A Gentleman Never Tells

chapter Seventeen

A great wind is blowing, and that gives you either imagination or a headache.

—Catherine the Great

It was a seldom-seen, beautiful, late November afternoon in London. Gabrielle stood in front of her father’s book-room window, looking out over the barren garden. Auntie Bethie had talked Rosabelle into joining her to look at town homes, so the house was quiet. All but two servants had the afternoon off, and Gabrielle was thrilled to have some undisturbed time to think, to daydream, and to paint. She would have at least two, or if she were lucky, maybe three hours before the house became busy again.

Petra had set up Gabrielle’s easel, canvas, and paints before she left. The double set of windows in the book room faced west, and the bright sunshine made that area of the house a perfect place to paint. Gabrielle had covered her hair with a white scarf and donned a freshly pressed but paint-stained apron over her simple pale blue day dress.

Earlier that day, Gabrielle had received a letter from her father stating he would be returning to London within the week. That meant she had some serious thinking to do about Brent.

When she thought about the way he made her feel when he kissed her, the way he was constantly in her thoughts, the way she yearned to see him again, she knew it would be so easy to simply marry him. But every time that crossed her mind, she remembered he was being forced to marry her to save her reputation, and to save his brothers’ business. How could he ever come to love her or even fully accept her as his wife, thinking she had tricked him that morning in the park? She didn’t want the man she loved feeling trapped.

But what else could she do? She’d tried everything she could think of to make him say no to her father’s demands. Well, there was one thing she hadn’t done. She could let Brent catch her kissing another man. But the thought of that was so distasteful to her she cringed inside. Besides, if she did that, she would only be doing to another man what she’d already done to Brent.

That idea was definitely out.

The possibility of joining a convent had entered her mind. Her father would never give his permission for that, so she would have to slip away from the house without anyone knowing. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life never being kissed again. She had enjoyed Brent’s kisses and caresses. Gabrielle gently closed her eyes and continued to stand at the window, letting the warm sunshine melt against her face. She remembered Brent’s smile, his touch, his laughter, and his passionate embraces, and knew for certain a convent wasn’t the right plan for her either. A nun was not supposed to dream about kissing a gentleman or to think herself in love with a man.

She opened her eyes and turned away from the window. Maybe if she submerged herself in her painting, she could keep thoughts of Brent at bay. She looked at the blank canvas. What should she paint this lovely afternoon? Landscapes, flowers, fruit, or Brent—she smiled to herself. She wasn’t good with portraits, or she might be tempted to paint him.

Gabrielle walked behind her father’s desk to look over his bookshelf in hopes of seeing something that might spark an interest of what to paint. Her fingers sailed along the spines as she read titles from history, science, plants, and poetry, but nothing she saw gave her any new ideas. A three-drawer mahogany chest covered about three feet of the last four rows of books. Gabrielle looked at the chest and realized she had no idea what was behind it. Curiosity got the best of her, and with great effort she pulled it away from the shelving and pushed it aside. The hidden shelves were stacked with books covered in what must be years of dust.

She lifted her skirts, dropped to her knees, and continued her search of the book titles. One of the first books she looked at was on botany. She took it off the shelf, blew the dust off it, and thumbed through the pages, hoping to discover the sketch of a rare plant or flower, but found nothing. She coughed from the dust and fanned the air in front of her nose before putting the book back in its place. Another book showed diagrams of the constellations and for a moment she thought about the possibility of painting the night sky and filling it with stars. She laid that book on her father’s desk as a possibility and continued her search.

Gabrielle skimmed every title until she made it to the very last book on the bottom shelf. There was no title on the spine. That seemed odd. She took it off the shelf and opened it. The cover had been wrapped with some type of heavy canvas. Thinking it must be a very old and rare book, she carefully opened it to the first page and read, The Art of Being a Most Pleasing Mistress .

“Hmm,” she said aloud. “A book that could be beneficial when I become mistress of my own house.” She laid it on her father’s desk beside the constellation book and rose, leaving the chest where it was so the housekeeper could have the area cleaned.

There was very little inspiration from her father’s bookshelves, but a night sky filled with stars was something she’d never thought about painting. She would do that. She walked over to the window and picked up a small box of paints. Making the entire backdrop midnight sky was the first thing she needed to do. While that dried, she would look at the sketches and decide which constellations she wanted to put in her sky. She found the jar of dark blue oil and spread it on her palate. She swirled her brush in the paint and then started making wide, sweeping strokes across the beige canvas. But it wasn’t long before Brent’s face came to her mind, and she smiled as she brushed.

Thoughts of him always made her stomach tingle. She wanted to remember and recapture what she felt every time he kissed her, caressed her, or breathed against her skin. Softly she laughed to herself and turned to look out the window to the clear blue sky. How could she want to paint anything dark on one of the warmest and most beautiful afternoons she’d seen in weeks?

Gabrielle laid the brush back on the easel and walked over to her father’s desk. She picked up the book about being the mistress of a home. Maybe if she curled up in the settee and read about running a kitchen and keeping housewares in good order, she could keep her mind off the viscount.

She opened to the first page and read:

Being a mistress is not for every woman, but it can be very satisfying, yes, even quite rewarding for the few elite women who choose to become one. There were no books, no friends, no one to offer help to me when I became a mistress, so I write this book in hopes that someday I will find a company brave enough to publish this valuable guide, bookshops brave enough to sell it, and ladies or gentlemen brave enough to buy it and use it.

Having been a successful mistress for more than thirty years, I am well qualified to write this compendium of most useful and even helpful hints. It is my honor, and I believe it is my duty, to pass on the knowledge I have acquired in the art of pleasing and satisfying a man. No well-heeled gentleman of any station in life should be without a mistress to take care of his bedchamber desires. Every well-bred gentleman knows, duly expects, and deserves to have a wife who is too sheltered, too delicate, and too timid to master the art of sexually pleasing him, and he would, of course, never have the inclination to teach or force her into doing what a well-trained mistress already knows how to do.

Gabrielle looked up from the book. Sexually pleasing? She felt hot and cold all at the same time, and her heart started to beat faster than it should. Surely this sort of pleasing didn’t mean what she thought it did. Could it?

She looked down and continued reading.

The first thing a mistress must do is to make herself pleasing to the eye of the gentleman. At all times she must be enticing. A gentleman always desires a woman of beauty. She should keep her hair styled, her lips and cheeks rosy, her skin sprinkled with perfume, and dress in the latest fashionable clothing.

Gabrielle’s gaze was riveted to the pages as she continued to read. Suddenly it dawned on her. This book wasn’t about being the mistress of the house. This book was about being a kept mistress!

A courtesan!

She glanced guiltily around the room to make sure no one witnessed what she was reading.

“Oh, my,” she whispered and slammed the book shut. Dust flew into her face, and she sneezed.

Her mind whirled. Her breaths came short and quick.

“I can’t read this,” she said to herself.

What was this book doing on her father’s bookshelf? What was it doing in his house? Did he even know it was there? Perhaps it belonged to her grandfather or someone else. Who could have hidden it there? Clearly the book hadn’t been touched in many years.

Gabrielle worried her lower lip. What she had read sparked her curiosity. She had no idea what mistresses could do that was too difficult and too delicate for wives. And should a properly brought-up young lady like herself even know?

Without further thought, she bent down to the bottom shelf and stuffed the book back in its slot. She leaned her weight against the chest and quickly shoved it back in place. She hurried from behind the desk to the center of the room and stood there, looking from the chest to the door.

Would anyone ever know she’d found the book? Would anyone ever know if she had read it?

Of course not! How could they?

Her aunt and sister were out for the afternoon. The servants knew not to bother her when she was painting.

So…

She could read the book and no one would ever know. But did she want to?

“Heavens yes!” she exclaimed.

Gabrielle ran over to the chest again, pushed it out of the way, and grabbed the book. She walked over to the broad-striped settee that stood in front of the lit fireplace and settled down onto the cushion. She opened the book and continued to read about the things a mistress should do for a man but a wife was not supposed to do or even know about.

As she read, a thought niggled at her mind, but each time she shook it away. She wouldn’t even think of that possibility.

Soon everything was forgotten except the hypnotic words written on the pages. She kept reading page after page, sometimes scanning the details because she was simply too embarrassed to let her eyes read the words.

“Lady Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle slammed the book together so hard and fast as she jolted up from the settee that dust rose in a puff.

“Yes, Mrs. Lathbury?” she said breathlessly, her heart beating so fast she thought she might faint.

“Lord Brentwood is here to see you and insisted I tell you he is here.”

The idea she had tried to keep at bay sprang back to mind with the speed of lightning and the fury of a fierce wind. And just when she thought her heartbeat might settle down, it started thudding crazily again.

“Lord Brentwood? Here?” she asked, trying to calm the storm that had so suddenly erupted inside her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Scandal was the only thing she had thought might finally make Brent see she wasn’t an acceptable wife for him. What if she did something to him only a mistress would know how to do? Surely that would give him reason enough to say it didn’t matter about his honor, his brothers, or anything else. How could he marry a lady who knew the ways of a gentleman’s mistress?

But could she play the part?

She had to. There were no other options.

“Give me a couple of minutes, and then send him in.”

“Yes, my lady. Will you be wanting me to serve tea?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Lathbury, we won’t need refreshment, and I’ll see Lord Brentwood out when he is ready to leave. That will be all.”

The housekeeper nodded and walked away. Gabrielle’s mind suddenly went blank. She opened the book again and read:

The first thing a mistress must do is to make herself pleasing to the eye of the gentleman. At all times she must be enticing. A gentleman always desires a woman of beauty. She should keep her hair styled, her lips and cheeks rosy, her skin sprinkled with perfume, and dress in fashionable clothing.

Gabrielle looked down at her paint-stained apron and the simple blue day dress she wore. There was no time to change into a finer dress. She laid the book on the settee and quickly untied her apron and took it off. Looking around for a place to hide it, she stuffed it in a tall urn that stood by the fireplace. She yanked the white scarf off her head and sent it the way of the apron.

Remembering she had read that gentlemen loved long, flowing locks, she tumbled the pins out of her hair and shook it, letting the tangled curls fall around her shoulders. She bit her lips and pinched her cheeks to make them rosy, while she looked around the office to see if there was anything to perfume her skin; but of course there was nothing in the book room.

Her fingers trembled as she picked up the book again and thumbed through it. Of all she had read, what could she do to make Brent think she was too knowledgeable in the ways of a mistress to be his sheltered, timid, and delicate wife?

She remembered reading something about gently fondling a gentleman’s golden orbs with her hands. Fondling? Orbs?

She quickly turned the pages, looking for the correct one, so she could read it again and get it right. There was something about how to hold them in the palm of your hand while your fingers lightly squeezed.

Gabrielle shook her head and mumbled to herself. She couldn’t find it. She had always thought of eyes as being orbs, but she couldn’t imagine how anyone would fondle eyes. Which left only ears. Odd? But what did she know about the ways of a mistress?

The sound of footfalls in the corridor made her heart leap into her throat, and she closed the book with a nervous snap. Her quarry was on his way.

With no time to make it across the room to the shelf, she shoved the book behind an embroidered pillow just as Brent walked into the room.

She swallowed hard, curtseyed, and said, “My lord.”

“Lady Gabrielle.” He smiled and bowed.

“This is a surprise.”

He looked at her with a curious sparkle in his eyes. “Yes, I can see I should have sent a note around. I must have caught you at a bad time. You look flustered.”

“Me? No.”

“Your cheeks are flushed and your lips pink and your hair is, well, perhaps I will just stop at that.”

She brushed a strand of hair away from her face and said, “Yes, perhaps that is best… Please sit down.”

He motioned for her to sit first, and she did, making sure she put her back against the pillow that covered the book.

He took the opposite end of the settee and said, “I had news I wanted to share with you, and I didn’t stop to think it might not be convenient to drop by.”

“No, really, this is a fine time. I was painting.” She pointed to the easel by the window.

He looked at the canvas that was half-painted dark blue and hid a smile behind clearing his throat. “Yes, that’s very nice. Shows talent.”

She started to explain it was a midnight sky but stopped herself. She had more important matters to deal with. If she was ever going to play the part of a mistress, she had to do it now, before she lost her nerve.

“What did you want to tell me?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “My lord,” she added, hoping she sounded sufficiently sultry.

Brent looked at her oddly. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“I’m fine,” she tried to coo. “Better than fine. How are you?”

He gave her a questioning look and said, “I heard that Lord Waldo’s dog was returned to him today.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news!” she blurted, every ounce of sultry evaporating into the room. “When? How?”

“Lord Waldo said a young man showed up at his door with the dog,” Brent said. “I talked at length with him about who found Tulip, and then I went to see Lord Snellingly. After talking with both of them, I’m fairly certain it must have been the same lad who found both dogs and, of course, both men had paid the young man handsomely.”

“That’s amazing the lad found both dogs,” she said.

“Quite, and I think it’s very curious, too.”

“Do you?” she said without really thinking about what she was saying. She was concentrating too hard on the shape of his ears and wondering how she was going to touch them.

“Yes, and I think I know who he is.”

Her gaze swept from Brent’s ears to his eyes. “You do? Who?”

“A young man named Godfrey,” he said. “He and his sisters travel Hyde Park each morning to deliver milk into Mayfair. I’m going to the park tomorrow morning and following him home.”

“You think he has Prissy?” she asked.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Brent said. “But he certainly knew how to find the other dogs, and now that I’ve heard Lady Windham’s prize-winning pet has gone missing, this has gotten to be more than just peculiar. Right now, Godfrey’s the only lead I have.”

“Tell me what time you will be in the park, and I will meet you there.”

Brent shook his head. “Oh, no, Gabrie. I must do this alone.”

Gabrielle took a deep breath and scooted down the settee closer to him. “But you said he had his sisters with him. I might be of some help if you need to talk to them.”

He seemed to consider her suggestion. “The girls do seem frightened of me.”

She swallowed past a dry throat, reached up, and went for an orb. With a trembling hand, she lightly traced his outer ear with her fingertips. Softly, she said, “Then it’s settled; I’ll come.”

His brow wrinkled into a frown and his lips set in a grim, or perhaps confused, line. The news of another dog returned to his master while he was still missing Prissy obviously had him tense.

“All right. I should think they’ll be back through the park between nine and ten o’clock, after making their deliveries, so we should meet at the west gate before nine just to make sure we don’t miss them.”

Gabrielle continued gently touching him, letting her fingers move to the back of his ear and then skimming down his neck to the top of his neckcloth and back up again to draw lazy circles on the smooth, warm skin behind his ear.

All of a sudden he grabbed her wrist, kissed the back of her hand, and said, “Gabrie, what are you doing?”

Her gaze met his and held. “Touching you,” she whispered.

There was a passage where it said a man liked for a mistress to straddle him and sit on his lap. That was a very daring thing to do, but maybe she should try that. It was certainly unladylike and would surely make him see that she knew how to do things she shouldn’t know. Besides, it would make it easier for her to fondle both ears at the same time.

Her breathing was labored. Her chest felt tight, but she was beyond thinking about anything but what she had to do. And she had to do it now. Rising from the settee, she quickly lifted her skirts and straddled his hips with her knees. His eyes widened, his hands grabbed her waist, and he groaned as she settled her bottom onto his lap.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he asked huskily.

She reached up and cupped both his ears with her hands and caressed them.

Looking deeply into his eyes, she countered, “Do you like that?”

His hands settled around her hips, and he pressed her harder onto his body. “Immensely, but do you know what would happen if your aunt came in and saw you sitting here on me like this?”

“She and my sister are out for the afternoon.”

“Thank God, but what about your servants?” he asked, his breaths coming faster and louder.

“There are only two in the house this afternoon and they know not to bother me when I’m painting.”

He leaned his head back against the settee. “You are not painting, Gabrie, you are seducing me, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why.”

“Do you like it?” she said softly as she moved her hands across his broad chest. She bent and kissed the corner of his eye, letting her lips softly trail down to his cheek and over to the corner of his mouth. She felt his lower body move beneath her, and Gabrielle gasped at the wonderful sensations that flooded her body.

“Very much, too much,” he whispered huskily before pulling her to him so his lips could claim hers.

Her mouth clung to his in an eagerness she didn’t want to deny or control. His kisses were rough and demanding. His tongue probed deeply into her mouth over and over again, filling her with the sweet taste of his surrender. She yielded to his strength as he pressed his lower body up to hers time and time again. Fire shot to the area between her legs, and Gabrielle moaned as she wiggled against the hardness beneath his breeches.

His hands found the front opening of her day dress and he pulled it apart, dragging it and her shift off her shoulders, laying bare her breasts to his view. He covered one nipple with his mouth and the other breast with his hand. The wanton sensations crashing through her were staggering as she cupped his head to her breasts and moaned with sweet, satisfying pleasure.

Suddenly he tumbled her back onto the settee. Her back hit the sharp end of the book, and she cried out and flinched.

He jerked away. “Did I hurt you?”

Gabrielle froze. The book. “Ah, ah, no. I’m fine.”

“Something hurt you,” he said and reached behind her and found it.

Gabrielle gasped and grabbed for the book. But Brent was too fast for her.

She felt as if her blood ran cold as she fastened the front of her dress. “Let me have that,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“I-I, nothing,” she said, thinking quickly. “It’s just a book. Throw it down and kiss me, Brent.”

He still leaned over her, so she reached up and placed her lips to his. She felt him respond involuntarily and, for a moment, he melted into the kiss. She smiled against him.

All of a sudden he rolled away from her and rose from the settee. He opened the book as she lunged at him.

“No!”

He grasped her wrist as she grabbed for the book that he held just out of her reach. “I knew something must have been going on when you started touching me. Why don’t you want me to know what you are reading?”

He let go of her wrist and opened the book. Heat flamed in her cheeks as he read out loud, The Art of Being a Most Pleasing Mistress .

His brow wrinkled in surprise. “You were reading this?”

“No, no.” She blinked rapidly.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Yes, you were.”

How dare he be so amused by her horror? “All right, yes,” she said haughtily. “If you must know, I was reading it.”

He flipped through a few pages. “And what did you learn?”

If he could find her situation amusing, she would be damn if she’d be embarrassed about it. She lifted her shoulders and her chin. “I learned that men like to have their golden orbs rubbed when they are tense, so I was trying to please you by rubbing them.”

His smile turned into a wide grin. He nodded as if he understood, but when he saw she was not amused, he cleared his throat and said, “What exactly are my golden orbs, Gabrie?”

The look on his face could only be called predatory, heated. Primal. And she felt a decidedly inappropriate need to do more than fondle his orbs.

She pulled her shoulders back. “Your ears, of course.”

That heated look mixed with surprise before he burst out laughing.

Gabrielle huffed in exasperation. “Why are you laughing? You are being most unkind when all I was trying to do was please you.”

He faced her again, trying his best to contain himself. “You do please me, Gabrielle.”

“That is the real problem,” she blurted. “I have been trying to make myself unacceptable to you as a wife. I don’t want to please you. It says in this book a gentleman doesn’t like for his wife to do these things, like squeezing and fondling his golden orbs, but it is okay for his mistress to do it.”

Laughter was bright in his eyes and on his lips again, but he managed to say, “You want to be my mistress?”

“No, of course not,” she said, completely shocked by the suggestion. “I thought if I did something only a mistress knew how to do, you might be angry enough that you wouldn’t want to marry me.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Oh, no, Gabrie, that is not going to happen.” He took the book and placed it back in her hands. “By all means, keep reading this and learn all you can. It will be my pleasure for you to show me all you have learned after we are married.”

Her shoulders dropped in defeat.

“And as far as the golden orbs you were reading about—they are not ears. You will learn exactly what they are on our wedding night.”

He turned and walked out.