Lord Savage

by Mia Gabriel

  “Then that is what the baron meant when he said he’d claim me,” I said with a shudder, remembering how Blackledge had grabbed me in this same hallway. “I’d never agree to be his Innocent.”

  “It’s easy enough to avoid,” he said. “A word or two to the viscountess, and she’ll arrange it. Although I suspect she’s already aware of your dislike for Blackledge.”

  “I’m sure she is,” I said. We’d come to the door of my rooms. I turned to face him, slipping my hand inside his robe to place my open palm on his bare chest. “She should also know by now that there’s only one master I’d ever want, and that’s you.”

  “Me?” He seemed pleased, though more surprised than anything. “As flattering as that is, Eve, it cannot happen. The rules of the Game are that no Protector can have the same Innocent twice.”

  “But no other man could ever follow you, Master,” I said, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. I slid my hand lower, loosening his sash so that I could curl my fingers around his cock. At once he began to harden, coming to life in my hand, and with a little thrill of excitement I wondered if he’d take me there, against the door, with the risk of being discovered at any moment. “You will always be my only master.”

  He didn’t smile, and worse, he drew back from me, retying his robe. “Then perhaps you’ll return as a mistress instead, ready to educate some callow youth as your own Innocent. I’m sure Lady Carleigh will provide one for you.”

  I gave my head a little shake of incomprehension. “Savage, you’re making no sense.”

  I reached for him again, and he caught my wrists, gently pushing me away.

  “I fear I’m making too much sense, Evelyn,” he said softly, “and more than you evidently wish to hear. Tonight’s dinner is a farewell of sorts, you know.”

  “A farewell?” I echoed. “What manner of farewell?”

  “It’s how the Game always ends, Eve,” he said. “We all make our good-byes, and we go our own ways, and what has happened here at Wrenton is never spoken of again, no matter where or how we may meet in the future.”

  I stared at him, incredulous, searching his face for a truth that must be different from what he was saying. He was trying to be kind—kindness mixed with pity that I neither understood nor wanted.

  “Are you saying good-bye to me, Savage?” I asked, unable to keep the panic from my voice. “Is that what you’re doing?”

  Having heard our voices, Simpson opened the door behind us, and I nearly toppled backward. Savage still held my arms, holding me fast.

  “Oh, forgive me, Mrs. Hart,” the maid exclaimed with dismay. “I’d no notion you—”

  “Never mind, Simpson.” My words tumbled over one another in desperate haste as I clutched at Savage, shamelessly trying to draw him back. “We must talk, Savage. Come inside with me, where we won’t be disturbed, and—”

  “No, Evelyn.” He was already distancing himself from me; I could see that his eyes weren’t even focused upon my face any longer. “You knew the rules from the first day. I’m sure Lady Carleigh explained them all to you.”

  “But we haven’t followed the rules all week, Savage,” I protested, flailing as he held my wrists. “Why should that change now? I want to know. I want to hear you explain. Why is this so different? Why do you suddenly care so much for rules?”

  But he only shook his head, as if he’d already explained everything that needed explaining. “I’ll come back for you in an hour, and we’ll go downstairs together.”

  One by one, he raised my hands to his lips, turning them so that he could kiss my palms. Then he bowed, and left me.

  And just like that, he was gone.

  FOURTEEN

  “Come inside, ma’am, if you please,” Simpson said softly, taking my arm to guide me into the room so that she could close the door. “No use in making a scene. These great folk swear they won’t talk about what mischief they’ve done here, but they will speak of you weeping and wailing in the hall, if you give them reason for it.”

  I sank onto the sofa, bending in half with my arms wrapped tightly together. I felt stunned, blindsided, overwhelmed by what Savage had just told me.

  Most of all, I missed him, with my heart, my body, and my soul.

  Why, why hadn’t I known it wouldn’t last? Why had I so willfully blinded myself? Why had I forgotten that inconstancy was one of the stipulations of visiting at Wrenton, and agreeing to play the Game? That was how Lady Carleigh gave her guests the freedom to do what they pleased, by promising them an honor-bound discretion.

  I had accepted that condition along with every other guest, and I’d enjoyed the same freedom. It was entirely my own fault that I’d chosen to forget those rules.

  Savage had never once made any promises to me that he’d now broken, and though he’d trusted me with confidences, he’d always been careful not to speak once to me of love or a shared future. I realized that now, thinking back. Not once. I was the one who’d foolishly let myself care too much for him.

  And now I’d be expected to put on the bravest of faces and go down to dinner. I’d have to listen as he reviewed my accomplishments as an Innocent to the others, and then smile and blithely say good-bye, as if he meant no more to me than any of the other guests.

  Or worse: as little as I must mean to him.

  “Are you too poorly to go downstairs this evening, Mrs. Hart?” Simpson asked with concern. “I have your bath ready, but if you’d rather lie down for a bit, then—”

  “No, Simpson, I am fine.” With a shuddering sigh, I stood, determined to gather myself. Blindly I felt for the pearls around my neck, the pearls Savage had given me, hoping they’d give me some small comfort. They didn’t.

  But if Savage could be distant, then so could I, at least on the outside. I came from a long line of tough-minded New Yorkers: it should be in my blood to be strong. Later, when I was back in London, there would be plenty of time to weep alone in private. Tonight I’d do my best not to let anyone—least of all Savage himself—know how much very much his summary little farewell had wounded me.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Simpson said, “but you don’t look very well.”

  “I assure you, Simpson,” I said, taking a deep breath, “I am perfectly well.”

  Slowly I lifted the necklace over my head, coiling it into my hand. I held it there in my palm for a moment, the pearls pooled and warm with the heat of my body, and perhaps still a bit of Savage’s as well. Then I resolutely handed the necklace to the maid and went to the bathroom and my tub, dropping my dressing gown behind me as I went.

  I didn’t wait for Simpson’s assistance but began to wash myself as soon as I sank into the warm, scented water. It wasn’t just that I wished to be ready; I was determined to scrub away every trace of Savage on my body, as swiftly as he seemed to have been rid of me. Yet, when Simpson began to wash my hair, I closed my eyes, and the fresh memories of all we’d done and shared came rushing back, no matter how much I wished to stop them. How much easier it was to clean my body than to scrub his memory from my thoughts and my soul!

  “Should I send back to his lordship’s rooms for your Innocent’s costume, ma’am?” Simpson asked.

  “No,” I said with finality. “I won’t be wearing that any longer. Lay out the red gown instead, Simpson.”

  Like all my evening gowns, the red one was new. But that was only part of the reason why I hadn’t yet worn it. Quite simply, the dress was the most daringly brazen and modern I’d ever owned, and I hadn’t had the courage to match it. Savage had not wanted me to tempt any of the other male guests by wearing my Innocent costume again, but I was sure to accomplish much the same effect in the red dress, and if I tormented Savage, too—what was the harm in that?

  A short time later, after my hair had been brushed and pinned up into a crown of soft waves around my face, I stood before the mirror as Simpson dressed me. I had spent the past week wearing next to no clothes, and it felt chillingly oppressive to be covered once again in laye
r after layer of confining lace-trimmed fabric, chemise and corset cover and drawers and petticoats and garters and stockings. I’d worn a corset since I was a girl, yet now as Simpson began to tighten the strings I felt as if I were being laced back into my old self, as if the last week with Savage had never happened.

  And I rebelled.

  “Take all this—this off, Simpson,” I said, already tugging at my undergarments. “I’m going to wear the dress without anything beneath.”

  “Oh, ma’am,” Simpson said, full of doubt. “I don’t know if the dress will fit proper without them.”

  “Monsieur Poiret’s dresses aren’t boned like the old Worth ones,” I insisted. “I wish to try it that way.”

  Soon I was wearing nothing but my stockings. The instant Simpson slipped the dress over my bare shoulders, I knew I’d done the right thing. Or perhaps the very wrong thing, which was exactly what I wanted.

  The dress wasn’t merely red, it was scarlet, and if sex and passion had a color, then this would have been it. The silk was cut in the most modern style, draping over my body like a shimmering liquid. Without any petticoats beneath, it clung to my body and accentuated the swelling curves of my hips and breasts as well as the narrowness of my waist. The jet beading swirled over the bodice and skirt in an oriental pattern that served only to delineate my figure further, drawing the light with every movement.

  But most shocking of all was the bodice, low and square and made entirely of black lace. Even with a corset and chemise beneath, it would have been scandalously revealing. But the way that I was wearing it now, my breasts were scarcely veiled by the lace and my nipples were clearly visible, and yet the lace also made the entire effect infinitely more seductive.

  “Oh, my, ma’am,” Simpson said with admiration, looking over my shoulder to my reflection in the mirror. “You’d stiffen the cock of a dead man in that dress. His lordship don’t have a chance.”

  “I’m not sure he deserves one, Simpson,” I said with a quick smile for my reflection.

  “No, ma’am,” Simpson said, grinning. “Shall I fetch your jewels, ma’am? Those diamonds you wore the first night would look splendid with all that black and red.”

  I considered, then shook my head. “I think the dress will be sufficient without additional ornament,” I said. “Except, of course, the rope of pearls I was wearing earlier. Bring that, if you please.”

  Quickly Simpson retrieved the necklace, and with something close to reverence she draped it around my neck.

  “Three times, Simpson,” I said. “I want the pearls to fall over my breasts.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Simpson said, making the adjustment. “Forgive me for saying so, ma’am, but you must’ve been mighty pleasing to his lordship for him to give you pearls like them, especially after all the suffering he gave you, too.”

  “That’s enough, Simpson,” I said, but mildly. I couldn’t fault the maid for thinking the pearls were a kind of payment for services rendered. For the women like Simpson who’d been Innocents, that’s what an extravagant gift from a Protector surely would be.

  From Savage, however, I wanted to think it meant a bit more, my thoughts drifting back to the morning in the gallery. Though perhaps it didn’t. I had thought we’d grown close in these last days, and believed that there was a rare understanding between us, but the reality had turned out to be something altogether different.

  I shoved aside the thought, and the first sting of tears in my eyes, too. The last thing I wished was to appear before the others—before him—with swollen eyes and a red nose. I took a deep breath, holding up my skirts while Simpson slipped on my beaded evening shoes.

  I walked away from the mirror, then turned and walked slowly back toward it. The heeled shoes gave a sway to my walk, and the scarlet silk slipped and slid seductively over my body. The glittering black beads seemed to draw special attention to the tantalizing juncture of my thighs, even hinting at my most private parts. Savage’s pearls did the same for my breasts, swinging gently over my lace-covered nipples with each step.

  I thought back to the first night here at Wrenton, how I’d felt so seductive in the heavy cream-colored gown, when I’d really known nothing at all about sex, let alone seduction. Because of Savage, I’d become not only seductive but sensual as well, and my only regret was—

  But no. I’d have no regrets, no regrets about anything. I smiled one last time at my reflection, took my black-lace fan from Simpson, and turned toward the door.

  “Will you be expecting his lordship to take you down to dinner, ma’am?” Simpson asked, following me.

  “No, Simpson, I am not,” I said, waiting for the maid to open the door. “That is, he will likely be coming here for me, but I will not be waiting for him. I am going downstairs myself.”

  I left quickly, before I could waver and change my mind, and before Savage could appear and change my mind in an entirely different way. The way my heart was racing, I realized I almost hoped he would.

  When I reached the library, I swiftly glanced about the room to see if he was there. To my relief, he wasn’t, and neither was Lord Blackledge, but most of the other guests already were. At once Lady Carleigh appeared, seizing me by the arm to kiss her cheek in welcome.

  “My dear Mrs. Hart, how absolutely ravishing—and ravishable—you are tonight!” she exclaimed, looking me up and down. “That must be a Poiret, is it not?”

  “Thank you, it is,” I murmured, languidly opening my fan as I pretended to ignore the attention that my dress was drawing from every male in the room. Even the footmen were staring at me. “Monsieur Poiret has such a rare genius, doesn’t he?”

  “He does when the lady possesses a figure like yours,” Lady Carleigh said. “You have made every man in this room forget all else besides his cock.”

  I smiled. “Which is, of course, not the case if I’d been clad entirely in whipped cream and strawberries.”

  Lady Carleigh laughed. “Touché, my dear! Quite true, yes, quite true. But then I did not have a bulldog like Savage to protect my, ah, virtue, either. Where is he? What have you done with him?”

  “I expect he should join us soon.” I forced myself to smile. “We’ve already said our good-byes.”

  The viscountess raised a single painted brow with surprise. “I cannot believe he would part with you an instant before he had to, considering how possessive he has been before this.”

  “I assure you, my lady, I am quite free.” I shrugged, hoping I conveyed exactly the right degree of nonchalance, and not even a hint of the unhappiness Savage’s cursory parting had brought me. I glanced around the room, forcing myself to survey the other gentlemen with a fresh eye.

  “But you’re not quite free yet, my dear,” Lady Carleigh cautioned. “It’s true that you can indicate a choice for a future week this evening, if someone in particular has caught your eye, but you may not act upon it quite yet.”

  Her perpetual hostess’s smile faded, and she rested her hand lightly on my forearm. “Forgive me if your master has not been all he should this week, my dear. When I brought you and Savage together, I had no notion he’d act towards you as he has. It’s inexplicable, and unforgivable, and I am very sorry you suffered from his unconscionable behavior.”

  “But I didn’t suffer, my lady,” I said. After our encounter in the gallery, Lady Carleigh’s words shouldn’t have surprised me, but they did. “I have few regrets or complaints where Lord Savage is concerned.”

  “Few?” asked Lady Carleigh, pouncing on the single word of doubt.

  “None,” I said firmly, correcting myself. My only complaint—if it could be called that—was of my own doing, not his, forgetting that our week together was meant to be that time, and no longer. “I have no regrets nor complaints, and if I were to make the choice again, I would without doubt once more choose Savage.”

  The viscountess tipped her head to one side. “This is the truth? You aren’t simply being polite?”

  “I wouldn’t do that, m
y lady, not about Lord Savage,” I said, more wistfully than I could have wished. “He is an … an unforgettable man.”

  “You intrigue me, Mrs. Hart,” Lady Carleigh said, her curiosity apparent. “When we have more time and are at our leisure, I shall expect you to tell me more of your experiences with his lordship. Much more.”

  “Yes, my lady,” I said. It was the only acceptable answer, even though I knew such a conversation with the viscountess would never happen. To make idle gossip of what I’d shared with Savage would be a kind of betrayal that I wouldn’t commit. There were things that were too private, too special, too rare to confide to anyone else, and this last week with him was one of them.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” said Lady Carleigh, licking her lips with anticipation. “But I must ask you one more favor tonight, my dear. Please do your best to see that Savage keeps the peace. The last thing I wish tonight is more violent unpleasantness among the gentlemen. My nerves—and my furnishings—cannot bear it.”

  “I’d no intention of inspiring any violence, my lady,” I said, remembering all too well the ugly scene with Mr. Henery.

  But the viscountess remained skeptical. “In that dress, Mrs. Hart, you could inspire the entire country of males to riot and go to war. Pray limit yourself to conversing tonight, and let us all try to survive the night unscathed, yes? Ah, Lord Blackledge, we were just speaking of you!”

  The baron bowed to both of us, but his gaze never wavered from my breasts.

  “I trust you haven’t forgotten what I told you, Mrs. Hart,” he said, his smile too wide. “I will be claiming you tonight.”

  “Yes, yes, Baron, so you have told us all,” Lady Carleigh said, hooking her arm into his. “But our lovely Mrs. Hart is not yours yet. You are absolutely forbidden to cause any mischief over her with Lord Savage, or else I shall have you both tossed out of my house like the curs that you are. Now come with me, and leave this lady in peace.”