'Your frankness is disarming.'
'You must teach me
Molly's brow quirked. 'Is this a contest?'
'Do you mind if it is?'
Molly laughed. 'He's well ahead of you.'
'But not of you, I expect.'
'Perhaps… although I offer no guarantees. I've not spent time in India.'
'There are Hindu love books. I know there are because a captain brought some back once and Grandpapa quickly put them away. Let's have Mr. Martin find them for us.'
Her excitement was a delight. 'You wish to send Bathurst over the moon?'
'I wish to arouse him to the most sublime colossal pitch.' Isabella's downy brows lifted faintly. 'Am I terribly wicked?'
'Wonderfully wicked, I'd say. Why don't I see to some books?'
The first frontispiece they looked at portrayed a handsome young footman, partially undressed, servicing a pretty lady in her boudoir. The caption beneath the picture brought a smile to Isabella's lips:
'They are if your husband allows,' Molly sardonically replied. 'This book is rumored to have been written by several noblewomen of the highest rank.'
'Then ladies are allowed their vices as well? I never realized…'
'Their vices require a deal more discretion, but, yes, there are ladies who enjoy themselves with equal gusto. For instance, take note of the next illustrations.'
In a sequence of five etchings, the tale of a shopping expedition in Bond Street was depicted. The young shop men were dazzlingly handsome and well formed, and from the looks of the various illustrations, bent on offering any particular service a lady desired.
'I always thought the shop men were delightfully handsome, but I never realized
'Those who are interested are aware. However, discretion is ever the watchword.'
'My education has been sadly lacking,' Isabella playfully bemoaned. 'Heavens,' she exclaimed, gazing at the next illustration, 'don't tell me every handsome groom I see in Hyde Park is making love to his mistress.'
'I would say, generally,' Molly explained, 'if one sees a good-looking groom and a lady who takes undue interest in her equine skills, a high degree of suspicion is called for.'
'My life has been dreadfully dull. All I ever did was sell shipments brought to London on our vessels.'
'Keep in mind, all the pleasures you see depicted are generally reserved for married women. Virginity is still the gold standard for a suitable marriage.'
'Well, since I have no immediate plans for marriage and have yet to see a man who would even interest me in that regard-'
Molly's eyebrows rose.
'Surely not. I know what you're thinking, but Bathurst would no more marry me than he would cook your dinner. So I shall be ever so grateful to you for showing me-well, what I've been missing. And allowing me an education in certain pleasures that may interest me in the future-whether I'm married or not.'
'You have a fearless air, my dear.'
'And why should I not? Would it help in my present situation to be fearful? Would I better survive if I were? I think not. My relatives showed me most viciously what would have become of me if I were docile.' She shrugged. 'So I shan't be if ever I was anyway,' she added, smiling. 'Grandpapa spoiled me considerably.'
'Not necessarily a liability in your case,' Molly noted. 'You seem to know what you want.'
'I find myself quite enamored of these feelings that heat my body. Once tasted, as they say… I rather look forward to continuing the pleasure.'
Isabella was kept busy most of the day with various lessons that would make her more comfortable in the boudoir-how to dress and sit… or lie, how to serve food should a man require it, how to offer him a bath should the occasion arise, what exactly were the degrees of acquiescence most necessary to a woman intent on pleasing a client. Her instructors were all pretty women no older than she who directed her schooling with a casualness and humor she found entertaining.
They had orders not to speak personally of themselves, so she learned little of their background and reasons for occupying Molly's house, but none seemed disturbed to be there and all were enthusiastic about her coming liaison with Bathurst.
'Does everyone know?' Isabella asked when the subject was broached yet again.
'Only a few. We who are helping,' a woman named Bess replied. 'Molly is strict about that. For your own privacy, she says. But you're really going to like Bathurst. There isn't a woman alive who doesn't.'
'So I've heard. Why is he so highly regarded? Beyond his startling good looks, of course.'
'He likes women. It shows in everything he does-lucky you. Although he and Kate are pretty exclusive now.' She shrugged. 'So he's been out of circulation for the rest of us. But he wasn't always. Now, look, let me show you what he particularly likes.'
By evening, Isabella was nervously pacing the room. It was all well and good to treat lovemaking like some kind of business of skill and expertise, but she wasn't completely emotionless, nor were her senses. And by the time her round of studies had concluded that day, she was acutely aware of her body's responses to amorous suggestion. She'd been feeling blissfully heated for hours, her skin felt as though the merest touch would suffocate her, images of Bathurst were prevalent in her mind, and the thought of seeing his strong body unclothed when at last they met in bed was so titillating to her senses, she feared she would forget all she'd learned and collapse in a puddle at his feet.
On edge, restless, she felt an irrepressible need to escape her room, or better yet, the house, although she knew it was impossible. Another half hour passed, her agitation heightening, inchoate desires bombarding her senses. Perhaps she could at least do her pacing in the corridor or breathe some fresh air on the small balcony at the end of the hall. Following her impulse, she quit her room, strode through the empty sitting room, and walked out into the hallway. Molly's personal apartments were separate from the business of the house, and quiet.
She heard his voice first and then his laugh, and she was drawn to the sound as though he were the magnet of her desires. And then she heard the low, throaty female voice, and somehow shocked when she should have known better in a house of pleasure, she halted in her tracks.
It would be discourteous to eavesdrop; she should return to her room. But even as she acknowledged the most fitting conduct, she was moving toward the low sounds of conversation.
The door at the end of the hall was ajar. Stopping just short of it, she leaned forward and peered inside.
A luxurious candlelit room lay before her gaze. A more luxurious room than hers, one designed for lovemaking, with soft chairs and plush carpets and an overlarge bed on which a beautiful nude woman lay.
Bathurst was pouring himself a drink from a small liquor table. He wore riding breeches, as though he'd just come in from the country, and his boots had been kicked off near the door. A chamois coat and linen shirt were draped over a chair back, his stockings tossed beneath it. She took note of each item of clothing as though it mattered where he'd discarded it, as if she might discern the degree of his desire for the dark-haired woman if she catalogued the location of the garments. And she experienced an uncharitable pleasure in the fact that he stood across the room from the bed.
'Do come here, Dermott,' the pretty brunette murmured, her voice seductive, her voluptuous form elegantly disposed on the crimson silk coverlet.
'Soon.' Lifting his glass to his mouth, he tossed it down and turned back to the well-stocked table.
'You said that a half hour ago.'
'I have a thirst after talking business with Shelby since morning.' He gently smiled. 'Be patient, darling.'
'You're restless tonight.'
'I'm not restless.' He added another inch to his glass, topping it off. 'I just feel like drinking.' Turning back to
