by Mia Gabriel
Still thinking, I let the curtain drop back in place. The bedroom was growing dim, too, and without thinking I went to turn on the light, groping about along the wall near the door where a switch would ordinarily be.
Chagrined, I remembered Savage’s insistence on candles and noted how many candlesticks there were in the room. As a child I remembered some of my elderly relatives had had gaslight, but no one in New York lived by candles and I’d no idea how to light them myself. After I’d tied the satin robe over my shift, I rang for a servant.
A maid swiftly appeared, anticipating my request by shielding a lit taper in her hand. I watched her go about the room, lighting each candlestick. I thought that Savage, with his love of beauty, would have employed a charming young maid, but this woman was older, with ginger hair and pitted cheeks, and had clearly been hired for her brusque and near-silent efficiency, as she finished with the candles and drew the curtains, pointedly taking no notice of my state of undress.
She answered all the overtures I made to her with single-syllable replies, perfectly polite but volunteering nothing. I would have prized her if she’d been in one of my own households, but because I wished to learn more of her master (and mine) I now found her taciturn qualities maddening.
“Will that be all, ma’am?” she asked finally when her tasks were finished.
Enough discretion, I decided. I would ask her outright.
“Do you know where His Lordship might be at present?”
“His Lordship is at home, ma’am,” she replied succinctly, rubbing her palms on the front of her apron.
I sighed, sensing my questions would accomplish nothing. “I know His Lordship is at home, meaning here beneath this roof. I wish to know where he is within this house.”
“I do not know, ma’am,” she said uneasily, her gaze darting everywhere but at me. “His Lordship don’t tell me of his doings.”
I didn’t believe she was being stubborn but, rather, acutely literate.
“Very well,” I said, determined to try another tack. “When did you last see His Lordship?”
“In the front hall, ma’am, when he arrived with you.” She sniffed. “Will that be all, ma’am?”
“You may go.” I had no choice, really. I didn’t doubt that she was telling the truth. It was clear that Savage, who treasured his privacy as much as any man I’d ever known, expected his staff to do the same.
But there would be one servant who would know, and that would be Barry. I waited another moment or two after the maid had left me, tightened the sash of my robe, and then opened the door to my bedroom. Savage had said his rooms were directly across from mine, and resolutely I crossed the hallway, my bare feet sinking into the thick Persian carpet.
There were no footmen standing beside the bedroom doors to open them, as was often the case in grand houses, and I was glad of it, and not having to explain my intentions. In fact, the door that I guessed must lead to Savage’s rooms was even ajar, as if he himself would be returning at any moment. For all I knew, he might already be within.
I knocked on the half-opened door, the sound echoing through the empty rooms. All I heard was the muffled sound of a carriage in the street and the ticking of a distant clock.
“Savage?” I called tentatively, pushing the door open farther. The candles had been lit for evening in here, too. Savage might think of them as casting a soft and romantic light, but alone as I was in the unfamiliar house, I was finding their flicker and the shadows they cast a little unsettling.
“Savage?” I called again, a little louder. “Mr. Barry? Are you there?”
Still, no one answered. Slowly I pushed the door open farther and entered the room, a spacious sitting room for a gentleman. A small table was set for our dinner, with two place settings of fine silver, crystal, and china and a large porcelain bowl of white roses. I smiled with anticipation and appreciation, too. It was hard to reconcile the gentleman who would arrange this with the man who’d nearly lost his temper and struck another in a stable yard earlier today. But that contradiction was Savage, the most complicated—yet fascinating—man I’d ever known.
There were many other things here that I associated with his varied interests and tastes, too: mahogany furnishings in the style of over a hundred years ago, a pair of cavalry swords crossed on the wall, books strewn everywhere, a small Roman bronze statue of a satyr ravishing a willing nymph, and a life-size painting of an opulently nude Venus over the mantel. Another door, half-open, must surely lead to his bedroom.
But what caught my eye and held it was a smaller painting hung between the two windows, a portrait of a young woman. Unlike everything else in the room, it was modern, and the sitter was stylishly dressed in a burgundy-colored velvet evening gown of a decade ago, not a century.
Drawn by the woman’s face, I crossed the room to study the picture more closely. She was undeniably a beauty, with a mass of dark hair piled high over her pale oval face and her slender figure twisting gracefully to display her narrow waist below the exaggerated full sleeves of her gown. Around her throat was a priceless necklace of rubies and diamonds, and in one hand she held a white ostrich plume, the angular brilliance of the precious stones accentuated by the fragile white plume.
Or perhaps it was the lady herself who was most fragile of all. Despite her beauty and her jewels, her eyes seemed a fraction too wide, her lips almost quivering, and her fingers holding the quill of the plume were pinched too tightly together. To me, she looked as terrified as a deer startled by hunters, as if at any moment she must bolt and run away to save her life. It was not the way most ladies would wish themselves to be painted, nor the way that most husbands would want to remember their wives.
For of course she must be Savage’s dead wife, Marianne, his doomed countess who had killed herself. She couldn’t be anyone else, and I took a step closer, lost in the tragic sadness of her face.
I suppose some women would have been jealous to see a wife’s portrait still hanging in a lover’s private rooms, but I was not. How could I be, when the madness and suffering she had so obviously endured had only ended with the peace of death?
I stared at the portrait, unable to look away. What could have frightened her so much that it showed so clearly?
There were questions surrounding the death of his wife that were never properly answered …
Against my will, I remembered how Laura had wanted to warn me about Savage, repeating the old gossip about Lady Savage’s death—all of which, of course, was preposterous lies. I trusted him. But the vulnerability that Lady Savage showed in this painting must have been a powerful attraction for Savage, given how much he liked to protect those he loved.
I smiled ruefully, realizing how I’d unconsciously included myself in that. He’d never once said anything of love, nor had I. It had never seemed to have its place between us. We’d agreed to be lovers without being in love. Having never been in love myself, I wasn’t even certain I would recognize the difference.
Yet there was no denying that we were drawn together by more than physical amusement. Earlier he’d called me irresistible, and I felt much the same about him. The sadness and loss that we’d both had in our lives drew us together, and I’d an almost eerie sense that he understood me better than anyone else ever had or perhaps could. I longed to know everything about him, which was why I was intrigued by what I’d found in this room. When we’d left Wrenton, I’d agreed to another week in his company, no more, and I was determined to make as much of that time as I could.
I pulled the robe’s sash a little more tightly about my waist, trying to sort through my thoughts about Savage, and myself. It was as if—
“Why are you here, Eve?”
Swiftly I turned around. Savage was standing in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob.
I smiled with relief, glad he’d joined me. “I’m here to dine with you,” I said, holding my hand towards the set table. “As you promised.”
“I told you I would rejoin y
ou in your room, not here,” he said curtly. “I told you to wait for me there.”
My smile faded. He wasn’t as happy to see me as I’d been with him. Far from it.
“I’m sorry,” I said contritely. “But I didn’t see the harm in—”
“In prying?” he asked. Displeasure flashed in his eyes. “Is it the custom for Americans to wander about their host’s home, inspecting his most private belongings for their own amusement?”
“I wasn’t prying!” I exclaimed. “I simply came to dine with you, by your invitation.”
Unconsciously my gaze flicked back to the portrait of his wife. It was only an instant—one guilty instant—but he noticed.
His brows drew together and he lowered his chin, never good signs with him. It wasn’t the same fury that he’d shown earlier with Blackledge. This was more a cold, biting disappointment, edged with bitterness.
For me it was worse, because I knew I was the cause. Without a word I realized, too, that we were once again playing the Game, with me as his Innocent.
And now I’d disappointed my Master.
“I do not believe you deserve dinner now, Eve, not after this.” He turned his head to call back through the open door. “Barry, here.”
Instantly his manservant appeared in the doorway.
“Barry, please send word to the kitchen for Mrs. Wilson to stop her preparations,” Savage said. “Mrs. Hart and I will not be dining at present, nor do we wish to be disturbed.”
Barry nodded and backed from the room. Savage himself closed the door, turned the key in the old-fashioned lock, and slipped it into the pocket of his trousers. As he did so he watched me, making sure I understood that I would not easily be able to escape, even if I wished to.
Which I didn’t, not while he was looking at me like this. His eyes seemed to darken beneath his brows, and the sharp planes in his face were taut and tense. I sensed how much that control cost him, and I sensed, too, where it would lead.
With Savage there was only one way, for all that tension to ultimately be released, nor could I wait.
I smoothed my hair back behind my ears, my breasts shimmying beneath the silk robe as I lifted my arms. Of course he noticed, and I wondered if he could also see how my nipples were tightening beneath his gaze.
I felt the first tendrils of desire curling within me, and this time I glanced expectantly towards the door that led to his bedroom.
He followed my glance and smiled: a tight, tense smile with no humor.
“Not yet, Eve,” he said. “In time, perhaps, if it pleases me. But as your Master, it’s my responsibility to correct you when you err, such as you have tonight.”
“Yes, Master,” I said obediently, unable to keep back my smile. I’d learned that Savage’s “corrections” often led to a great deal of pleasure. “I have erred, and I deserve your punishment.”
He frowned. “Don’t be glib, Eve,” he said sharply. “And do not try to seduce me, either. You must learn that there will be consequences when you disobey me.”
I took a deep breath and lowered my chin. My heart was racing; his tone demanded that I obey. I had never seen him this serious, and I wondered how I’d inadvertently offended him so grievously.
“Yes, Master,” I said, my smile gone and my bravado with it.
“Better,” he said, the single word curt. “Now remove your clothes.”
“But I already—”
“Do not argue with me, Eve,” he said sharply. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”
“Yes, Master,” I murmured. My hands were trembling, and I fumbled with the bow on my sash. At last I untied it, and I slid the robe from my shoulders. I began to walk towards a nearby chair, intending to drape the robe over it.
“Let it drop,” he said. “I don’t want you to look away from me. Now your costume. I want nothing in my way.”
I nodded, and as I drew the simple shift over my head with a shush of silk I surreptitiously licked my lips from nervousness. I thought by now I was accustomed to being naked before him, and certainly it seemed a small thing considering all the other intimacies that we had shared.
But this felt different. There was a flintiness to his manner that brought his mastery to a new level, and I’d no notion of what might come next. He truly was my master. All I could do was follow his wishes.
I dropped the shift to the floor, settled the strand of pearls between my breasts, and shook my hair back over my shoulders so he couldn’t accuse me of covering myself with it. There had been a time when I would have been too ashamed, too mortified, to be so exposed before a man, but because Savage made my nakedness his choice, not mine, I reveled in it. I was shameless, because that was how he wanted me, and because I was in his power it was thrilling.
Now I stood silently with my hands at my sides, waiting and clenching my bare toes into the plush carpet beneath me as the only outlet I had for my restlessness. I couldn’t control how my nipples had pinched into tight little buds, but that could be blamed on the cool evening air. Still, I prayed that my expression was unflinching and that my cheeks weren’t flushed and that he wouldn’t be able to notice my growing excitement.
His glance raked over me, from my unpinned hair over my breasts and belly and the curls that crowned my mount to my bare legs and feet and back again. I must have passed muster. He nodded, though even by candlelight I saw the little twitch of arousal in the vein on his temple.
Good, I thought. Even if I’d displeased him, he wanted me. No matter what sort of punishment he’d planned, I’d have to remember that.
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
Methodically he unbuttoned and shed his riding coat and the waistcoat beneath it, his gaze still locked with mine. He dropped the garments to the floor just as he’d instructed me to do.
His motions grew quicker, as if his very fingers had become impatient while he was looking at me. He pulled the links from his cuffs—the same links I always associated with him, black onyx discs centered with a curling snake with a diamond in its open mouth—and shoved his sleeves back to his elbows. He hooked his finger into the knot of his necktie and pulled it apart, then snapped the black silk through his collar and let it, too, fall to the carpet.
Finally he opened his collar and the top two buttons of his shirt with quick little jerks, but no more. Clearly this would be another instance where I would be exposed to him but not the other way around. He would keep his clothes, and his control, while I was stripped of everything.
A narrow upholstered bench with curving mahogany legs stood before one of the windows. He went to it now and picked it up with both hands, reminding me how effortlessly strong he was for a gentleman. He brought the bench to the middle of the room, about six feet from where I stood, and set it down with a muted thump.
I couldn’t help myself from asking, “Whatever are you doing, Master?”
“Making preparations,” he said absently, as if it were perfectly obvious. “Not that it is any of your affair at this time.”
I didn’t dare ask more but watched with growing trepidation as he reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew the key that he’d hidden there not ten minutes before. With a little clink of metal on metal he dropped the key in a silver bowl on the mantel.
“Take note of that,” he said as he returned to the bench. “I have locked the door to keep us from being disturbed, but if you ever wish to leave this room and this house, you are free to do so.”
“But I don’t want to leave, Master!” I protested, surprised.
“So you have told me before,” he said, squaring the bench with his foot so it aligned with the pattern in the carpet, letting me think that it mattered. “But you’ve also told me, Eve, that you never want to be my prisoner. I wish to make it clear that you are not. You may leave at any time.”
I lowered my chin a stubborn fraction. I thought we’d settled this earlier, but apparently not. Did he doubt me? Had I failed him simply by coming into this room?
“Not at all,” he said, his expression unchanged. “What I want is you, here and now.”
I took a deep breath as relief washed over me. He was so good at masking his emotions that I seldom could guess his true feelings.
“But note this caveat, Eve,” he continued. “If you ever choose to leave, then we are done. There will be no appeals, no beseeching, no tears, that will change my mind. Quite simply, if you leave, I can never trust you again, because you would have failed to trust me.”
Slowly he sat in the middle of the bench, facing me with his long, muscular legs slightly spread. It was a flagrantly male way for him to sit, aggressively displaying his powerful erection beneath his well-tailored trousers. His need for me was written all over his face as well, in every tense muscle along his jaw and in the way his eyes were watching my every breath and move, like a hawk tracking its prey.
Oh, yes, he wanted me, and I felt his desire wash over my skin like a shimmering wave of heat.
“Do you understand, Eve?” he asked softly, his eyes hooded. “Will you trust me?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, Master,” I said, perhaps the most true thing I’d ever said.
I held my hand out to him, but instead of taking it he patted the bench beside him.
“Here,” he said. “This is where I want you now.”
I nodded and joined him, sitting close beside him on the bench. I began to put my arms around his shoulders to kiss him, but instead he took me gently by the arm and laid me across his lap. It was an odd position to be in, facing down at the carpet with my bare breasts pressed into the side of his thigh and the pearls hanging from my neck to the floor. My bottom arched over his other leg, with my own legs resting stiffly across the bench.
“This … this is strange, Master,” I said, shifting uneasily. The wool of his trousers prickled against my skin, but much more unsettling was the hard length of his erect cock, pressing unmistakably against my hip. “I do not think—”