Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,40

columns. And the rows along the side are numbered as well.”

Pope shook his head. “I’m having trouble imagining it.”

“Just close your eyes,” Pru said, doing that herself. “When you have the picture in your mind, then think about the square that would be in column one and row one. In square one-one, we have the letter A.”

“This isn’t working,” he said. Pru opened her eyes. Pope was slumped in his chair, looking despondent.

“You mustn’t give up, Mr. Pope. You had the square in your mind before.”

“I did, but now...” He shrugged. “Perhaps if you held my hands again.”

Pru narrowed her eyes. She was not so innocent or inexperienced as to not see what he was doing. “If you wanted to hold my hands, you might simply ask,” she said.

“It’s all in the name of education, Miss Howard.”

“Of course.” She placed her hands in his again. “Now, close your eyes and picture the square.”

“Ah, now I have it. Yes, that’s quite clear.”

His hands were warm and heavy as they lay over hers. She had begun to feel warmer now that the fire was built up and she was out of the cold, but the heat of his hands seemed to speed up the process until she was almost too warm. “You can picture the A in the square at one by one?”

“I do.”

“Good. Now picture the square in column two, row one. That letter is an I. In another lesson, I will show you how to read those letters with the corresponding dots, but for now you just need to remember that A is one-one and I is located at one-two.”

One of his fingers moved against her wrist, tickling her slightly. “And what is the letter in the square one-three?”

That one finger, moving against the skin of her wrist, distracted her. It tickled, and yet it did not tickle. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“The square at position one-three. What letter is that?” he asked, his voice calm. He sounded completely unaffected.

“One-three is the letter O. So we have A, I, and O.”

His finger slid down from her wrist, slowly making its way to her palm. His touch was light and yet she found it oddly erotic. This was why her mother had told her to always wear her gloves.

“Go on,” he said as though he was not making her skin prickle deliciously with his slow strokes.

“Very well.” She sounded slightly breathless. What was wrong with her? He was only touching her hand. “What square have we come to?”

“One-four.”

“Of course. Ah...” She could not seem to remember the letter in position one-four. She could not seem to think of anything but the way his finger slid across her tender flesh and how their legs touched. This seemed to be far more touching than was appropriate. And, sinner that she was, she wouldn’t have moved away for the world.

“Is it another vowel?” he asked. “E, perhaps, or U?”

“It’s U,” she said, glad for the prompt. “And E is in the one-five spot.” She would simply keep speaking. That would keep her mind focused. “As you probably know, in French an E has an accent.”

“Yes, l’accent aigu.”

Pru’s heart almost stopped at the sound of his French accent. She had a weakness for French accents. She had a weakness for a man with any sort of accent, really, and Pope was obviously a proficient French speaker. His accent was flawless.

“And then there is l’accent grave.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Are you feeling well, Miss Howard? You sound rather breathless.”

“I’ve just never found the discussion of accents quite so...stimulating.” She swallowed. “But we should continue with the lesson.” She sat straighter and forced herself to concentrate. “Since English does not have accents, I have modified Monsieur Barbier’s chart. The one-five spot is still E, but I put...Mr. Pope?”

“Yes?”

“You are holding my hand.” Pru looked down to be certain. And yes, he had threaded his fingers through hers. Their hands were locked together in the most intimate of ways.

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

“Should I release you?”

Pru hesitated. The correct answer was Release me immediately. But she did not want him to release her. She wanted him to continue holding her hand. She wanted him to lean closer and kiss her. She looked up and studied his lips. They were pale pink, thin but not too thin, and relaxed. She wondered if Mr. Pope was good at kissing. Pru rather thought she was good at kissing. But if Mr. Pope could make her feel like this just by touching her