“Two years of a history degree looking at primary sources,” I told him.
The corners of his mouth crooked up. “You did that, too?”
“Too?” I felt my brows pull together in puzzlement. “You studied history as well?”
“European history. And English, and Latin. And I started law, but decided it wasn’t for me.”
I stared at him in wonder. “You’re... you’re a perpetual student like me?”
“If you mean do I have three degrees, and would be getting a fourth except my eldest brother cut my allowance so that I had to get work to support myself—not that I’m saying he was wrong, because he was paying for all of us, and I have a lot of brothers and sisters—if you mean that, then, yes, I’m a perpetual student like you.”
“And they say opposites attract,” I said, grinning at him. “I don’t have any degrees, but I started on a whole lot of them. I usually get a year or two into it, and then decide it’s not for me after all. And I was cut off, too! My dad told me that if I didn’t have a degree by the time I was thirty, he was done paying my tuitions. And I didn’t, so he stopped, and that’s when I started taking jobs to pay my way. Which worked for a few years, but lately universities are telling me that I have to stick to one program and graduate, because I have over three hundred credits, and they’re tired of me being a dilettante. Can you believe it? The last place actually used the word ‘dilettante.’”
“That’s unfair,” Alden said, frowning. “You should be encouraged if you wish to educate yourself.”
“Right? That’s what I say. I mean, I get that they want people to graduate and all, but what’s wrong with trying two or three or twelve programs before you settle on one?”
“Nothing whatsoever,” he agreed. “If you were my daughter, I would continue to support you, no matter how old you were.”
“If I was your daughter, we’d have a lot more to worry about than tuition,” I said with a giggle.
“Point taken. What does this say? It looks like ‘freeloader.’”
“‘Free-trader,’ I think.” I squinted at the spot on the journal-cum-ledger where Alden was pointing. “I gather it means that whoever was the lord of the manor at the time was indulging in smuggled booze. Let’s see.... I think it says, ‘The Man o’ War yesterday seized the free-trader Lopez and his vessel filled with wines by Accident and Folly of the people who in five row Boats were endeavoring to run ninety-one Casks of Wine. Will see to it that they will be set up a Trifle with far less than Duties so Lopez can make his voyage good.’ Hmm. You know, that ‘will see to it’ bit makes it sound like the guy writing this was a local magistrate or something, which would mean he was the owner of Bestwood.”
“Interesting. I knew there had been smugglers in the area, of course, but had no idea they operated here.”
“Well, you do sit on a cliff looking over the water.”
“True.” He looked thoughtful, rubbing his forefinger over his chin in a way that completely distracted me. “I wonder if there are any of the old smuggling tunnels under the house. We’ll have to ask Lady Sybilla what she knows about it.”
“Definitely, although why would you care about tunnels?”
His eyebrows rose. “It adds value to the house if I can tell a potential buyer that there are historical tunnels underneath.”
“Are you thinking of selling the hall once you have it fixed up?” I felt sad at the idea. I was starting to feel a certain kinship for the old place.
“That’s the plan.” He rubbed his chin a little more until I took the book away from him, causing him to look up in surprise.
I pushed him backward until he was lying on the bed with his feet on the floor, then straddled his lap, leaning forward to prop myself up on my elbows. My breasts were exactly at his mouth level. “A girl can only stand so much manly stubble flaunting. Kiss me.”
He kissed the exposed part of my breasts. “I am happy to oblige, although I regret my stubble has taunted you to the point where you can’t stand it any longer. What can I do to show the depths of my regret?”
“I think some intense, jungle-hot, slightly sweaty sex is in order.”
“That sounds reasonable.” He pulled my T-shirt up and off, cupping his hands over my bra-covered breasts. “But you have to let me indulge myself with you this time.”
“The way I feel right now, I don’t need any foreplay,” I said, squirming around on his legs. I was speaking the absolute truth, too. The nearness of him, coupled with the way his finger had rubbed his sexy, sexy chin, had flipped my libido into high gear. “I really want to touch you, Alden. And taste you. And rub myself on you. And... oh, hell, let’s just do it.”
“I thought I was going to have the chance to drive you as insane as you drove me,” he protested when I rose and unbuckled his pants.
“Next time, I promise. All of a sudden, you being right here next to me, smelling so good, and being warm and solid and raspy-faced, was just too much. I hope you are as ready as I am.... Oh, nice, you are.”
I released him from the confines of his underwear and, doing a little dance on my knees, managed to rid myself of my underwear, praising myself for having the foresight to put on a skirt for the evening.
“I wasn’t a minute ago, but then you started talking about your breasts, and thighs, and your legs wrapped around me with their strong, silken grip, and that was all it took.”
I giggled as I positioned myself over him, leaning down to kiss him. “I didn’t say any of those things, silly man.”
