Page 51 of Mentor to the Marquess
She watched him discreetly adjust his trousers and wondered if he knew keenly she was aware of the ribbon tied around his cock. He had to feel it, as she felt the chain slinking inside her corset.
He looked at her, and even at such a distance, she could see his harsh exhale. He dropped his gaze to her breasts before jerking his head away and clasping his hands behind his back.
She would not let him surrender so easily.
She flicked open her fan and strolled across the room until she was standing beside him with her wrist positioned directly over her bust.
“Good evening, Lady Allen,” he said. “I am pleased to see you wore my gift.”
She lifted her free hand and touched the back of her ear. “You have discovered my weakness, my lord. I adore beautiful things. I wore the item you returned to me as well.”
He looked at her then, but not at her ears. His gaze skipped to the fan held in her hand. “I look forward to reacquainting myself.”
He lowered his arm in a flash and brushed it against her breast. The unexpected flash of sensation made her gasp. Her nipples prickled and her breasts throbbed.
The cellist drew his bow over his instrument. She tucked her fan into her pocket. “Perhaps you might join me for a dance.”
A dance was perhaps not wise, given the small size and cramped state of the room, but she was certain Saffron would not mind.
“A quadrille?” the cellist asked. “Or a waltz?”
“A waltz,” Thel said. He offered his arm, and she took it, forcing herself to take measured steps despite her impatience. They twirled around the green, leather couch and the dark-walnut table, but she waited until they had to make a tight turn to rub the inside of her thigh against his crotch. A harsh inhalation of breath was her reward, and a tightening of his hand on hers.
He drew her close, dragging his elbow along her chest. The pressure sent shocks of pleasure up to her scalp. She gotrevenge by swirling her skirt so it brushed against the front of his trousers.
By the time the music had ended, her corset felt too tight, and her face was flushed. She quivered with need and the desire to have his large hands between her thighs. He did not show his discomfort, but she could feel it in the tension in his arm and the increasing speed of his steps.
Unfortunately, they did not have a chance to sneak away, as in the next moment, Constance and Mrs. Quill entered the room.
“There you are,” Thel said. “I thought you had become lost.” He turned to Olivia and added, “I asked Mrs. Quill to join us.”
To discourage Constance from sneaking away,Olivia thought. She couldn’t blame Thel, although Constance’s sour expression suggested she was not happy at being stymied.
“We were speaking with Lady Briarwood,” Mrs. Quill said. “Our hostess had much to say of embroidery techniques that—”
“Lady Allen, have you seen Mr. Ringwell?” Constance interrupted. She looked around the room. “I have yet to see him.”
“What have the two of you done now?” Thel asked.
Constance huffed. “I simply wished to ask him if Ginger had her kittens yet. You must allow me to see them.”
“Only if you promise not to return with pockets full of squirming felines,” he said. “Your grandmother would have a fit.”
Olivia bit back a smile. Mr. Ringwell was clever, using Constance’s love of animals as a lure. Perhaps the boy had finally realized that his history with Constance gave him an advantage.
“While we wait,” Olivia said, “do you fancy a game of reverse?” She waved at a table, where a deck of cards was waiting.
“Excellent idea,” Mr. Dawson said, appearing beside Constance so suddenly that the girl gasped.
“Mr. Dawson,” Mrs. Quill said, her tone icy.
Constance maneuvered closer to Mr. Dawson, then said, in a loud voice, “Oh, I seem to have forgotten my shawl in the carriage. Could you retrieve it for me, Mrs. Quill? I would not want to catch a chill.”
The older woman narrowed her eyes. “I do not remember selecting a shawl.”
“I grabbed one right before we left,” Constance said. Then she stuck out her lower lip. “Please?”
Mrs. Quill glanced at Thel, who nodded.
