Page 45 of In a Rake's Embrace
“Hmm, what has Lady Bea told you?”
Brandon tugged at his cravat. “It could have been someone else.”
“Unlikely,” Thomas drawled. “Given your obsession.”
His friend scowled. “I am notobsessed.”
Brandon sighed at Thomas’s pointed stare.
“Bea merely said you seemed … fascinated with a new lady that will soon put her virginity on auction. Is it true?”
“I thought Madam Rebecca announced the date of the auction.”
Brandon smirked. “Oh, everyone is abuzz with the notion of the auction. I am askingifit’s true you are fascinated.”
“No,” he clipped.
A half smile touched his friend’s mouth. “Fancy taking a girl or two upstairs?”
Thomas stared down into his glass, feeling empty. It was as if nothing in the room, not the laughter, warmth, or flirtatious looks cast his way, could touch him. When he searched himself for what would fill that void, the answer hit him with startling clarity—he wanted to go back upstairs—to Agatha.
“Bea surprised me by suggesting that she and Ellen—”
“I am not interested,” Thomas said, his voice a little more clipped than he intended.
Brandon raised both brows this time, setting his glass down. “Not interested?You?This place is your playground.”
“Is it?”
“What’s wrong? You seem ...different.”
Thomas exhaled slowly. “When I figure that out, I’ll let you know.”
Brandon studied him for a long moment, then smiled knowingly. “I wonder if it has something to do with the new lady in your life. I can tell you from experiencethat it happens when one least expects it, and there is no control over these feelings.”
Thomas’s jaw tightened at the insinuation. He downed the rest of his drink, unwilling to entertain this conversation any longer. But the truth gnawed at him, and deep down, he knew something was different.
CHAPTER 17
Three days later, Thomas took Agatha’s hand, helping her step gracefully from the carriage. The vibrant sounds of laughter and the distant strains of the orchestra echoed from Countess Rafferty’s townhouse. Arriving just minutes before midnight, they avoided the receiving lines, ensuring a more discreet entrance. Agatha looked breathtaking, her light blue ballgown clinging to her figure in a way that made her seem almost ethereal. The gown shimmered under the moonlight, and the soft curls of her dark blonde wig framed her face, enhancing her already striking beauty. He watched as she lifted her fingers to the pearl necklace at her throat, remembering her shock when he’d gifted it to her yesterday—and how adamantly she’d insisted on returning the necklace and earbobs after the ball.
“Are you ready?”
Agatha nodded, her cheeks faintly flushed. “I wish Ronald were here. He said he always wanted to attend a ball.”
This was a sentiment Thomas heard often; however, his brother would change his mind the moment it was time to leave. “We will bring him along next time.”
Her eyes brightened, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Will there be a next time?”
Thomas hesitated, surprised by the sharp realization that he wanted to take her to all the places she longed to see. “Why not? I enjoy spending time with you.”
That awareness cut through him like a honeyed blade. He couldn’t quite understand why, but the desire was there to know what made her happy, sad, or worried, undeniable and unsettling. Agatha lowered her lashes, hiding her thoughts. He extended his arm, and she delicately placed her gloved fingers on his forearm. Together, they walked toward the countess’s townhouse.
For the last days, their lessons had been devoted to perfecting her grace, refining her accent, learning the subtle art of flirtation, and dancing the waltz. Afterward, they would drink together, discussing the wicked possibilities of intimacyandthe importance of sexual needs and compatibility. Though she could not have the choice to pick her lover, Agatha was undeniably curious, quick-witted, and so innately sensual that she often stole his reasoning. She had also become more forthright in her questions, confidently setting boundaries.
There would be no flogging, whipping, or spanking. She would not tolerate a ginger root inserted anywhere. She would not act like a governess chased and ravished by the master. She would permit forced pleasure. She would allow all manner of sexual positions.
The glint of curiosity in her eyes as they spoke had made him harder than a mere physical touch ever could. They had covered countless topics, yet her gaze still held a sweet innocence that tugged at something deep inside him.
