Page 10 of His Brazen Tart
She slashed her knife through the pear, creating two perfectly equal halves. Stabbing at one with her fork, she then lifted it to her lips and bit into it with relish. Piers was momentarily distracted by the stroke of her tongue along her upper lip, coaxing away the sugary droplets left behind.
He blinked, realizing her mouth was moving now, and she had said something. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, I would imagine you could understand my position. After all, the rumors about you paint quite an intriguing picture.”
Piers stiffened, dread trickling through him as he imagined just what rumors Joan had heard. Moments like this were why he avoided thetonwhenever possible. It simply wasn’t worth his peace of mind.
“After all,” Joan went on, heedless to his discomfort. “Despite coming from an unconventional background, you have made quite a name for yourself, as your father did before you.”
“And his before him?” Piers snapped, letting his silverware drop to the table. “Is that what you were going to say? The tales of my family’s purchased title are no secret, so they hardly qualify as rumors.”
Joan went still, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “That isn’t what I was referring to.”
Piers was behaving like an ass, and well he knew it. However, he couldn’t seem to stop himself as her prodding touched a part of him he would rather not expose. Just because he’d had his fingers inside her a quarter of an hour ago didn’t mean he needed to start bleeding his secrets all over the dinner table.
“No doubt you meant my previous engagement to the duke’s daughter. Nowthere’sa story based in truth that becomes twisted to suit the needs of whomever happens to be telling it.”
Joan flinched at the sharp edge punctuating his words, but remained composed otherwise. “I have heard the story, if that is what you are asking … but it wasn’t what I referred to.”
“Good,” he said, snatching up his port. “Because I do not wish to discuss it … ever.”
Her probing gaze never left his face, so Piers stared back at her, refusing to look away. She needed to understand that just because she had purchased his body didn’t mean she owned the rest of him. Other women before her had tried to learn more about the man who spanked their arses and fucked them senseless, but Piers would have none of it. If the woman wanted to probe into someone’s inner workings, she ought to find herself another husband.
“Very well,” she said at last, turning her attention back to her dessert. “I think perhaps after dessert I will return home.”
“Fine,” Piers grumbled, even knowing it was the wrong way to proceed after being sharp with her. He should tweak her nose or kiss her and say something witty … something to soften her toward him so that she didn’t go running to Mr. Sterling to report that her courtesan had horrible manners. Yet, he couldn’t seem to shrug off the sour mood brought on by the turn in their conversation.
Apparently, Joan was made of sterner stuff than the women who had come before her. Once she had finished her dessert and Piers sent for her carriage, she stood in the doorway staring at him, her shawl clutched over her bosom and her chin held high.
“I plan to attend the opera this Thursday. I would like for you to escort me.”
Piers nodded, his reply barely out of his mouth before she turned on her heel to leave him. “Of course.”
Chapter 5
Joan found herself inexplicably nervous to see Piers again after their dinner. The evening had been so strange, beginning as expected and then taking a delightfully unpredictable turn, before souring completely. After departing the company of her courtesan, she had spent the carriage ride trying to determine exactly when she had placed her foot in her mouth. Being very much aware of her propensity for speaking without thinking, she worried that she had given Piers the wrong impression.
Of course, she had meant no harm with her offhand remark, but there was his background to consider. While he had certainly overreacted to what might have been perceived as sly innuendo regarding his background, Joan realized that such behavior was all he was accustomed to. Her beauty and her father’s connections had eased the way to an adequate marriage and entry onto the fringes of high society. From what she had gathered concerning Piers, life as the son of a newly titled baronet hadn’t been as easy.
Fortunately, her littlefaux pashadn’t been entirely unforgivable. Joan had awakened the next morning to news that a bouquet of flowers had been delivered to her morning room. Not an unusual occurrence whenever she happened to be in London, but her intuition proved right when she discovered an array of white lilies and purple crocus with a note from Piers that said simply, ‘forgive me.’ With a smile, Joan had inhaled the perfume of the blossoms before prancing off to the dining room to have her breakfast. She then spent the rest of the day thinking of their impending evening at the opera and where it might lead.
When next she happened upon Mr. Sterling, Joan would kiss both his cheeks soundly and thank him for making such a splendid match. Piers had lived up to every one of her requirements for a lover. She shivered to imagine what it might be like to experience him behind the closed doors of a bedroom. Excitement curled her toes within the confines of her slippers when she imagined him devoid of his garments. The fit of his clothing and the grace of his movements suggested that she would like what she saw when given the chance to explore him further.
Awaiting their next meeting proved quite a chore, but she had set the date herself. Despite knowing that her position as his client placed her in control, Joan chose to wait rather than demand more of his time. This left her with two days in which to ruminate over the experience of being tied to a chair and treated like a dockside prostitute.
If someone had told her that being handled in such a way would excite her, Joan would have laughed in their face. As it turned out, it was exactly what she had needed to break through the tedium of her previous affairs.
Piers had opened her eyes to the reasons why. What Joan wanted wasn’t to be coddled and fawned over. She wanted wild abandon and a man who wasn’t afraid to handle her like the woman she was instead of a simpering girl. He had barely touched her other than to rearrange her clothing, tie her up, and use his fingers to bring her off to the most spectacular climax she’d ever had. It was a wonder she didn’t spontaneously combust for want of his hands on her again.
Thursday evening came at last, with no instructions from Piers on how to present herself. It was almost disappointing not to be given rules to defiantly eschew, but she was determined to enjoy the evening.
Piers arrived promptly to carry her to the theater, looking as brilliantly handsome as before. The simple knot of his cravat was graced with an elegant tie pin—a gleaming diamond in a bright gold setting. His pale eyes took their time perusing her ensemble—a satin gown of peacock blue with black lace trimming the bodice and falling over the skirt. Her maid had piled her hair atop her head in a cluster of spiral curls, and the barest of cosmetics had been used to color her lips and cheeks. Her courtesan seemed pleased with her appearance, taking her hand and brushing a kiss against her gloved knuckles.
“You are ravishing,” he declared. “But then, I imagine you always are.”
“You imagine correctly,” she murmured, offering him a smile.
The tension stiffening the hand that cradled Joan’s melted from him, and he returned her smile with one of his own. That flash of teeth and the parting of his shapely lips momentarily robbed her of the powers of speech. The man was beautiful in an unearthly way. If not for the fact that she had learned the feel and taste of him in her mouth, and now knew the musky, earthy scent of him, Joan might wonder whether he was a figment of her imagination.
