Page 85 of The Rest is History
He grins. ‘Vincent Van Gogh.’
‘Fuck.’ I should have known he’d be good on the trivia. He’s been working here far longer than I have.
‘Off with it, sweetheart.’
I sigh and, reaching up, pull off my hood and untie my hair, letting it fall over my shoulders. His eyes darken, just like I knew they would, before he tears his gaze away and begins pacing again.
‘Let me see. Name of the nurse who died nursing Elizabeth back to health from smallpox.’ He winks. ‘Think you met her a few weeks ago, in the passageway, when I rescued you.’
‘You didn’t rescue me. You took advantage of my head-fuck to plant a kiss on me. A very nice kiss. And her name is Sybil Penn.’ Easy. Like I didn’t fall down that rabbit hole of research after my ghostly encounter. ‘Do you have to take something off if I get a question right?’
‘Very good. And yep.’ He pulls off his cap and tosses it away like a frisbee.
I tut. ‘More respect for the costumes, please. Carol would have a fit.’
‘Carol loves me.’
He gets his next question right, so I reach up to unfasten myBnecklace, but he shakes his head.
‘Leave it on.’
‘That’s not fair. You’re just trying to get my dress off,’ I grumble, my hands pausing at the clasp.
‘I am.’ He walks towards me, his gaze skimming over me. ‘But I really, really want you wearing that thing around your sexy little neck when I’ve got you naked.’
A thrill washes over me. Okay, that’s pretty hot.
‘Fine.’ I toe off my ballet pumps. ‘Precise date Jane Seymour died.’
He chews on the inside of his cheek and I wait expectantly. I’ve got him.
‘Let’s see. Edward was born on the twelfth of October, and she died twelve days later, so it must have been the twenty-fourth of October, 1537.’
Bugger. My face says it all, and he laughs.
‘Need help getting out of that dress, sweetheart?’
‘I suppose so.’ I turn away from him petulantly, and he comes up behind me, dragging my hair over one shoulder so he can put his lips to the spot right next to where the pearls sit and my neck meets my shoulder.
‘So fucking beautiful,’ he breathes, lips gliding over my skin. ‘I’ve wanted to do this all fucking day.’
Maybe this game isn’t so bad.
Because it’s just a costume, he unhooks the closure down the back pretty easily and helps me lower it down my arms. I step out of it and he turns me around, his blue eyes raking over my body in a black lace bodysuit and, of course, the necklace.
‘Holy fucking Christ,’ he says huskily, and licks his lips. His eyes are on stilts. His reaction delights me. I got dressed while he was in the shower this morning, imagining that I’d get to surprise him with this little number at some point today. Seeing the look on his face, I’m reminded that, while I’m the almost-naked one, I hold all the power in this moment.
‘Thought you’d like it. Feeling a bit overdressed?’
He looks down at his finery. ‘Doesn’t look like you’re going to get many clothes off me,’ he says, smirking.
‘Such a shame,’ I say archly, ‘because watching you take off your codpiece and peel down your lovely white man-tights would undoubtedly be an erotic highlight for me.’ I put my hands on my hips, and his eyes drag to my stomach area. Or possibly lower.
‘You are such a little piece of work,’ he says, shaking his head in mock despair. ‘Let’s see how cocky you are when I’ve got that off you.’ He closes the distance between us. ‘So, my final question is: name the five co-defendants on trial with Anne.’
Oh, thank God. This I can do. ‘Piece of cake.’
‘Oh yeah?’ He slides a finger under one of my shoulder straps and nudges it down over my shoulder.
