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“Not at present.”
“I had not thought to begin your punishment out here, but the riding crop is easily within reach.”
She bit back an oath and reached for the buttons, which she undid one by one with great reluctance. Perhaps the appearance of another person would prove advantageous. Surely he would not have her continue with another present—or would he?
“If anyone were to come upon us,” he said, “it would most likely be a guest at Chateau Follet. And chances are they will have witnessed far greater acts of lewdness.”
She thought of the East Wing and wondered if the guests there would be fine with what they did. Did those individuals have no shame? And he one of them, she reminded herself. Of course it were easier for him for it had always been her in a state of undress.
The wicked gleam in his eyes made her heart pound. Under his intense stare, she slid her arms from the jacket. She would do no more unless directed. He regarded her from the top down, and despite her discomfort, she felt herself growing warm about her groin. How was it she could be mortified and aroused at the same time?
He moved to sit behind her and brushed her curls off the back of her neck. Gently he pressed his lips to the exposed area. Her skin tingled where he caressed. Oh dear, this did not bode well.
“Have you other criticisms to level at me and the Company?” he invited as he continued to plant kisses about her nape.
Was he daring her to use that which she had intended as her shield against his seduction?
She steeled herself. “Would it prove of any use or fall upon deaf ears? Or, rather, will it simply serve as amusement for your vanity?”
“My vanity?”
“Yes. Men quite taken by themselves enjoy themselves as the subject of discourse, good or bad.”
“And you think me such an extreme narcissist?”
“Why would you invite criticism?”
He put a hand upon her rib cage to hold her still for she had been leaning away from his kisses. Amazingly, it mattered not where he touched, her whole body was his instrument to play.
“Would it surprise you to know I’ve an interest in your thoughts?”
She had not considered that possibility. Her cheeks colored at the disservice she had done to herself. No, not to herself. She was confident of her opinions. It was he of whom she had not had better expectations. Perhaps she should view him with more charity than she had?
His hand moved to cup her breast. She quickly glanced around, but not even the birds in the trees could be seen. Again, no, she was safer being angry at him. She had fought this battle before and lost. He had wagered five hundred pounds that he could make her spend at his hand. Now there was but her pride at stake, lessening her odds further.
“Only a narcissist would wish to prove his potency,” she said, squaring her shoulders.
He squeezed her breast in response. She felt the compression despite the stiffness of her stays, and her back arched of its own accord, pushing her bosom further into his hand. The nearness of his body, and his breath upon her neck, threatened to send her thoughts scattering.
“Do you realize, Miss Herwood, I would call a man out for lesser accusations than what you have leveled?”
“Pistols or swords?”
“I prefer different weapons entirely,” he answered, flicking his tongue against the back of her ear.
He slid his hand beneath her décolletage and pinched a nipple. She did her best not to whimper. She decided she would have rather faced weapons of steel. They were not in the privacy of his secret room. They were in plain, open view. That fact might provide defense against his advances.
Or not. As he rolled her hardening flesh between thumb and forefinger, she felt pulses shooting from her nipple to her cunnie. What had happened to her anger? Why did it not win her the day?
“There is no shame in submitting to me,” he whispered in her ear.
She shivered, but did her best to resist. “How convenient for you.”
“Ah, but the rewards are shared. Lift your skirts.”
She gasped, “I beseech you, my lord—”
This time he did not wait for her to comply and reached for the hem himself. She stopped his hand.
