Page 47 of When the Viscount Seduces
She opened the book and put it before him on the table. She’d written on the text, making the same sort of marks—underlines and slashes to break up syllables and sounds—she’d done on things she had copied.
“You ruined your book,” he said.
“Bah, it’s not ruined if it helps you.”
“I’ll buy you another. I know how dear they are to you.”
Her gaze locked with his. “Teaching you is also dear to me.”
Shewas dear to him. Lazarus brought one hand beneath the table and squeezed his fingers into his leg. It was torture not to touch her. To bask in her warmth and tenderness.
Forcing his gaze from hers, he looked at the book and began to read. Shockingly, it was easier than usual. Which wasn’t to say it was easy. But he had a weird confidence he hadn’t felt since his father had died. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he had a true ally—someone who genuinely cared about helping him and wanted to see him succeed.
He read for ten minutes or perhaps much longer. He wasn’t sure. The words were flowing a little more easily. Until they didn’t. He reached a word that made him falter, and he sat back in the chair, silently cursing.
“That was so wonderful!” she cried, her features alight with pride. “Do not be discouraged. You were reading marvelously! And you seemed to be enjoying yourself. That is the ultimate goal.”
“But then I stumbled.”
“Isometimes stumble when I read,” she said. “You mustn’t chastise yourself. You are making true progress. I hope you can see it. Please tell me you can, or I shall feel as though I’m failing you.”
“You are not,” he said quickly. “I could not ask for a better tutor.”
“Thank you.” There was pink in her cheeks again, as if she were embarrassed by his praise. Or was it something else? “Do you want to practice your speech now?”
“I suppose I can try.”
Gwen pulled a piece of parchment from her bag. “I’ll follow along with my copy in case you need any prompts.” She held the paper, but watched him expectantly.
He felt suddenly nervous. “I should probably stand,” he murmured, rising and pushing his chair back. He walked away from the table then back, loosening his shoulders as he moved. He took a position between the chair and the table and began to concentrate.
“Do you always close your eyes when you practice?” she asked.
Lazarus hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. Opening his eyes, he fixed on her. “I hadn’t noticed, but yes. I should try not to do that when I’m in the House of Lords.” He’d look an idiot speechifying with his eyes shut.
“You can do it for now if it helps. We can work on one thing at a time.”
“I’ll try not to close them.” Indeed, if he kept his gaze on her, he wouldn’twantto close them. And yet, doing so might also distract him from saying anything beyond“Kiss me again, Gwen. Please.”
“Begin whenever you are ready.” She glanced down at the paper briefly before leveling her expectant stare on him.
It should have been unnerving, but he found it surprisingly comforting. Perhaps because she looked at him with such eagerness and confidence. And pride. She absolutely believed in him, even if he didn’t believe in himself. To have someone in hislife who seemed to truly understand him after so long without his father filled him with the strength he’d been lacking.
He felt a moment’s pause, for he didn’t wish to discount his mother, who had always shown him love and support. She just hadn’t been aware of his reading difficulties because his father had managed his education and she’d been focused on their three daughters. Then, after his father died, Lazarus hadn’t been able to tell her the truth. For the first time, he thought perhaps he could. Why had he ever thought he couldn’t be honest with her? Because the shame he’d long carried had eclipsed everything else.
Setting aside his long-held emotion and focusing on the courage Gwen instilled in him, he somehow found the beginning of the speech in his mind and began to orate. Word after word flowed from him, and since he wasn’t reading, it all sounded right and natural. After a while, he noticed she wasn’t looking at the parchment. He stumbled then, the next words escaping him.
She prompted him with the next word, but didn’t look down to see what it was.
“Have you memorized the speech?” he asked, incredulous.
“I may have done,” she said with a faint shrug.
“Then why are you holding it in front of you?”
“Just in case I didn’t have it memorized completely. You are not the only one who doubts themselves. You are quite normal in that, you see.”
Lazarus knew in that moment he would never meet another woman like her. Someone who could see into his soul and somehow saw the best parts of him, who shared herself with him in ways that made him feel whole. It had been years since he’d felt that kind of understanding and connection. Not since his father had died.
