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Chapter Two
Dorian sounded harsh and demanding and not a little deranged, describing any number of scenes in which he’d like to fuck her. That wasn’t his purpose. His purpose was to find something she wanted, not something she had to give because someone paid for and demanded her cooperation in the act.
His best and most intense pleasures had come from mutual and active participation—not that he had been able to find that sort of long-term arrangement amongst the women of the ton.
He ceased his teasing and turned her properly into his lap again, covering her. His heart raced a bit too fast and his cock was a bit too anxious to claim what was his. He wasn’t going to be the brute who fucked her without a thought. There would come a time for animal fucking, but it would be when they were both desperate for that kind of taking.
Isabelle couldn’t be like a normal mistress—a widow who just wanted company or a dissatisfied wife with a dissolute husband. Her only purpose involved pleasuring men for money. What had she endured to please men who did not care about her, only wanted her for her body?
Hell, what was he thinking? He only wanted Isabelle for her body. Even more than that, he supposed, he wanted to know her secrets. Why did men want her? Why did he and countless others pay over a year’s worth of income to be with her?
“I didn’t mean to displease you,” she said, looking contrite and lovely and stunningly sexual. The dark hair accentuated the paleness of her skin. If she rode horses, she must wear a bonnet to keep the complexion of her skin so even and unblemished. Her lips were full, the bottom one pouty and plump in the middle.
“In thirty days, I will tell you if you’ve displeased me. But you must tell me immediately, if I displease you.”
He gazed into her eyes—first green, snapping with fire and warmth and sensuality. Then blue, calculating with ice and determination and challenge. Two women, he thought. One who’d weighed and balanced her decision to whore for a living—the other who could deliver the goods.
It seemed incumbent upon him not to kiss her just yet. If his suspicions were true, she’d been mauled by all of her other lovers without a thought or concern that inside dwelt a woman who would want the niceties of care and solicitude.
Something for which he was noted. It wasn’t just his prodigious cock women wanted. He did have a flair for satisfying women, if the tears at his departures were an indication.
Perhaps at the end of the thirty days,she’dbe in love withhim. His lips turned upward at his rambling, idiotic thoughts.
“Would you be so good as to do me a small favor?” he asked, his lips just inches from her own.
“As it pleases you,” she said, breathy and sensual.
“I’m going to lie down in my bed and take a nap. Would you mind sending up a cup of warm milk and not bother me for the next few hours?”
“Milk?” She blinked in surprise, but with perfect manners asked, “How do you like it?”
“Two teaspoons of sugar. Oh and leave the cream of skin over the top. I so enjoy that, don’t you?”
More blinks. A slight frown marred her otherwise perfect brow. She stood, smiled and turned toward the adjoining area that connected their bedrooms. Theswooshof her seductive gown and the billowing robe made her look like a ghostly apparition as she departed.
“And, Isabelle, if you would.” He pointed toward the door leading to the hallway. “Would you be so good to use this door? All the coming and going between bedrooms, doors banging and whatnot. Gives me a frightful headache.”
“Of course,” she said.
He barely heard the click of the door as she pulled it softly shut behind her.
Dorian exhaled a long, steady breath. He palmed his aching cock, rearranging it to a more comfortable position. Was there something immoral about purchasing a mistress and then not taking full advantage of that fact?Immoral, no. Idiotic, yes. Why, she’d been ready to kneel in front of him and set those perfect lips to his cock without a word of encouragement, well earning her first one thousand pounds.
The next several days posed a dilemma. Naturally, he had his manly reputation to uphold. Isabelle didn’t necessarily have such a reputation, but her repute had been founded on her prowess in bed. He decided to spoil the long-held tradition of escorting her out the first night of his conquest. He’d let the world think they were both living up to their reputations in grand fashion.
They’d go out eventually, and when they did, he’d wanted to make absolutely certain the Marquess of Dane knew he’d been outbid by a Montgomery—a Scottish dog as the Marquess had referred to him outside Isabelle’s door this past week. Dane had a nasty reputation. Isabelle had done well to avoid him. And Dorian would get a bit of personal satisfaction to boot.
A knock on the door startled him to attention. He stood, slipping the knot of his cravat so that it hung in loose folds around his neck. He removed his jacket and placed it with gentle care around the horns of a chair.
“Come,” he said.
Isabelle entered, carrying the requested milk in two pewter mugs. Her steady smile sought his approval. His pleasure.
He reached for a cup, gulped it down and set the mug on the oval tabletop next to the fireplace chair. The hot milk burned his throat on the way down. He snatched up the second cup, leaving her in the middle of the room holding an empty tray. “Two cups. You were very thoughtful,” he said.
Dorian turned away, walked toward the bed and plucked upThe Nobel Sciencebefore returning to his chair.
“I thought I might sit with you awhile and drink…” She stumbled over her words. She held the empty tray with a rigid pose. Dorian thought he saw the first signs of real displeasure.
