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She slid the rest of the way into the cradle of his arms, and settled against his chest, her weight supported by his body. She rested her head against his chest, breathing heavily.
He stroked her hair. “It’s all over now. You’re safe.”
Safe and surrounded by his strong arms.
She clung to his chest, her shoulders shaking with... laughter. She had no idea where it came from. It just welled up inside her and had to come out.
“Are you crying, Wilhelmina?” he asked, tilting her chin toward him.
“I’m not... crying.” She was laughing so hard now she was nearly crying, though. “It’s just so... perverse, isn’t it? They say curiosity killed the cat. Well, in my case, curiosity strung the cat up arse over elbows.”
He laughed, a rumbling sound that struck a chord in her heart. “I’m glad you’re unharmed.” His arms tightened around her. “No more exploring my brother’s secret chambers.”
“You tried to warn me and so did Crankshaw.” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “He said there were things in this house that would make me blush.”
She rested her cheek against the hollow between his neck and shoulder. She had a view of his starched collar and simple cravat.
Shadow of a beard across his sharp-angled jawline.
His hand moved to her back, sliding over her spine. Soothing her and at the same time awakening a deep need to be closer. Much closer.
Soon they would separate, disengage. Soon he would become distant again, but right now he was all around her. Strong. Caring.
Honorable. Too honorable to even look at her while she was trapped on the chair, yet she knew the taste of him, the things his lips did to her, the wicked desires he inspired.
“Being stretched upon that chair may have given me ideas, Your Grace.”
His hand stopped moving. “No more ideas, Miss Penny. Are you able to stand?”
“Not yet.” A small lie, though her legs did feel quite wobbly. “And please call me Mina.”
“Not a very British name.”
“My mother was half Swedish. They thought I would be a boy and had already chosen the name Wilhelm.”
“And I’m Drew.”
“I couldn’t possibly call you Drew.”
“Why not? I’ve seen your frilly undergarments.”
She tilted her head up. “You have, haven’t you? Did seeing me on the impolite chair give you any... ideas?”
“Of course it did.” His voice lowered. Roughened. “I’m only a man. And you’re so beautiful, Mina. I don’t think you know how truly beautiful you are.”
“I’m seeing this room with entirely new eyes,” she murmured. She pointed at a velvet-padded wooden stool in the shape of an inverted V. “That’s not an ordinary stool is it? No one would sit on a pointed edge like that. So it’s for something other than sitting upon.”
“Probably.” His voice held an amused edge. She liked the way his throat buzzed under her ear when he talked. She wanted to keep him talking.
Her mind flew through the possibilities. “You... fit your knees into those hollows in the lower cushions, your belly goes over the cushioned hump, and your head hangs down nearly to the floor. Which would... put your bum in the air. Oh dear.”
He chuckled. “An astute supposition. That’s a spanking stool.”
“Why would anyone want to be spanked?”
“There are some that say that chastisement causes blood to rush to the region which creates lascivious sensations. There are pleasure houses catering to such tastes.”
Her education continued. “Oh, of course. I’ve heard of such places,” she said breezily, though she hadn’t, and never could have imagined them. “I might like to be spanked,” she said boldly. “But only very softly.”
