The reaction from the girls at my given title is immediate and intense.
Cate reacts quicker than I can, looping her arm through mine and tugging me toward the door. “See you next week, girls. Be good for Amelia and finish all your schoolwork!”
A chorus of groans follows us out the door.
Cate waits for me to speak as we slowly make our way across the overgrown field back to our horses.
“I do not know where to begin, my lady.” My voice is hoarse, choked with emotion.
Cate sighs. “I will not pity you for not knowing what is happening in your own province.”
“I will not ask for your pity. Or your understanding. I did not know, but I will make it my mission to be better informed in the future.”
Cate unties her horse, stroking her neck a few times, pulling an apple from her bag to feed to her before mounting. “The day is getting on, I think I will save my trip to Talia for tomorrow.”
I pat my horse, a silent apology for not having a treat to offer him. I throw my leg over the saddle. “Are things the same there? And in the other provinces?”
Any lightness bestowed upon her by the girls at the orphanage fades from her eyes. “No, they’re not.”
I raise my eyebrows in question.
“They are so much worse, Callum. Worse than you could even imagine. Here they might be short on supplies, but at least they have Amelia, who cares for them with love and kindness. The Gifted children in the other provinces are not so lucky.” A sheen of tears fills her eyes, but she doesn’t let me see them fall, kicking her horse into a gallop. She rides hard for a long while, and I do my best to keep up with her.
Finally, she pulls back on the reins, slowing her horse’s pace.
I match mine with hers, waiting for her to speak. When she doesn’t, I venture forth. “You are good with them. The children.”
She looks over at me. “For a long time I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to have children of my own. So I gave the girls at the orphanages every bit of love I might have reserved for a child I might one day bear.”
My chest aches at the thought of Caterine cradling a bundle of a newborn in her arms. At the thought of her being denied that gift for no other reason than being who she is. “You will make a wonderful mother one day, my lady,” I say, and I mean it.
“Thank you,” she says softly. She doesn’t spur her horse back into a gallop, but she also makes no further conversation for the rest of our ride.
When we reach the stable at La Puissance, we hand off our horses to the stablehand and I wait for her to dismiss me, to tell me she never wants to see me again, that our lessons are canceled, money be damned.
Instead, she reaches for my hand, silently pulling me up the stairs to her suite of rooms. The sun is beginning to set outside, but it will still be several hours before the club opens for business. The sound of the bustle of preparations disappears when Lady Caterine closes the door to her rooms behind us.
She leads me over to the chaise, pushing me down before she goes to the liquor cart, filling two glasses with whisky. She knocks one back before handing the other to me. I do the same.
I want to ask her what she is thinking, the need to hear her thoughts almost a physical ache inside me.
But all she does is take my empty glass from me. It’s as if the shot has fortified her somehow, as if being in this room has reminded her who we are and why we are here. She hasn’t changed her clothes, but it’s as though she has donned her costume and stepped out onto the stage. She is no longer Cate, the friend beloved by a bunch of orphaned children; she is once again Lady Caterine, a courtesan desired by the faceless masses. She leaves my empty glass on the table and then turns to face me, pulling her shirt over her head. She is completely bare underneath. Her thumbs hook in the waistband of her trousers and those come off a second later.
I understand exactly what she is doing, the wall she is erecting in between us. I know I should direct the conversation back to our journey. I should want to know more about the orphanage and how she was raised and what’s happening in the other provinces, but I can’t make myself care about anything other than the woman standing before me. I don’t think this is unintentional on her part. She is bared fully, and I drink my fill of her. The force of her beauty physically knocks me back. Luckily I manage to catch myself. This new position—me leaning back, my full weight on my hands resting on the chaise—pulls at the fabric of my pants, making my bulge obvious.
Her eyes linger and my cock twitches underneath her stare.
Rather than noting the motion with triumph, she swallows thickly, walking backward until the round curve of her ass hits the bed.
She turns away from me, and I can’t help but hope she needs the moment to collect herself. I’m desperate for some kind of sign that she is as affected by me as I am by her. Her back still facing me, her hands begin to explore the familiar territory of her body, tracing over every inch of naked skin she can reach. Even though I can’t see most of what she is doing, it only entices me more.
She puts me out of my misery soon enough, spinning slowly, her hands cupping her ample breasts, her fingers stroking the soft skin.
“What are you doing, Caterine?” My voice is as raspy as if I’d inhaled the smoke of a hundred fires.
“You are here to learn how to please a woman, yes?” she asks, as though the past few hours have not happened.
“Yes, my lady.” If she wants to pretend, who am I to deny her?
