by Mia Gabriel
“As your Innocent, I still require more training to please you,” I said. “Only you can do that. No other man could.”
“No other man will have the opportunity,” he said firmly. “None.”
“That is what I wish as well, Master,” I said. “Exactly as you promised.”
He nodded, gathering his reins as we entered the large stable yard again. There were more people and a few carriages here now, and the grooms and stableboys were darting back and forth with fresh horses. Apparently we weren’t the only ones who’d seen the appeal of a later afternoon ride.
I drew my mare beside the stable mount, and one of the stableboys hurried forward to hold her so I could climb down. To my surprise, Savage himself stepped forward to help me as I did, his hand on the small of my back for support. It was a small, gallant gesture, yet I felt the heat of his touch radiate from my back through my body.
“Send your man back to the Savoy,” he said, leaning close so we wouldn’t be overheard. “You’re coming home with me now.”
“Yes, Master,” I murmured, breathless with anticipation. After last night, I’d feared he did not want me in his house. “Should I have him return later?”
“No,” Savage said. “You can send for him in the morning.”
In the morning. I nodded, my excitement building.
My servant had just climbed down from his own horse, and I called for him to join me.
“I no longer require you here, Robert,” I said, attempting to use my customary brisk manner. “You may return to the hotel.”
Robert frowned uneasily, unwilling to believe me. I understood his reluctance. My servants considered me a fragile widow, in need of protection and looking after. They would be as unaccustomed to my new role as I was myself. Perhaps even more so.
“Are you certain, Mrs. Hart?” he asked. “It’s no bother.”
“I will be well enough, Robert,” I said with more kindness. “You may go, and leave me.”
“Do as your mistress bids you,” Savage said curtly. “Leave us.”
“Yes, my lord,” Robert said, his expression fixed as he bowed and left.
“You needn’t have been so sharp,” I protested. “Robert meant well.”
“He questioned your order,” Savage said. “He failed to show you the respect you deserve as his mistress, and he had no right to distrust me so openly.”
I’d thought only of myself, but now that Savage had explained it I realized that Robert was suspicious of him, much as my maid, Hamlin, had been earlier.
“Then I apologize for Robert’s behavior towards you,” I said. “I’ll address it when I return.”
“It’s not simply a question of addressing his behavior,” Savage insisted. “How can you trust your life to a man who—”
“Mrs. Hart!”
I recognized that booming voice at once and swiftly turned around. Baron Blackledge was also dressed for riding, his bull-like frame encased in a dark-green jacket, buff trousers, and gleaming dark boots with spurs. He wore a tweed homburg hat angled over his fleshy face, no doubt in homage to the king’s taste for similar hats, but without His Majesty’s aplomb. Beneath the hat, Blackledge’s ginger-colored hair was crisp with too much pomade, and his brows bristled so aggressively I wondered if he used the same pomade on them as well.
In fact, everything about the baron was aggressive. I’d learned that last week at Wrenton. First he had tried to win me in a mock slave auction that had been part of the Game, and when that had failed he had forcibly tried to take me as his own. He was an overbearing bully with a taste for inflicting pain upon others, and I’d no doubt that if he’d had the chance he would have raped me and used me most barbarously.
Only Savage had saved me then, and automatically I shrank closer to his side now as the baron came charging across the stable yard towards us.
“I did not expect that our paths would cross again so soon, Mrs. Hart,” he said as he joined us. He stood with his legs planted wide apart, ignoring Savage completely, and lightly slapped his leather quirt against his thigh. “You left me last night before I’d time for a proper farewell.”
“She wasn’t with you, Blackledge,” Savage said, his voice low and filled with warning. “There was no need for her to say so much as a word to you.”
I glanced around nervously. All around us, other riders were coming and going with their horses, unaware of our small drama, and stableboys and grooms passed us without so much as a glance. No doubt they all believed this to be simply one more polite conversation between two well-dressed gentlemen and a lady.
I knew otherwise. The tension growing between the two men was as palpable as a rising thunderstorm, and I knew if I didn’t speak the results would be every bit as dangerous.
“Please leave us at once, Baron,” I said, striving to sound as stern as possible. “I have nothing further to say to you.”
But Blackledge only laughed, showing too much of his teeth. I hated how he looked at me, as if I were a commodity to be purchased and used.
“Dear Mrs. Hart!” he said. “How you amuse me! Why would you squander your beautiful self on this bastard when you could be mine?”
“Because Mrs. Hart is a lady of taste and refinement, Blackledge,” Savage said curtly. “She has no interest in a damnable parvenu like yourself.”
I edged closer to Savage, making my allegiance clear. Without looking down I sensed his hands had clenched into fists at his sides, both from anger and in readiness. Blackledge was the larger man, but I’d witnessed the raw fury of Savage when his temper took control, and I prayed this confrontation wouldn’t come to that.
Not that Blackledge cared. He raised his bristling brows, and his smile became a sneer.
“I’d say she has an interest in me,” he said. “She’s no better than any common strumpet in the arches of Covent Garden. She’s hungry for what I can give her, Savage. I see it in her eyes.”
“No,” I said, my denial automatic. “I want nothing from you.”
I slipped my hand into Savage’s arm. His muscles were rigid beneath my fingers, ready—too ready—to attack. I did not want anything from Blackledge, but I also didn’t want to inspire a common brawl in a stable yard.
“Come, my lord,” I said, trying to coax Savage away. “If he will not leave us, then we shall leave him.”
But Savage wasn’t ready to leave. Instead he acted as if he hadn’t heard me, all his energy focused on Blackledge. We’d finally drawn the attention of the others around us in the stable yard, with a loose circle of bystanders pausing to watch what might happen next.
“Apologize to Mrs. Hart, Blackledge,” Savage demanded, his voice raised and sharp. “Take back what you said of her, and apologize now.”
Blackledge didn’t move. “Why should I take it back, when it’s the truth? Look at her and how ready she is for me, and tell me she isn’t.”
He raised the quirt and lightly touched the braided leather lash to my breast in a suggestive caress. I gasped at his audacity and jerked backwards and away from him as if I’d been burned.
But as swiftly as I moved, Savage moved faster.
He tore the quirt from Blackledge’s hand, snapped it in two, and threw it to the ground.
“Apologize,” he ordered, his voice an ominous growl. His pale eyes were hard as flint and every bit as unyielding. “Apologize now.”
“The devil I will,” Blackledge said, taking a step towards Savage. He, too, had clenched his fists, his thick fingers like leather-covered sausages in his gloves. “She’s not worth that—”
“Excuse me, m’lord,” said the stable master, deftly stepping between the two men. “We don’t need this kind of misunderstanding here in the yard. Any sort of ruckus upsets the horses, and I won’t have it.”
For a long moment, neither man flinched. It seemed as if every other person in the yard was holding his breath, unsure of how this would end.
“You, too, Baron,” said the stable master. “Gentlemen or no
t, I can’t have the pair o’ you brawling in my stable yard.”
And it was finally Blackledge who stepped back.
“For the sake of the beasts, then,” he said, straightening his tie and scowling in retreat. “But mark what I say, Savage. This isn’t done between us. Mrs. Hart will be mine, whether you like it or not.”
He looked past Savage to find me, standing several steps away with my hands folded over my chest to mask my trembling hands and racing heart. He narrowed his eyes and stared at me pointedly, his gaze flicking over my body as if he was imagining me in some obscene position. Then with a muttered oath he turned on his booted heel and crossed the yard to where he’d left his horse.
In the circumstances I wished I’d been braver. I wished I’d behaved like a true heroine and been the one who’d stepped between the two men to stop them. I wished I’d spat with contempt at Blackledge and not cowered like some cowardly, weak-minded woman.
But the truth was that seeing Savage so near to battling with Blackledge again on my behalf had frightened me, frightened me badly. I’d feared for Savage’s safety, and my own as well at the hands of Blackledge.
What had unsettled me even further, however, was that having these two men ready to fight over me had unleashed some sort of primal pleasure within me. Savage’s games while we’d been riding had kept me in a state of excited arousal for the last hour, and to watch him defend me as he had only made my blood quicken more. He wanted me badly enough that he’d fight for me, and as shameful as such a confession might be for a modern woman, it still had made me in return want him all the more.
Now he stood with his back to me, his broad shoulders still tensed. The stable master had left us soon after Blackledge had, and the others in the yard had returned to their own affairs, perhaps a little disappointed that they hadn’t witnessed anything more worthy of gossip. Grooms had taken our horses back to the stable.
Only Savage and I were left standing still in the bustling yard. It was an awkward stillness, too. I longed to reach out to touch him, to put my arms around his waist and press my face against those shoulders and breathe deeply of his scent. I wanted to thank him for what he’d done, and I wanted to reassure myself.
Yet despite how intimate we’d become, I hesitated. I was sure he wouldn’t want so public a show of affection between us, nor—with Laura’s warning still in my ears—would that be wise for me, either. To most of the world, Savage and I were no more than acquaintances, and for now it should remain that way.
But discretion wasn’t the only reason I didn’t join him. No matter how much I wished it otherwise, that well-tailored back turned towards me was like a wall that I didn’t dare challenge. I knew better than that. In the week we’d been together he’d made it clear that there were times when he prized his solitude and did not want it to be interrupted. This, apparently, was one of those times.
Or so I’d thought.
Without warning he wheeled about and grabbed my arm.
“Come with me,” he said, though from the way he was marching me across the yard I had little choice but to go with him. His expression was fixed and his jaw set, and as I hurried my steps to keep pace with his I couldn’t begin to read his mood.
He was grasping my arm hard, almost to the point of pain, but not quite. I didn’t protest; this was what I’d wanted, to be with him.
He led me into the stable and down the long row of stalls. Some held horses, snuffling and whinnying behind the gates as we passed, their scent mingling with the smell of hay and polished leather. I blinked, trying to accustom my eyes to the shadows. The lanterns had not been lit yet, and the sun of the fading day slanted through the windows and the door.
I tripped on the brick floor, but he held me up, still pulling me forward with him. The last stall was empty, and he drew me inside with him. He released my arm, shoved the gate shut, and shot the bolt to the latch. The gate would offer no degree of real privacy—most men of any height would be able to see over it—but I sensed that was not the true reason that Savage had latched the gate. He didn’t wish to keep the stable workers out so much as he wanted to keep me locked in.
Locked in with him.
I took a single step towards him to prove I wasn’t frightened. I wasn’t. I was insanely aroused, my blood racing through my body with desire. Slowly I lifted the veil back from my face so he could see the longing that I was sure must be there. My eyes were heavy with it, my lips aching for his.
He took off his hat and threw it aside, then crossed the short distance between us. I’d never seen him quite like this, his face furious with unabashed lust. When he’d been face-to-face with Blackledge his pale eyes had been as cold as winter. Now, when he met my gaze, those same eyes seemed to burn with desire, the same wild desire that was now licking through my body.
He seized me by the waist to pull me close, but I’d already reached for his shoulders—ah, those shoulders!—and was digging my fingers deep into the superfine woolen-covered muscles. He caught me off-balance and then pushed me back against the rough wood of the stall. The wall shoved my hat forward, and impatiently he tore it from my hair, scattering the pins that Hamlin had so carefully used to secure it.
The hat didn’t matter now. Nothing else did, except his mouth devouring me, claiming me, marking me. I could taste the possession of this kiss, the savageness that was a part of his name. I felt scorched, branded by it, and yet the more he pressed his body against mine, against the rough boards behind me, the more I wanted.
He held my jaw steady in his hand to make sure I wouldn’t escape. His thumb pressed into my cheek, and the animal scent of his leather gloves somehow made his kiss more primal and demanding.
When he broke away I gasped, as if the very source of my life had been stolen away from me.
“You’re mine, Eve,” he said, his voice as rough and demanding as his kiss. “You don’t belong to any other man but me. You are mine.”
“I am, Master,” I breathed. “Yours.”
What other answer could there be?
5.
“Mine,” Savage repeated, his breath warm on the skin beneath my ear. “Never forget it, either.”
I closed my eyes, relishing the pressure of his body against mine.
“Let me prove it to you, Master,” I whispered. I slipped one hand between us to find his cock. He was enormous in his trousers, straining against the confining fabric, and there was no mistaking the heat and power of his erection beneath my hand. Daring, I blindly found the first button on his fly and unfastened it.
“As soon as we reach your house, Master, I’ll—”
“No.” At once he seized my wrist, his grasp like a vise. He drew back just far enough to see my face, and for me to see his. The slightest of smiles played on his sensually full lips. His silvery-gray eyes were half-closed and unfathomable, and yet I could have gazed into them forever.
“You will prove it, Eve,” he said. “But not later. Now.”
“Now?” I repeated, breathless with both surprise and excitement. Each time one of the horses moved in the stalls around us, I imagined a groom or stableboy coming to find us. “Here?”
“Here,” Savage said. Along the edge of the stall ran a small ledge where grooms could lay brushes or bits of tack, and without warning he grabbed me by my waist and lifted me up to set my bottom on the ledge. I felt like a piece of porcelain placed precariously on a shelf, and I flailed my hands to find my balance and keep from falling.
“Hold me,” he ordered gruffly. “You’re exactly where I want you, and I won’t let you fall.”
“But what if … if we are interrupted?” I asked, and even as I asked I realized that the idea of a witness excited me. “What if one of the grooms sees us?”
“What he will see is that you are with me,” Savage said, his voice gruffly imperious. “That is all that matters.”
I nodded, accepting. It was all that mattered. I looped my arms around his shoulders and felt instantly more steady. He’d
become my rock that way, my anchor, and fresh desire replaced my first uneasiness. We were nearly eye to eye now, and I leaned forward to offer him my mouth again.
But he’d other ideas. He grabbed a fistful of my habit’s skirts and swept them back over my legs. He grunted with purely male approval at what he’d discovered, and I smiled.
“It’s not my Innocent’s costume, Master,” I said. That had been a wisp of a garment, a plain white shift that had been nearly transparent, worn with nothing beneath it.
“It’s not what ladies wear for riding, either,” he said, his gaze still focused on my legs in black silk stockings and laced riding boots with curving heels.
“It’s what I wear for riding with you, Master,” I said. “Does it please you?”
He grunted again, cupping one of my knees in his hand, his palm sliding across the slippery silk.
“It does please me,” he said. “Very much.”
Beneath my severe habit, my garters were red silk with silver clasps. Instead of my usual white linen undergarments I’d worn black silk drawers edged with wide bands of black lace at the knees and trimmed with red ribbon rosettes—the kind of drawers usually reserved for a ball gown or, more likely, for an evening that began and ended in the bedroom. While I’d shocked Hamlin by my choice, I cared only for Savage’s opinion, not that of my maid. The long slit that separated the drawers’ legs was meant for ordinary convenience, but I knew now it would be put to another purpose.
He hooked his hand beneath my thigh and wrapped my leg around his waist. I rocked back on the ledge and lifted my second leg myself, crossing my ankles around his back. With my thighs raised and parted, the open slit in my drawers separated, revealing the white skin of my belly and the dark hair below, and my quim rosy and weeping with arousal.
“That’s how I like you, Eve,” he rasped, tearing at the buttons on his trousers. “Always ready for me.”
I whimpered as he ran the ridge of his finger between my nether lips and unerringly found my pearl. He dipped deeper into my cunt to gather more of my essence, gliding over the little nub in teasing small circles. I heard my lubricious wetness and the slippery sound of his fingers moving over me. I sucked in my breath and instinctively lifted my hips to meet his touch.