Her face was serious. “I said, ‘Yes, please, Your Grace.’”
He shook his head. “Well, Thornwick or Arthur or His Grace, all of them should have to love you and do what’s best for you. That is the function of a husband.”
Now it was her turn to smile.
“Oh, George, that is so sweet,” she chortled.
He was perturbed. “What’s so funny?”
She put her hands to his head and stroked his pate as she giggled. And again, he couldn’t help relaxing into her touch. He hadn’t known how much he longed for someone to tend to this contemptible part of himself that he kept covered so much of the time.
She nuzzled her face into his neck.
“I just love how you smell, George, and I can’t seem to stop touching you.”
“That’s . . . good.”
“Do you promise to show me everything? Teach me everything?”
“No.”
She took her hands off his head and got off his lap. “That’s not fair!”
“I want your appetites to guide you, Phee, not mine, not . . . anybody else’s.” He had been about to say Thornwick’s name but he had almost gagged with the attempt. “If you want to know about something, I will attempt to teach you, but I am not going to demonstrate an erotic encyclopedia from A to Zed for you.”
She glared at him, her hands on her hips.
“Forgive me, Phee. This is more difficult than I anticipated. I find myself having a hard time concentrating.”
A devilish smile twitched her lips as she looked down at his counterpane-covered lap. “Yes, evidently a very hard time.”
He countered her smile with a frown. “Let us do one thing at a time. Right now, you are undressing. Then we will get in the bed, and I will attempt to show you what you want to know.”
Her smile faded. She turned her head on its side again. How bewitching that little head tilt was. Did she know it? Did Thornwick know it? Had she looked askance at him in just that way when he had proposed?
“I don’t know enough to ask for the right things. For example, I didn’t know men put their tongues in women’s mouths until you did it to me.”
Suddenly, he was filled with guilt. She was such an innocent. What was he doing? And now she was near him and her hands were on his head again.
“And I didn’t know how much I would want to touch your head. I don’t know why, but rubbing you here,” her hands dragged more slowly and her voice became very soft, “makes me ache down there.” And she ducked her head, using her chin to point to her groin.
His guilt fled, vanquished by her hands on his head, her whispered confession. “Truly?”
She nodded. She leaned down and spoke directly in his ear. “I’m all achy and pulsing.” She straightened up and shifted her weight back and forth between her feet. “Is that to be expected?”
“I think so. Are you achy and pulsing right now?”
“Yes.”
He hated to have her take his hands from his head but being a teacher meant sacrifices had to be made for the good of the pupil.
“Turn around.”
She did as he asked and indeed it proved impossible for her to keep petting his scalp with her back to him. He reached from his seated position and untied the knot at the bottom of her stays. He began loosening the lace.
“Oh,” he heard her say.
“What’s wrong?”
