Charlotte froze, not blinking, the ghost of her words to him when she thought him a dream echoing in the silent room.
He chose then to search for another imaginary loose thread. As he was remembering the same thing she was, his breeches were a little tighter as he picked at the fabric, ostensibly flicking off lint.
“William, we cannot. ’Tis not appropriate.”
“Mistress, no one need know. Just think about it, please? There are other things we can learn from one another in the meantime. Chaucer and steam engines and the like.”
At that she sat back. “I cannot attend lectures with you. I will not be seen being squired about by a youthful future earl. ’Twould not be fair to you.”
Hmm. Not fair to me, or she does not want to be seen with me?
The extent of what men could get away with, without harm to their reputation, always amazed him. His father was a prime example.
Negotiating, he countered, “I am amenable to meeting there, just as we did at the last one. I am starved for intelligent conversation about something other than my family’s estate management.”
He wasn’t. His mother could discuss almost any subject, and he’d had to debate Chaucer ad nauseum at Oxford. However, his end goal of getting time with Charlotte justified the exaggeration.
She chewed on her lip, which he was learning was the sign of nerves or, dare he hoped, temptation.
“I confess I am dying to know what you think of the Wife of Bath…” He gave her another nudge.
Her eyes flared.
His hand drifted to her cheek, his thumb tugging on her lower lip again. “As well as who and what you chew on, should the need arise.”
Her breath caught, and he swore her tongue flicked the tiniest riff against his thumb.
Chapter Ten
Charlotte craved intellectual conversation more than anything. Well, almost anything.
She had attended several salons even before the Season began, as London remained a haven for intellectual pursuits even in the height of summer and cold of winter. When she’d attended with Charles, they would evaluate the presentations, weighing the pros and cons or facts and theories over sherry before retiring that night. Sometimes that discussion would continue the next day, or prompt them to read more about the topic. She missed her husband in a myriad of ways. His citrus-woodsy scent, his fingers feathering over her arm or through her hair, the rumble of his voice under her cheek as she lay in the curve of his arm. But the partnership of conversation, particularly the encouragement to learn more and ask questions, that was what she missed most.
This student with eager eyes was dangling it before her, as though she was the dog and it was a favored treat, if only she’d roll over.Or roll him over, Belle’s voice snorted in her head again.
Charlotte closed her eyes. That was a mistake. An image arose of William across from her in the armchairs in her bedroom, books in both their laps, arguing, his tone earnest as he tried to make his point and please her.
Belle’s words about enjoying the vigor of youth volleyed with her desire to learn Latin and somehow coalesced. She knew before she opened her eyes that she was going to give in.
Dratted, beautiful, earnest rakelet. “What do you propose then?”
He sat up straighter, his wide grin splitting his face. “Mistress, I thought we might alternate conversations about books with reviews of lecture topics as they arise? I can call upon you most afternoons about this time if your days allow, but only for a short while. I spend my mornings managing estate business, and most evenings at the club for Lords meetings. Or I can come by late at night after the club, and we’d have more time. And ’twould be more private, which you seem to prefer…?”
She flashed him a sideways glance, suspicious of his motives.
His face was again the picture of innocence, puppy eyes unblinking.
Perhaps too innocent, but she was too practical not to see the merit in his second alternative. “Fine, yes. Late night might be best. I may need a bit to adapt as I am rather more a morning person than your average lady of the Ton.”
“Certainly, Mistress. You just say the word when you are tired, and I shall be happy to tuck you into bed.” The dimple appeared with his sly grin.
“William…” Her voice was a warning. “There will be no such talk, or this arrangement will end, do you understand?”
“My apologies, Mistress. I shall try very hard to behave. Your beauty will make that challenging. Might you punish me instead of ending the arrangement, at least the first time or two…?”
“Stop that.” She framed it as an order, leaving off the “please.”
“Yes, Mistress. I shall be by tonight, then.”
