have no fear of me.”
She frowned. “Did the others…the girls that came before me…” She trailed away, unsure if this was forbidden territory.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“Was their accounting slightly exaggerated?”
He set down her page of figures. “Do you mean, did they try to embezzle from me? One did, yes, but I found out.” He pinned her with his hard gaze. “Remember that, Lynette. I always find out.”
She nodded, having no trouble believing his statement.
“Very good,” he said. He pulled out a ledger from his desk. “Record the sums in this book; then you may keep your papers for yourself.” She nodded as he gestured to the small, rather battered lady’s escritoire in the corner. “You may work there.”
Lynette took the heavy ledger and crossed to the tiny seat, sitting down to begin her task. Unfortunately, copying figures was tedious, and her mind soon began to wander.
She glanced back at the viscount. His head was bent over another ledger, and he moved through his stacks of paper one by one as he copied figures from bill to book. He looked very focused, and she knew she should not interrupt him. And yet a question burned in her mind.
He looked up, his eyes locking onto her regard with a suddenness that made her gasp. “What is it, Lynette?”
“What was your first kiss like?”
He stiffened, and his face grew cold before he bowed over his work again. “A lady does not ask such personal questions, Lynette.”
“Of course not, my lord,” she answered immediately—but some perversity in her character led her to pursue the topic, despite his clear displeasure. “Except you did say that I could ask anything during the course of my lessons.”
“This is not one of your lessons.”
“And you swore to answer honestly,” she pressed as if he had not spoken.
“Your time would be better spent finishing the task at hand.”
“The figures will be recorded, my lord. But right now I am asking you a question, student to tutor.”
He frowned at her. She remained stoic, her most pleasant expression fixed on her face. His scowl deepened into a glower, but she remained unimpressed. She knew he was trying to intimidate her. Apparently her personal experiences were open to his most minute dissection, whereas his own past was to be shrouded in secrecy.
Well, she would not have it. And if he refused to answer honestly as he promised, then she would no longer feel bound by her own oath to attend his instruction.
Finally, he returned his quill to its stand. “Very well.” He stood, moving around the desk and across the room until he towered directly over her. She did not have time to stand, so she sat there, craning herneck while he seemed to drop his every word on her like a stone. “My first experience was with a whore from Vauxhall Gardens. It was Christmas Eve, and I was home for the holiday.”
She frowned. “Your parents took you to Vauxhall for Christmas?”
“My parents were dead. I was here. In this empty place.” He waved his arm at the house. “And Jenny…” For the first time, he looked away from Lynette. His gaze wandered out the window, no doubt to the distant pleasure garden. “Jenny was my Christmas present to myself. I sold a silver candelabra, as I recall, and used the money for her. I suppose I was her Christmas present as well, because I was young. Easy work for a whore.”
He wandered away, following his gaze to the window, where he stood almost immobile. “Lord, she was young, too. She could have done it quick and cold, but she didn’t. We went to her room. It was in a dark, dank hovel, and the bed had ticks, but at least it wasn’t here. She taught me what to do. Slow and easy, she said. Slow and easy.”
He laughed softly at something in his memory, then turned, fixing his gaze on her. “Jenny was smart. She initiated me properly, tenderly, and for that she had a loyal customer for years.” He paused for a moment, his eyes distant. “She was the one
She frowned. “Did the others…the girls that came before me…” She trailed away, unsure if this was forbidden territory.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“Was their accounting slightly exaggerated?”
He set down her page of figures. “Do you mean, did they try to embezzle from me? One did, yes, but I found out.” He pinned her with his hard gaze. “Remember that, Lynette. I always find out.”
She nodded, having no trouble believing his statement.
“Very good,” he said. He pulled out a ledger from his desk. “Record the sums in this book; then you may keep your papers for yourself.” She nodded as he gestured to the small, rather battered lady’s escritoire in the corner. “You may work there.”
Lynette took the heavy ledger and crossed to the tiny seat, sitting down to begin her task. Unfortunately, copying figures was tedious, and her mind soon began to wander.
She glanced back at the viscount. His head was bent over another ledger, and he moved through his stacks of paper one by one as he copied figures from bill to book. He looked very focused, and she knew she should not interrupt him. And yet a question burned in her mind.
He looked up, his eyes locking onto her regard with a suddenness that made her gasp. “What is it, Lynette?”
“What was your first kiss like?”
He stiffened, and his face grew cold before he bowed over his work again. “A lady does not ask such personal questions, Lynette.”
“Of course not, my lord,” she answered immediately—but some perversity in her character led her to pursue the topic, despite his clear displeasure. “Except you did say that I could ask anything during the course of my lessons.”
“This is not one of your lessons.”
“And you swore to answer honestly,” she pressed as if he had not spoken.
“Your time would be better spent finishing the task at hand.”
“The figures will be recorded, my lord. But right now I am asking you a question, student to tutor.”
He frowned at her. She remained stoic, her most pleasant expression fixed on her face. His scowl deepened into a glower, but she remained unimpressed. She knew he was trying to intimidate her. Apparently her personal experiences were open to his most minute dissection, whereas his own past was to be shrouded in secrecy.
Well, she would not have it. And if he refused to answer honestly as he promised, then she would no longer feel bound by her own oath to attend his instruction.
Finally, he returned his quill to its stand. “Very well.” He stood, moving around the desk and across the room until he towered directly over her. She did not have time to stand, so she sat there, craning herneck while he seemed to drop his every word on her like a stone. “My first experience was with a whore from Vauxhall Gardens. It was Christmas Eve, and I was home for the holiday.”
She frowned. “Your parents took you to Vauxhall for Christmas?”
“My parents were dead. I was here. In this empty place.” He waved his arm at the house. “And Jenny…” For the first time, he looked away from Lynette. His gaze wandered out the window, no doubt to the distant pleasure garden. “Jenny was my Christmas present to myself. I sold a silver candelabra, as I recall, and used the money for her. I suppose I was her Christmas present as well, because I was young. Easy work for a whore.”
He wandered away, following his gaze to the window, where he stood almost immobile. “Lord, she was young, too. She could have done it quick and cold, but she didn’t. We went to her room. It was in a dark, dank hovel, and the bed had ticks, but at least it wasn’t here. She taught me what to do. Slow and easy, she said. Slow and easy.”
He laughed softly at something in his memory, then turned, fixing his gaze on her. “Jenny was smart. She initiated me properly, tenderly, and for that she had a loyal customer for years.” He paused for a moment, his eyes distant. “She was the one
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