Lord Savage (27 page)

“You’re stalling, Eve,” he said. “Tell me what Simpson told you.”

I sighed again, and at last relented. “She said that Lady Carleigh and the others
are worried about us. About how we keep to ourselves and don’t join them.”

“Ah,” he said. His expression didn’t change. “So they are worried about us being such
hermits. Would you rather have played the Game with others?”

“Hardly.” I thought of how grateful I was not to have been forced into sex with Lord
Blackledge, or Lord Carleigh, or any of the other men, really. I’d come here wanting
only Savage, and nothing I’d seen downstairs had changed my mind even a little.

“You’ve told me you left New York to find sexual adventure,” he said. “Perhaps Lady
Carleigh is right to be worried. Perhaps I’ve narrowed your experience too far by
playing the Game the way I’ve chosen.”

“But you haven’t,” I declared without hesitation. “Not in the least. I wouldn’t trade
this time in your company for all the world.”

He smiled suddenly, like the sun coming out from behind gray clouds. “Nor would I,
Eve. Was that all Simpson had to say?”

I paused. I’d gone this far without a misstep. I might as well continue to speak the
rest and not be burdened with a guilty conscience on account of the omission.

“They are worried about us together,” I said, “but more specifically they worry about
you. They believe you have changed since you’ve become my Protector.”

He frowned. “Simpson dared say that to you?”

“She did.” My smile was wistful. “Evidently Lord and Lady Carleigh and the rest of
them miss the earlier version of Lord Savage. He must have been so very entertaining
in company.”

“Would you prefer to have him here as well, Eve?” he asked, a note of bitterness to
his voice. “That other chap? You sound as if you would.”

“I never said that, Savage,” I said defensively, surprised. “Not at all.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said. “It was clear enough from your face alone. You’re a
dreadful liar, Eve.”

He tried to smile again, and failed. I glimpsed a flash of unexpected vulnerability
in his eyes, a doubt that I’d never expected to see there.

I reached up to cradle his jaw in my hands. “Then you’ll believe me when I say that
I do not want any other man here with me now. Only you, Savage.”

He pulled my hands away from his face, though he didn’t let them go.

“I’m a different man with you, Eve,” he said, rubbing his thumbs lightly across my
wrists. “I’ve told you that before. I’ve never been so—so reclusive with an Innocent
here at Wrenton. I’ve always shared, and I’ve both given and taken, for the sheer
sport of it. Some weeks I’ve fucked anything that was in my path, because that was
just what I did. Good old Savage the satyr, insatiable to the last.”

I didn’t want to hear that, and tried not to wince when I did. What kept me there
was the turmoil I saw in his eyes, a confusion that he clearly understood no better
than I did myself.

He gave his head a rueful little toss, as if to shake away whatever demons were gnawing
at him.

“But I don’t want to give away a moment with you, Eve,” he said, “and even the thought
of another man with you drives me mad. You saw what happened with Henery. You were
there. I’ve never done that before, and it was all because he dared touch you.”

“You defended me, Savage,” I said. “I’ll never fault you for that.”

“No,” he said, his voice heavy. “But you see, that’s exactly it. You make me different,
Eve, and I can’t begin to know why or how. It’s simply how it is.”

But it wasn’t simple. His emotions were written raw all over his face, warring within
him.

“Which version of yourself do you prefer?” I asked gently. It was a risky question,
but I had to learn the answer.

“Which
version
?” He grimaced. “You say that as if I have a choice, Eve, as if I can change back
and forth like some penny conjurer’s best trick.”

“Are you happy the way you’ve been with me?” I asked, the same question in other words.
“Or would you rather return to being that charming, lighthearted fellow who apparently
hopped from bed to bed?”

“Don’t, Eve,” he said sharply, taking several steps away from me to put both physical
and emotional distance between us. “There’s no need for you to try to coax me into
a better humor. You, of anyone, must know by now I’m not persuaded by empty words.”

I hugged my arms around my breasts in the damp towel, suddenly chill without him to
warm me. “Then why won’t you answer my question?”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” he said curtly. “In two days the Game will be done, and
we’ll go our own ways. If you are satisfied with this week, then so am I, and that
will be an end to it.”

His words cut me hard, exactly as he’d intended. “But what if I—we—don’t wish it to
end?”

“It will end, Eve,” he said, his dark brows drawn tightly together. “It must end.
That’s the entire point of the Game—a week for amusement, experimentation, for doing
things here that we must not do in the greater polite world. You knew that when you
accepted Lady Carleigh’s invitation.”

I did. But I also remembered how he’d asked me not to leave him, and I’d promised
I wouldn’t. Was that only part of the Game, too, or had he simply wearied of me since
then?

“What became of all that romance in your soul?” I asked, tremulous. “I thought you
wanted to lavish that on me.”

He swung around, leaving me to stare at his back while he pretended to look anywhere
but at me.

“Do not confuse romance with music-hall sentiment, Eve,” he said, his voice raised
as if to convince himself by volume as well as me. “We’re both too old to believe
in the foolishness of love songs. In two days, we’ll part without any regrets or looking
back, exactly as all the other Protectors and Innocents will. And it will end.”

“And it will end,” I repeated, unable to keep the sorrow from my voice. I’d known
from the beginning that I’d have Savage for only a week, and I’d assured myself that
that would be enough. I’d thought I’d become a changed, modern woman. I’d believed
I was ready to live as carelessly as any gentleman, and take my pleasure without a
thought.

I’d been wrong.

I stared at his broad shoulders wrapped in pale blue, his dark hair curling over the
nape of his neck, and I couldn’t begin to think of returning to London alone. How
could I pretend that he’d never come into my life? How could I not look back, not
remember all he’d taught me, shown me, given me?

How could I be too old for love songs when I’d never fallen in love before?

And yet Savage was right. This was the Game. This was what I’d agreed to, and what
he expected.

No, what he
wanted
. I couldn’t forget that. He was mine and I was his for two more days, two more nights.
That was all, and I couldn’t dare squander a second.

I took a deep breath, unsure of what to do next. I’d only one choice, really, and
I took it.

“Yes, Master,” I said softly. “Only two days are left for you to continue my education,
Master. I still have so much more to learn.”

I watched his head straighten, his shoulders square in the sweater. Slowly he turned
to face me again. His handsome features were composed in what I now thought of as
his master’s face. His jaw was purposefully set, his mouth curved in the slightest
of smiles, and his eyes were heavy-lidded, as if all the world bored him. With him,
it was all as good as a pasteboard mask, calculated to hide his true feelings and
to reveal nothing.

Only then did he kiss me, pushing my head back into the crook of his arm to grind
his mouth against mine. It was supposed to be a master’s kiss of sensual dominance,
and it was. But I could also taste his uneasiness and the chaotic energy of the emotions
he refused to acknowledge, all of it proof that no matter what he might say, he wasn’t
ready to part with me yet.

All he had to do was admit it.

Two days,
I thought as I kissed him hungrily in return,
only two days more.…

ELEVEN

“Look at that rain,” Savage said, staring gloomily out the window. He’d pulled on
a pair of loose, striped linen pajama trousers that were hanging perilously low on
his hips, and was sipping a cup of the tea that Barry had brought in earlier. “Damn.
And here I’d planned to show you the gardens this morning.”

“Truly?” I said, surprised. I found my costume and slipped it over my head, pulling
my hair free to fall down my back. I slid from the bed to go stand behind Savage,
and looped my arms around his waist. We hadn’t left Savage’s rooms for five days.
I hadn’t objected, of course, but I had seen nothing of Wrenton’s famed rooms or grounds.
I’d have a great deal of inventing to do if anyone in New York ever asked me for details.

“Truly,” he said, still staring at the rain driving against the windows. “To a certain
degree, that meddlesome maid was correct. I have been selfish where you are concerned.”

“No, you haven’t,” I said quickly, a note of panic creeping into my voice. “It’s how
I wished it as well.”

“Be easy, Eve,” he said. “I’ve absolutely no intention of sharing you with anyone
else. In that regard, I am entirely selfish. No, I meant that the Carleighs’ house
is a pretty one, and you’ve seen almost nothing of it. The gardens are quite fine
at this time of year, and there’s a charming folly with a bathing pool tucked inside.”

“That does sound agreeable,” I said with relief. We’d enjoyed ourselves so much in
Savage’s oversize tub that I could easily imagine what we’d try with more water and
space.

“It is,” he said, sipping the tea. “Besides, this far into the week, I don’t expect
the place to still be overrun with nymphs and satyrs. By now their interest—and their
cocks—are usually beginning to flag.”

I smiled, resting my cheek against his bare shoulder. “I doubt anyone will be outdoors
today.”

The rain had turned the wide front lawns into a sea of murky green, and blurred the
trees with the gray skies into a single soggy horizon. Silvery puddles collected like
little seas in the long gravel drive. Raindrops splattered hard against the window
glass, making me grateful to be snug indoors.

“Not without a raft,” Savage said philosophically. “We’ll simply have to find other
ways to amuse ourselves inside the house, that’s all.”

“I’ve never known that to be a challenge, Master,” I said, slipping my fingers down
his flat belly and inside his trousers to close lightly around his cock. At once it
began to stiffen and grow beneath my touch, a certainty I never tired of. “Not for
us.”

“Hardly,” he said. He finished the tea, striving to appear nonchalant as he put the
empty cup and saucer on the table, but the porcelain clattered against the wood and
his breathing was quickening. It was clear he was enjoying the easy rhythm of my strokes,
and he pushed against my fingers.

“No, Master,” I purred, pressing my breasts against his side. He’d given me so much
pleasure that I loved the chance to be able to give it back to him like this, and
watching for the subtle changes in his expression.

But, to my surprise, after a few moments he gently lifted my hand to stop me.

“Not that, not yet,” he said, kissing the back of my hand. “I’ve other ideas for this
morning.”

“Have you now?” I asked, disappointed, yet intrigued. Whenever I thought we’d exhausted
the possibilities of our bodies together, he’d always suggested some intriguing new
position or technique. I wasn’t sure whether it was his imagination or his experience
that was so boundless; I preferred to think it was his imagination, inspired by me.

“I do,” he said, again staring out at the rain. “There’s plenty to entertain us in
other parts of this house. I was considering the gallery on the upper floor. I trust
you have an appreciation for art?”

“Of course,” I said, a bit indignantly. I appreciated art as well as any lady in New
York, and had accompanied my husband on the dutiful trudge through the museums of
Florence and Rome on our honeymoon. And didn’t I make my annual contribution to the
Metropolitan Museum each year to prove it? “Just because I’m an American doesn’t mean
I’m a hopeless philistine as well.”

“Then you are certain to enjoy Carleigh’s collection,” he said, smiling as he rang
for Barry. “He and his ancestors have amassed a rather extraordinary group of pieces.
A small group, to be sure, but choice. There’s a selection of cinquecento engravings
that I believe you’ll find particularly … inspiring.”

The gleam in his eye told me these would not be the same type of Italian pictures
that were being collected by the wealthy gentlemen of taste in New York, the sad-eyed
Madonnas and weeping saints.

“I promise you’ll find me to be a model connoisseur,” I said. I was curious, and determined
not to be amazed or shocked by whatever it was he was going to show me. “You’ll see.”

“Indeed,” he said, his smile widening as if he were party to some wicked secret. “Ah,
Barry, here you are. Send for Mrs. Hart’s favorite dressing gown. I’m sure her maid
will know which it is.”

“I’m to wear my own clothes?” I asked, startled. I’d become so accustomed to wearing
either the filmy Innocent costume or—more usually—nothing at all that the thought
of again wearing my own silk dressing gown, heavy with lace and rich embroidery, was
almost shocking.

“Not real clothes,” he said. “Only the dressing gown, with nothing beneath. I don’t
know who we may encounter in the halls, and while I’m taking you upstairs to the gallery,
that is the extent of my generosity. I intend to remain thoroughly selfish where your
person is concerned, and share not even a glimpse of you with another man.”

“Thank you, Master,” I said softly. He might have regarded his small gesture as being
selfish, but to me it was another sign that I meant more to him than his role as my
Protector required. “I am grateful.”