Of course, in theory, he knew all about the carriage activities she described.He was a Rank Rake, the last one standing, in fact, for the love of God!
Just because he himself was not partial to carriage carnality did not mean that he hadn’t heard a thousand stories of the like happening to other men.And none of these narratives had previously ever stirred him at all.He had always thought it had sounded, well, deuced uncomfortable.And messy.In the past, the notion had only made him fixate on how difficult it would be to get seed out of his velvet squabs.
Furthermore, he had never particularly liked the act she had described.He had only experienced it a handful of times, with mistresses who had been, to his mind, overzealous in their attentions.While the sensations were, obviously, quite pleasant, he had never liked the way it madehim—and his lackluster cock—the center of attention.
In short, he was never usually tempted to try the act.And certainly not in a carriage of all places.
And yet Miss Beatrice Salisbury, with her infernal hypothetical,hadtempted him.Very, very much.
He shook his head as he guided her through the hall and to his box.
Luckily, the crush was intense, and his cockstand had died down.Otherwise, his state of arousal might have otherwise been plain to anyone who cared to look.
“Leith!”
Fuck.He knew that voice.He turned.
“Stratton,” he said, tonelessly.Lord Randall Huntington, the Earl of Stratton, had been many years behind him and his friends in school, but, recently, as the men his age had married, he had begun encountering Stratton and his friends more and more.They did not provide a flattering mirror, to put it mildly, and so they were never a welcome sight.
Unfortunately, Stratton and his set appeared to look up to him which, for reasons he did not want to examine too closely, he found grating.
“I must beg an introduction, Leith,” Stratton said, his rakish smile, which had grown more confident by the year, aimed at Beatrice.He lowered his voice and leaned towards him so that, over the din of the other opera goers, only Leith could hear him.“Especially since I know your fair friend may soon be in need of another protector.You never keep them for long.”
Leith bit back a snarl.God, he didn’t want Beatrice to end up withStratton.The thought irritated him, unaccountably.
He shook his head.He needed to bed this woman.He was getting downright sentimental.
Not to mention, shewantedto be introduced to men like Stratton.Men liberal with their money and looking for a mistress who would heat their blood and impress others.
“Miss Beatrice Salisbury, Lord Randall Huntington, the Earl of Stratton.And Mr.Pennington,” he said, nodding to the balding gentleman who seemed always to be at his elbow.
She nodded at the men, and they feasted on the sight of her in that infernal green dress.
Leith regretted having bought it for her now.Much better to have brought her to the opera in the hideous, antiquated frock she had worn in Monty’s drawing room.
“Come,” he said to her, directing her to his box.There was only so much ofthathe could take.“Good evening.”He nodded to Stratton and Mr.Pennington.
When the men were out of earshot, Beatrice looked up at him.“You did not want to linger.”
“I do not enjoy the sight of other men ogling what is mine.”
Of course, historically, that wasn’t true at all.Historically, it was the opposite.He would never forget how he swelled with pride when he first brought Fanny, the now Lady Killston, to this very opera house.Every man had been out of his wits for her.And he had been her lucky protector.
But Beatrice didn’t need to know that.
“For now.What is yours for now,” she said tartly.
He made no response to that.After all, she was utterly correct.
Blessedly, he steered her to the box without incident.The opera began and he could focus on the players.Unlike Trem, John, and Montaigne, he actuallylikedthe opera.They teased him for it.Monty used to call him an “artiste” because of how rapt he became at a Royal Opera performance.
He smiled, thinking of that old joke between them.Monty had always made it easy for him to laugh at himself.To convince him to loosen the strictures that he lived under.
It was the same reason he liked the opera.The unbridled emotion of the actors and their voices…they gave vent to feelings within himself that he never could indulge and, hopefully, never would.
He looked over at Beatrice.Her expression was opaque.He couldn’t tell what she thought.
“Have you ever been to the opera before?”
