by Mia Gabriel
And I was also glad to note that Simpson wasn’t gawking the way I was, but instead pointedly concentrating on the tangled knots in my hair.
Barry bustled forward with a towel, patting his master dry and then slipping the robe over his broad shoulders. Savage wrapped it closed himself, and came to stand over me in my end of the tub. Simpson swiftly stepped back to stand by the wall, leaving me with my hair frothed with soap.
I looked up at Savage through my lashes. Iridescent soap bubbles had escaped to float on the water’s surface, drifting around the curves of my breasts. With him, I didn’t try to cover myself or hide, but let him look his fill.
“I could stand here all day gazing at you, Eve,” he said gruffly. “You’re that beautiful.”
“Then stay, Master.” I purred, shifting my legs together provocatively beneath the water. “I thought you would anyway, to watch over me.”
His eyes narrowed, and too late I realized that that might not have been the wisest thing to say.
“Do not cross me, Eve,” he warned softly. “What I do is for your own good. I may not stay here to watch over you now, but I will be in the next room, and you will not go anywhere without me. Do I make myself clear?”
He was serious, deadly serious, the fierce, implacable intensity of his expression more daunting than his words. I couldn’t imagine what danger threatened me so gravely here in this remote noble house, far from any city, but when Savage looked at me like that, I didn’t doubt that it existed.
And that I’d be an utter fool not to do as he had said.
I curled a wet lock of hair behind my ear, pausing with my palm turned upward.
“Yes, Master,” I said softly. “I understand.”
He bent down and took my jaw in his hand, holding it so firmly that I’d never escape, and kissed me roughly. Energy and emotion and white-hot heat coalesced in my mouth, scorching me with such power that when he finally released me, I was shaken and trembling with a desire that had become alarmingly familiar.
Yet, he held my gaze for a long moment after that, keeping me under his spell, before he abruptly turned away.
“Be ready,” he said curtly, and left, closing the door as he did.
Be ready for what? I wondered, dazed as I stared after him. Likely he meant only to be dressed and ready to accompany him downstairs, but I wasn’t sure. With Savage I seldom was.
“Don’t you worry, ma’am,” Simpson said, returning to scrub at my hair. “I’ll have you ready before Mr. Barry’s done with his lordship.”
“I’m sure you will, Simpson,” I murmured, still looking toward the door he’d closed behind him.
My body was taut with wanting, twisting and tightening low in my belly, and I’d wager that if I had looked down, I’d have seen that my nipples had hardened for him, too. It almost frightened me, how strongly he could affect me with only a kiss.
Almost, but not quite, for the rest of me was so wildly excited by that same kiss that nothing else mattered.
“There now, ma’am,” Simpson said with the forced bright cheerfulness favored by all lady’s maids, even the voluptuous ones. “If you’ll but tip your head back, then I’ll rinse the soap away, and we’ll be done.”
Obediently I sank back into the warm water, sliding forward across the smooth marble, with Simpson’s face upside down above me.
“Tell me, Simpson,” I said as I sat up again, then stood. “How well do you know Lord Savage?”
“Oh, well enough, ma’am,” she said blandly, holding a towel open for me as I stepped from the tub. “His lordship’s a great favorite in this house.”
I stood while Simpson dried me. “I mean what do you know of him?”
Simpson paused with the towel in her hands.
“I never did lie with him, ma’am, if that’s what you’re trying to say,” she said bluntly. “He’s not one of the gentlemen that don’t bring a lady of his own to be his Innocent. He’s no need of us servants, not when he can have any fine lady he pleases.”
I blushed furiously, knowing I was now in that category. “Thank you, Simpson.”
“As you say, ma’am.” Simpson gave a skeptical sniff as she helped me into my dressing gown. “But if I had a man even half as hot-blooded as his lordship, I’d want to know which doxy’s quim he’d been in the habit of sticking his peggo into before me.”
“His lordship is hardly my man, Simpson,” I said quickly, ignoring the rest of what the maid had said. “That is, for these few days he is my master, and I’m his Innocent, but that’s only a diversion, a conceit, for the sake of Lady Carleigh’s game.”
“I’ll not stop you from believing what you wish, ma’am,” Simpson said firmly as she began to draw the silver-backed brush through my hair, lifting up each long stroke to help the hair to dry. “But how his lordship looks at you—why, it sends chills up and down my spine, ma’am.”
“Simpson, please,” I protested, even as I flushed again. This was like having Hamlin here with me—even though Hamlin would likely rather perish than speak so freely of quims and peggos. “Don’t romanticize.”
“I’m not romanticizing, ma’am,” Simpson said. “I’m only speaking true. In all the years that his lordship’s been coming here as a guest, I don’t recall him ever treating a lady like he treats you, and that includes his poor lady-wife, too.”
“Lady Savage?” Quickly I turned around to face her. “What was she like, Simpson?”
“A true lady, ma’am, and ever so beautiful,” Simpson said. “But she was as high-strung as a racehorse, and impetuous, too. Her maid told such stories of how her ladyship would carry on!”
“What kind of stories?” I asked, intrigued. It was almost impossible to imagine Lord Savage as anyone’s husband, yet here it sounded as if his countess might have been every bit his equal. “Did his lordship bring her here with him to play the Game?”
“Oh no, ma’am,” Simpson said, clearly surprised that I had asked such a question. “He would never have brought her ladyship here for that. The only times they visited here together was when there was no mischief. To be sure, her ladyship would’ve enjoyed herself mightily, but his lordship would not have liked watching it. Not that he was ever here himself for the Game before she passed, neither. ’Twas only after that Lady Carleigh persuaded him to come, and ever since, too.”
I tried to turn my head to see Simpson’s expression. “How exactly did Lady Savage carry on? Was she that scandalous?”
“Oh, that’s not for me to say, ma’am.” Simpson laughed nervously. “Forgive me, ma’am, how I run on! I’ve already told more than’s proper about them that’s my betters, not if I wish to keep my place here at Wrenton. If his lordship heard me…”
“No, no, Simpson, please,” I said, pressing for more. “Is there something I should know?”
But the maid only shook her head. “No, ma’am, nothing. Your hair’s nearly dry. I’ll go fetch your costume.”
“But, Simpson, I would—”
“I’ll return directly, ma’am,” the maid said, hurrying from the room and away from my question.
I sighed. Servants so often did this, offering a tantalizing scrap of information from belowstairs, only to draw back when pressed. Usually this was just tattle and whispered hearsay, without any value, as every good mistress knew. But sometimes there could be a kernel of truth in what had been overheard and gleaned, and though I knew I shouldn’t encourage servants to gossip about their superiors, I did wish Simpson had continued with whatever secrets she knew of Lord Savage’s late wife.
More likely there weren’t any. My own father had not liked to speak of my mother, who had died when I was born. Given how young Lady Savage must have been when she’d died, her husband probably didn’t wish to be reminded of her death, either: a tragic circumstance, not a mysterious secret.
Besides, by the time the maid returned with my costume, the moment for confidences had passed. I dressed quickly in the same simple costume as before, with Simpson coaxin
g my long hair into loose curls over my shoulders and down my back, the way Savage preferred.
Simpson had also brought me a fresh pair of silk stockings and a different pair of evening slippers. These were among my favorites, black silk satin embroidered with silver lilies and accented with rhinestones, the heels curved and high. Most nights they would scarcely be seen beneath the long, sweeping hem of an evening gown, but tonight they’d be on display as my only ornaments, an extravagant contrast to the nearly transparent costume.
“There now, ma’am, you’re quite the picture,” Simpson said with satisfaction. “His lordship will have to look sharp to keep the other gentlemen from buzzing too close to you.”
“His lordship says that Lady Carleigh has a special entertainment for us tonight,” I said. “He said it was a kind of tradition with her. Have you any notion of what it is?”
Simpson rolled her eyes. “I do indeed, ma’am. They’ve already been preparing for it in the kitchen, and I promise you’ll be righteous surprised. New guests always are.”
But before she could explain more, the door swung open and Savage rejoined us. Few gentlemen wore evening clothes as well as he did, and I couldn’t think of another man who gave them such a rakish, reckless air. The stark contrast of black and white suited him perfectly with his dark hair and pale eyes, and everything was cut and tailored to display his broad shoulders and athletic frame.
He was so elegantly, flagrantly male that I almost sighed at the sight of him, and knowing I would be going downstairs on his arm gave me a quick little thrill of excitement—an excitement that only increased as his gaze raked me from head to toe.
“Well done, Simpson,” he said with approval. “And promptly on time, too.”
He stepped forward and took my hand. “You make the perfect Innocent, Eve,” he said with a smile. “You’ll have all the other women in a rage of jealousy when they see you, and all the men in rut.”
I laughed, but he only shook his head.
“I’m serious, Eve,” he said. “I’ll have to keep you locked to my side, or risk losing you to another.”
“I don’t think so, Master,” I said. “What other gentleman could possibly win me away from you?”
“Hah,” he said, his expression turning grim. “You will have nothing to say about it. If some other bastard wants you, he’ll try to claim you, and it will be up to me to fend him off.”
I glanced up at him suspiciously, not sure if he was teasing. “That sounds rather primitive.”
“It is,” he agreed. “But that will be the least of tonight. Whatever else happens, stay with me. Don’t question me, or venture any opinions, or speak to any other masters. If you can do that, then you should be fine. If you can’t, well, then, I cannot answer for what might happen.”
He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm, a gesture that I found touchingly protective. I didn’t doubt that he’d watch over me at dinner, since he already had been doing exactly that ever since he’d claimed me as his own. The least I could do was to follow his instructions.
“You will at least try to obey, Eve, won’t you?” he asked. Now he looked more worried than threatening, his dark brows drawn together in such a way as to suggest he didn’t believe my obedience was even possible.
The insecurity of it made me smile. No, he made me smile, this staggeringly handsome man on my arm.
“I will, Master,” I said softly. “You need not doubt me. For you, I will do it.”
SEVEN
Despite Savage’s insistence on being on time, we were the last to appear in the dining room. It seemed far longer than a single night ago that I, too, had been the last to join the company, consciously wishing to make my entrance after everyone else had already appeared. I thought of how proud I’d been of the pale evening gown I’d worn last night, and how seductively revealing I’d considered it.
I came down the stairs now with the same assurance as I had last night, confident that I’d be the most beguiling woman in the room. Tonight, however, I was wearing not a costly Parisian gown but a wisp of a shift that was only marginally better than being completely naked. I had no jewels in my hair or on my person except the rhinestones on my shoes. My breasts, my hips, my bottom, and the dark thatch of hair above my quim were all on display through the sheer fabric, a blatant invitation to anyone who cared to look.
I was blushing—I couldn’t help that—but I managed to stand proudly, my head high and my long, unbound hair rippling down my back. I’d shed the refined Mrs. Hart along with my Poiret gown, and embraced my role as the Innocent Eve. With a man like Savage beside me, why wouldn’t I?
Although he’d said the rules permitted it, I doubted very much that any gentleman would be willing to challenge Savage for his rights to me. He was without question the most handsome and seductive gentleman in the house, but more important, he was also the most powerful in terms of rank and fortune.
Besides, he was taking his role as Protector very seriously. He had already proved to Lord Blackledge and the others how much he’d wanted me through the auction. Beginning my “education” seemed only to have made him desire me more, and he seemed determined to make it known.
When we came to the door of the dining room, he placed his arm around my waist, his hand casually brushing the underside of my breast, and I couldn’t help but sway into his caress.
“Remember what I told you, Eve,” he said softly, adding a quick nip to the shell of my ear for emphasis. “Every man in this room wants you, but I can’t protect you if you don’t obey.”
“Yes, Master,” I whispered. “Because there is only one man here that I want to fuck.”
That made him smile, a quick smile of approval, and of the white-hot lust I’d hoped to inspire. He pulled me closer still, drawing my bottom against his thigh, and I rubbed against him like a cat—or a perfectly obedient Innocent—begging for more.
I was certain we couldn’t have made our intimacy more obvious, or his possession of me more definite.
Until, that is, we took our seats at the dining table. Demurely I unfolded my napkin and laid it across my lap, and only then did I look around at the other guests.
To my left sat Mr. Henery, a stout, bearded mine owner from the north who was mercifully too engrossed in his own Innocent and his wine to pay any attention to me. Most of the masters and mistresses wore evening dress like Savage, but there were several who hadn’t made the effort, coming directly from their beds in haphazardly tied robes and dressing gowns. All the Innocents were dressed in the same revealing costumes as last night, with a few variations.
At one end of the table, Lady Wessex sat on the lap of Mr. Parkhurst, my mild-mannered partner from last night’s dinner. The front of her ladyship’s costume had been cut away, with her sizable breasts jutting through two jaggedly cut openings. Mr. Parkhurst was now suckling one of these, noisily grunting like a piglet at a teat, while Lady Wessex happily ground her bottom against his crotch.
Directly across the damask cloth, Lady Carleigh sat beside her husband, the two of them locked in a voracious kiss. As a mistress, she wore a yellow silk dressing gown, which Lord Carleigh had shoved aside as he roughly squeezed one breast, his fingers digging deep into her soft flesh.
I was pleasantly surprised to see them together, especially since they’d both left with Innocents of their own last night. I knew that infidelity was a part of the Game, but it was still rather charming to see a husband and wife so obviously aroused by each other.
Then I glanced beneath the table, and realized that the Carleighs’ Innocents were indeed present. The dark head of Lady Carleigh’s Innocent was nestled between her open legs, his hands forcing her thighs widely apart as he lapped at her writhing quim. Lord Carleigh’s Innocent was similarly engaged, his fingers tangled in her hair as she bobbed over his cock, taking him deep into her throat as she fondled and cupped his balls in her nimble fingers.
His lordship could not bear much more of this, and suddenly he broke away from
his wife’s kiss and held his Innocent’s head still, not letting her pull back as he drove hard into her mouth. With a bellow he came, his face flushed and florid as he bucked in the chair. His Innocent—a woman whom I now recognized as the Honorable Mrs. Bilton—crawled up to perch on his thigh, grinning triumphantly as she wiped his spendings from her lips before she kissed his gasping mouth.
The sight of Lord Carleigh’s climax must have incited his wife as well. She pushed back her dressing gown to squeeze a breast in each hand, and arched against her Innocent’s mouth, finishing with a series of mewling cries before she, too, sank back into her chair. Mrs. Bilton then leaned over and kissed her, too, a kiss that the viscountess eagerly returned, their lips parted and their tongues busily engaged.
But Lord Carleigh was busy, too. Presented with Mrs. Bilton’s bottom as she leaned forward to kiss his wife, he promptly flipped up the hem of her costume to bare the lady’s bottom. He made a great show of licking his fingers until they dripped with his saliva, and then he thrust them deep into Mrs. Bilton’s core. Mrs. Bilton didn’t flinch at this assault, but merely spread her legs apart to ease it, her bottom squirming to accommodate the viscount’s fingers more completely.
Up and down the table, other guests applauded this performance and cheered with profanity-laced encouragements. Meanwhile, the footmen, clad in formal Georgian-style livery with knee breeches and white stockings, continued incongruously to serve the next course, replacing one plate with another.
“Did you enjoy that, Eve?” Savage asked mildly, sipping his wine as if this were any other dinner. “I know you do like to be the spectator.”
I stared at him, at a loss for what he’d consider a proper reply. For once, the truth failed me: I was too shocked by what I’d just witnessed to say whether I enjoyed it or not. I’d known that Lady Carleigh and her friends were considered the fast set—fast enough to have house parties like this one—but I still hadn’t expected our hostess and host to be quite this shameless.
“This is only a portion of their amusements here, you know,” Savage said when I didn’t answer. “I’d guess they’ve been at it all day with Mrs. Bilton and whoever the male might be below the table. They’ve always been a sociable pair. Their bed is enormous, specially designed for such frolics.”