Page 79 of A Contracted Spouse for the Prizefighter

“None.”

“It does not end happily for anyone,” she admitted. Clem groaned. Dora placed down her glass carefully. “Clem, shall we go and tour the back instead? I was thinking while you were gone, and you have already sat through one play here, so this isn’t exactly treading new ground for you—”

“No, I have no interest in seeing a bunch of dressing rooms and storage rooms,” Clem interjected smoothly. “You can alleviate my sufferings some other way.”

“Alleviate your sufferings?”

“For my ordeal.” Dora regarded him in bafflement as he drained his glass. “Drink your champagne,” he recommended.

She took another sip. “It might help if you gave me a clue how I might do such a thing.”

Clem considered. “Why don’t you let down one of the curtains,” he suggested, “and give us some privacy.”

Dora glanced up at the fancy fringed curtains suspended above the box. They were tied up with gold tasseled ropes. Casting a quick glance at him, she tugged one loose and caught the curtain as it swooped down. “And now?”

“Now come and perch on my knee, Mrs. Dabney. I’ve an idea you might make this next hour more bearable for me.”

“I would just like to point out,” she said archly as she slid across into his lap, “that this is highly disrespectful of the actors below.”

“Hmm, I daresay. Do you know any of them?”

“I know Lance Pevensey,” she whispered back. “He plays the Cardinal. Oh, and Lionel Greenf—”

As he chose that moment to claim her lips, Dora promptly abandoned her recitation of cast members.

“And in any case,” Clem said, just a trifle unsteadily as he drew back his head after a minute or so, “you should get used to it. In a music hall, your audience will be up to all sorts.”

“All sorts,” Dora echoed, her eyes on his lips.

Clem quickly scanned the auditorium, but they were out of view of even the other occupied box in the circle. He rested a hand on her velvet-clad bosom. “What’s under this Dora?” he asked lightly. “One of your cotton chemises?”

“That’s the only kind I wear.”

He clicked his tongue. “There’s some distinct advantages to your principles regarding dress, I find.”

“Oh really?”

He nodded slowly. “Care to show me?”

“My chemise?”

“For starters.” Dora glanced around. “No one can see us, Dora. I checked.”

She reached up and undid a row of decorative buttons that fastened the bodice and showed the top of her chemise. Then, without prompting, she caught hold of the white cotton bow and tugged it loose. “More?”

Clem swallowed. “Yes please,” he said, reaching across for the champagne bottle. He kept his eyes on her the entire time. To his delight, she dragged her chemise down over her breasts, exposing them to him entirely while boldly meeting his gaze.

With slow deliberation, Clem pressed the cold champagne bottle to her breasts, making Dora gasp. Then he rolled it from one peak to the other. “You have the prettiest nipples I’ve ever seen in my life, Dorabelle,” he uttered with perfect truth.

Though not over-endowed in the bosom department, her nipples were magnificent and extremely sensitive, standing out proudly for his fingers to tweak and fondle. He trickled a little of the champagne for good measure, making her softly moan, and then supped and licked the droplets from her breasts. “Delicious,” he pronounced richly.

“Do try not to get any on my chemise,” she whimpered. At his arched brow, she added with embarrassment, “Mrs. Cherwell.”

“I refuse to allow thoughts of Mrs. Cherwell to intrude in this moment,” he said, sloshing a little more of the champagne to trickle down her cleavage. “I want to put my hand under your skirts, can I?” Dora’s eyes sprang open. She looked faintly scandalized. “Why Dora, I do believe I’ve finally shocked you,” he drawled, pleased for once that it was not the other way around.

“Here?” she whispered.

He nodded. “I did speak of possibilities,” he reminded her. “Due to how nice and quiet you are when you come.”