The Education of Mrs. Brimley (6 page)

“He must be hard to penetrate the woman.”

She may have doubted his answer, but he had promised to be truthful. A shiver danced up her spine at his words. Penetrate. One being inside another.

“Is it painful?” Her voice quivered.

He looked pointedly at her other still-shod foot. Resigned, she began to unhook the buttons.

“Not if the man properly prepares the woman,” he said. “With preparation, the act is most pleasurable.”

Emma removed the boot, then rubbed her stocking-clad foot, debating whether to pursue the concept of preparation.

“Some men find a well-turned ankle very alluring.” His voice punctured her thoughts. “Yours are especially so.”

Her lips tightened to hide the effects of his compliment. She dropped the hem of her skirt removing the sight of her ankles from his view, then stepped off the platform to view his drawing.

“That . . . that’s grotesque!” She quickly covered her gaping mouth with a gloved hand. “That thing would frighten my poor girls to death.”

“And what of you, fair lady?” The heat of his breath stirred the tiny hairs on the back of her neck and slid all the way down to her clenched toes. “Does the sight of an aroused man frighten you?”

She forced herself to focus on the charcoal rendition and not the delicious tremors his words initiated. Truth be told, the turmoil created by his close physical proximity frightened her more than some paper image of an object she would likely never encounter. She edged a few steps away.

“Don’t run away, Miss Brimley. This is what you are preparing your girls for, but it is not something to fear.”

“I am not afraid, sir!” she offered with false bravado.

“The union between a man and a woman is pleasurable beyond imagination,” he said, his knowing smile spreading to his captivating eyes.

“Perhaps for the man.” Emma pointed to the daggerlike drawing. “That . . . thing . . . appears as pleasurable as a birch rod.”

His soft chuckle held an intimate quality that heated her cheeks. “I promise you, the union is pleasurable for the woman as well,
if
she has the knowledge to handle the man.” He stepped closer.

“Isn’t that why you came here, Miss Brimley?” He stood behind her. Fissions rippled throughout her body. “For the knowledge?”

Emma knew undeniably that she was in dire trouble. His lower lip dragged across the tip of her ear. “Let me teach you.”

The tips of her breasts tightened. He had touched her! With his lips! Panic blasted through her shock. Without further hesitation, she grabbed two fistfuls of skirt and dashed to the door.

“Will I see you again, Miss Brimley?” His question chased her across the room.

Her unshod feet beat a fast retreat down the wooden hallway in response.

 
SO HE HADN’T MERELY IMAGINED HER INTELLIGENT and determined spirit on that ride home in the carriage. He was so foxed, he wasn’t sure if his initial impression of the new teacher was dream or reality. Probably a little of both. He smiled, feeling more invigorated now than he had before her visit.

Miss Brimley’s curiosity amid frequent bouts of blushing had proved surprisingly refreshing. Her cheeks colored quite nicely, a bit of rose madder mixed with pale cream. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed time spent merely talking with a woman. He chuckled a moment before summoning Thomas with the bell pull. The servant appeared immediately.

“I suppose you’ve realized that she was not the one we anticipated,” Nicholas said, walking to the dais to retrieve her boots.

“I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t aware you were expecting anyone else but the model.”

“I wasn’t.” His fingers slipped inside a boot. He frowned, noting it was still damp. “Is her rig outside?”

“No, sir, she arrived on foot.”

“The fool woman must have walked through the snow.” He shook his head. Most of the women in London society wouldn’t cross a street if it meant their slippers might be muddied. It required courage to call on him as she did, and desperation to come through the woods and snow. He glanced toward the hallway. A bit of guilt deflated his pleasure. Perhaps he shouldn’t have teased her as he had. “See that she gets home safely, Thomas.”

“I’ll alert Henry.”

“Tell Henry she’s to be delivered discreetly,” Nicholas added. “No one is to know she’s been here.” He handed the boots over to Thomas. “I’ll warrant the old biddies would have a fit if they knew she’d been consorting with the likes of me.” That returned the smile to his face. “And see that she gets something to eat. She’s too thin by half.”

“Will we be entertaining the young woman again, sir?” Thomas asked.

“I believe I scared her half out of her wits. I doubt she’ll return.” That realization drained his high spirits. Even though he had suspected he was challenging the teacher’s sensibilities as never before, he found he could not stop. There was something unaffected about her that pulled at his baser instincts.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Thomas said. “I know you hoped to start on
The Seduction of Antiope
for the spring exhibition.”

“Antiope?” His brows lifted. “Not for that one.” He looked back at the empty dais and reflected, almost to himself. “No, I think Artemis, the virgin goddess, would be a better suit.”

His fingers twitched with creative energy. Miss Brimley would be perfect for Artemis. Her rich brown hair loosened from that prim braided bun softly curving past the firm mounds of her breasts. Her sweet, wide-eyed expression in perfect contrast with the sensuous lines of her feminine curves. Her winsome body positioned at his every command. His groin tightened, much as it had when he had urged her to stay.

Of course, that was before his rash actions caused her to flee. Perhaps his father was correct. He always managed to sabotage his opportunities for success before they could be realized. Bloody hell, he should never have gotten close enough to smell her winter-apple scent of wholesome innocence. He ground the tip of his stick in the floor in self-reproach, then glanced to Thomas. “I suppose if she does not return we shall have neither.”

“I’ve always found your Yorkshire landscapes quite pleasing to the eye, sir.”

Chambers glanced at a primed empty canvas leaning on the far wall. “I appreciate your assessment, Thomas, but it’s common knowledge that the Academy is only interested in paintings of Greek mythology. Another landscape is tantamount to another rejection.” He grimaced. “I’ve collected enough of those already.”

“Will you return to the tavern to find a model, sir?”

Chambers paused. He doubted he would discover a suitable model at the Bleatin’ Ram. Now that he had found and lost the one model who awakened his creative juices, he had little interest in settling for less. The time spent with Miss Brimley, however, had resulted in a need of a more physical nature. The tavern women would welcome him with open arms and provide the needed relief. He tapped the floor with his stick.

“That is an excellent plan,” he said. “Let Pettibone lock up their young innocents. An experienced woman looks the same and talks far less.” Thomas looked confused, but Chambers saw no reason to elaborate. “I’ve had enough challenge this evening. Tell Henry I will need him once he returns.”

THAT NIGHT, ALONE IN HER SPARSELY FURNISHED bedroom, Emma tossed and turned, alternately reliving the sensual excitement of Chambers’s attentions and the shock of his indecent propositions. How could her simple plan to escape her uncle have dissolved into such disaster?

She was right to flee Chambers’s studio, she reassured herself; any proper lady would have done the same. The spinsters hadn’t lied; that man would sully everything he touched.

Still the thought of those very talented fingers called forth the memory of eyes that sparked with humor and a secret knowledge, lips that beckoned with improper suggestions, and a manner that infuriated, yet beguiled. Beneath all the masculine allure beckoned the greatest seduction of all: he wanted her for his model, not her cousin Penelope, or some other properly born lady. He wanted
her
. Emma clenched the sides of the narrow mattress while longing burned through her chest.

Stop that! she ordered herself. Who better than she understood the dangers that lie along that path? Hadn’t her uncle and cousin reminded her on a daily basis that she was born on the wrong side of the blanket? Hadn’t she seen with her own eyes the injustices dealt her mother, and felt the stinging insults and alienation of a child born outside of marriage? She bit her lip and turned on her side. Hers was a lesson well learned. Attraction to a man of Chambers’s standing could lead to no good.

Thoughts of her heritage stirred a niggling suspicion. Was her lack of ancestry somehow visible to a man like Chambers? Why else would he have offered his devil’s barter? Her fingers curled into fists. Panic roiled in her stomach. He knew her secret. If he suspected she wasn’t worthy of a promise kept, he could reveal her charade to the spinsters.

No, she thought, fighting the tears burning her eyes. Chambers was different from other men. She wasn’t sure why, but she trusted him in this. Her secret was safe, but she wasn’t as convinced of her reputation.

Emma punched at her pillow, hoping to force the thin stuffing of feathers into some semblance of a mound. She was wrong to go to his residence, wrong to step into his lair, his studio. She would simply not make that mistake again. A sob caught in her throat. Memories would fade and she could continue a quiet respectable life in the country with her poems and students. A part of her heart cried in protest, but she closed her mind to arguments. The plan was set. Starting tomorrow she would ban thoughts of Chambers, but tonight . . . his face loomed in her thoughts . . . tonight there could be no harm in dreams.

The next morning, still tired from lack of sleep, Emma faced an equally daunting prospect: her first class. She walked into the library filled with apprehension. Two of the five young faces waiting for her seemed eager and delighted with her appearance. Two others appeared a bit shy and embarrassed, and one, a girl with pointed features and reddish brown hair, looked downright defiant. Behind them all, a dour-faced Cecilia stood as imperious and regal as the gilt-framed image of the Queen hanging above her left shoulder.

“I’m pleased to see that you’ve recovered from your headache, Mrs. Brimley,” Cecilia said. “We missed you yesterday evening.”

A modicum of panic jolted her already frayed nerves. The driver had been careful not to deliver her to the front door of the school. Instead she had walked the final short distance intending to explain that she needed a bit of fresh air if anyone inquired about her entrance.

“I had hoped not to impose, but I’m afraid the long trip from London was more demanding than I had anticipated.” Emma paused; the long trip was but a minor inconvenience compared to the demands that awaited her here. “The fresh air and extra rest have done wonders. Now, however, I believe we should leave yesterday behind and concentrate on the matter at hand.”

Turning the conversation from her mysterious disappearance to an equally uncomfortable subject was a bit risky, but she was better prepared to discuss the latter, at least for this one class.

“Yes.” Cecilia looked unconvinced. “Perhaps we should.” She clapped her hands.

“Ladies.” All faces turned to Cecilia. “It is our goal at Pettibone to prepare proper young ladies to assume their place in society, and to secure by virtue of their refined manners and appearance, an excellent prospect for matrimony.”

The word “matrimony” inspired tittering and fidgeting among the girls, but Cecilia regained control with another swift clap of her hands.

“Although you are properly trained to assume a household and accompany a husband as society dictates, we feel additional instruction is necessary to prepare you for your wifely obligations. We have specifically obtained the expertise of Mrs. Brimley to discuss those issues with you. I trust you will treat her with the grace and propriety with which you have been prepared.”

“I’m so glad you’ve come,” gushed the oldest of her students, a tall blonde named Elizabeth. “My mother says I should be engaged by the end of next season. I have so many questions.”

“Did you ask your mother for answers?” Emma silently prayed the answer would be yes. Then perhaps Elizabeth could instruct them all.

“Oh, no, no.” Elizabeth shook her head so violently her blonde curls swung with the motion. “That would never do. The subject would be too awkward for dear Mama.”

Emma surely understood that. Her own mother never saw fit to discuss such topics. Perhaps because her mother realized Emma’s prospects would be limited without a large dowry to compensate for obvious deficiencies. “I see. What sort of questions do you have?”

“I have a question,” Alice, a younger girl with expressive brown eyes, interrupted. “I’ve lived here as long as I can remember so I haven’t little brothers like Charlotte.” She squeezed the hand of the girl sitting next to her. “My question is . . . what do they look like? The boys, I mean.”