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The brandy went down the wrong way. Percy choked and stared at her in shock. She really said it.
“You’ve made it known I come with a dowry of thirty thousand pounds, and not even the fortune hunters are nibbling. Please let us not refer ever again to Lord Crawford. He is a special case.” Freddie wagged a finger. “Why do you think only the viscount ever offered? Out of all the gentleman in the ton? It is because I am profoundly lacking.”
“You are not plain or lacking,” he refuted once more.
She rolled her eyes. “Am I beautiful?”
“Not in the conventional sense,” he said. “However you are lovely. Even with that short mop atop your head.”
She grinned, and the full power of it robbed him of breath. “This is entirely your fault.”
He had forgotten that extraordinary smile. Percy had slowly discovered that her sweet, laughing blue eyes and short curls and dimpled cheeks slipped past his careful barrier and lodged themselves in unwelcome images in his thoughts. He had plenty estate and parliament matters with which to occupy himself in the days, but it was in the stillness of the night, she climbed into his dreams.
The first night he had jerked awake with his cock harder than a pike and his heart pounding. Percy had stood by the windows and stared at the back gardens for hours. He could not, should not, fucking want Frederica. She was his best friend’s baby sister, and he had damn well promised to take care of her and see her happily settled. That had been a promise made to his friend a decade ago when Percy had vowed to be her guardian should anything happen to George. Then tragedy struck two years and a few months ago, and his friend had been lost at sea and declared dead.
Lusting after her felt criminal for Percy was not interested in marriage. He hardly understood why people made such a fuss over the entire matter and was damn glad he had a younger brother who could be his heir. Hence, there was no necessity for him to be forced into marriage. He could enjoy his life abundantly while taking care of his estates for when Henry would inherit.
“I believe a man of your worldly experiences is eminently suited to teach me what I need to know. You are perfect for it, truly, since you have a vested interest to see me…” A deliberate pause where she tapped her slightly pointed chin. “Happily situated.”
“And what exactly do you believe I can teach you?”
Her gaze fixed on his mouth with unabashed interest. “How to kiss.”
Percy couldn’t tell if this was one of her wicked ways in which she mercilessly tested his will. A dangerous mood settled over him, and the air itself felt coated with perilous tension. “How to kiss?”
“Yes, you must consider that for a man and woman to know they are suited, there must be moments of stolen kisses. It is quite the done deal I’ve been told.”
There was someone’s tongue he needed to remove from their head.
“You are one of society’s most profligate rakes. Who better than a man of your competence in the amatory arts can teach an ingénue how to flirt…how to entice…”
“I am sure you’ll acquit yourself credibly when the time comes,” he said drily, “without lessons from any profligate rake.” Percy was mildly amazed they were having this discussion.
“I’ve had an encounter with a young lord that disproves your suppositions, my lord.”
She was determined to make his glorious mane gray. “An encounter?”
“Yes.”
“With a man?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Of course.”
“Where he attempted to kiss you?”
“Something of the sort. The kiss was implied, but there was no attempt.”
“How amusingly mysterious. Tell me about this encounter,” he invited. Percy tried. He really did try to keep the menace from his tone. He attempted to sound affable…as if they were friends, she could tell him anything, but from her wary grimace, he surmised he failed. He would have to undertake some practice in the mirror.
Her cheeks turned rosy, and she cleared her throat. “A particular gentleman made a wager in White’s that any young lady who dropped her handkerchief before him would soon find herself kissed.”
He knew the young fob she spoke about. He dressed in bold colors and called himself a great man of fashion. He was also one of Byron’s admirers and considered himself moody and savant like the poet.
“At Lady Pennington’s ball, my handkerchief dropped in his path. I am still trying to determine if I made a conscious choice to do so, or if it was an accident.”
“He insulted you?” Percy could not explain, but he was rather protective of the chit. He had even come to realize he would gladly put a bullet in a scoundrel for her sake.
“Well, he did not kiss me but chuckled and continued on. I gather he did not believe me quite worth the effort. I had to be amused, or else I would have possibly cried.”
Though she smiled, there was a pained embarrassment in her eyes. Percy was going to gut the little—
“Nor will you call the gentleman out about it. Imagine anything so silly and scandalous. He refused to act improperly with your ward, and you made your displeasure known.” She laughed, and something in her eyes said she liked the dangerous thoughts on which his mind had trodden.
She stared at him with an air of fascination, as if she was not quite sure what to make of him. It was not a look he was used to seeing on her. It truly struck him then she was no longer little Freddie but a woman with a subtle but very present sensuality. He was decidedly reluctant to linger on the awareness of it, lest he crossed a line he was never able to return from.
Though she tried to convey an unconcerned air, a frantic pulse beat at her throat. This mattered to her. Greatly. Yet, he could not damn well do what she asked. Teach her how to kiss? How to flirt? How to walk on the knife-like edge of temptation and lust? He would damnably fail. He was not a man ruled by his cock and impulse. He had long left those wild years behind, and everything he did was with careful planning and cool calculation. Even when he picked his lovers. Percy suspected that even kissing her once, under the guise of a lesson, would be his ruin. And most definitely hers. It was remarkably irrational, but he held onto it like a drowning man.
He raked a hand through his hair for the first time in his two and thirty years, at a loss how to proceed. His thoughts muddled when she stood and sauntered over to him. Her wholly soft, feminine scent teased at his senses as she came closer. Freddie’s eyes kissed over his face, searching his expression, a hint of mischief, uncertainty, and determination lingering within them. His heart started racing as she came even closer. “What was the little Sprite plotting now?”
