The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter by Jillian Stone Read Free Book Online Page B

quietly in one’s thoughts, Mia harrumphed. Secondly, she imagined a man who had just had a boff with his mistress would convey a relaxed frame of mind, and Exeter was decidedly unsettled this evening.
    Inside the dark, womb-like comfort of his study, she took a seat and watched him pour brandy into three snifters. “Would you like me to warm yours, Mia?”
    Puzzled, she raised both brows. “I’m not sure—yes, I suppose so.”
    Holding the snifter above a candle flame, he turned the glass. As he warmed the brandy, he related a story that was shocking, yet not entirely without hope. Glancing up from the glass, he studied her. “Sorry to put it so clinically, but there you have it.”
    Mia quietly repeated what she thought she had heard. “You’re saying I could gain control over the shifts by using my own arousal, paroxysm, and release. And as I learn to control these physical urges . . . I will also be able to shift at will.” She swallowed.
    Exeter handed her a warm brandy. “Drink me.”
    Mia looked up into eyes that had warmed slightly. He quoted Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland . Brandy fumes tickled her nose as she sipped. The warm Armagnac slipped down her throat. “Mmm . . .”
    She was tempted to answer in Alice-speak, something memorized from childhood. But was he baiting her? Exeter often accused her of being immature, but in actuality, it was he who was uncomfortable with the notion of her maturity. She slid a sultry smile his way. “As long as it’s not poison, wot?”
    Emboldened by several sips of brandy, Mia turned to Jersey. “And what more can you tell us of this—bookshop proprietor, Mr. Eden Phillpott?”
    Jersey puffed slowly on his cigar. “Valentine and I were escorted into a small room in the back of the shop. He sat in a large chair with his legs crossed—part human with the head of a lion.”
    Mia stared. “Like the Egyptian goddess, Hathor, or . . . male equivalent?”
    Jersey cracked a lopsided grin. “He wore a tweed shooting jacket with elbow patches and smoked French cigarettes, lighting one from the butt of the other.”
    Mia leaned forward. “You mentioned his teachings—knowledge that must be imparted to my body. How might this be accomplished?” She looked from one man to the other. “I take it that someone—must instruct me, personally?”
    Exeter set his brandy down. “How are you feeling this evening?” Gently, he took hold of her arm, placing his thumb on her wrist. Hooking a finger into his waistcoat pocket, he slipped out his watch. Mia waited for him to finish taking her pulse. He asked the same set of questions every evening.
    “Somewhat agitated, I suppose.” She exhaled, a bit loudly. “There is this—I don’t know how describe it. It feels like tension. And sensations of hot and cold—as if something is building inside me.”
    “Your pulse is up, slightly, from last night.” Exeter released her wrist. “No headache?”
    She shook her head no, then yes. “There is a dull pressure in the back of the skull. Nothing painful, as yet.”
    Exeter settled into the wing chair opposite. “Mia, there is a doctor on Harley Street. In fact there are several physicians who treat women’s hysteria with a massage therapy. I thought we might consider—”
    Mia cut in. “But, what if something went badly wrong—a shift in the middle of treatment?”
    He sighed. “That is one of the complications.”
    Mia’s cheeks flamed with heat. “This is all so humiliating.” She slid her gaze from Jersey to Exeter. “Why couldn’t you do this therapy?”
    When Exeter hesitated, Jersey snuffed out his cigar. “Someone has to relieve her, Jason. If you won’t do it, I will.”
    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