Louise Allen - Those Scandalous Ravenhursts Volume Two

The memory of the sensual shock as she had hurtled into his arms in the brothel came to him with almost painful intensity and he crossed his legs, trying not to think about the lovely elegance of the line from shoulder to the swell of her hip. He was quite certain that Jessica had not the slightest idea of how beautiful her body was.

And why should she? She is inexperienced and respectable , he reminded himself sternly. He was here for one reason only, and that was to equip her for the role she was to play. And it was a role, not reality.

‘Did you enjoy your shopping expedition?’

‘Very much. Your cousins are so kind. But it is not real,’ she added, echoing his thought. ‘I cannot believe that it is me, sitting in all those fashionable shops, being waited upon, making decisions, choosing between ribbons for my slippers as though I have a dozen pairs already and can toss them aside the moment they show wear.’

Gareth thought of telling her that she must keep all the clothes and accessories they bought for the deception, then caught himself in time. Jessica had accepted payment for what she was doing because she was a professional woman and knew she was worth her hire. But he guessed she might have a very different reaction to accepting fine clothes and fripperies—they were too close to the presents a true courtesan would expect.

She was restful to be with, sitting there with her clasped hands, her eyes resting on him as though she was studying him, which he supposed she was. Miss Gifford was not a woman who went headlong into something unprepared. That mixture of restraint and sense, combined with the image of the girl who, stark naked and terrified, had picked a lock and set about rescuing herself from a situation where most would have been in a dead faint of horror, piqued more than his amused interest—it stirred something inside him.

‘I assume that this evening’s meal is so that we can explore the sense of taste?’ she asked, cutting across his uncomfortable self-examination. He did not feel Jessica Gifford was so restful after all.

‘Yes. The sense and sensuality of food and how you can use it for flirtation and seduction.’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘Very,’ Jessica admitted. ‘Have you any idea how tiring spending large amounts of money is?’ Her smile seemed to glow and she gave a little wriggle of pleasure, as though someone had run a finger down her spine.

Gareth took a deep breath. He was enjoying this too much; that had to cease. It was not what he was here for, they had work to do.

‘Well, being hungry before meals in public must stop at once,’ he said severely. ‘Food must become a luxury, a game, a tool in your armoury of seduction. Before any meal taken when men are present, you must consume something solid and sustaining at home first.’

‘Dinner is served, madam.’ Hedges stood holding the door while Jessica closed her lips on what he suspected was about to be a withering comment on the foolishness of fashionable life.

She stood instead and placed the tips of her fingers on his proffered forearm, glancing up at him from under her lashes as she did so.

‘Very nice,’ he murmured, escorting her through the door and into the dining room. Their chairs had been placed as he had requested, with hers at the head of the table and his on her right. On the white cloth there were only the place settings, a flower arrangement, a candelabra and two dishes, one before each place.

‘I wanted to concentrate on one thing at a time,’ he explained, holding her chair for her. Jessica sat, regarding the almost empty table dubiously.

‘Oysters?’

‘Do you dislike them?’ He sat beside her. ‘If you have no objection to dining alone with me, I will pour the wine and we can ring when we require the second course.’

‘Yes. Thank you, Hedges, that will be all for the moment.’ The butler closed the door behind him. ‘That is a relief; I do not feel comfortable having this sort of lesson before an audience.’ She lifted her fork, then put it down again. ‘I’ve never eaten raw oysters, I have only had them in beefsteak-and-oyster pie.’

‘Oysters are regarded as a highly erotic food. Look at them.’ He wondered if she would understand the symbolism and watched as she studied the six open shells set out on an extravagant bed of crushed ice.

‘Erotic?’ Jessica murmured, lifting one shell delicately and advancing it closer so she could stare down into the fleshy folds moving gently in their briny liquid, cradled within the opalescent shell. He knew the exact moment she caught his meaning from the blush that coloured her cheeks. ‘Well, really! Do men think of nothing but sex?’

Gareth had been watching her over the rim of his wine glass as he took a sip of the white burgundy. At her question he choked, half-laughing, and put the glass down. ‘I’m afraid we do think about it quite a lot,’ he admitted apologetically.

Jessica knew she was blushing. She put the oyster back on the plate and lifted her own glass, hoping for a little Dutch courage. ‘You mean that in dining rooms all over the country people are sitting down to oysters and the men are looking at them and thinking they look like… And then eating them?’

Now what have I said to amuse him? she wondered as Gareth gave another gasp of laughter.

‘Yes.’ He did not appear capable of elaborating.

‘I see.’ She eyed the offending shellfish. ‘How exactly does one eat a raw oyster?’

‘You squeeze on a little lemon juice, then raise the shell to your lips and tip it in.’ Garth suited the action to his words, chewed a couple of times and then swallowed. ‘Sublime. In very polite company one eats it with your knife and fork, but that need not concern us.’

‘Hmm.’ Jessica knew she was sounding prim, although something inside her was wanting to giggle, partly because the whole idea of food as erotic seemed nonsensical and partly because she was beginning to feel as though she was in a dream, or had had far too much to drink, or both. Not that she had ever had more than one glass of wine at once in her life, but she supposed this light-headed, bubbly sensation was how intoxication felt.

She picked up her oyster, regarded it severely and tipped it to her lips. Cool, salty, fleshy and sensuous, it was like nothing she had ever tasted, and certainly not like the rather rubbery constituents of a pie. Jessica bit, swallowed, thought about it and smiled. ‘It is fabulous!’

‘Then let me give you another.’ Gareth squeezed lemon, then lifted one from his plate and advanced it to her lips. Jessica sat back, a little shocked. ‘Oh quite, absolutely scandalous behaviour, and you do not do this at polite dinner parties, not until we have reached the stage of really setting the ton to talking. But we might be seen sharing our oysters in a box at the theatre.’

Jessica opened her lips and Gareth touched the shell to them. ‘Keep your eyes on me,’ he murmured as, instinctively, her lids drooped. His eyes, as she lifted hers to them, were dark and something hot burned at the back of them. ‘Just so, we are exchanging unspoken words, messages that cannot be said out loud in company. And everyone else will know that is what we are doing.’

This time she let the flesh slide into her mouth and the memory of his tongue, tangling with hers, as hot as this was cold, filled her. ‘What is it?’ He was instantly alert to her mood. ‘What are you thinking about?’

Too startled by her own reaction to prevaricate, Jessica answered honestly, ‘You kissing me’, and was rewarded by the knowledge that she had both surprised and disconcerted him.

The heat in his eyes flared and she knew he was remembering too, but his voice was dry as he said, ‘Those are exactly the thoughts you should be conjuring up—they will add verisimilitude to your acting.’