Savage Nights (The Savage Trilogy #2) (22 page)

There was no way I’d leave after that. I reached up on my toes to brush my lips across his cheek.

“I’ll be upstairs, my lord,” I said softly. “Join me when you are able.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hart,” he said almost solemnly. “I won’t be long.”

It was an oddly formal moment, yet from the way he was looking at me it was also one I wouldn’t trade for the world. My gaze held his a moment longer, and then I turned and climbed the stairs alone.

I didn’t look back, and I didn’t doubt that he’d follow me. It was only a matter of when.

*   *   *

It was still dark when I awoke to find Savage standing beside the bed, his face lit only by the flame of the silver candlestick in his hand.

“At last you’re awake,” he said. He’d removed his evening jacket and his tie but still wore his black trousers and the white shirt, the sleeves rolled back over his muscular forearms and the stark black and white made more so by the candlelight. “I’ve been waiting.”

“You could have wakened me,” I said, groggy. I rolled over to face him, pulling the sheet with me. “What time is it?”

“Nearly two,” he said. “And I didn’t want to wake you. You’re so beautiful when you’re asleep.”

I frowned, not feeling exactly beautiful. “Were you drawing me again?”

“Not this time,” he said. “I was merely watching, and imagining all the things I’d do to you when you woke.”

At least that was enough to inspire me to try to wake the rest of the way, and I sat upright against the pillows. Earlier I’d undressed myself without a maid to help, and because of it I’d given only the most cursory brushing to my hair and hadn’t bothered with a braid. My hair was now wild and unruly, a tickling tangle over my shoulders. Impatiently I shoved it away from my face, but with more patience Savage reached out himself to stroke it back from my forehead.

“Is your business with the gentleman resolved?” I asked.

He frowned, not understanding. “My business?”

“Whatever it was that so alarmed your butler.”

“Ahh, that.” He set the candlestick on the table beside the bed and walked across the room to where a decanter of wine and several glasses were kept on a silver tray. He might have watched me sleep, but I watched him walk, all coiled power and grace like some great jungle cat. No wonder I was awake now.

“My business, as you Americans call it, is resolved for the night,” he said, handing me a glass of burgundy. “Forgive me if I alarmed you earlier, but it took me by surprise.”

I took the wine and raised it towards him before I sipped at the deep-red wine. “So the man in question has left the house?”

“He will in the morning,” he said. “I could not very well turn him out at this hour.”

I couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t entirely telling the truth. I knew Savage well enough by now to sense when he was holding back, and he was definitely holding a part of himself away from me now.

“Are you sure?” I asked uncertainly, praying he’d confide in me. “If this man is a danger to me, as you implied, then—”

“He’s not at all,” Savage assured me, and smiled warmly. “You have my word as a gentleman on that. The fellow is troublesome and a great trial to me, but of no personal danger to you. You are safe in this house, and safe with me.”

Slowly I smiled, too. It was true that I felt safer and more secure with Savage than I ever had before in my life, even more than when I’d been surrounded by my father’s guards. There had been a terrible irony to our row at Gaspari’s: Savage had accused me—rightly—of not trusting him in regard to the king when in reality there was no one I trusted more.

It wasn’t just Savage’s physical ability to defend me but a more intangible sense of well-being that I had when I was in his company. I couldn’t describe it in words. It was more something I
felt
.

And if he said now that I was in no danger, then I’d believe him.

He gave me a nod of encouragement. “Now drink, my own dear Eve,” he said. “Every drop. I want you ready.”

“Ready?” I asked, looking at him over the rim of the glass. If he’d slipped back into the Game, then so would I. “What have you planned, Master?”

“As you should recall, Eve, you’ve had difficulty obeying me,” he said. “I realize that it’s a matter of trust. I believe I’ve come upon a way that will both punish you for being so forgetful and remind you to be more trusting of me in the future.”

I smiled and drank the wine as he’d ordered.

As much as I’d wanted to give him pleasure and release in the carriage—and I had—sucking his cock had in turn aroused me more than I’d anticipated, and my body had ached with need and longing ever since. It didn’t take much of this talk of his to make that need spark and grow.

I set the now-empty glass on the table and slid to the edge of the bed, letting the sheet fall away from my naked body. That was how he liked me best, and I saw how immediately his gaze flicked down to my breasts, rounded in full by the candle’s light.

I reached out for his belt buckle, intending to undress him so he could join me in the bed. Instead he covered my hand with his and held it fast.

“Let me, Master,” I said, trying to wriggle free. “I promise I’ll be much more efficient than Barry.”

“I’m sure you would be,” he said, “but isn’t this another example of you disobeying me?”

I pouted, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. “How can I disobey you if you haven’t given me any orders?”

“You could anticipate my needs,” he suggested, “the way a well-trained Innocent would.”

“Then perhaps what I require is more training, Master,” I said. “Perhaps that is all that’s needed.”

Although he continued to hold me by the hand, I sat back on the bed and let my knees fall open, displaying myself to entice him.

He grunted, his eyes heavy lidded as he glanced down at what I offered. What man wouldn’t?

“You’re right,” he said. “You do need more training. But not here.”

He pulled me from the bed and to my feet, and taking the candlestick in his hand, he led me into the sitting room connected to his bedroom. Expectantly I looked about for the long cushioned bench that we’d made use of the other night, but it was once again where it usually stood, beneath one of the windows. Instead he led me to a door beside the fireplace that I’d assumed was to a closet or cupboard of some sort. He released my hand, turned the key, and ushered me inside.

We stood in a small room with six walls instead of four. The ceiling was domed and painted a dark blue with stars set in the heavenly constellations. From the ceiling and the curious shape of the room, I guessed that at one time it had belonged to a gentleman of a scientific or philosophical inclination who had used it for his private thoughts and studies, or perhaps it had even been a personal chapel of some sort.

Clearly, however, since it now belonged to Savage, it was neither of those things now. Except for the wall with a large window, heavily curtained for the night, the walls were hung with mirrors. Even the door we’d entered through was covered, so that when he closed it the opening disappeared seamlessly into the others. There were several wall sconces with candles, and Savage lit these, one by one, with the candlestick he’d carried from the bedroom.

As he did the mirrors came to life, reflecting us endlessly in the small room. He was severe and masculine, almost ascetic, in his white shirt and black trousers, while I was as lushly female as any pagan goddess of love, my pale skin warm and glowing and my body displayed from every angle.

“Do you remember the room with the mirrors at Wrenton, Eve?” he asked.

“I do, Master,” I said. I’d thought of it instantly. How could I not? He’d sat on the painted throne of a Renaissance prince, and I’d pretended I was his royal concubine, straddling him to fuck him on his lap. The mirrors there had reflected us, too, but they’d been old and mottled and mysterious, the reflections wavy and defused. “I’ll never forget that. But these mirrors are different.”

“They’re new,” he said. “Obviously. The effect is very different.”

I held my arms outstretched and turned, posing for all the reflections of me in the mirrored walls. “It’s like being inside some magical prism, isn’t it?”

He chuckled, watching me twirl. But though the small room was devoid of any furnishings, there was one other item reflected in the mirrors that I’d never before seen in any house, in America or in England. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was, beyond some sort of swing or sling.

Four long cords, covered in red velvet, were suspended from a sturdy hook in the ceiling. Two of the cords met to support a narrow seat that was scarcely more than a strap of leather. A pair of large padded leather loops hung from the second set of cords, and smaller straps with buckles were attached to the cords a short ways above the loops.

“You’re admiring my new amusement,” Savage said, crossing the room to stand beside it. “I had it installed yesterday, specifically with you in mind.”

I raised my brows, skeptical. The contraption did not look particularly practical, nor comfortable, either. “For me, Master?”

“For you,” he said, “though I expect to benefit from the swing as well.”

He touched one of the cords, sending it silently spinning.

I reached out and stopped it. I was beginning to imagine the possibilities, and my heart was already racing in my chest, and not entirely from arousal, either.

When we’d been at Wrenton, we’d experimented with having me tied to the posts of he bed. I’d been completely helpless, restrained and unable to move, and completely at his mercy, too. I’d found it unbelievably exciting, and Savage had made sure that the pleasure was worth my initial uneasiness.

But being bound to the oak posts of a bed was very different from being trussed up and suspended in the air. There’d been no chance of falling from the bed. The thought of being buckled to the swing and hanging there in the air was … unsettling, in every sense.

“Is the swing to be part of my training, Master?” I asked, even though it was already clear that it was.

“Oh, yes,” he said evenly. “What better way could there be to prove that you trust me?”

I looked at the swing again and swallowed hard. He was right. Words and protestations could go just so far. This would be a much more tangible way to prove how much I trusted him.

“You say the swing is new, Master?” I asked, stalling.

He nodded. “Yesterday. I’ve seen such swings before in my travels, of course—they’re quite the rage in the more exclusive brothels in Paris—but I’ve never felt the desire to have one in my house until now. Yet in this room, with these mirrors to reflect your beauty and your passion, it shall be perfect. You see how you’ve inspired me, Eve.”

I nodded. I’d regretted not being the first woman in his life. At least here I would be.

“We will experiment together, Master?” I asked, wishing I could keep the tentative quaver from my voice.

“We will, Eve, if you agree,” he said, watching me closely.

Anxiously I smoothed my hair back behind my ears and glanced at the swing again, trying to see it as an experiment to be shared with him, not a hazard.

“Is it my decision to make, Master?”

His smile faded, his gaze intense on me. “It’s your decision, yes,” he said. “Whether to obey me, or not. To trust me, or not. They’re your decisions to make entirely.”

I nodded. This
was
my decision.

And I’d already made it.

I nodded again and turned resolutely towards the swing. “How do I begin, Master?”

“I’ll help you,” he said, his smile warm with what I realized was relief. That made me smile, too. Had he really thought I’d refuse him? Hadn’t he learned by now that I couldn’t refuse him anything?

With both hands on my waist he lifted me so I was balanced on the leather seat and held tightly to the nearest cords. I wasn’t so much sitting as perched with my feet dangling, like a trapeze artist at the circus. Most of my bottom hung over the back edge of the narrow seat, with the leather pressing against my quim. I shifted a fraction, startled by how good the pressure felt there, and unconsciously my lips parted with surprise and pleasure.

“You like the swing, don’t you?” he asked, noticing. “I suspected you would.”

He raised one of my feet, kissed the inside of my ankle, and carefully fed it through the nearest large loop until the loop hooked beneath my knee, and then repeated with my other leg. The loops not only raised my legs but also forced them to spread apart. With my knees raised I was also tipped farther back against the seat strap, and now my quim was blatantly open and exposed to him and my endless reflection. I thought I’d lost all modesty with him, but there was something about seeing my glistening, open quim in all the mirrors that made me suddenly shy again. I tried to close my legs, but the straps kept them firmly apart.

“Goodness,” I murmured faintly with a small, nervous laugh. “I hadn’t expected the effect to be like … like this.”

“We’ve only begun, Eve,” he said darkly. “Give me your hand.”

I didn’t give him my hand so much as he took it, unlocking my fingers from the cord and drawing them forward and up until he could secure my wrist with the leather straps, buckling it into place. He did it to my other hand, too, with startling efficiency. Finally he produced a belt that he fastened around my waist and threaded through two smaller loops on the cords. I might have inspired him, but from how tidily he’d handled the loops, straps, and buckles he’d clearly been thinking and planning for this moment for a long time.

He checked the last buckle again and stepped back to survey his handiwork. I was now secured in every way, effectively bound and trapped like a madwoman. Beyond an inconsequential wriggle, I couldn’t move on my own, nor could I escape if I’d wanted to. I stared at my repeated reflection, swaying gently but helplessly. There was no question of toppling from the swing, as I’d first feared, but now I felt impossibly vulnerable and curiously close to tears.

“There,” Savage said, his voice showing not only his satisfaction but his arousal as well. “What do you make of your swing now, Eve?”