Page 17 of In a Rake's Embrace
“Bloody hell,” Thomas snarled, springing from the sofa just in time to catch her as she collapsed into a dead faint.
Agatha’s eyes fluttered open,her vision slowly coming into focus. The ornate ceiling of the earl’s private quarters at the pleasure palace swam into view behind his shoulder. She first noticed warmth, then strong arms around her and the solid weight beneath her. Agatha blinked, disoriented, and then realized she was in the lap of the earl. A warm, clean, masculine scent teased her senses. Being this close to Lord Radbourne, his face seemed even more dangerously striking.
He was smiling down at her, a teasing glint in his eyes. Every nerve in her body suddenly became painfully aware of how close they were. His heat, the firm line of his body, and the easy way he held her—it sent a wave of mortification rushing through her.
“There you are,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I feared I had scandalized you beyond recovery.”
Did I faint?
Her heart sank at the realization. She quickly tried to sit up, her cheeks flaming. “I—I’m so sorry,” she stammered, her anger rising at herself.
How could she have been so foolish? Fainting like some weak-willed heroine from a gothic novel?
His gaze skipped over her face, dissecting every nuance.
“Shall we try something a bit less daunting?” he asked, his thumb caressing her cheek.
Her blush intensified, but she met his gaze with as much courage as she could muster. “I’m not usually so easily ... rattled.”
“No?” he said, his amusement clear. “Well, fainting certainly suggests otherwise.”
She bristled at his teasing, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Still, she couldn’t deny the truth—he had scandalized her. She had thought their lesson would progress much slower than stripping naked at the first one!
“However,” he said, his tone shifting to something more serious, “you’ll need to remove that gown.”
Once again, alarm scattered her thoughts, and a soft breath shuddered between her lips.
Oh, God.
He continued. “Your blushes make you seem too innocent, Agatha. Too many men have sisters they wish to protect; they’ll see you as one of them if you cling to that innocence. They need to see a woman—someone they desire, not a delicate flower they feel obligated to shield.”
Her heart pounded, and she felt the blush he spoke of rising again.
“You only have a few weeks before the season closes,” he said smoothly, “and if you don’t change how men see you, you will lose your opportunity.”
Agatha swallowed hard. She knew he was right—there was no time to waste. She had committed to this path, and if she faltered now, everything she had hoped to gain would slip through her fingers. Slowly, she nodded. “I understand.”
His gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained one of calm authority. “Good. We’ll take it slow, but you must be willing to push past your own limits. You must become a temptress.”
She wasn’t sure how she would manage this transformation, but one thing was certain—if she was going to succeed, she had to let go of her fears, even if they mortified every sensibility of hers. “I understand, and I want that.”
“Hmm.” That devilish gleam entered his gaze. “We will have two lessons today. The first is overcoming blushes by becoming knowledgeable.”
She was mere inches from the earl, close enough to count the dark sweep of his eyelashes. The subtle scent of sandalwood clung to him, teasing her senses as she inhaled deeply, trying to steady her nerves.
“Do you know what will happen when a gentleman wins you at the auction?” His voice was low, intimate. “I’m not talking about complex fantasies, but the basic elements of how a man and a woman come together.”
“I have seen farm animals ... mate in the countryside,” she replied. “I’ve heard lewd jokes in the local tavern that say it’s the same.”
His lips curled into a smirk. “At its most basic, a man will put his cock inside your ... quim.”
Cock? Quim?Agatha nodded, though the heat rising to her cheeks betrayed her. The smirk deepened as if he could read her thoughts.
“I know you have no real idea what I mean,” he said softly. “No need to look so studious.”
Drat.
He held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her heart race. Slowly, he placed a hand on her knee, widening her legs. Her breath hitched, and she swallowed hard. The shift she wore only fell to her knees, and his hand slid beneath the fabric, dragging upward with deliberate slowness. Her fingers tightened against his arms, caught in the spell of his touch. Every place his fingers grazed felt like tiny pinpricks of heat, and she bit her lip to stifle the small cry building in her throat.
