Will caught her wrist. “No.”
Taking the cherry from her trapped hand, she bit into it. “Good.” Leaning closer, she gestured to her throat, trailing her fingers lightly across the skin there. “There are certain points on a woman’s body that she reveals if she’s shopping for a patron. Covering them means she’s not interested.
“The throat, for example.” Arching her neck, she presented the smooth skin to him with languid grace. “No debutante wears a necklace or choker unless she’s in the process of signing a contract.”
Will’s pupils flared, his gaze dropping over her throat and lower, to her collarbone and the upthrust of her breasts. The gown was daring, even for her. The type of thing she’d only wear for him.
“Where else?” The words were soft, but they buffeted her skin, raised a shiver.
His eyes were a dare.
Leaning closer, she presented the interior of her wrist to him. The soft creamy skin, veins pulsing blue beneath it. “Here.” Their eyes met. “Do you remember how you greet a woman?”
He took her hand by reflex, but she kept her wrist presented up, toward him. Will stilled, uncertainty tightening the hard planes of his face.
“You press your lips to the back of her hand,” she whispered, lifting her wrist toward him. “For a woman to signify her interest, she presents her wrist instead.”
His head lowered, his lips brushing against the delicate inner skin of her wrist. A cool caress. Barely a ghost of sensation. The prickle of his stubble rasped through her, her nipples pressing hard against the stiff black lace of her corset. Lena pressed her tongue against her teeth to stifle a gasp.
“If a blue blood is interested, he lingers,” she murmured. “Perhaps a trace of his tongue.”
Will lowered his head again, his eyes watching her. Lena’s lips parted as his mouth covered her wrist, suckling the soft flesh. The wet rasp of his tongue seemed to touch her deep inside and she pressed her thighs together, feeling it there, feeling the chafe of her drawers.
“That,” she whispered, “is rather provocative for a blue blood.”
Will’s mouth broke from her skin, his warm breath cooling the wetness. Lena’s heart thundered behind the constriction of her corset. What was he doing to her? How had he turned the tables so deftly? She couldn’t bear it.
His hand was warm on hers, a blaze of welcoming heat. A considering look entered his eyes. “How often do you present your wrist?”
“Why?” She shifted.
The amber in his irises flared. “Tell me.”
The possessive quality of his voice thrilled her. “What does it matter?”
“Tell me.” His grasp on her hand tightened.
“Once,” she admitted. “I was young and Lord Ramsay was handsome. I learned my lesson, however. I’ve not offered it since. Not until now.”
“I’m not interested in your blood.”
“Then what are you interested in?” Lena leaned forward, knowing that her bodice gaped and her curls tumbled around her face.
A long breathless moment. Will leaned toward her unconsciously, as if some invisible force drew him. Reaching out, he brushed the backs of his fingers against her bodice, lightly stroking the silk as if memorizing the texture. The touch sparked through her and she leaned against it, forcing his hand against her aching nipples. That was where she wanted to be touched. There.
Every little hair on her body stiffened. A sudden yearning sprang to life, a desperate need to have his hands on her. Lena leaned forward, her hand sliding over his thigh, feeling the corded power in the bunched muscles, her face tilting toward his…
Opening his mouth, Will tried to say something, but the words died in a harsh growl. “Damn it, Lena.” His gaze skittered away. He pushed her firmly away and sat back, arms spread over the back of the daybed. “Learnin’ how to do what I’m here for. That’s what interests me.”
Just like that, she’d lost him. Confusion and frustration yawned like a gaping pit within her. Unfulfilled need. She’d never had any trouble wrapping men around her fingers, but Will constantly defied her.
She could barely breathe. Gave it one last attempt. “Of course, as with the throat, a covered wrist has different meanings also.” Gesturing to her gloves on the table. “You’ll notice I wear full-length for evening or gloves that cover my wrists quite decently.”
“As you should,” he muttered.
She shot him a glance, but his expression was flat, unreadable. He leaned his elbows on his knees and glared stonily at her.
“A lady wearing half gloves is another matter. It bares the wrist to a blue blood’s lips. A sure sign that she’s available, perhaps even a little fast.”
“And bare wrists?”
“Never. Only a patron sees a woman with bare wrists. It’s considered highly personal.”
“Yet you ain’t wearin’ them now.”
“You said yourself you’re not interested in my blood.”
His expression darkened. Lena leaned against the back of the daybed, her fingers toying with his sleeve. “You might be more interested in the distinction between blood rights and rights of the flesh,” she murmured.
The muscles in his arm coiled. “What’s that mean?”
“A woman offers her blood rights to her patron when she becomes his thrall in exchange for protection and provision. Her flesh rights are another matter. That’s one of the mistakes the middle class makes. They assume a patron may take his thrall to bed as well as drink from her body.”
Will’s gaze shot to hers.
“Not unless she agrees,” she added softly, knowing she was treading dangerous ground. “Her flesh rights are hers to give freely. Perhaps this is more to your area of interest?” Leaning closer, she licked her lips, watched his gaze drop to them. “Do you crave flesh, Will?”
“Are you offerin’ it?” His voice was harsh. “Cause we’ve a word for that, where I come from.” Jerking away from her, he found his feet as if hunted.
“You’re confusing the two,” she replied. “Flesh rights are given freely. For nothing more than the cost of pleasure.”
Hot color burnished Will’s cheeks. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “And how does a patron know if they’re bein’ offered?”
Lena arched a brow. Stroked her finger across the smooth arch of her collarbone. “He finds her naked in his bed.”
The bold statement drew a hiss from him. For a moment she was wondering if he pictured it. The way she was. The thought sent a thrill through her.
“It’s not generally spoken of,” Lena continued, “but as well as lessons in etiquette and sewing and music, a young woman is often…given hints…in how to please a man, should she decide to offer him her flesh rights.”
Not that she’d learned much before her father was murdered and she was dragged to Whitechapel. But he didn’t need to know that.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m fairly sure you shouldn’t be speakin’ o’ this with a man who ain’t your patron.”
“True.” Another shrug, displaying the smooth creamy skin of her shoulder. “I’m just teasing.”
“More games,” he said in disgust. Hands clasped behind him, he paced the small rug in front of her. “Perhaps you need a lesson in what a man’d do in my world, were a women so bold with him.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” It was a statement, not a challenge. She knew how far she could push him. Knew he’d back away the moment she turned the game sexual.
Will turned around. Met her gaze. “Wouldn’t I?”
He leaned forward, resting his knuckles on either side of her hips. One knee pressed between her legs, parting her thighs and pinning her skirts. Lena froze as he reached out and captured a lock of the dark hair that tumbled over her shoulder. “All these games you play… I wonder what you’d do if I played ’em back?”
Excitement raced through her veins. He’d never flirted back before. “Don’t tell me I’m getting under your skin?” she whispered.
“On me nerves, more like it.” His fingers gently rubbed her hair. Then sank into the pile of curls prettily knotted at the base of her nape. It drew a gasp from her lips as he tilted her face toward his. Their breath mingled. Uncomfortably close.
And Lena was aware that she was pinned, trapped neatly beneath him. Catching a handful of his shirt, she stared up at him. His gaze was hard, almost cruel. Suddenly she didn’t like this game anymore.
“Let me go,” she whispered.
“Why? Ain’t this what you want? Me hands on your body? Ain’t that what you been playin’ at this last hour? Or have I pushed the boundaries? Either say what you mean, Lena. Or I’ll take this little game of yours where you don’t mean to take it.”
One word. Yes. One word and he’d do it. But as she met the steely look in those extraordinary eyes, she realized he wasn’t playing. When had this become more than a game? More than a light flirtation?
I’ll stake a hundred pounds that you’re wrong, Adele’s voice whispered in her head. That he’ll kiss you next time.
Yes? Or no? Lena’s heart hammered in her chest. She’d kissed him once. A game, nothing more. But his message now was very clear. Will wouldn’t stand for any more games. And a part of her was afraid to play for real.
She wasn’t that brave. Because if it meant nothing to him, if he used her and then discarded her without a care, she suddenly realized that it would matter. To her.
“No,” she whispered.
Will’s gaze shuttered. “No more of this then. I’ve had enough games. Enough of these lessons for the day. Most of it’s useless anyway.” He let her go and straightened.
That drew her ire. She still felt shaky, surreal. As if the world had turned on its axis and she couldn’t quite keep up. “It’s not useless. I’m trying to help you, yet you don’t give a damn about anything I’m saying.”
“The Echelon ain’t gonna accept me anyway. They want a beast, and I’ll give ’em one.” A derisive look as he unrolled his sleeves.
Lena struggled to sit up. Her skirts were awry. So too her emotions. Will had taken their little game and turned it on its head. He’d never dared respond before. Years of pricking at him, needling him whilst he ignored her… She’d thought that was the worst he could do—to pretend she didn’t exist—but it wasn’t. The worst thing he could do was play back, to utterly destroy her defenses and then stand here unrolling his sleeves as though the moment hadn’t bothered him half as much as her.
“Then there’s no point to these lessons,” she found herself saying. Amazing how her voice barely trembled.
Will froze, halfway through one sleeve.
“No point,” she whispered, “and therefore no reason for you to continue coming here. Or escorting me in society.”
She could see the thought churning in his eyes. “No,” he said gruffly. “No. I’ll continue with it.”
“Why should I waste my time?” She managed to gather herself to her feet, resettling her skirts and smoothing her bodice. A swift glance in the mirror showed her hair tumbling free of its pins. She fixed them ruthlessly, feeling his eyes on her.
Her skin pricked. Damn him.
“You won’t listen to anything I say, you deride all of the rules of society and mock my efforts,” she continued, trying to ignore the feeling. Her skin still felt too small, itchy. “Do you know the worst thing, Will? The worst thing is that they see you as a beast and you let them.” She turned then, met his gaze. “You do everything in your power to live up to the image, the reputation, and then you scorn them for sneering down at you.”
Heat flared in his gaze. He took a step toward her. “That reputation might be all as keeps us safe,” he snarled. “Besides, I’m verwulfen. They ain’t ever gonna see me as anythin’ else.”
“And neither will you!”
The outburst shocked both of them. Lena let out her breath, staring at him defiantly. “You call yourself a beast, Will, because you believe it. A part of you thinks you’re nothing better than what they claim.” Taking a shuddery breath, she continued. “You’re fighting me at every step of these lessons because you hate the Echelon, but I’m not only trying to help you learn to fit in, I’m trying to show you another way to live.”
Silence quivered in the air between them. Will stared at her in shock, instead of anger. Encouraged, Lena took a step toward him.
“Take my lessons,” she whispered. “Use them to be who you want to be. Force the Echelon to look you in the eye. Dare them to treat you as a man. A dangerous man, if need be, but not…not an animal.”