“You’re a very good teacher, Franny.”
A good teacher? She was seconds away from climbing his body like she was the beast he had shown her earlier.
She took an abrupt step to the side, breaking his hold on her face, getting away from him. There could be no more kissing.
She amended. There could be no more kissingright now.
“I’ll, er, I’ll test you again tomorrow. Make sure you don’t regress.”
Before she could weaken, she went out of the carriage house, out into the gloaming, leaving him standing next to a post sprouting one sprig of mistletoe.
Twelve
Kittredge cursed himself. Why couldn’t he have spared a thought for the future? Foreseen that his early success would be the end of kissing?
He was a fool. He should have bungled that first kiss. And the second. Then Franny would have given him another lesson which would have led to more kissing.
More of her lips, her breath whispering over him, her closeness.
But, no. He had to show off how well he had listened. He had to kiss her expertly the first time out. He was a fucking idiot.
It was just as she had said.Would you rather win or be married?
He’d rather never win again and spend the rest of his life studying kissing under Franny. Or on top of her.
However, she had agreed the second kiss was even better. He had shown improvement was possible. Maybe hewouldregress tomorrow and it would be clear he needed an extended period of practice. Advanced kissing lessons.
He left the carriage house. Despite trying to keep tupping out of his mind, his cock begged for attention, and once he got inside, he went directly to his bedchamber. He was a boy again, ruled by his phallus.
Afterwards, he managed to walk and feed Bevel, slice some pieces off a massive ham in the larder, make some sandwiches, and get through a picnic sort of dinner with Franny.
She had a piece of foolscap and a pencil and was writing things down as she ate her sandwich and an apple at the kitchen table.
“What’s that?”
She looked up, gorgeous, radiant as if lit from within. Had his kisses done that to her?
No.
“Making a list of presents I can afford to buy for my brother. And things I want to do with him in London. And things to eat for Christmas. And games to play. And maybe,” her eyes glinted mischievously, “what I ought to getyoufor Christmas.”
“Should I go get you more paper?”
He was serious, but she laughed.
“I love your teasing me, Kit. So, what do you want for Christmas? What can I get a duke that he doesn’t already have?”
“I don’t want anything.”
She just bent her head to her list again, chortling.
After the washing-up, during which Franny got more soap and water on the floor than on the dishes, they went to the library.
“You don’t have many novels,” Franny said, running her fingers over spines on the shelves as he closed drapes, lit lamps, and built up the fire.
“I don’t. I prefer books with information.”
“Novels have information.”
