She was dimly, dreamily aware when Simon left her side, when his weight left the bed. She grumbled, turned over, grabbing the tangled sheets and comforter to her to hold in his warmth, and slid back into bliss-filled slumber.
She was floating, boneless and content on some warm and gentle sea when a hard hand closed on her shoulder and shook.
“Come on—wake up. It’s getting light.”
Cracking open an eye took serious effort; squinting up, she saw Simon, fully dressed, leaning over her. It was light enough to see that his eyes were blue, his expression concerned.
She smiled, closed her eye, reached up and curled her fingers in his lapel. “No one else will be up for hours.” She tugged. “Come back in here.” Her lips curved as the memories washed over her. “I want to learn more.”
He sighed. Heavily. Then the hand that had risen to close about hers locked about her hand and wrist—and he straightened, yanking her unceremoniously from her warm cocoon.
Her eyes snapped open. “Wha—?”
He caught both her arms and half lifted, half wrestled her to her knees. “We have to get you dressed and back in your room before the servants are everywhere.”
Before she could say a word, he dropped her chemise over her head. She struggled to get her arms up through the delicate armholes, then tugged the fabric down. Scowling came easily; she fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare. “This is not what I expected.”
He stood looking down at her; he was having trouble keeping his lips straight. “So I’d gathered.” Then his jaw firmed. “However, we’re only here for another two days, and we are not going to cause a scandal in that time.” He tossed her dress at her.
She caught it, tilted her head, and considered him. “As we do have only two more days, wouldn’t it be wiser to—”
“No.” He hesitated, studying her, then added, “We can continue your lessons tonight.” Turning, he sat on the bed and reached for his boots. “Don’t think to learn anything more before then.”
Mulling that over, she struggled into her gown, then wriggled around to sit and pull on her stockings. “Why,” she eventually asked, “do we have to wait until tonight?”
Her tone reflected honest curiosity, but also an underlying uncertainty; Simon heard both. He glanced at her, watched, his body slowly tensing as, one long, long leg extended, she—with transparently guileless grace—drew on her stocking. He blinked, struggled to remember her question.
He managed it; he lifted his gaze to her face, met her eyes. His instinct was to slide around the topic, avoid it.
She raised her brows, waiting. Jaw setting, he stood, gave her his hand and helped her from the bed. She looked down, sliding her feet into her evening slippers.
“Your body . . .” He spoke to the top of her head. “You’ll need a little time to recover.”
She looked up, blinked—was about to argue—
“Trust me, you will.” He shepherded her to the door.
To his immense relief, she went—still thinking. She halted before the door; he reached around her for the knob. Shifting, she leaned her shoulder against his chest, traced his cheek with one fingertip.
Met his eyes. “I’m not exactly a fragile flower. I won’t break.”
He held her gaze. “I’m neither small nor gentle.” He bent his head and brushed her lips. “Trust me—tonight, but not before.”
Her lips clung; he felt her sigh.
“All right.”
Gripping the knob, he opened the door.
He insisted on seeing her back to her room. In order to reach it, they had to traverse the length of the main wing. The oldest part of the house, it contained numerous reception rooms, many opening one into the other; he used that route to avoid the tweenies scurrying about the main corridors.
They were close to the east wing, slipping along a rarely used gallery when Portia glanced out of the mullioned windows, and stopped. Tugged back when he tried to tug her on, then stepped closer to the window.
He looked over her head, and saw what she had.
Kitty, in a peignoir that did nothing to hide her charms, standing on the lawn in full sight, remonstrating with Arturo and Dennis. She was talking, gesticulating.
He drew Portia back; Kitty was facing away from them, but Arturo or Dennis might see them if they glanced up.