After cuffing him, she laid down and snuffed the candles. She stared into darkness and imagined what he would have done next if she’d given him leave. She’d never look him in the face again without picturing his lips wet and swollen with her juices, fresh from tasting her. Her memory was fuzzy after years, but she swore not even North had taken her to such heightsof pleasure. Luke had achieved a new record without using his cock.
However, the fact that she’d denied him pleasure rather than contemplating her own was what kept her awake for hours.
Five days later,Belle had relived that night every chance she had. Often the fevered reminiscing occurred in bed with her hands mimicking his actions. Not able to find an excuse to reward him or punish him again, she sent Luke back to his own room as soon as Charlotte left and hoped he’d initiate further play. When he didn’t, she was bereft, but it was better not to start anything more when he was leaving soon.
When they were alone in the house again, he’d described his idea for helping other drunkards, looking eager for her approval even as she’d winced at his choice of words. His wide eyes and forward lean gave her a new understanding of what Charlotte saw in a man so much younger than her. There was much to be said for youthful exuberance and resilience.
Despite her best intentions, she imagined that resilience in the bedroom.
Ignoring her inner devil, she’d praised him and asked a few questions. He’d thought through as much of the logistics as he could without knowing what capital he’d have available, and she was impressed.
Between his sobriety, his newfound interest in contributing to society, and his oral skills, her feelings for Luke Lynwood were unstoppable. However, in addition to a decade difference in their ages, they had an insurmountable class gap. Not only was she not of the aristocracy, or even the gentry, she was a harlot. A well-paid, highly sought after one, but a harlot nonetheless, andtherefore unsuitable to marry someone who would one day be an earl.
Not that he’d offered. But she was finished with unions with a contractual end. She wanted a lifelong partner, and she refused to have children out of wedlock. Indeed, one of the main reasons she wanted to leave London was to bury her past well enough to ensure her children were free of censure.
Her advice to Charlotte to marry William and not worry about heirs was viable only because the two were both titled. She did not have the same choices, but she longed to see more of Luke’s progress.
His expertise in the bedroom continued to tantalize her. Part of her wished to search for reasons to make him beg again, to see what he’d choose as his next penance. But despite his obnoxiousness when drunk or hungover, she enjoyed a sober Luke. Thus, she encouraged his success.
When he’d managed a second outing to console the still-single William without drinking, she knew their time was drawing to a close. Without mentioning it to Luke, she requested an appointment with Bessie Dove-Lyon for them both.
The widow replied with an invitation for the next day.
Showing him the note, she braced herself for his jubilation.
His reaction was subdued, however. Head still bent over the note, he murmured, “Do you really think I’m ready?”
She curled her hand over his holding the paper. “I do.”
They were broughtin through the side entrance. Belle snickered at the circumspection; it was not as though she was coming alone to have a marriage arranged this time. She supposed it wasfor Luke’s sake, as she likely knew half the gaming den’s clients socially from demi-monde balls and the like.
Bessie Dove-Lyon skipped the pleasantries. “I see you managed not to kill the Lyon cub, Belle. How did you fare these past weeks?”
“He was a trial, but he’s been sober for a fortnight, managed two outings without drinking, and has a plan for his future.”
“So he is ready for his independence?”
Luke shifted. “Hehas a voice.”
The widow arched a brow at him, before returning her gaze to Belle.
“Yes.”
“May I ask how you passed the time?”
Belle narrowed her gaze. Mrs. Dove-Lyon never indulged in idle chitchat. There was a reason for the question, but she could not determine what it was. “We both enjoy reading. Some shared elements to our pasts were topics of discussion. And we started outlining next steps for an idea he had for a new direction in his life.”
“Excellent.” Lips just visible beneath the veil curled a fraction in a semblance of a smile.
Belle frowned. That curved mouth was more fearsome than inviting. Replaying her own words in her head, she realized their activities mirrored those she’d described to Bessie on her previous visit, and those had been with North. No wonder she was drawn to Luke. More than his oral skills fit with her desired traits in a mate... other than his need for heirs with a reputable wife.
The widow said, “I am happy to tell you that I’ve secured a suitor who meets your requirements perfectly.”
“Oh?” Belle sat forward and slid a glance toward Luke. Surely Bessie would not discuss this with Luke still in the room.
Bessie nodded and sat back.
“May I ask who it is?”
