Lord & Master (12 page)

He rocked his cock deeper. “I’ll make you
think
I wouldn’t. That’s where the thrill comes in.”

How did he know these things about me that I barely knew myself? My hips squirmed around him, and I moaned at my own brashness.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” he said.

He let loose on me, as wild and hard as my body longed for in that moment. Lust was a kind of insanity in me. I clutched his shoulders through his shirt, holding on as tightly as I could. My cries urged him to greater efforts, my pelvis buffeting his.

Jake praised and cursed me in almost the same breath.

“Window sill,” I heard Damien say distantly.

An instant later I was in the embrasure, my bottom supported by cold stone. Jake’s palm slapped the thick diamond pane, his leg muscles freed from having to hold my weight.

“Oh yes,” he said, going at me with a bit more force and a lot more control. I made a strangled sound at that. He seemed to know precisely where inside I liked the most pressure.

One last fear fought for my attention.

“Someone might see us,” I protested.

“You don’t . . . care,” he said, his claim broken by his fervent bull’s-eye thrusts. “You’d rather be caught than ask me to stop.”

This was the shameful truth. I needed him to keep doing exactly what he was.

I cried out hoarsely as my desire scaled unbearable heights. My pussy tightened on the engine that pumped in it, but I couldn’t quite go over. Jake went faster, seeming to swell fuller inside me.

“Here,” he snarled. “Take what you’re dying for.”

His thumb pressed and rubbed the side of my clitoris. Instantly, I decided that was my favorite, most wonderful, 14-karat spot anywhere on my whole person. My hips snapped greedily up his shaft, the delicious and very necessary paroxysm exploding inside me.

Jake growled and ground his teeth, his cock jerking strongly within my contractions. Again, I was flooded with a man’s emissions, the heat and wetness now familiar.

I let out my own primal growl of pleasure, my satisfaction at receiving their offering so visceral it struck me as animal.

My senses were still fuzzy when Jake pulled out of me. My spine seemed to have turned to rubber.

“Mia,” Jake said, clasping my lolling head.

My lashes fluttered as I tried to focus my gaze on him. Should he be calling me by Christian name?

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You look as if you might faint.”

How could I faint with this delectable specimen of manhood peering worriedly at me? I wanted to kiss him again. To take him again. And after that, I wanted Damien. Why was I still wearing my corset? Why was either man wearing anything? Nothing could make more sense than for the three of us to roll naked together. Damien could toss the covers onto the floor. Both men were too big for that bachelor bed.

My mind snapped back to itself like a contracting elastic band.

What was I thinking? For that matter, what had I done?

Acted like a strumpet
, I answered my own question.
Like a man-crazy floozy who couldn’t keep her knees together.

No one but a woman’s husband should touch her the way Jake was touching me.

With a cry of dismay, I pushed him away from me. He released me, though he looked startled. I scrambled off the window, desperate to find and put my clothes back on. There was my shirt, thank goodness, and over here my jacket.

“What’s the matter?” Damien asked solicitously.

“I have forgotten who I am,” I cried. “What I owe myself.”

“What you
owe yourself
?” Seeming confused, he took my arms, now shoved into the sleeves of my riding coat. Though I wriggled, he was more difficult to shake off than Jake.

“Let go of me!” I demanded. “I won’t let you turn me into whore.”

Some would argue I let him do that when I married him for money. He was kind enough, or perhaps polite enough not to throw this in my face.

“You made promises,” he reminded me instead.

“Not to do this!”

He rubbed my arms through the navy velvet sleeves. “Was letting Jake have you so terrible? I know I enjoyed watching it.”

I’d enjoyed knowing that he was.

“It’s wrong,” I said stubbornly. “And I’m not that sort of woman.”

“You shouldn’t lie to yourself, Mia. Your needs are strong. It’s possible you require two men to fully pleasure you.”

My body quivered. “I don’t,” I denied with my teeth gritted.

Damien’s brows lowered. “I’m not releasing you from our bargain. You will stay here and keep your word.”

“My actual word, not this—” I waved one hand toward Jake “—this perversity.”

“Oh thank you,” Jake said, but not as if he were really hurt. His drollness was a shield my feeble arrows couldn’t dent.

Damien, by contrast, didn’t appreciate the barb fired against his friend. His expression grew very stern. Something inside me thrilled secretly to see it.

“Return to the house,” he said. “And shut yourself in your rooms until I come to you. I will consider what punishment your intransigence has earned.”

“You can’t be serious! You’re not my damned nanny.”

“I am your husband—your ruler, by law and tradition. I assure you, I’m utterly serious.”

My jaw was on the floor.

“Jodhpurs? ” Jake offered, holding mine out to me.

His smirk provided me the strength to snatch them from him with real fury.

Chapter Ten

I PACED
my suite in a rage the likes of which I’d never experienced. My maid Regina didn’t know what to make of my to and fro. Mine was a reticent nature, not given to grand passions. Though she asked what the matter was, I declined to explain. Sharing the details of my shame seemed likely to increase it. Worse, I suspected she’d think me a fool to refuse the bounty my husband was offering. Jake’s rough and ready attractions were exactly the sort to impress her.

She left at last, muttering about lending a hand downstairs where people behaved with sense.

Naturally, I strove to convince myself my position was justified.

Damien broke my isolation shortly before nuncheon. I was hungry by then, what with all my activity, and beginning to wonder if I were allowed to ring for a tray.

When my husband entered my sitting room, I stood beside an inlaid table on which sat a display of blooms from the house gardens. In my pique, I’d plucked the petals from two large yellow chrysanthemums.

Though I might have wished otherwise, my heart skipped a beat on seeing Damien. I’d never had a suitor, and this man was my spouse! He was so handsome I halfway marveled that he was real. He’d changed into normal daywear: stiff pointed collar, soft cravat, lovely dark gray waistcoat over a blazing white starched shirtfront. His apparel fit as perfectly as a duke’s, but within it his body was more vital. Beneath his arm, he carried a large white box, such as one obtained from a dressmaker. I couldn’t help but be curious as to its contents.

Given our
contretemps
, I probably shouldn’t expect a gift.

He nodded at the flowers. “Those are meant to be admired, not snatched bald.”

“Your gardener will grow more,” I snapped, knowing full well I was being childish. “Or will you take offense because he’s your ‘good friend’ too?”

Damien further infuriated me by keeping his temper. “I have but one friend as good as Jake. My gardener is simply an employee whom I respect.”

His gaze raked me up and down. I folded my arms, aware I ought to have changed out of my disheveled shirt and jodhpurs.

Too bad
, I thought. The riding breeches were more comfortable for pacing.

Damien let out a quiet sigh. “I see you are unrepentant. I hoped you’d be chastened enough to apologize.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You insulted my friend and refused a gift I intended you to enjoy. That qualifies as rudeness.”

“You twist the situation to suit yourself.”

“You twist it to
spite
yourself. How is that better?”

“I wish to be a good wife, not an adulteress!” My voice cracked, which undercut my dignity.

Rather than jump on this sign of weakness, Damien’s face softened. I steeled myself against the tenderness it displayed.

“Do you truly wish to be good, my wife? I suppose we’ll learn soon enough.” He set the box he held on the table and patted it. “If you agree to tell Jake you’re sorry, I won’t make you open this.”

Was that supposed to be an incentive?

“I am content to hold my position,” I informed him haughtily.

“Very well.” He pried up the lid himself.

Too curious not to, I leaned to see. My fingers flew to my mouth in shock. The box held a maid’s black gown, white apron, and frilly cap. I knew at once he intended me to wear them.

“You will put these on,” he said in the aristocratic manner he should have been born to. “Together with Sawyer, you’ll serve lunch to myself and Jake. Perhaps a taste of servitude will teach you humility.”

“I
couldn’t
wear that,” I said, every fiber of my privileged being rebelling.

“You can and you will. Mrs. Sweets is already on her way to help. Be glad I haven’t summoned your lady’s maid. Your pride would really be stinging then.”

It would sting plenty for the housekeeper. She was a stranger, and I didn’t for a moment believe Damien had chosen her out of consideration for my feelings. Like most managers of great houses, Mrs. Sweets was intimidating. In theory, my status as Damien’s wife made me her superior. In practice, she was the one with experience ruling a large domain. She’d be more difficult to gainsay than Regina.

I’ve no doubt my face was mulish. Damien didn’t wait for me to speak again.

“Half an hour,” he ordered, his finger rudely pointing. “Don’t keep Jake and me waiting.”

~

Mrs. Sweets must have been a lady’s maid once herself. With noteworthy efficiency, she helped me into the uniform. In case I didn’t feel inadequate enough, her skills extended to adjusting the garment’s fit.

“There,” she said, smoothing the extra tucks she’d just stitched. “That shows off your shape nicely.”

I narrowed my eyes at our shared reflection in the tall cheval glass. I caught Mrs. Sweets smoothing her sleek wheat hair back into its braided bun.
She
looked like a duchess.
I
was indistinguishable from a servant in the stark black and white getup, a resemblance I resented more due to the contrast between us. “I wasn’t aware ‘showing off my shape’ was a priority.”

“Of course it is. How can your husband tell whether you need spanking if he can’t see your bum?”

She
hadn’t
just said that. Even if she were teasing, it was inappropriate. I suppose she
was
teasing, because her eyes twinkled.

“Don’t worry,” she continued. “Your husband isn’t big on paddling bottoms. Mr. Reed is the one who goes in for that.”

So she knew the . . . irregularities my husband wanted me to engage in. Too many objections crowded into my head at once. “You’re a traitor to your sex!” was the one I burst out with.

Mrs. Sweets smiled calmly. “Not at all. I simply understand what the master wants to accomplish.”

“And approve of it,” I accused.

Mrs. Sweets squeezed my shoulders. The touch was kind, and it moved me more than I wished. If I weren’t careful, she’d convince me she was my ally.

“Mr. Call wants to spoil you, which in my opinion women get too little of these days. Even in this modern age, with so many new conveniences and freedoms, our lives can be challenging. Are we supposed to be independent or biddable? Leaders of great houses or dressed-up dolls? Sometimes the conflicting pulls are too much. We need to lay down our burdens—if only for a while. If you submit, milady, he’ll respect you all the more.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“As long as a woman excels at a task, serving others needn’t shake her confidence. It especially shouldn’t if the man—or men—are worthy.”

My mouth pulled dubiously to one side. “You wouldn’t serve a man in your bedchamber.”

“Indeed I wouldn’t. In my daily life, however, I serve them all the time.” She made a small adjustment to my cap’s lace ruffle. I had to admit the starched band looked pretty against my brunette hair. Her gaze was serious when it met mine in the mirror. “You don’t need anyone’s permission to enjoy this. Look inside yourself. Decide on your own if you do.”

This sounded like sage advice. The question was, could I take it?

The issue remained undetermined as she led me down the heretofore-mysterious back stairs, through the green baize door, and into the serving pantry next to the dining room. Sawyer the pugilistic footman awaited there. His white gloves were in place, his livery crisp enough for a general.

“Thank God,” he said, seeming unsurprised by the sight of his mistress dressed like a maid. “I need to give you a quick rundown. The order for serving wine is ridiculous. Why they want five courses for one damn lunch I can’t tell you.”

“
Language
,” Mrs. Sweets scolded.

“Right,” he said. “‘Bloody’ not ‘damn.’ Anyway, it’s effed up.”

I smiled in spite of the situation. Sawyer seemed to have misunderstood what the housekeeper objected to.

“The different wines complement the different courses,” she explained.

“Whatever,” he said. “Go away so I can tell Mia what to do. Sorry. I mean Lady Call.”

“She’s Beck at the moment,” Mrs. Sweets corrected.

“Christ,” the man exploded, completely flustered now.

“It’s fine,” I said, restraining my impulse to pat his sleeve. “Please explain how you’d like me to assist you.”

He explained, though I wasn’t certain we got it right. I was used to being on the receiving end of service, and my father’s house hadn’t been grand like this. Sometimes we
did
have maids in the dining room. For the life of me, I couldn’t recall if I ought to have white gloves. Hopefully, my husband wasn’t a stickler. If he were, I might get the spanking Mrs. Sweets had joked about.

I pushed that thought from my mind as quickly as possible.