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He pulls my face away from his chest, my hair gripped in his fist. “I don’t care. If I have to stay in England for a thousand years and make pennies while I teach Mr. Cocky how to dribble a ball, I’ll do it if it means I can stay with you.”
I have no answer for that. It’s the best/worst thing I’ve ever heard. We don’t want to be working forThrills, Spills, & Killsfor the next thirty years, dressing up and pandering to people who would buy our friendship. “You’d resent me eventually.”
“Never.” He tilts my face up to his, landing tender kisses on my eyes, my nose, my cheeks, my lips. “To be with you, Lolly, is everything. Better than polo.”
A shudder runs through me. I doubt even Alicia would understand how profound that statement was. Is. How far he’s come in so short a time. The man loves me more than the great passion of his life. Ninety-seven percent of me believes him, the other three percent wants to so badly, but she whispers things that only I can hear.Here’s hoping, Lolly. Here’s hoping it’s not just lust talking…Screw that noise and her heinous message.Shut up! He means it!
We tidy each other, rearranging silk ruffles and leather thongs, though I want to be holding him, kissing him, smelling him, instead of returning to a party full of asses and fools.
“You will come to my room tonight.”
I can hardly bear this happiness. What did I—Lolly Benoit, Riding Instructor, Second Class—do to deserve such happiness? “I shall.”
The door back to the real world doesn’t squeak or groan, and we’re able to slip back into civilization without being spotted. The string quartet has left the dais, which now appears to be a stage, and the staff is organizing chairs in neat, arced rows.
“Looks like we’re in for a treat.” Pippa hands me a glass of champers. “If I can just borrow him for a second?”
Mariano allows himself to be taken from me and introduced to someone who—if I am reading their body language correctly—is delighted to hear what he has to say. People are taking their places, and I’m allowed a few moments to reflect on how perfect this night is. I have the love of a man who wantsmemore than he wants any other thing. Me? Me!
“If you could come this way, Miss?” An usher, complete with white gloves and black tails, bows low. The staff has been hired for the event. Thank goodness I’m in no danger of being recognized. I follow the usher to my seat down front and chat to the students, who have also been given the deluxe treatment.
The spot beside me is reserved for Mariano, who joins me just as the lights dim to black. He twines his fingers in mine and I float through the bumbling, mangled scene as Alan, who plays Bottom, is transformed into an ass, and Hippolyta, Queen of the Faeries, who’s played by someone I’ve never seen before, wakes to find herself besotted with the aforementioned ass. There are calls for lines, the worst declamations of Shakespeare I’ve ever heard, and such terrible acting from Alan that I fear he will have to fall on his own sword when this is all done.
But the crowd is well lubricated and, having paid for the privilege of being here, is determined to enjoy themselves, no matter the dross that’s served up by Mother’s people. Ugh, I am such a snob. Here I am with the love of my life, in the house I grew up in (part time, for sure, but still, we have history), surrounded by people who have entered into the fantasy that we’re all having a damned good time. I need to loosen up and get with the program.
The playlet ends in an avalanche of thrown flowers. Mummy, or whoever she hired to put this shindig together, really outdid herself on this one. Alan brings his Hippolyta to the front of the stage lights and presents her with an armful of lilies. They bow and curtsy and make merry, and the guests surge the stage like divot-stompers after a match eager to be part of the action.
“Let’s go,” he whispers. “While they’re high on their success. They don’t need us now.”
“You use the main staircase. I’ll come up the servants’ stairs.”
He squeezes my hand and is gone, but not before Pippa winks and grins, giving us the two thumbs up. I couldn’t give a tinker’s toss, and neither could Mariano. I’ve changed my mind: if they all know we’re nuts about each other, so be it.
It takes me longer to make my exit than I’d hoped. There are still people who wish to shake my hand, hold me in a few words of conversation, thank me for the wonderful day, but I finally find myself outside the door to Mariano’s room, shaking with anticipation.
The door opens before I knock, and he sweeps me up into his arms in two smooth moves. He carries me, not only over the threshold, but across the room to theen suitebathroom. The clawfoot tub is filled almost to the brim with bubbles and petals, and to the side, on a small gilt table, is cake.
“What’s this?” I’m clutching at him, laughing, but it’s sweet and thoughtful and lovely and so totallyhim.I drop my heels to the floor before he sets me down.
He takes up a sliver of cake, lifts it toward my lips. “Sweets for the sweet?”
“Yes.” I agree not because I’m hungry for cake but because I want him to feed me as much as I want to feast on him. He offers it to me gently, so gently, his eyes never leaving mine as I take a bite into my mouth. The instant I’ve taken the last bite, his mouth is on mine, tasting what I taste.
I let him undress me the rest of the way. Slowly this time. Everything is slow. His hand as it traces down from the nape of my neck to the zipper of my dress. The zipper as he draws it down tooth by tooth. His kisses as they trail from my temple to my cheek to my mouth, down my throat and along my shoulder as he pushes the capped sleeves of the bodice down my arms, exposing my breasts for only a moment before his mouth and his hand have found them, the dress dropping to the floor in a puddle of ruffled silk. His every move is deliberate and tender, and he stops only to take my hand and help me into the tub.
The bath is big enough for both of us, the water only a degree away from too hot. Water sloshes over the edge every time either of us moves, and oh, how we move—everythingslippery and smooth.
When we are spent again, there are bubbles all over the floor, mixed with sodden petals and cake crumbs. We—neither of us—care. There’s only us—well, and cake—and the promise of a night spent exploring each other with such tender precision I fear I may expire and return to dust.
Mariano gets out of the tub first, his whole glorious package—his long, lean muscles and firm ass, his glorious pecs and strong arms, andyes, his actual package—on display. He holds out a luxuriously plush robe to me, wraps me in it, and then swoops me off my feet again, this time carrying me to his large bed.
The minute he lays me down, he flings the robe open.
“Ah,mija. You areperfección.” And then his mouth and his hands and his fingers and his tongue areeverywhereuntil I have to beg him and find his cock with my own hands and guide him back to me.
Later, so much later, the windows are open, the night sky drenched in promise and jubilation, and the two of us are twined about each other whispering.
“Will you be mine, Lolly of the Laughter?”
