I turned, but he grabbed my arm before I could make it out of his room, hauling me up close to him, his eyes burning into mine. Ellis stood watching us from the open doorway of my room, while Reg was gaping behind Max.
“Right, that’s it, take off your clothes!” Max ordered.
“What?” I will admit a few blinks slipped in there as I looked up into his stormy eyes.
“Take off your clothes. I’m making love to you, right here, right now. We’ll just see who wipes the floor with whom.”
I goggled at him for a minute, then started chuckling. He really was adorable. How could I resist such a man? “Max, we can’t.”
“Sure we can,” he said, stripping the tie from his neck and unhooking his collar. “I’m an adult, you’re an adult, and we both have the requisite set of equipment. You’ve challenged my manhood. I’m not going to take the sort of insinuations you’ve been bandying about lying down. So to speak.”
The chuckles worked their way into a full-fledged laughter. “Yeah, but. . . but. . . oh, man, you’re making my sides hurt. I can’t laugh in a corset.”
His nostrils flared with outrage as he shot me a look that should have knocked me down cold. “You’re laughing at me?”
“No,” I said, laughing even harder, wrapping my arms around my stomach. “Well, OK, I am, but you’re so funny! One minute you’re furious with me, the next you’re ordering me to strip. Max, Ellis and Reg are both standing here. I know we’re not supposed to really notice the servants, but I draw the line at going to bed with you in front of an audience.”
He looked around, narrowed his eyes, then leaned forward until we were nose to nose. “Eleven o’clock. Right here.”
“Are you challenging me to a duel of sex?” I asked softly, rubbing my nose on his.
He inhaled deeply. “Yes.”
“I thought you weren’t going to forgive me? I couldn’t possibly do anything so intimate with a man who was so angry with me.”
“I’m not angry,” he snarled.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Perhaps just a little. But it’s something we’ll work out.”
It was an olive branch; there was no doubting that. Max was acknowledging that there was something powerful between us, and if he wasn’t willing to forgive and forget, at least he was offering us a chance to build on the shaky ground we stood.
“Very well, I accept your challenge. I suggest you dine well, Your Grace. You’re going to need every ounce of energy you can rally.”
Max’s eyes darkened a couple of shades. I smiled and kissed him on the tip of his nose, then returned to my bedroom and a sour-looking Ellis.
Dinner that night was . . . oh, my. I’m trying to think if there are enough synonyms for the word arousing. There aren’t, so I’ll just confine myself to saying that dinner was most definitely an experience.
Max fired the opening salvo in our little war of seduction when he helped me into my chair. As he stepped away from scooting me in, his fingers trailed from behind one ear, along the nape of my neck, to the sweet spot behind my other ear. Immediately, my whole body went up in flames.
“Dinner at last. I know it’s not at all the thing to say, but I am simply famished! Max, Henry and I went to see Bunny Watkins today, you remember her, don’t you?”
“Oh,” I said softly enough so that no one else but Max could hear over Barbara’s chatter. “You are not playing fair!”
“She and I went to school together. I’m sure you remember her; she looked a bit rabbity when she was younger, but thankfully she’s grown out of that.”
Max just smiled at my comment and took his seat at the opposite end of the table. I was a bit surprised to see that we weren’t going to be filmed, but remembered that Sam had offered to film Mrs. Peters’ nightly séance instead. No doubt Tabby was filming the servants doing their evening chores.
This was all to the good, of course, as it gave me free rein to torment Max without the camera’s unblinking eye upon me. While I contemplated what form my answering shot would take, Max lifted his glass of wine to me in a silent toast, drinking deeply as he gave me a look that could steam drapes.
“Well! She married one of the Ffinchwattles—you know, the marmalade Ffinchwattles? They have a lovely home just outside of town, although it’s not in an entirely desirable neighborhood, if you know what I mean.”
I inclined my head slightly in acknowledgement of the toast, then made sure he saw me lick my lips—slowly and with much tongue action—before taking a spoonful of soup. I pursed my lips with exaggerated care, and blew gently across the spoon, then slowly tipped the spoon up to my lips, licking it clean with long, loving strokes of my tongue.
“Shops, of course, shops everywhere. I realize we must have them, but in our neighborhoods? It’s just not at all the thing. Still, it’s a lovely home, and I won’t hear anyone say a word of criticism about her choice of decorators.”
Max’s eyes widened, then narrowed into icy blue slits as he reached for his wineglass. He played with the stem of the glass, the tips of his fingers running lightly over ridged design cut deeply into the crystal. My breathing got a bit shallow as his fingers swirled around the glass, higher and higher in a widening circle, dancing along the rim until suddenly he plunged one long finger deep into the liquid.
“Although I have always said that one really can have too much plaid. Haven’t I said that, Henry? Be that as it may, Bunny has a lovely home, and of course, the children were there, which meant they all had to give their Auntie Babs a big kiss.”
A shudder of pure and utter desire swept through me as his tongue flicked out and caught the bead of wine from the tip of his finger.
I licked my lips slowly, carefully. The look in Max’s eyes promised payback, a payback that was thankfully delayed until the second course.
“What’s this?” Max asked, leaning forward as if he was peering into the dish presented to him, but really he was shooting me looks that would have done Valentino proud. “It looks like roasted chicken.”
“It is orange chicken, Your Grace,” Palmer said.
Max picked up the serving forks and slid me another glance. “I believe I’ll have some breast. I’ve always found breast to be succulent, divinely succulent, perfectly suited to my mouth and tongue. I do so love the taste and texture of a really firm breast. Although I like thighs as well, especially well-rounded, soft thighs, long thighs, thighs a man can really sink his . . . teeth into.”
Beneath the table, I crossed my legs.
“Oh, now, you see, Henry is just the same way. Dark meat, that’s all he ever eats, dark meat. He’s never so happy as when he’s eating duck.”
“Why look, it’s buttered asparagus,” I said, taking a piece in my fingers. “I haven’t wrapped my tongue around a piece of buttered asparagus in years.”
I licked my lips and sucked the tip of the asparagus into my mouth, sliding it in and out, opening my mouth just enough to allow Max to see my tongue as it caressed the underside of the stalk.
Max sat perfectly still, a forkful of chicken frozen halfway to his mouth.
“Oh, it’s so good.” I cooed, then started loudly sucking the butter off the asparagus.
Max’s fingers tightened around his fork until I thought he was going to bend it in two.
“My very favorite part is the tip, where it flares out and captures all the silky goodness of the butter.” I slid the length of the asparagus into my mouth, then pulled it out slowly, baring my teeth to show them grating along the stalk.
Max’s hand trembled.
With a wicked, wicked smile I keep for just such an occasion, I laved the head of the asparagus with my tongue, then snapped my teeth closed, biting the asparagus in two.
There was a loud clatter of crockery as a silver salver, ceramic plate, and several pieces of asparagus hit the floor.
Bret the footman stood next to Max, staring at me with bulging eyes as I dangled the remains of the well-pleasured asparagus between m
y fingers.
“Something the matter, Bret?” I asked innocently.
Max choked.
“No,” Bret gurgled, then stiffly got to his knees and cleaned up the mess.
I won’t go into how Max ate grapes at the end of the meal. I’m sure it’s illegal in at least three countries, possibly more.
After dinner, I went immediately upstairs, not even hanging around the drawing room with Barbara, as she insisted I do.
“Sorry, I really, really need a bath,” I told her, and escaped before she could make any protests. Max and Henry were still in the dining room, having their port and cigars. I figured I had at least half an hour before Max would come upstairs, which left me a half hour after that to get ready for the sexual showdown.
“Bath!” I said to Ellis as I burst into my bedroom.
She gave me a jaded look.
“Oh, don’t start that bit again about fraternization of cast members,” I said, shooing her out the room. “Just go ask the girls if they’d bring up the hot water for my bath.”
“Sexual congress between individuals—” she started to say.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you said all that earlier. I know Max and I aren’t really married, but hey, you’re always after me to up the realism for the project; me jumping Max’s bones is about as real as you can get. Water. Please. NOW!”
I had anticipated a lot of stuff the night before I joined this project, mostly things related to wearing a corset and long dresses all the time. What I hadn’t considered was the aspect of time. Time to the noble classes of the Victorian age was a much different beast than time is to us today. Even though the bathtub in the connecting bathroom was equipped with taps, Roger had the water turned off so we couldn’t cheat and take a quick bath, saying that the indoor plumbing was added after 1879; therefore, we couldn’t use it.
I hadn’t known that my first night here, when I walked in on Max having his bath, but by now I was well aware that bathing was no longer a solitary sport. No more could I disrobe, turn on the water, and take my bath. No, bathing for the Victorian upper class meant sending down for water, waiting for suitable amounts of water to be heated on the coal stove, then carried upstairs by a parade of maids and footmen, who slowly filled the tub until the desired depth and temperature were reached. No longer was a bath a ten- or fifteen-minute task; now it was an undertaking that stretched out over the course of an hour.
During that time Ellis helped me out of my dress and corset, then went in to oversee the delicate process of filling milady’s bath. I combed my hair out from the intricate curl and braids that Ellis had arranged, tying it up in a loose knot held together by one easily removed comb. By the time I did that, donned a sturdy red velvet dressing gown (which, unlike its lacy counterpart, did not reveal anything), and marched into the bathroom, the water had arrived.
“No, this is not hot enough. Stupid girl, go down and bring up another can of hot water this time.”
Alice’s face was red, but whether it was from the exertion of carrying heavy cans of water up three flights of stairs or whether it was from anger was impossible to tell.
“Hey, hey, hey! I don’t think we need to be calling anyone names, Ellis.”
“You are to refer to me as—”
“Crighton, yeah, I know. My mistake.” I dipped my fingers into the water in the tub. “It’s fine, thank you, Alice. And thank Honey for me, too.”
Ellis sighed noisily as she bustled around with a towel and soap. “A lady does not thank her servants.”
“Well this lady does.” I turned back to Alice and smiled. “I appreciate you guys slogging water up here at this time of night.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied, shooting Ellis a victorious glance.
“Thank you, Crighton, I won’t need you anymore tonight.”
She sniffed in that annoying way she had. “It is my duty to assist in your bath.”
There was no way I was going to let her bathe me! “Thanks, but honestly, you’re really working too hard. I just know I must be a horrible trial to you, so why don’t you go relax? I’m just going to go to bed after the bath.”
Her gaze shot to Max’s door. “Yes, but whose bed?”
I grinned. “That is the question, isn’t it?”
“Your Grace—”
“Night, Crighton!”
With thinned lips and flared nostrils (one of her better looks), she left.
“Geesh, what a sourpuss. How are things downstairs?”
Alice paused on her way out of the room, giving me a rueful smile. “How are things? Let’s see . . . Mrs. Billings told Palmer she had a recipe for a posset that would cure his migraine.”
“Ah, he’s on to migraines now?”
“Yes. All would have been well, except the posset is made up of equal parts of brandy, rum, and claret.”
I made a moue. She nodded at it.
“Yes, you can imagine just how many possets he’s had to take to get rid of his”—she made air quotes as she said the last word—“migraine. In addition, Raven is threatening to hide most of the dishes because she’s tired of washing them, Mrs. Peters insists that Sam stay with her all night filming the Pug’s Parlor because she thinks that’s the center of the poltergeist activity, and Bret keeps disappearing with the scullery maids and my second housemaid.”
“Disappearing? As in, they’re out having a quickie?”
“Exactly.”
I stared at her open-mouthed. “All four? At the same time?”
She laughed. “No, not all at once, but the girls are starting to get a bit snarky with one another over him.”
“Oy. I’ll have a talk with him tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll ask Max to. Bret might take a request to rein in his libido a bit better from a guy.”
She smiled, then tipped her head toward the door to Max’s room. “So that’s true, then? Bret said you and Max were all but tearing off each other’s clothes during dinner.”
A little blush swept up my cheeks. “Yeah, we got kind of carried away.”
“You don’t mind everyone knowing?”
I made a face. “Of course I mind everyone knowing, but honestly, Alice, is there anything I’ve done here in the last couple of days that the entire house doesn’t know about?”
She thought about it for a minute, then shook her head. “I see what you mean.”
“Between the cameras and having a servant everywhere, I figured there was no way we were going to be able to hide it. So why fight the inevitable? However, I really didn’t know that Bret was watching us until he dropped the dinner. You should have seen his face!”
Alice chatted for a few minutes longer, then toddled off while I got into the lukewarm water, washed quickly, and was back into my room trying to decide just what armor I needed for the upcoming engagement.
I was just dabbing a bit of perfume behind my knees when I looked up and caught my reflection in the dressing table mirror. At the sight of my pudginess visible through the thin silk of the frothy lace nightgown, my doubts and insecurities reemerged in a tidal wave of disgust. I slumped down into the bench in front of the dressing table and glared balefully at myself. “This is stupid. What am I thinking? I’m too old and too fat. Max doesn’t really want to have sex with me.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Max’s voice said from behind me. “I don’t want to have sex with you.”
I stiffened at his words, refusing to look at his reflection. It was bad enough I knew the truth; for him to come right out and say it was . . . devastating.
“I know,” I said, hoping to forestall any further revelations. I mean, a girl can take just so much before she breaks down and bawls. “I’m sorry, I just got carried away by everything. You don’t have to be here, Max. I understand completely. After all, I’m five years old than you. I could have baby-sat you!”
“Silly,” he said, coming closer and nuzzling the back of my neck, his lips hot enough to send little rivulets of fire licking down my skin. “I don’t want
to have sex with you, Tessa, I want to make love to you. There’s a difference, as you so wisely pointed out to me that first night.”
Now I looked at him. I turned around on the bench and stared up at him, hope and desire and a healthy dollop of lust blossoming within me. Age difference be damned, he was mine! “You do? Really? You’re not just saying that because I called your bluff in front of the Crightons?”
He grimaced as he pulled me up against him. “I apologize about that. I wasn’t thinking very clearly when I shouted that I wanted to make love to you.” He dipped his head and started nibbling on my ear. “You truly have bewitched me. I forget everything but what I want to do to you.”
“But you’re angry—”
“Not now,” he said, his mouth a whisper against my skin. “We’ll talk about it later.”
I hesitated, hating for there to be anything between us, but his mouth was just too insistent. This is a start, my inner voice told me as I melted against him. Take what he’s offering without demanding everything at once.
“Hooo,” I said, my fingers digging into the dark blue wool of his dressing gown. “What sort of things has your busy little mind been imagining?”
He told me. I sagged against him, my legs having gone utterly and completely boneless under the effect of words like plunging and deep and lick every inch of you.
“Now, can we get started, or do you have a few more objections to make?” he asked, turning slightly so he could slide his arm behind my knees.
“Hey, wait a minute! Max, you can’t pick me up, I’m too heavy. I’ll give you a hernia! You’ll break your spleen or something.”
Bent over as he was, his head was right at nipple level. He nuzzled his cheeks against my left boob for a moment, then opened his mouth and sucked me right through the nightgown. A streak of fire shot down from my nipple to my groin.
“You’re not too heavy,” he said, then scooped his arm behind my legs and straightened up.
He grunted when he did so.
“Hey!” I yelled, then smacked him on the shoulder.
Corset Diaries Page 16