Page 14 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
Cass stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. He wove his fingers together behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “Hmm.” She wanted adventure, did she? And he wanted less of the stuff. Quite a pair, they were, indeed. She had the right of it. Well, if he could provide her with a taste of sin while she cleaned away his, then the deal they had struck benefited them both. What they were doing was nottooimproper, just improper enough for her to have a little fun.
And, judging by the number of times he’d laughed while reading her letter—three—he’d have fun, too. Who knew learning to be better could be so diverting.
The pace of his heart escalated. Oh, what lectures she would read him! With that bow of an upper lip, those dancing eyes, and those slender wrists, all of which he’d have to imagine because the entire relationship would happen through paper and ink. But he’d always been quite imaginative, and he could see those wrists, the elegant but capable hands rolling round them… he could encircle one neatly between his thumb and forefinger. And she’d tug away, and he’d tug back until she pressed against him, their breathing mingling as he lowered his lips to hers—
Cass shot to his feet. He’d have to watch himself. If mere wrists led to such a fantasy, he did not simply stick a toe into ungentlemanly territory, he’d strode into and already stood knee-deep in it.
He needed her lessons sorely. Good thing they would come in the form of epistles, too. His caddish instinct still controlled him too much to be trusted in her presence. He’d touched her yesterday. Several times. Learning the feel and heat of her skin, like the petal of a flower. Softer. As soon as he’d thought the desire to touch her, he had. No question.
Yes, epistles only would do.
He returned to his seat at the table. She would need a reply. And it would be impolite to dawdle. Miss Cavendish said so. He put pen to paper.
Dearest AC,
I should have been prompter in my reply had your letter not arrived during my morning walk. I shall strive to be available when all mail arrives in the future.
I have a notebook where I keep account of my moral achievements and setbacks. It is a plan designed by Benjamin Franklin. You will help me organize it. He recommends several areas for moral improvement: temperance, silence, order, resolution, frugality, industry, sincerity, justice, moderation, cleanliness, tranquility, chastity, and humility. We’ll start with ready-made lectures from one of these categories. Send one posthaste.
My sincerest gratitude,
A
He reread it. Staid. To the point. Utterly correct, except of course that he would send it secretly through a valet and two maids to an unmarried woman. He folded it. Then unfolded it and read it again. The letter could be described with no better word than perfection. But something wasn’t quite right. So much blank paper below the A. He set the pen to paper once more.
(Your mind must be in the chamber pot, too, Miss C, if you guessed where mine would likely go.)
He snorted a laugh. There. Better. Not quite proper, of course, but necessary. He would have itched all day knowing he’d left it off.
He folded the letter once more and sealed it. “Hughes!”
His valet shuffled out of the dressing room. “Yes?” His voice held a note of doom.
“Please see this gets to the lady who sent the first letter.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“No. You can’t do this.”
“You don’t know whatthisis.”
Hughes shook his head. “Can’t be good.”
“It is, actually. She’s helping me reform.”
Hughes gasped. “She!”
Cass would not apologize for it. He needed a governess, and she needed excitement. They were made for each other.
He swung open a drawer and pulled out a small red leather notebook, the one he’d mentioned in the letter to Miss Cavendish. He’d felt a fool buying such a thing. His brother kept a notebook always on his person, after all, to write down all the questions that popped into his head so he could find answers to them all later. Cass had always teased Bax mercilessly for the habit, but once he’d decided to reform, he’d known the necessity of it.
Sometimes so many ideas and emotions crowded about a man’s head he couldn’t make heads or tails of them. And a notebook proved a handy place to keep track of progress. The first several pages were all dedicated to notes on Franklin’s advice for improvement, but the pages after that had begun to fill in the gaps of Franklin’s plan.
He sat and set pencil to paper, circling a dark dot near the edge of the top of the most recent blank page, then writing—Lola may have a point. Women may very well be necessary for reforming.
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