by Lavinia Kent
She smiled to herself.
“Are you disobeying me? I told you to taste later.”
“How did you know?”
“I am coming to know you. I knew you would be curious. Now do not disobey me again.”
She wasn’t sure she’d agree to that, but it was probably better not to say anything. Even as a small child she had not been good at doing as she was told—more often she had done the opposite.
She cupped his bollocks again, considering their weight and texture. “They feel different than I expected. I thought the bollocks would feel more solid, but they seem like large grapes, or maybe plums—something that would pop if I squeezed.”
Even before she had finished the sentence, he’d captured her hand and pulled it away. “That is a definite no,” he said. “I have no desire to be popped—or even squeezed with any force. You will find that the bollocks—or simply ‘balls’—are a rather sensitive part of the anatomy. They must be treated with care.”
That seemed odd compared with the strength of the rest of his body, but she would respect his “no” and not experiment. There might be more questions later, however.
“And now it truly is my turn. Did Ruby tell you what to do? Give you the blindfold?”
“Yes. Although why you get a mask and I am blindfolded I do not understand,” she replied.
“Ruby thought you would be more comfortable if you were truly sure I could not see your full face. And I like the blindfold—and have enough experience that I trust it. Plus I would like your mouth free.”
She had no response to that. Her imagination was already wondering what he would do with her mouth. He had promised that she could taste him. Perhaps that was what this was about.
He continued, “She did tell you I wished to blindfold you myself, to be sure it was fitted correctly?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “But I am unsure how we manage that without you seeing me.”
“And would it be so awful if I did?”
A moment’s consideration. It would be wonderful to see his face, to have that added piece of intimacy, but … “Yes, it would. I do not want anybody to know who I am, what I am doing. If it was possible I would wish Madame Rouge did not know.”
“If that is your wish.” His voice was very calm, very authoritative. “Then take the blindfold and kneel facing the bed, your face away from me, head lowered. I will remove my mask and then come from behind. I will place the blindfold over your eyes and upper face from the back. I will see only the crown of your head, not your face. Is this to your satisfaction?”
Was it? She’d relished him being unable to see, but it frightened her now that it was her turn. She understood what Madame had said about its being necessary. Madame had explained that while they could have both worn half-masks, that often came across as silly and cumbersome. A blindfold was far better. She had understood that at the time, but now … Now it seemed frightening.
Turning away from him, she walked toward the bed. It was huge, the white covers spread smooth as if prepared for a sacrifice—and she was that sacrifice. Her breath caught.
A moment ago this had all been so easy, so carefree, so exciting.
This was different.
With great care she lifted the black silk blindfold from the table beside the bed. She held it up to her eyes. She could see nothing through it—perhaps the slightest tinge of light, but that was all.
Her tongue felt caught in her throat. Was she truly ready for this?
She felt worse than she had before he entered the room.
And yet the truth was still there: This must be done.
She could only trust in Madame. And in him, in Charles. He had not let her down yet, and he had trusted her. Now it was her turn.
Facing the bed, she sank to her knees, then brushed her braid over her shoulder so it hung halfway down her back. She bowed her head to the floor, feeling almost like a doomed queen awaiting the executioner.
And yet, she doubted any doomed queen had ever felt these quivers deep in her belly, felt the dampness between her thighs, felt … She didn’t know what she felt, but she did know that it was not all bad.
There was even something about this position, about this vulnerability, that was doing strange things to her. She was scared, it was true—but there was something about passing over control that was almost as freeing as being able to examine Charles unobserved.
She had no more decisions to make. He was responsible for everything.
All she had to do was trust.
But, could she? She’d never felt so exposed, so open.
Tangling her fingers in the fine fabric of her dress, she waited, breathless.
She heard him take a step. Staring down at her clenched hands, she pulled in a breath and tried to relax.
He must have removed the mask; he must be able to see her. What did she look like to him, small and hunched? She hoped she was not shaking. Shaking would be bad. She did not wish him to know that he frightened her.
He was right behind her. Her breaths grew shallow.
What if he did not find her pleasing? She was short—although perhaps he could not tell while she was kneeling. And her hair was dark, almost black—what if he preferred blondes, preferred light hair? At least it was braided—he would not be able to tell just how unruly it was, how it sprang free with a life of its own.
What if he didn’t want her? He had assured her that men could be aroused by almost anything. But what if once he saw her he no longer found that true? What if only the mystery of the situation had intrigued him? What if he didn’t want to go through with this?
“Unbraid your hair.” He spoke with command, the voice flowing from just behind her head.
Butterflies took flight in her belly. With trembling fingers she reached and drew her braid over her shoulder, unfastening the tie. Why did he want her hair loose? It would only get in the way. She hadn’t worn it loose since she was a small child. It was such a mess. He was sure to find it displeasing, unattractive. She hesitated, prepared to question.
“Continue.” His voice rumbled about her. “You must learn to do as I say if this is to proceed as planned.”
“But—”
“No buts. Surely it is not that hard a task.”
Her fingers worked quickly through the plait, freeing it inch by inch until her hair sprang about her in a cloud, covering her upper back and shoulders. She bowed her head farther, letting her hair fall forward to cover her face.
She felt tears well in her eyes. There was so much emotion running through her that she didn’t know how to act.
The barest brush of his hands ran over her hair, not pressing down but skimming, the way one might caress a bird’s wing.
“Very beautiful,” he said.
Her hair? That was all he could see. Nobody had ever praised her hair—not that there had ever been anybody besides her mother and John to praise her. John had often remarked that she was pretty, but he’d never been specific.
“Are you ready?” His hand brushed with more pressure, the sensation exquisite.
It was hard not to move her head into his touch, but she could not risk her face being seen.
“Yes.” Even to herself she did not sound sure.
“Hold out the blindfold. There. Now I am going to place it about your face. You may use your hands to move it into position so that it covers your eyes and as much of your face as you wish. I do require that your lips be free. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
The dark silk passed around her head, across her eyes, and back. She felt it tighten, obscuring the world from her. Tentatively she reached up and pulled it slightly down her nose, but not so far that it covered her nostrils. With care she arranged it across her cheeks and pulled it up higher on her forehead. He must never know who she was—not that they would ever meet again after this one night.
He gave a tug, pulling the fabric until he held it tight about her eyes and ears. She felt him tie the knot.
<
br /> The whole world turned black.
She was his to do with as he wished.
She could only trust.
She was his to do with as he wished. The thought did nothing to cool the body he had only just gotten under control.
Gods, she was tiny. Ruby had not warned him about that, had not told him anything beyond that he would not be disappointed.
Stepping back, he took her in. A halo of dark curls sprang about her shoulders and draped most of the way down her back, the light of the fire filling the ringlets with reds and golds. He longed to bury his fingers in those curls, to use them to pull her against him even as he relished their softness—for after only the barest of touches he’d known they would be soft.
Her shoulders were narrow, draped in white silk, the barest edging of lace, nothing to scratch. It was hard to tell much beyond that as she knelt there, her body hunched forward. But he could see the tension in her, see her unease, her fear.
He would have to calm those fears, slowly and with care—and yet, while being true to himself.
She was beautiful—and so vulnerable, so trusting. Even in her fear she knelt before him, a virgin waiting to be conquered.
And he would conquer.
He took another step back, looked about the room, selected a chair, moved to it and set it a good ten feet from the fire. “Stand,” he said.
Without a word, she slowly rose to her feet, bobbling only a little, her arms spread out as she sought her balance. Once steady, she stood still, facing the bed.
“Move before the fire. Do you remember where it is? Do not get too close. It is not my desire to harm you, only to warm you, to stop your shivering.”
“It is not cold that makes me shiver.” She sounded hesitant, her bravery having deserted her with her sight.
“I know, but still the fire will help. Do you need my help to move? To find your spot to stand?”
He felt her pause, think.
“No,” she answered. “I can see where the fire is. Oh, not really—do not worry. But I can see a glow, a light that must be the fire. Surely a candle would not burn so brightly through the silk.”
“There is nothing between you and the flames. You are safe to walk.”
She took a half-step forward and then another, her toes shuffling along the carpet, helping her feel her way.
“You can stop now. Turn toward me,” he directed her.
Her soft breaths echoed in the quiet of the room as she turned, stopping when she faced him. She dropped her hands to her sides, and then brought them in front of her, clasping them together. Her chin dropped down, teeth nibbling on succulent red lips.
“Lift your chin. It is my turn to look at you.”
She gave a small gasp but complied. The teeth continued to worry at her lip.
Moving to the chair, he sat, legs spread, and watched, and examined.
A few minutes of stillness would help them both, calm them both, but he did intend to enjoy them.
He leaned his head back against the high chair. Ruby really had surpassed herself.
Grace was incredible. With her back to the fire she was completely silhouetted in light. She was small, he had been right about that, but perfect, so very perfect. Curved hips designed to cradle a man, well rounded but not fleshy. He could already feel his fingers gripping them, pulling them tighter. And her waist—he was sure he could span it with his two hands, perhaps even with one. Her ribs curved out from there until they reached the gentle fullness of her breasts. They were not large, but perhaps larger than he would have expected given the narrowness of her frame, her thinness.
He had a sudden desire to feed her, to tempt her, to satisfy her every hunger.
Shifting in the chair, he sought a more comfortable position.
He could not quite make out the true color of her nipples as the light shone from behind, but he could make out their peaks, see their hardness, and knew that in bringing out her desires, he was making her ready for him.
He forced his eyes higher, past well-defined collarbones.
And then her face. He could not see it all, the blindfold covering more than half of it, but there was great excitement in that. A hand slipped to his cock. A single long stroke.
Perhaps he should finish it off now. He certainly would not have trouble becoming engorged again. One look at that plump mouth, those nibbling teeth, the eyes shrouded in silk, and he’d be close to exploding again.
Another stroke.
He had to stifle a groan as his fingers circled the head.
She jerked. She had heard him and did not know what was happening.
He would wait. He wanted this to be perfect, to be all he had dreamed without knowing.
He settled back, watched as she became both more nervous and more curious.
“Aren’t you going to say something, tell me what to do?” she finally asked.
“You are doing just what I want. I enjoy looking at you, and you are becoming more used to my looking at you. And I thought we had agreed you would not question me.”
“I am not sure that I agreed to that. I thought the idea was that I would be comfortable. How can I be comfortable if I do not question?” She began to nibble at her lower lip again, a bright indent forming. Her hands shook slightly and she squeezed them shut.
“You must trust me.” He leaned forward, trying to judge the expression on the parts of her face he could see. He should not have had her turn her face into the shadows—no matter how enchanting the silhouette.
“But, it is not about trust.”
“No?” He could not wait to hear this.
“It is about curiosity. How can I learn if I do not ask?”
He sighed. “I will allow you questions, but only when they seem to seek knowledge.”
“Do you want me to take off my gown now?” She sounded quite nervous. Her fingers moved to pluck at the string that held the neckline.
Damn, Ruby had chosen well. The gown was perfect: virginal and alluring at the same time. And he had no doubt that Grace had no idea exactly how much he could see with the light shining through.
“I was going to wait longer. I do so enjoy looking at you. Are you warmed by the fire? You have stopped shivering.”
“I am quite warm. My backside is positively toasty.”
“Can you imagine it as my caress, my warmth against you, cushioning you?”
She blushed. Even in the half-dark he could see the color rise up her chest and the flush spread across her lower cheeks. “Do you want me to?”
She did like to talk, to chat, though perhaps it was only a sign of her nerves. “Yes, I want you to imagine that everything is me tonight—the silk of the coverlet, the warmth of the fire, the brush of your hair, even your own hands. If I ask you to touch yourself, you will imagine it is me. Everything tonight is under my control, and therefore is me.”
“Oh.” It was almost a squeak.
He let silence hang for a moment—and then leaned forward. “Do you wish to take off your night rail? I will allow you to if you wish.”
“Do you want me to?”
“I want you to let it go whenever you are ready, ready for my eyes to feast upon you.”
Her blush grew more colorful. Her fingers rose and fidgeted at the tie, pulling slightly but not enough. Her head turned to the right and left as if seeking some sound, some indication of what he wanted.
He watched and waited, hardly breathing, refusing to give her any indications of his wants. This was up to her.
She shifted from foot to foot, her legs parting so that he could see light seep between them, the shadow between her legs growing visible.
How long was she going to make him wait? Ruby had praised him for his patience, but he did not feel patient now. Still, this was about Grace. She needed to be ready. She needed to express her desires.
Only once she had admitted to her wants would he fulfill them.
Chapter Six
Wasn’t he ever going to speak again? L
ouisa twisted the tie of the gown between her fingers. Why didn’t he just tell her to take it off? She was getting hot. The fire was beginning to overheat her behind—her ass, he would call it—and she wanted to move, to shift. Her whole body wanted to move, to stretch, to find ease. She felt as if she had springs inside her, ready to uncoil.
She shifted again. Why didn’t he just tell her to?
If he told her to then she’d obey and it would be simple.
It wouldn’t be because she wanted to, because she wanted him to see her, wanted to know what came next.
If he told her to she would simply be following orders.
She wouldn’t have to admit that she wanted.
And she did want.
She wanted him to see her.
She let the thought settle about her. Wanting had never been part of this. It was supposed to be about completing a task so that she could marry.
It was definitely not supposed to be about wanting.
Ladies did not want. They were ladies.
But she did want.
She closed her eyes beneath the blindfold.
Nobody would ever know. For tonight she was safe.
She could want tonight, could admit to wanting, and tomorrow she would no longer want and it would no longer matter.
Nobody would ever know.
Not even Charles would know. He would know somebody, some woman had wanted, but he would not know it was she.
For this one night she could be free. She could do what she wanted.
Want.
She wanted.
With quivering fingers she pulled the ties, felt the silk gape about her neck. It slipped from one shoulder—and then the other. She held it with her hands for a moment, catching it just above her breasts. She held her breath.
Wanting and doing were two different things.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
She let it drop another inch. If only she could see him, knew if he liked what he saw. Another inch. It was just about falling off her nipples.