Nodding, she took a seat across from him. “Shall I pour the tea?”
“Absolutely.” He smirked and watched as she began to pour the hot liquid. Such a perfect little English wife. Posture rigid, face emotionless, and body amply hidden by a prudish-looking afternoon dress. One that hid every curve of her body.
Pity.
“Take off your dress.” He heard himself speak, a little shocked that he was being so rakish.
“Pardon?” Isabelle paused mid-pour. “Did you just tell me to take off my dress?”
“So you can breathe better,” Dominique half-lied. Naturally it would help her breathing, but part of him, the part that yearned to see the curves of her body, demanded she take off the one piece of fabric that kept his eyes from feasting on her form.
“I can breathe just fine, thank you.”
“No, you can’t, it is why you have trouble singing, but if you want to continue to sound like a dying dog, by all means keep your dress on—”
“Fine!” Silverware clattered as she dropped the teapot onto the tray and began hurriedly undoing her dress. After several minutes in which he watched her wiggle this way and that, she asked, “Can you help me?”
“I don’t know, can I?”
“Will you help me?” She ground out, nostrils flaring.
Would he help her? Any red-blooded male would trip over himself for the chance to touch her. Trying not to look too smug or pleased with himself, he slowly rose from his seat and walked the few short steps to where she sat. Turning her back to him, she waited.
His hands itched inside his gloves, they trembled, they shook, and they wanted to feel the warmth of her skin. But, he kept his gloves on as he nimbly and quickly loosened the dress's hold on her body.
When he was finished, he adjusted his cravat, because it was quite hot in that particular room, and took a seat, as if he hadn’t just been aroused beyond his wildest imagination.
“My thanks.” Isabelle’s face was flushed. “Now, am I to eat in my corset and chemise, or did you have any other excuses for me to strip the rest of my clothes from my body and sing naked?”
Dominique choked on his tea. Clearing his throat he answered, “I imagine you would sing even better naked, love. But I doubt I would be able to give you any sort of lessons of the musical nature. They would be more…carnal, if you understand my meaning. Now why don’t you eat some sandwiches while I discuss our next lesson.”
Isabelle snatched a sandwich and lifted it to her lips. Why the devil was he watching her so closely? It was as if his body was no longer listening to him. As if she now commanded its allegiance. Her every move, the way her tongue wet her lips, the look of her chest as she took another breath. Perhaps it was a poor choice for her to remove her dress. But he truly did have an educational purpose for it. At least that’s what he told himself every time he was tempted to reach across the table and pull her into his lap.
After fifteen of the longest minutes of Dominique’s life, they were finished eating and he was able to focus on music rather than her br**sts, or her arms, or her shapely legs.
“The lesson,” he began, as he rose from his seat, “has to do with breathing.”
“Gathered that.” Isabelle stood and approached the piano. “Now, what will you have me do? Strip naked? Dance around? Scream at the top of my lungs? Tell me, what mortifying thing will prove to you that I am earnest in taking these lessons? Is your aim to teach or merely gawk at me?”
Amused, Dominique chuckled. “I imagine it’s a little bit of both. Now, cease talking and close your eyes.”
****
Taking a soothing breath, Isabelle closed her eyes and waited. The only reason she was able to go through with taking off her dress was because she saw the vulnerability on his face when they were in the forest. If he could reveal parts of himself that he’d kept buried all his life, then she could very well take off her dress. If, and only if, it was for academic pursuit. The cold air in the room chilled her.
That is until she felt warm breath on the nape of her neck. “Now, when a woman wears a corset it is often too tight for her to breathe properly. One must breathe here.” He moved his hands to her lower stomach near her hips and pressed just slightly. “When you sing, Isabelle. You often sing from here,” he touched her throat but left one hand on her stomach. “I’m going to loosen your corset, just slightly, and I want you to take a deep breath, but I want it to come from here.” Again he pressed against her stomach. She waited while he tugged at her corset. Satisfied that it was loose enough, he grunted, and returned his attention to her body.
Was it so wrong that she wanted nothing more than to be held up against him? Was it terrible of her to want to lean back into his arms? His body surrounded hers, he reached around her and played a single note from the piano, and then another, until three notes were given in unison. “This is your chord,” Dominique whispered in her ear. “Now, I want you to softly hum this chord.”
Knowing she had no talent and that it was quite useless, she had already decided that she would do the lessons to bring them closer, but perhaps he knew something she didn’t. After all, he was a prodigy. So without complaint, she hummed the three notes softly. They weren’t exactly on tune but they didn’t sound like a dog dying either.
“Now, follow me.” Dominique sang a few lines of a song she'd never heard before. He repeated the same verse over and over again. “Join me,” he breathed in her ear. “But join from here.” He touched her stomach. “Not here.” He caressed her neck. And she sang.
Again, it wasn’t beautiful. But it was better, and it felt better, somehow. “I feel like I can breathe. It isn’t as much of a strain as it once was.”
Dominique chuckled in her ear. “Does this mean you’re going to take back all those nasty things you said about me, not five minutes ago?”
“Absolutely not. You’re still a cad for asking me to take off my dress. What type of man asks that of his wife?”
“A human one.”
“I thought you were a beast.”
His chest shook with laughter behind her. Large arms pulled her even tighter against his body. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint, or make you a liar.” His tongue licked her earlobe and then traced down her neck. Pulse racing, she tried to focus on anything, but the thrill his touch sent to her toes.
Breathing. She could focus on breathing, and counting to ten and, oh heavens, his hands were moving slowly down her arms, causing chills. And then his teeth grazed her shoulder. With a growl, he bit her, then pulled away.