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“Oh no. I’ll be drowsy soon and I’m sure you have numerous things to attend to,” he replied. He waved negligently to send her away.
“What time would you like to go out for the evening?” Her voice caught. In the past, the victor had always shown off his prize. Did she want to be shown off?
“I’ve had a trying week, what with the stress of acquiring a mistress and all. I think we’ll stay in. Perhaps you can read to me later on, after dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes, seven courses preferably. I have chicken on Thursdays, but you probably knew that.”
She stammered. “Yes.”
“Well, until later then.” Dismissing her, he opened his book and perused without seeing a word. He heard Isabelle move across the room.
“Sweet?” Dorian stared through the barely there robe, seeing an enticing view of her departing backside and the outline of her body. Was the back of her robe more thinly designed than the front? He’d give himself twenty-four hours before he threw her on the bed and enjoyed his mistress as she should be enjoyed. First, he’d let her know who was master.
He’d done his own study of Isabelle St. Hillaire. Her strength came from her complete subservience out of bed and her total dominance in it. Dorian couldn’t tolerate either.
“Yes?” she questioned. Her pretty brows arched, her smile serene.
“The other door.”
* * * * *
Dorian Montgomery was inside her home.
And he’d all but refused her.
She fought the dual emotions of rage and worry.
Anger she couldn’t vent verbally found another outlet. Tears streamed down her face by the time she reached the door to her room. Isabelle hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted Dorian, but his rejection made it plain she was more involved emotionally than she ever allowed. For too long, she had planned to have him for her last lover.
The afternoon was not progressing as she had planned.
Trant Barlow stood guard. “Is everything a’ight, miss?”
“Indeed.” She forced a smile, marched into her room and closed the door.Softly, so as not to give Dorian a headache. She leaned against the back and then slid down, settling on her bottom. She folded her hands around her knees and dropped her head while the surprising tears dotted the clear white of her outer garment. Tears of anger did not produce racking sobs. They produced firm resolve.
The entire eveningruined. She had planned every detail, down to the number of ejaculations he would have this evening if they copulated in the drawing room. Three otherwise. All of them outside her body. All of them while begging for just a taste of her.
Her secret involved denial. While summoning her most subservient demeanor out of bed, she took command in it. She denied them every sexual request until she was ready, until they were nigh bursting with want.
It didn’t always work that way, as some brutes seemed to enjoy rape more than the rush of consuming rapture.
She swiped at her tears, breathing in firm determination not to let him upset her with his plans.
Never had shewantedone of her other lovers. Perhaps she had miscalculated.
Maybe his success with women stemmed from his desire to master them. Isabelle could barely tolerate the idea of letting him dominate her. She wouldn’t be vulnerable—financially, sexually or emotionally.No.Dorian Montgomery would sing to her tune before she was through with him.
Theting-a-lingof the servant’s bell roused her. “What now?” she asked through gritted teeth, already feeling peevish with her new lover. She returned to Dorian’s room, plastering on a warm smile just for him.
His shirt hung outside his trousers, completely unbuttoned. His boots still lay by the fireplace where she’d removed them, the cravat tossed carelessly on the floor.
He leaned over the ornate maple desk in the room, sanding a piece of paper, folding it with a determined swipe across the last crease.
“I wish you to call me Dorian,” he ordered without looking up at her. He stood, one hand on his hip, the other holding the note.
“If it pleases you,” she said. Something she wished fervently to do. During the last thirty days, she had allowed her imagination to supply the details of Dorian’s prowess, something lacking in her previous suitors. Calling his name in passion seemed a natural extension of her dreams.
