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In fact, it had been in tatters and she’d made a point of turning it into the best one in the house. A loud reminder to all the men who liked to look down on her that she could not only have a box, but that she could have one far better than theirs. God, how had she managed to delude herself with the lie that these hollow little victories over mediocre men brought her any kind of glory?
This line of thinking would lead nowhere. She clenched her jaw at her errant, unhelpful musings and turned to Manuela’s expectant gaze.
“There is not much one can do about the space constraints, but the designer I had made the most of it.”
“I love this little room,” Manuela said, turning around in a circle to take it all in. “This is so luxurious.” Manuela leaned into the dark green velvet-covered wall and ran a reverent hand over it.
“That was made by a group of women in Lyon.” She wanted to tell Manuela that the owner was a friend who’d fought to keep the house open after her husband died. That Cora had seen the quality of work she did and given her a loan when the banks refused to. She could almost see the delight on her face when Manuela found out that Madame Colbert, in only three years, had grown her textile firm to double the size of what her husband had managed in twenty. She didn’t say it because that would make Manuela light up—she’d smile and ask questions. Her eyes would glow with curiosity and Cora would be caught in the web again. So, she remained silent as the heiress walked around the room, exploring with that unquenchable inquisitiveness of hers.
They moved into the even smaller alcove, Manuela at the fore and Cora behind her, close enough that the back of that bright pink skirt brushed against her own dark blue one.
“This is cozy,” Manuela whispered suggestively, and immediately that flash of heat crackled inside Cora. They were in tight quarters, here in this intimate space curtained off from the balcony.
It was serviceable enough to sit with a handful of guests and enjoy some privacy during the intermission, but it was small. The entirety of the accommodations consisted of a table, two chairs, a settee, and a chaise, which Cora had once imagined as the place where she’d ravish society ladies under their husbands’ very noses.
Of course, she barely ever used it. She was always too busy. But that was all part of the specter of The Duchess: she made a point of distinguishing herself from the other women of her class. The Duchess of Sundridge did not indulge in leisure, she outworked the tradesmen and outsmarted the peers. Although in the past few days she’d wondered what it would be like to slow down. To stop working long enough to enjoy the fruits of her labor.
With a woman like this you would have to, she thought as Manuela strolled along the narrow passage to the seats, her hands brushing the polished wood. She wouldn’t just have to slow down. She’d want to. She’d even thought of taking Manuela on a picnic, for God’s sake.
How had the time gone by so fast? When they’d made the deal, the prospect of having to amuse a frivolous heiress had been daunting, but Manuela had turned every expectation Cora had on its head. She will only be in Scotland for ten days a voice that sounded very much like Cassandra nudged her. Manuela still had a few weeks left in Paris once she returned. They could...
The words were like acid in her mouth, burning holes on her tongue. The absurd, impulsive words aching to come out.
“If your mother would disapprove of you using your funds for the collective, I could help,” she offered instead, somehow delving into even more treacherous territory.
This was not the path to ending this evening, this arrangement, on a good note. Wading into Manuela’s trials with her parents, the reasons she continued to pursue this ridiculous engagement when she clearly didn’t love the ridiculous man she was to marry, wouldn’t make their parting any easier. And yet, once again she opened her mouth. This time it seemed determined to self-sabotage. “I could pay for some—”
Manuela’s fingers came over her lips and she tsked with her tongue. “Your Grace, the last thing you want to do is hear about my baggage when you are merely hours away from being free and clear of me and my demands.” In the darkness of the hallway Cora could only listen for what was not being said. She wished she could see her face. She should be glad, grateful that this woman who had at every turn upended her plans was for once holding fast to the rules. Manuela was, finally, doing exactly what Cora had asked of her, and she hated it.
“What would you have me do then, princess?” There was a suffocating tightness inside her, like there were two people ruthlessly tugging on either end of a rope coiled around her chest. Her good sense was stretched to the brink of snapping, and still this hunger ravaged her. All this shame, this want, this unbridled need spilling over.
“What you always do, Your Grace,” her heiress said, as she slid a hand over the bodice of Cora’s dress, up to the triangle of bare skin on her chest, until Manuela had her palm clasped around her neck. “Make me forget what happens after this. Remind me that today is for pleasure.”
“Are you wet for me?” she growled in Manuela’s ear, as her princess dug her teeth into Cora.
“I always am for you,” she purred, pressing herself closer, rocking into that touch. It was madness to do this, to fuck her when someone could knock on the box door at any time. Just feet away from a curtain that would reveal them to the very people who could destroy her. But her notorious self-preservation instincts escaped her tonight. She’d take her right against this velvet and use this room for what she’d built it for, finally.
“Anyone could see us through the opening in the curtain,” she said, before biting on an earlobe as she dug her fingers deeper. Manuela moaned, her legs opening wider, eager for Cora’s touch. “Mm, you like that, you dirty girl. Does that make you hot? Thinking of an usher walking in on us while I have my head between your legs? While I make you scream for me?” Manuela bucked into her then, her inner walls squeezing Cora’s three fingers.
“They’ll know I’ll let you have me anywhere. That I live for your touch, for your tongue.” Cora froze at the words, her heart hammering in her chest at the savagery of her need. But her princess was chasing her climax, lost in her need. “More Cora, please. Make me fall apart.” In the next second, she felt that delicious squeeze against her fingers, and her princess’s tongue sliding between her lips. They kissed hungrily, that hot velvety caress mirroring what Cora’s hand did between Manuela’s legs.
“Mm, yes, make me come like this,” her lover pleaded as her fingernails scored Cora’s skin. She pressed a fist to her mouth when Cora pulled down the edge of the pink bodice to expose one of those gorgeous breasts.
“Tell me no one else has ever made you feel like this,” she demanded, as she circled Manuela’s clitoris with the pad of her thumb.
“Taste me,” her lover growled instead, denying her, and Cora smiled at her demanding princess.
“You want me on my knees for you with half of Paris outside the door?” She heard eager sounds as Manuela’s hands tightened on her shoulders.
“Yes,” Manuela whispered against her mouth before taking Cora’s lip between her teeth and sucking it hard enough to sting. “Every time you come in here, I want you to remember me. I want you to crave my taste on your tongue. I want you to miss me.” She was angry, she sounded furious—and jealous—and God help her, Cora loved it.
“Lift your skirt.” Cora was rewarded with a wicked, lusty laugh that made her blood sing.
“Only if you get on your knees.” The defiance in her voice annihilated Cora.
For once, she took her orders without protest and soon she was dipping back into the opening of Manuela’s combination. She could hear people outside, arriving at their boxes, gossiping about dresses and whose mistress was present that night.
For one second of madness she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to turn her back on the life she’d built. To lay waste to her reputation, her position, and live openly with a lover. She knew she couldn’t do it. Which was why she’d never ask her to throw away her life only to be Cora’s paramour for a few months.
