If we have time at the end, we’ll give that a quick practice. But first, we must focus on the more challenging dances.”

“Mr. Tremblay,” Gwen’s mother called. “Would you mind starting with the cotillion? Gwen is more likely to dance that than the waltz or the quadrille.”

Mr. Tremblay appeared slightly disappointed, but he covered it with another smile. “Very well.”

Feeling relieved, Gwen followed Mr. Tremblay’s instruction. The music started, and he guided her through the dance, touching her more than she expected, his hand lingering on her arm and grazing her back and hip. A few times, she misstepped, and he was quick to grab her and steer her correctly. It would not have been strange at all, except for the length of time he held her and the way his touches sometimes felt like caresses.

Then there were the overly friendly smiles. Indeed, they were almost…seductive. Everything he did made her distinctly uncomfortable.

When the music stopped, he applauded briefly. “You’ve done very well, Miss Price. Time for the waltz.”

Gwen glanced toward her mother who was just returning her attention to the magazine she held. Had she seen any of the things Mr. Tremblay was doing?

Wanting to get through the lesson as rapidly as possible, Gwen gritted her teeth and stepped toward the dancing master. He clasped her hand and pressed his palm against her lower back. His fingertips were pointed down, toward her backside, and encroached on that space. Gwen endured five minutes of his groping and abruptly stepped away from him.

Mr. Tremblay instructed the musician to stop playing. “Is something amiss?” he asked Gwen.

“I’m afraid I’ve a headache. I’m going to have to lie down,” Gwen said. “Please excuse me.” She barely glanced at her mother before hastening from the drawing room.

Up in her bedchamber, she kicked off her dancing slippers and considered asking for a bath to wash away the dancing master’s insidious touch. Instead, she paced the room and rehearsed what she would tell her mother, for she could not suffer another lesson with Mr. Tremblay.

A light knock on the door drew Gwen to stop. “Come.”

Her mother stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Are you all right? I thought you’d be lying down.”

“I’m fine. I don’t have a headache.”

Lines furrowed across her mother’s brow. “Why would you lie?”

“Because I couldn’t tolerate another minute of Mr. Tremblay’s wandering hands or his suggestive looks. I’m sorry, Mama, but he is too familiar. I do not like him, and I don’t want to see him anymore.”

Her mother looked aghast. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t notice any of that.”

Gwen stopped herself from responding that it was because she’d been reading her magazine. “I’m sure it was difficult for you to see from your vantage point. But you trust me when I tell you he verges on behaving inappropriately, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, dear.” Her mother came toward her and touched her arm, looking at her with the warmth and care that had always made Gwen feel loved and protected. “No more Mr. Tremblay,” she said firmly. “Though, now we are back to searching for a dancing master.”

“Do I really need one?” Gwen asked.

Her mother arched a brow, her expression wry. “After last night?”

Gwen laughed. “I will never be perfect, Mama, but I am passable. And gentlemen are asking me to dance and calling on me.”

“Yes, and it is wonderful.” She fell silent a moment, then her eyes lit as if an idea had struck. “I wonder if Lord Somerton might be persuaded to practice dancing with you. He was so kind to help by paying you attention. Perhaps he would lend his assistance to aiding you with the waltz. You danced it marvelously with him at the Phoenix Club ball.”

The idea of Lazarus being her dancing instructor was both madly appealing and highly laughable. He would never agree, not after what had happened yesterday and at the salon. “I don’t think he’d want to do that,” Gwen said. “Anyway, he’s done enough, and I’m sure he has better things to do.” Saying that stung, renewing the ache Gwen had carried since they’d parted yesterday.

“We could at least ask,” her mother said with a light shrug. “I’ll see if Evan can speak with him—a favor between friends.”

“Please don’t, Mama.” Gwen couldn’t imagine what Lazarus would say, and she didn’t want to put him in the awkward position of having to decline.

“Why not? He helped you before.”

“I would just rather not. Besides, how would that even work? He would be seen coming to our house, and I’ve just spent the last few days telling people we don’t suit.”

Her mother cocked her head. “I did notice that and wondered why you thought it was necessary.”

“Actually, it was Somerton’s idea. He thought it would be most beneficial for me if I was the one who decided we didn’t suit.”

“That was most clever of him. He really has been incredibly helpful. But if you would prefer we not ask him to practice dancing with you, I will not. I hope you might reconsider, however. I’m sure we can come up with a scheme for you to dance. Perhaps you can meet at someone else’s house. Someone with whom you are both well acquainted.”

Gwen pressed her lips together lest she smile or laugh. “I will consider it, Mama, but I doubt I will change my mind.”

“I am sorry about Mr. Tremblay,” her mother said. “After what you told me, I’m surprised he’s been so highly recommended.”

“I can’t begin to imagine why.” Perhaps he hadn’t behaved that way with his other students. Gwen struggled to believe that.

“Well, that much is settled—you are finished with Mr. Tremblay.” She gave Gwen a nod and a smile, then left.

Gwen went to her desk to finish the reading exercise that she’d started last night for Lazarus. It was a rather romantic poem by John Donne. She hoped he wasn’t already familiar with it, but that was the chance they took by no longer meeting in person.

As she sat down to work, she thought of Lazarus dancing with her. If tutoring him had resulted in kissing, what would dancing do?

She was disappointed that she would never find out.