He plucked up one of the small delicacies and knelt beside her chair, holding out the bite to her. It delighted Jane that he’d not even needed to be asked to feed her. She opened her mouth and he gently set the cake on her tongue. The heavenly taste of sweetened apricot and spices flooded her mouth. She moaned, closing her lips around Ian’s fingers and sucking at them before letting go to chew the cake.

  Jane gestured at the other chair. Ian sat and busied himself pouring the tea, which was adorable, as was the faint pink tinging his ears. The aroma made her sigh.

  “You look lovely this evening, M’lady,” he said as he slid a dish of sugar towards her after dumping several heaping spoonfuls in his cup. “The red suits you admirably.”

  Jane tried to figure out what, exactly, was happening. It was an oddly normal comment as if they were in a sitting room instead of barely clothed in a pleasure club. “Thank you, Lord Fitzwilliam,” she said primly. “You’re looking well.”

  He smiled, more at his cup than her. “I am well, especially tonight as I’ve looked forward to our meeting.”

  “I have as well.” She sipped the tea, the rich taste suggesting the leaves were much higher quality than what she usually drank. “Have you attended the theater recently?” She selected a scrumptious-looking tart after setting her mug down.

  “Aye … er, yes, actually. I have, for a rousing rendition of Hamlet. Though, as usual, I sometimes feel like the only person in the audience there for the play.” He looked so morose she had to hold back a laugh. He most likely was.

  “What’s your favorite part?” she asked. “And I don’t mean of Hamlet, I mean of the production. Is it the costumes? How lovely the actresses are?”

  He made a face. “That is a terrible reason to go to the theater.”

  Jane nearly had to excuse herself to rush out to the hallway to laugh. “Not all would agree with you, but I’ll start with what’s my favorite part. I like how a skilled player can bring the words on a page to life. They are that character for the duration of the play. It’s more than mouthing words. Anyone can do that.”

  “Oh, aye.” He nodded and seemed to not realize he’d slipped in another ‘aye’. He took a gulp of the tea. “It’s a real talent to do such. And I like all that, the characters, the story, the costumes, it’s all-important, but my very favorite part is how everything works. The scenery changes, the lighting, especially against all the candles in the rest of the house, the way off-stage noises are used. It’s often quite clever.”

  She smiled at him over the cup of tea cradled in her hands, enjoying how the warmth seeped into her fingers after the cold walk with David. “Have you been to The Cupid’s Bow Theater?” she asked, knowing full well he had an appointment to attend in the next few weeks, but she wasn’t above fishing for information on how the nobs thought of her little company.

  He lit up. “I have! I’m to attend soon, and I’m very eager for it.”

  Jane set her mug down and claimed a pear. “I hear they do excellent things with sounds and lights.” She bit into the fruit, the juice sweet sticky.

  “I’ve heard that too. Apparently, there’s a scene where a character tosses herself off a cliff during a thunderstorm that’s not to be missed. The actress, Jane … Stanton, I believe, is also said to be quite good. I’m told her character’s not the nicest but that the actress makes you feel sorry for the woman being driven to her end. The lead, Daisy, is also said to do a fine job in her role.”

  Jane hid the thrill that stampeded through her chest by making a show of wiping at the pear juice running down her chin, then licking her fingers. “Well,” she said, enjoying Ian’s rapt attention. “I do hope these actresses live up to your expectations.”

  “I hope so too.” He cleared his throat. “I did bring you what you asked, M’Lady.” He gestured to the neat stack of handkerchiefs. “And two other gifts.”

  “That’s completely unnecessary.” It entirely was, but she’d not been offered anything from a patron before.

  Ian’s smile was wide. “I know, but I thought you might like one, and the other is a wee bit selfish.”

  Now that was interesting. What did a selfish gift look like? Had he bought her French frippery to wear?

  “The first is this.” He bent down to retrieve something from the floor. The book he handed her was much nicer than any she’d held before. The blue leather cover was soft as butter, the edges of the pages bright with gold.

  “Dear me,” she murmured, opening it to a random page. It was a play, not one she recognized, and she knew a great many. “What play is this?” she asked, stroking a finger over the pure white paper.

  “It's a collection of new plays from Scotland,” he said, grinning like a boy. “I’d ordered myself a copy and thought you might like one as well.”

  A thrill went through her, that he’d thought about her in a bookshop, and also that these were brand new plays. “It’s a brilliant gift, thank you.”

  His flushed deepened. “Now this one is more for me. Well, it is for you, but … “The words trailed off and he shrugged. “Hold out your hand.”

  She chuckled. “I can tell you what would usually end up there in these walls.”

  Ian’s glare was withering, making her laugh again, but she also held out her palm.

  Ian nudged something out from under the rim of his plate. He placed a small brooch in her hand, his fingers giving her wrist a caress before he sat back.

  The jewelry gleamed with gold, the shape that of a thistle. The head of the plant was picked out in bright purple amethysts. Jane’s stomach did a little flip. “It’s too fine,” she said but didn’t try to hand it back. She wanted it, a little piece of a man who’d eventually turn his back on her for a lawful wife and heirs. Men like him always did. She brushed her thumb over the sparkling gems.

  “I know this is a bit forward, but I thought you could wear it hidden under your work-a-clothes when you’re not here?” Ian was staring very hard at the edge of the table, and his ears had progressed to bright red. “The fellow at the shop kept trying to sell me large pieces, huge necklaces, and the like. One’s I’m sure you could hide away and sell later, and I can get you those if you like, but as I said, I was being selfish. I wanted something that could easily be hidden away, but that would make you think of me.”

  Now it was her heart making flips. This was the third time she’d met with Ian, and she was already in rather deep waters with him. “I’ll treasure it.” She set it on the table, not having a place to pin it right at that moment. “Thank you.” Oh, blast, she wouldn’t cry because a man wanted to have tea with her and gave her pretty things. She was turning into a story that’d be told as a warning to young women just entering this trade.

  To keep herself in check, she made a show of counting the handkerchiefs on the table, which did nothing to make Ian look less embarrassed. “I do hope this stack means you’ve been thinking about me,” she said, tapping the top of the pile.

  “Always,” was the fervent reply.

  “But there’s one missing.” She had some idea why that was.

  Ian looked up then. “There’s not, I did as asked, I promise.”

  “What about the special one I gave you? ”

  His lower lip worked its way out. “I didn’t want to give that one back, and you didn’t say I had to.”

  Jane shook her head. “I suppose not. It pleases me greatly you thought of me all week, even as you attended such exciting things as Lady Sheffield’s ball. I hear there were swans.”

  Ian groaned. “Oh dear lord, that wasn’t exciting at all. It was a crush, I could hardly breathe inside and I froze outside. And there were swans, who shat on the ballroom floor. One bit me.”

  Jane laughed, she could see Ian dressed to the nines, standing in the corner of the room and glaring at the birds. “There must have been some redeeming qualities. All the papers made it sound elegant.”

  “The experience left much to be desired. I would much rather have been home in comfortable clothes smoking a pipe, or here with you.” He reached up and undid his mask, letting it slip off. “I did, um, bring your handkerchief with me, tucked in my pocket, since I didn’t have any other way to bring you with me.”

  All of Jane’s insides did a somersault at that. He’d wanted her there. “I wish I could have been, we could have danced and whispered to each other about the other guests. With the whole swan thing, I bet the ladies were decorated for the occasion.”

  “So very many feathers. It was like being in an aviary packed wall to wall with angry hens.” He made a face. “I’d thought earlier in the week there should be goats at a ball. They could munch on all the feathers the women wear.”

  Just like that, Jane knew what she wanted to do with Ian that night. “Feathers aren’t all bad, let me show you.”

  His brow rose. “If you say so.”

  She stood. “Kilt off and lay on your back on the bed.” Satisfaction washed through her at how quickly he moved to comply. She was much more comfortable with this than chatting about theater over tea and being given baubles and books. This was easy, normal, and she was in control.

  Ian dropped his kilt and threw himself onto the mattress. She strolled over to the bed, pleased that his cock was already hardening for her.

  “Since you had some trouble staying still last time, I think some bonds are in order.” She kept the cords hidden, but it was the work of seconds to free the soft, cream-colored rope tied around the bedpost. Jane snaked it around Ian’s ankle, tying it well enough to hold, but so tight as to make his limb uncomfortable.

  Her reward was his cock springing to full attention.

  She really did want to ride him, but not yet. Not so soon, he’d be bored with her in a week if she did that. Jane chewed on her lip, the temptation more than she’d expected. It bothered her, made her feel like her grip on the situation was slipping. Moving quickly, she finished restraining him spread-eagle on the bed.

  “Now,” she said, cupping one aching breast as pulling it free of the dress. Ian moaned and his prick throbbed where it arced up onto his belly. “You’re ready.”

  Chapter 7

  The ropes around his wrists and ankles held him securely, but not harshly.

  Ian gently tugged at them again, making sure he was well and truly bound. The gallop of his heart and the insistent need in his cock were combining into a heady rush. He had no idea what Miss Rose had planned, but he already loved it. It was annoying that once done he’d be bundled back into his carriage instead of laying with her all night. He had so many more subjects he wanted to discuss with her that he was beginning to think he should make a list.

  Miss Rose, after teasing him with her breast, had gone to the corner to retrieve something.

  She glided back across the rugs, a large, brightly colored ostrich feather held in one hand behind her head, like far too many grande dames did at balls and dinners. Miss Rose’s red dress was almost like a ball gown, except for the tawny-tipped tit on display. It was the best possible iteration of a lady dressed for a ball he’d ever seen.

  “You should go to Almack’s like that,” he said, attempting to sound casual despite being stretched out and on display.

  Rose giggled. “Dear me, I’d cause quite the stir.”

  “There’d be a hell of a lot more young men lining up to get in, I can tell you that.”

  She brought the feather from behind her to down in front of her, using it to fan her face. “My dance card would be full.”

  “Because I’d put my name on every line.”

  “Oh, Ian.” She gave him a dazzling smile, then shook her head. “I’d be glad for it. Now, I’m going to show you what a feather is good for, so then next time you’re in a crush at Lord High-Whoever’s ball, you can think of your Rose when you see all those ladies with quills in their headdresses.”

  He didn’t say it, but he desperately wished her to be at his side at all such events so they could laugh together about such things. “Now what are you planning to do with that feather, M’lady?”

  Her smile turned wicked as she dragged the feather down her and over her tit, her puckered nipple peeking through. His mouth watered, longing for a taste of her ripe sweetness. He licked his lips.

  “A feather,” she said as if conducting a schoolroom lesson. His prick liked that. “Can have many uses. It can be a decoration or used for writing. A tiny touch can tickle.” She flicked the end of the feather at the bottom of his foot and he jerked hard from the brief touch.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. Miss Rose’s expression said she knew exactly what she was doing.

  “But the best use,” she continued her lecture. “Is as a way to tease the senses.” The feather went to his chest. The touch was light, almost delicate. He felt it like a kick from a horse, gasping as goose-pimples raced across his skin.

  Rose stroked his chest with the feather, the faint touch both too much and not enough, making him strain at the bonds. Ian arched up, trying to get more, or maybe less. Hell and damnation, he didn’t know.

  The feather disappeared for a second. Miss Rose spun it around her finger and used the pointy end to flick one of his nipples. The pleasure-pain of it had him moaning. She grazed the other, and his head dropped back in defeat as his hips thrust up.

  The pleased sound she made warmed him head to toe.

  “M’lady,” he murmured. “Please.” He wasn’t quite sure what he was asking for.

  Miss Rose spun the feather again, gliding the soft end down his bicep and side. She continued past his hip to his leg. He nearly choked when she got to his knee and started back up his inner thigh. It was like breath over the sensitive skin.

  He fisted his hands and closed his eyes, aware of only the sweet rose scent of his lady and the touch of the feather. Miss Rose stopped just shy of his bollocks. The feather went to the inside of his other knee, brushing over it, then up that thigh.

  He panted, nearly overwhelmed from the soft brush of it, so like a kiss. This time she didn’t stop. The feather caressed his balls.

  God’s teeth, he’d be thinking of that at the next dinner he was at.

  Ian gritted his teeth as Rose played the feather over his sac and thighs.

  Finally, she flicked it up the underside of his prick. He ground out a curse because that soft touch alone had nearly made him spill his load.

  Miss Rose’s laughter sounded husky and warm. “What a wonderful present you are. Have I changed your mind on feathers?”

  Ian nodded while clenching his fists tighter. She stroked his cock a few more times, each time nearly bringing him off, but then she stopped.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” she warned. There were faint noises of footsteps on the rugs, a rustling of her skirts, the bed dipped.

  “Shite!” he yelled when a soft kiss was pressed to the inside of his knee. Miss Rose laughed again and kissed his leg more. “Can I open my eyes?” he didn’t want to miss this.

  “When I say you can.”

  “Aye,” he grumbled, testing the ropes around his wrists, but they held fast. What would he do if he got free anyway? His mind cheerfully suggested a variety of positions he could tup Miss Rose in. It made him groan. Precum dripped onto his belly, cooling as it streaked his skin.

  Rose kissed his other knee, then ever so slowly worked her way up. The hair on his arms stood on end as Miss Rose pressed searing open-mouthed kisses to his thighs. From her little hums and soft pats, he thought she had to be thoroughly enjoying torturing him.

  He loved it.

  Loved … the notion hit him like a brick to the head. He was a damned ridiculous ninny losing his heart so fast to his Rose, but he didn’t care one whit about how foolish he was. She was worth ten of the men and women he routinely dealt with, and he still had so much left to learn about her.

  Her mouth lifted. The whimper he let out would be embarrassing under other circumstances, but she must already know he was desperate for her.

  Ian forced his eyes to keep closed, to not look at what must be a vision. The task became more grueling as her palm closed over his hip.

  Warm breath whispering across his cock was all the warning he had before Rose sucked his cock between her lips. She swallowed him down, taking him all the way to the root.

  “Bleeding hell,” he groaned, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust into her sweet mouth. Hearing the act described had not prepared him for the reality of Rose sucking his prick, though he needed to taste her cream even more than he wanted to get off. He tugged at his bonds again, knowing it’d be useless. He growled in frustration.

  Rose’s mouth left him. The hand not on his hip curled around his prick instead. She stroked him.

  “You can look,” she said. “But only if you tell me what that noise was about.”

  He raised his head and blinked his eyes open, but his tongue didn’t work at how erotic Miss Rose looked. She sat on the bed beside his thigh, her legs curled to the side. Her red dress pooled around her, and she’d freed both breasts now. Her lips were red, plump, and shiny from her ministrations.

  Her hand fisting his cock was a sight as well. He groaned and his head fell back against the mattress.

  He groaned louder in annoyance when her hand stopped moving. “Now, now,” she chided. “I asked you to do something. Do you want to be my ottoman again?”

  Well, yes, but not as punishment. “It’s simply … M’lady, what you’re doing is very nice, but I want to pleasure you.”

  A knowing smile graced her lips and she looked smug behind her mask. “What a darling you are, but as I said, that’s only for very good boys. You’ll have to do with your orgasm.”

  Ian sighed, defeated. “Someday?” he asked, his gaze on the ceiling.

  “Someday, I’m planning to ride the impressive cock of yours hell-bent-for-leather, and I dearly want to sit on your face.”

  “To wha—” His question ended in a ragged moan as Rose swallowed his prick again. She bobbed her head while doing sinful things with her tongue. He might have taken a little longer to complete if he didn’t have the image of her astride his face searing through his every thought.

 

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