Lord Savage

by Mia Gabriel

  For once I was certain that he wasn’t teasing me. I’d just seen the proof across the table.

  Nor did I wish to reflect on how he knew the exact dimensions of Lord and Lady Carleigh’s bed, any more than I wanted to know exactly how sociable he’d been with this sociable pair.

  “Yes, Master,” I said finally.

  I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to, but at least it was a safe answer. I looked down at the quail on my plate, floating in a rich puddle of rosy-pink Burgundy sauce, my appetite gone.

  I’d believed that last night with Savage had changed me, that I’d become much more free by pretending I was Eve.

  Evidently I’d been wrong.

  “That’s not the final performance by our fair hostess, either,” Savage continued, eating his dinner with no difficulty. “I do not wish to spoil her surprise, but I will say that we anticipate it. Isn’t that so, Lady Carleigh?”

  “I’ll never forgive you if you tell, Savage,” the viscountess replied, though so merrily that I suspected she’d be perfectly happy if Savage did in fact reveal the great secret. She was dining with gusto, completely recovered from her earlier interlude. The young man who’d so recently been lapping between her legs now stood behind her chair, his hands behind his back. Clearly, the viscountess had chosen him for reasons other than any aristocratic lineage—reasons that were abundantly obvious through his thin silk trousers.

  “I like my secrets, Savage,” the viscountess continued. “Though I am delighted that my surprises have left such a mark upon you.”

  “My dear lady,” Savage said, “they are a memory I will never forget.”

  “Exactly as it should be!” she exclaimed, smiling slyly across the table at me. “But tell me, how goes the education of your own sweet Innocent?”

  I smiled in return. I opened my mouth to reply, then remembered at the last instant that this might be against the rules. Instead, I glanced at Savage, silently hoping he’d guide me.

  “It’s not necessary for you to reply, Eve,” he said mildly. “The question was directed to me, not to you. But your excellent deference is answer enough. You see, Lady Carleigh, what progress I have made with my Eve.”

  “Eve?” Lord Carleigh said, his eyes widening with amusement. “Trust you, Savage, to give such a name to your Innocent! Tell me, Eve, would you like to entertain my serpent in your luscious garden?”

  “She would not, Carleigh.” Savage’s expression remained pleasant, but the warning in his voice was unmistakable, or at least it was to me. “Nor would I.”

  Relief washed over me. The last thing I wished was to be forced to perform before the others as Lady Carleigh just had.

  But the viscountess herself was unconvinced.

  “Oh, please, Savage,” she said, wheedling. “Your Innocent is here for experience, for adventure. She told me so herself, even before I invited her to Wrenton. What fun is it for her to be locked up with you the entire week?”

  The edge sharpened in Savage’s voice as he said, “I believe Eve is receiving her share of experience and adventure in my company, Lady Carleigh. Recall that she is mine to educate.”

  Lady Carleigh made a coy little moue of dismay.

  “But Carleigh and I were expecting you both to join us in our bedroom later,” she said, pausing to drink deeply from her wine. “I’d rather set my heart on it, Savage, and you know I don’t like to be denied.”

  Savage shrugged. “Then it shall be a novel experience for you, Laura, won’t it?”

  I didn’t miss how he’d used the viscountess’s given name. Yet, while most times this would be a sign of fond intimacy, now it seemed unmistakably patronizing, as if he were addressing an overindulged child.

  And, like a spoiled child, Lady Carleigh appeared not to notice.

  “I don’t know why you won’t share with us, Savage,” she said. “You’ve never been so selfish with your Innocents before.”

  “Perhaps because Eve is more deserving than the others were,” Savage said, almost as if it had only just occurred to him. He glanced down at me, tracing the backs of his fingers up along my bare arm and idly across the top curve of my breast through the sheer fabric. “She’s quite ignorant, you know. Her previous education has been so woefully lacking.”

  With my gaze lowered to watch his hand trail over my skin, I prayed the others wouldn’t see how wildly aroused I was even by so simple a touch from him. His fingers slipped lower, grazing my nipple. At once it tightened and thrust forward, and without thinking I sucked in my breath as sensation rippled through my body.

  “Look at her!” Lord Carleigh exclaimed, leaning across the table to peer hungrily at me. “You may think she needs more education, Savage, but I’d guess she’s already learned more than a lesson or two.”

  “Oh, she has,” Savage said. “But I’ve many more lessons to teach her.”

  The way he said it made me catch my breath again, and try to ease the delicious arousal building inside me. It amazed me that Savage could do this to me with only words, and I longed to leave the dining room and race back upstairs with him to his bed.

  But, to my dismay, others could see the effect Savage had on me, too—one other in particular.

  At the end of the table, where I’d somehow overlooked him, Lord Blackledge rose from his chair and came to stand behind Lord Carleigh.

  Following closely behind him was his Innocent, the petulant girl with the white-blond hair. She wasn’t being petulant now, for a scarf of black silk was tied across her mouth like a gag, the silk pulled so tightly that it bared her teeth in a contrived grimace. Her wrists were also bound with silk and pulled behind her back, forcing her back to arch and her breasts to thrust higher. The last part of her ensemble was a close-fitting black leather collar with a gold link in the front. Attached to the link was a chain—a chain that the baron kept tightly wrapped around his fist like a leash to make her follow.

  It reminded me of what the woman in the entr’acte had worn around her neck last night, and how her partner had also used the chain to jerk her into obedience. Yet, as uncomfortable as this must have been, the gagged woman didn’t appear to be in any real distress. She wasn’t fighting her predicament; on the contrary, in a strange way she seemed to be enjoying it, undulating against her restraints with exaggerated movements and batting her eyes at the other Protectors when she knew the baron wasn’t watching.

  I remembered what Simpson had told me, that many of the “extra” Innocents delighted in their roles, and were well paid for their performances, too. But I was still glad I wasn’t one of them, and with a shudder I imagined the stocky baron in the same position as the performers, pounding his cock into the blond Innocent’s quim as he jerked on her collar.

  But now Lord Blackledge had little interest in his Innocent, instead staring so blatantly at my breasts and my rosy, thrusting nipples that it took all my self-control not to lift the napkin from my lap to cover and shield myself.

  “We don’t need your empty assurances, Savage,” he said with a contemptuous snarl. “We all can see from here how primed you have her. How many times did you fuck her before you came downstairs? Two, three?”

  Savage lowered his chin, an ominous look, and set down his knife and fork.

  “Suffice to say that it was more times than you could muster, Blackledge,” he said. “Not that it is any affair of yours.”

  “You know the rules.” Blackledge’s face turned red at the insult. “Just because you bought her in that trumped-up auction doesn’t mean you can keep her to yourself.”

  “The rules say he can, Blackledge,” said Lord Carleigh with a sigh. “It’s part of being a Protector. But it would be gentlemanly if he at least shared some of the details of his Innocent’s charms. At least have her bend over so we’d a peek at that luscious notch of hers, Savage.”

  “Why, I’d bet her cunt’s still soaking wet from wanting more cock,” Blackledge said. “I’d bet a hundred pounds that you could get her off in under two minutes,
she’s that close now.”

  Lord Carleigh’s expression lit at the suggestion. “Yes, yes, Savage,” he said. “You’ve never been shy with an Innocent before. Take her right now on the table with her legs in the air, and I’ll bet Blackledge here two hundred that you can make her spend in less than a minute. If any man can make her scream for it, it’s you, Savage, eh?”

  With relish he pulled out his large gold pocket watch, flipped open the case, and set it on the table, ready to count off the minute. The others at the table roared at the idea of such a wager, and thumped the table with their palms so hard that the crystal danced on the cloth.

  Even as Savage’s fingers continued to graze my breast, I pressed into his arm, hoping he truly would be my Protector and continue to defend me against the others. I could imagine all too easily how Lord Blackledge would want to determine whether he’d won or not, and I wanted none of it.

  Of course, there was no doubt that I was wet, with Savage beside me. He was ignoring the other men as if the question had already been decided, and instead was tracing idle little circles over my skin that were only inflaming me more. There wasn’t much doubt, either, that he could make me spend in less than the required minute. How could I not when he did this to me?

  But I didn’t want either Lord Blackledge or Lord Carleigh pawing between my legs to discover the extent of my arousal, and as for having Savage fuck me here before the others the way Lady Carleigh already had done—no amount of pretending for the sake of the Game was going to change my mind.

  I could only pray that Savage thought so, too.

  In desperation I looked away from Lord Carleigh to his wife, hoping the viscountess would stop her husband. But Lady Carleigh’s chair was now empty, and, even more surprising, her Innocent remained where she’d abandoned him, standing beside her pushed-out chair.

  The men—and the ladies as well—around the table seemed to sense my anxiety like any other pack of ravening jackals, and it served only to stir their excitement and anticipation.

  “It’s only sporting, Savage,” called Lord Wessex from farther down the table. “All in the spirit of the week, don’t you know.”

  Savage ignored him. Instead, he reached out to Lord Carleigh’s watch and decisively snapped the case shut beneath the palm of his hand.

  “No,” he said. “No bets, not with Eve.”

  The others groaned with disappointment.

  “Come now, Savage,” Lord Carleigh coaxed. “Where’s the harm in a little wager?”

  “Then share her,” Lord Blackledge said. His hands were already flexing and twitching with unpleasant anticipation, as if he couldn’t wait to touch me himself. “You know you’re going to fuck her again. Why not let the rest of us see how your Innocent spends?”

  “I can find out how wet she is for you, my lords,” offered Mr. Henery, seated beside me. His face and his courage were flushed with wine, his voice loud with it. “It’s the work of a moment.”

  Before I could react, he’d grabbed the napkin from my lap, yanked aside my costume, and shoved his hand between my thighs.

  Horrified, I struck at his hand and tried to pull the hem of my gown back down and twist away from him. All around me the others were laughing and shouting encouragement to Mr. Henery. Laughing at my reaction, he’d risen from his chair to stand over me, his face flushed above his beard as I pushed and flailed at his hands as hard as I could.

  Abruptly Henery’s mouth popped open with surprise as Savage grabbed him by the arm. He spun Henery around and away from me, and as Henery tried to regain his balance, Savage’s fist caught him under his jaw. It was a single uppercut, powerful and efficient and without mercy, and more than enough to make Henery’s head snap back. He staggered backward, reeling, and Savage followed, punching Henery again with such force that he toppled to the carpeted floor, his body following with a dull thud.

  But Savage wasn’t done. He threw himself down on the other man, and grunting with exertion, the two of them rolled across the carpet to the bare stone floor with the tails of their evening jackets flailing behind them.

  I watched with my hands clutched tightly together and pressed to my mouth. Around me, women screamed and men swore, and everyone crowded together for a better view of the fight. A wineglass was knocked to the floor, splashing red wine across the pale carpet, and no one noticed. Even the servants clustered together in the doorway, unable to resist the rare sight of their betters fighting.

  Finally, Savage pinned the other man to the floor with his legs and began to rain blows upon Henery’s face. Henery tried to defend himself, blindly swinging his fists, but Savage’s attack was so ruthless that Henery was soon using his hands more as a shield than as a weapon, curling his arms over his face. There was already blood from his nose splattered across his shirt front, bright red on stark white, and on Savage’s cuffs, too, above the tiny gold serpents on his onyx links.

  None of the others tried to stop Savage, not wanting to risk having him turn toward them. His expression was set and merciless, with only his pale eyes revealing the extent of his fury.

  I had never seen a gentleman behave like this. No, I’d never witnessed any man so deliberately determined to punish another with such primal violence.

  “For God’s sake, Savage, enough!” ordered Lord Carleigh. “Stop at once!”

  But Savage didn’t stop, and the viscount curtly waved for three footmen to intervene. The footmen hovered indecisively to one side, torn between following their master’s orders and the grave consequences that could result from laying their hands upon an earl.

  Tears of fear and frustration slipped down my cheeks as I watched. I knew I wasn’t supposed to speak, and yet how could I not? This was not the Savage I knew, the man who had kissed me tenderly as he’d introduced me to passion. This was madness, a terrible madness, and if no one stopped Savage now, I feared he might kill the other man.

  “Stop, Savage, please!” I cried at last, my voice echoing oddly in my ears. “Please, please, no more! No more!”

  At once he drew back, his head whipping around toward me as he still crouched over Henery. His black hair was disheveled across his forehead and his pale eyes were as wild as a wolf’s, his chest heaving from exertion. A tiny trickle of blood glistened in the corner of his mouth where his lip had been split.

  I brushed away my tears with my fingers and took a gulping hiccup of a sigh.

  “Please, Master,” I said, barely remembering to call him that. “I beg you, please—please stop.”

  He gave a quick jerk of his head, shaking his hair back from his face, then used both hands to smooth it back. He took a deep breath, visibly collecting himself, and rose to his feet in a single graceful motion that belied his earlier violence. He straightened the satin lapels of his jacket, and shot his cuffs, briefly frowning at the crimson bloodstains.

  He didn’t look back at Henery, who had rolled to his side, groaning, as the footmen now rushed to attend him. He didn’t look at anyone other than me, coming to stand directly before me.

  He was so powerfully male that I felt it viscerally, a primal desire to mate that was almost impossible to resist. It shocked me how much I wanted him now, splattered as he was with another man’s blood, and yet I couldn’t deny the wet, welcoming heat and fullness in my quim, longing to be filled by his cock.

  There was a single bruise on his left cheek, more likely caused from striking the stone floor than any stray blow from Henery. As lightly as I could, I reached up to touch my fingertips to the bruised skin, a show of sympathy for so much more than the injury alone.

  “You’re mine, Eve,” he said, his breathing still ragged and his voice gruff. “Only mine.”

  His threaded his battered fingers through my hair and closed them together into another fist, holding me fast as he bent to kiss me. His mouth ground against mine, hard and aggressive, and I tasted not only the metallic tinge of blood from his lip but the rawness of his need and the power that went with it.

 
That much I understood, for I felt it, too, roiling inside me like an undeniable force. I thought I’d been aroused earlier, but it was nothing—nothing—like what was twisting and curling through me now.

  “Savage,” said Lord Carleigh curtly. “A word, if you please.”

  Savage took his time ending the kiss, giving me one last small nip before he finally dragged his mouth away from mine. Although he let me turn to face the viscount, he kept his arm possessively around my waist; it was a small gesture that I welcomed, and was grateful for.

  The others were beginning to return to their seats around the table, laughing nervously and chattering too loudly as the footmen refilled their glasses. All were pretending that nothing untoward had just happened, but every ear was listening to their host, eager to hear what he’d say to the earl.

  What the viscount did first was clear his throat.

  “Lord Savage,” he began. “Mrs. Hart. I—my wife and I, that is—we can’t have this sort of thing occur in our house.”

  “Nothing occurred,” Savage said, his voice purposefully bland and a bit bored as well. “Henery was warned. He chose not to heed that warning.”

  Uneasily Lord Carleigh glanced over his shoulder, back to Mr. Henery. Henery was sitting (or had been propped) upright in a chair near the wall with a servant attending him on either side, his head tipped back with a bag of ice on his nose and a glass of whiskey in his hand as a restorative.

  “He’ll be well enough,” Savage said dismissively. “His kind always is.”

  Lord Carleigh shook his head. “I know the man’s in trade, Savage, but he is a guest of mine and I—”

  “I’d say Henery’s not the one to blame, my lord,” interrupted Lord Blackledge, his gagged Innocent following him like a dog on a leash. “I’d say it’s Lord Savage’s Innocent that’s at fault. She’s the one who deserves a thrashing for what she’s caused.”