Exeter’s frown darkened into something truly menacing. “You will do no such thing.” The two men stared each other down.
Finally, Jersey broke the deadlock. “Mr. Phillpott kindly provided us with instructions—a version of this very technique has changed things dramatically for me. I believe it will work for you, as well, Mia.”
“And yet, we actually know very little about this therapy,” Exeter’s argument was more of a warning.
Jersey stood and stretched. “I’m off to play a cutthroat game of backgammon with Valentine.” On his way out of the study, he tossed a conspiratorial wink at her just to irritate Exeter. “Ask him for Valentine’s notes.”
Mia smiled. Everything about this brave and stoic Nightshade had always seemed a bit dark and tormented. But lately he was less morose—as if a great burden had been lifted. “Good night, Jersey.”
“It’s good to feel human again.” Jersey shut the door softly.
Exeter poured them each another brandy and settled into a wing chair. He studied her with steely eyes. Not his usual evaluation, this was more like the way he studied a chess piece when his king was threatened, and there were few moves left on the board.
Mia finally released a sigh. “You’ve been staring at me all night with those angry eyes, like I was in for a good paddling.”
No answer from him, not a peep, just the ticking of the wall clock.
He sipped his brandy and continued to stare over the rim of his glass. Finally, he lowered the snifter. “Oh, I’m not going to paddle you, Mia. I’m going to make you climax.”
She gulped hard and his eyes dropped to her throat. He raked a strand of hair behind his ears, and something wild and thrilling stirred in her belly. All she had thought about these last few months was this man—so calm and reserved—so completely and perfectly handsome. He was her protector. Her teacher. Her knight in somewhat tarnished armor.
He was . . . her Exeter. And he was everything she had ever wanted in a man.
She had dreamed about doing things with him—wicked fantasies that were about to come true . . . only in the oddest way possible. She would experience intimacy with him, even though he did not love her passionately.
That he cared for her deeply was a certainty—just not in the way a man loved a woman. These physical intimacies were being foisted upon him. Mia sighed. If she took into account his most recent behavior, there were signs he might be reevaluating their relationship—like last night. Exeter had kissed the inside of her wrist, and then quickly apologized. “From here on out, I will have to keep a close watch on myself.” And there had been a flicker of desire in his eyes—she was sure of it.
“I take it you are talking about a kind of release.” She raised a determined chin and met his gaze. “I will reach some kind of apex of pleasure, after which the involuntary urge to shift will diminish.”
With a flick of his eyes Exeter read the mantel clock. He reached inside his dinner jacket and handed over a piece of folded notepaper. “Here, take this.”
“Valentine’s notes?
He nodded. “Read them in your room.”
Mia rose from her chair. “When shall I expect you?”
“I am going to finish this brandy. Make an appearance in the parlor, and retire early.” He looked up at her. “Will that give you enough time?”
“Good Lord, Exeter.” Mia rolled her eyes. “Could we please get this small matter over with? Don’t leave me pacing.”
He swirled a slosh of amber around his glass. “This is not a small matter, and you will see me—when I get there.”
She shut the study door louder than necessary. Not a slam, but something good and testy.
Exeter closed his eyes and lay his head back against the tufted upholstery of his wing chair. He pictured Mia reading Valentine’s notes and immediately fell to massaging his temples. At least the notes would prepare her, but it made his task no less precarious.
He was already teetering on the edge of lasciviousness with his lovely ward and yet he had held back. He was twelve years her senior—nothing new in that, of course. And this certainly wouldn’t be the first time a gentleman formed an attachment to a younger cousin. In fact, marriages of this kind were almost commonplace.
So what held him back? Mia had grown into one of the loveliest creatures he had ever set eyes upon. There were times when all he wished to do was look upon her. Once or twice she had caught him admiring her and he had not shifted his eyes, but had allowed his gaze to linger, even caress her.
His gaze moved to the chess table in front of the hearth. Several nights past, she had opened with the queen’s gambit and immediately sacrificed a pawn—only to get her pawn back seven moves later! He was quite sure it would not be long before she would beat him at his favorite game.
That same evening, Mia had called him stubborn to a fault and he had called her recalcitrant. Exeter exhaled a silent sigh. All he had ever wished for Mia was a happy, normal life. Grow up, meet a solid young man, and marry. Establish a home of her own and children. Everything that was no longer possible for her.
He drained his glass and tried not to think too hard about what he was about to do. Leaving his study, he noted the jump in his pulse, well beyond its usual sixty-eight beats per minute. He checked in with his guests in the parlor. Just Valentine and Jersey hunched quietly over a backgammon board. America had retired early. He walked the perimeter of the room in silence, not unaware of the fact that he was poor company this evening.
Exeter pivoted on his heel and said good night.
He climbed the curve of the grand staircase slowly, not in dread, but with considerable caution. It was very likely this night would change his relationship with Mia forever. They would have to find a new path together, a new way of seeing each other, relating to one another.
There was a possibility, if he handled this experience right, it could open up a whole new life for her. But if things went badly—if she shifted unexpectedly—the experiment could end in heartbreak.
Exeter didn’t bother to turn up the gaslight in his bedchamber. He found his dressing room by feel and removed a freshly pressed cravat from the highboy. Raising his chin, he loosened the tie he wore and slipped it through his collar. With both neck cloths looped in one hand, he collected his medical kit and made his way to Mia’s room.
He rapped quietly before he slipped inside. It was to be expected Mia would be nervous—but he could palpably feel his own anxiety heighten, as he pressed the door shut. He turned around and found her standing near her four-poster bed, wearing nothing but a pale damask counterpane. As she turned, the gossamer quilt fell off one shoulder and the loosely wrapped coverlet parted. Exeter inhaled sharply. A deep angle of exposed flesh invited his gaze. Rounded breasts, and lower—past her navel—a darker hint of curls. She had removed all but the pillows and sheets from her bed, and had lit several lamps and a number of candles. The effect against the pale peach skin tones of her body was mesmerizing.
Twice this evening he had seen her swallow hard. Now it was his turn. “This won’t require a complete disrobing—unless . . .”
“And if a shift happens?” she asked.
“In a heightened state of arousal? I should think I’m either dead or badly maimed.” Exeter winced a bit. “Sorry. You must forgive my poor attempt at gallows humor.”
Mia managed a soft, skittish laugh. “And here I was trying for lovely and seductive.”
“And you are all of that.” He closed some of the distance between them. “But this is not a seduction, Mia— this first time is to be a lesson in how to use your sexual release to control the inner beast.”
She glanced up at him shyly. “I read the notes, Exeter. There is some kind of connection, a state of being that happens during the shifts which correlates to the act of pleasure.”
“If it wasn’t for the fact that you could injure yourself—or me—I would have given you the notes and let you experiment in private. But we need to be careful here. You read the example of the young man who died?”
Mia nodded. “It happened during a partial shift. He stopped breathing and never recovered. The lion-headed creature, Mr. Eden Phillpott, advises there be a mentor or guide present, like yourself.”
“Someone with experience.” Exeter bit out, making sure she understood their relationship—that of instructor and student. He leaned over the sheets and stacked a number of pillows near the middle of the headboard. “I
