Lord Savage (17 page)

“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 coaxing
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.