Page 55 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
“I suppose every new scene is a fight in a way, but soon. Keep at it.”
She did and finally found the men facing one another within the boxing ropes. “This is amazing. But I cannot imagine why you have it. It’s not terribly serious.” She dropped her tone low on the last bit, mocking him just a smidge.
“It’s only slightly satirical, you’re right. But it makes me laugh, and I like how clever it is.”
“You’re not entirely made of grunts and growls and scowls, then?” She smiled to show the tease and pecked him on the cheek.
He rolled the painting back into the tube and replaced it on the edge of the desk before reaching for another of his own drawings. “Here. Look at this one.”
She leaned forward for a closer view. “That’s me. And you. And we’re…”
“Not nearly careful enough of the books behind us.”
Her cheeks flushed. “This isnota satirical drawing.”
He kissed the soft skin just below her ear. “No. It’s not. It’s a drawing just for you. To keep in your pocket.” He snorted. “I’ll have to pay Pentshire for those shelves.”
“I certainly hope those books were not valuable.”
“If they were, he shouldn’t keep them out in the open like that.”
“Mm. Yes. Such activities against bookshelves are likely a common occurrence. The books are best locked up tight.”
She was so damn beautiful, and he lost the thread of the conversation in the exploration of the freckles scattered across her nose, her cheeks. Her smile fell, but when he reached through the thickening silence between them to stroke his knuckles down the side of her face, it returned.
He kissed it.
She gave into him, melting against him once more. But for too short a time because she pulled herself out of his lap and strode to the window. After a moment of looking out, she spoke. “I’ll be returning to your bed tonight.”
He hadn’t dared hope for it, and he certainly had not planned to ask for it, but his body loosened in relief.
Her hand stroked down the curve of the curtain, pulled to the side. “I think, for the duration of our stay, we should be in truth what we’ve only pretended to be so far.” She looked over her shoulder, caught his gaze. “Lovers.” She turned fully and folded her hands before her. “And before you refuse, let me say I care not for your notions of protecting me. I am a woman who knows what she wants. It would not be wise to continue such an association when we return to London, but as I do not plan to wed, and you are currently without a mistress and we both, it appears, enjoy the thrill of pleasure in one another’s arms… why not?”
Why not indeed. He couldn’t think of a single reason… except.
“There is the risk of pregnancy, of course,” she said.
That. The reason. “I don’t have a French letter.”
Her brow furrowed. “What is that?”
“Did the other fellow not use one? Did he not put a… a sheath on his sword?”
Her furrowed brow arched upward. “Oh. No, he did not. Should he have? I only barely understand what you’re saying, I’m afraid.”
Theo stood and took measured, controlled steps toward her. “A French letter covers a man’s cock, prevents him from spilling his seed inside you.”
“Ah. No. He did nothing like that.”
“He risked getting you with child, then abandoned you?”
“I risked it as well. The act was mutual. As it was, will be, between us.”
Nothing between them would be as it had been between her and the other man.Nothing.
He stopped before her and pulled the braid from behind her back. She must have fixed it quickly after their interlude in the library. He wrapped his hand up in the silken rope and tugged her up against him. “I’ll not treat you so carelessly.”
She swallowed hard. “Then you’ll not—”
