Lina’s cheeks burned, but she managed to nod and say quietly, “Correct.”
“Why is that, Miss Blanchet?”
Lina looked at Dr. Doyle questioningly. Her eyes began to grow wet, for she did not know what was expected of her. “Wh...why? Sir?”
“Why did you believe that Mr. Blackstone was displeased with you?”
Lina blushed again, and the skin on her chest burned with the wave of heat that swelled from her heart and washed over her face and the back of her neck until her ears burned with its touch. “I... I... because... I am uncertain, Dr. Doyle—sir—if I should... should speak...”
“Speak in earnest,” Dr. Doyle said. He seemed... almost cheerful.
Lina glanced one final time in the direction of Mr. Blackstone, but averted her eyes quickly enough that the image reaching her mind was brief and quickly distorted. He had looked, in that instant, like a very handsome man, with wild blue eyes and dark, thick hair, and a face marred only by the faintest of scars...
“I thought... he... was displeased,” Lina stammered. “He left so... with such haste.”
Her cheeks burned at the memory of him leaving her, as though she had done something most disappointing. The cold sensation in her chest grew, spreading to her limbs, and she felt almost certain she would swoon like Evangeline any moment.
“Rohan,” Doyle said cheerfully, addressing Mr. Blackstone. “Do you care to share with Miss Blanchet the reason for your hasty departure?”
There was a terrible and long silence, so long that Lina looked up uncertainly at Doyle for guidance but saw only his confident smile.
“He does not. I take it Mr. Blackstone has as much difficulty expressing himself as you do, Miss Blanchet.” Doyle smiled again. “A fine pair.”
Doyle stepped closer to Lina and pushed her hair delicately away from her face. “Would you,” he said, and Lina thought he was speaking to her, for he was looking deeply into her eyes as he spoke, “be so kind to at least explain to Miss Blanchet that you did not leave with haste because you were displeased with her?”
Lina blinked in confusion. Her mind was still struggling to understand whether or not Doyle was asking something of her, for he was looking at her almost imploringly, when she felt Mr. Blackstone’s fingers in her hair, sifting through it, a gentle caress. She looked at Doyle’s hands, unable to understand how they had come to be where they were and did not understand at all until Blackstone spoke.
“My pet,” his voice purred. “I did not leave in haste because you had displeased me.”
Lina’s body went stiff, as confusion and pleasure clanged together in her chest, and she struggled to understand what Mr. Blackstone was saying. She turned her head, and he did not try to stop her; in fact, his finger was upon her chin and turning her to face him.
Her lips parted as she let a gasp escape them.
“But you’re...” she whispered, a great tremor passing through her body.
For Blackstone was not a monster at all. His features were rugged, not refined, but his countenance was beautiful and achingly masculine. Only the faintest scar marred his skin, along a high and aristocratic cheekbone. The lips she had felt on her body were sensual and serious, but did not form the terrifying, bestial snarl she had imagined. He shocked her further by—almost—smiling. For in his face there was a tenderness that she had not expected, and she found it quite difficult to reconcile the man she had imagined with the man now before her.
In confusion, she whipped her head back to Dr. Doyle, her eyes imploring him for an explanation.
“I don’t understand,” she said quietly, when neither of the men spoke.
Doyle looked at Blackstone, and the two men seemed to exchange something in their look. Dr. Doyle reached for her hand. “I believe Miss Blanchet has been sufficiently disciplined, do you not, Mr. Blackstone?”
“Indeed,” he said, his breath warm on her shoulder, for he had come up behind her as Doyle made her rise from the chair, and his arm encircled her waist. Lina’s heart beat wildly at his touch, at the presence of the two of them so close to her, the swirling confusion of their intentions. Her mouth was open, but she did not know what to say or do.
“Come, Miss Blanchet. I think it is time we explain everything to you,” Dr. Doyle said. His eyes looked up at Blackstone’s over her shoulder.
She felt Blackstone’s lips on her skin and her entire body shuddered as the tender, dry, warm kiss brushed over her and he pulled her closer to him with the same formidable strength he had shown before. This time, however, it was different: as if a need stemmed from within Mr. Blackstone, one he would sate with tenderness.
“First,” Mr. Blackstone said, “we shall attend to another, more pressing matter.”
And then he was guiding her, and so was Dr. Doyle, both of them holding her and pushing her forward. Their lips were on her hands and her shoulders, and thankfully, their own hands holding her up, for her eyes had shut and the world was spinning in a delirium she had never imagined experiencing before.
* * *
After another confusingtrip through the dimly lit passages hidden behind the extraordinary rooms and corridors of the grand estate, and ascending many staircases rather than descending, the two men guided Lina to a room she had never been in before. It was a smaller chamber—at least by the standards of the enormous home. Walls, painted a lovely shade of rich red or covered over with luxurious paper, enclosed a space occupied largely by an enormous bed. A cozy fire crackled in the hearth, keeping the room a pleasant temperature.
But she could scarcely take in her surroundings, for her sensibilities were immediately commandeered by the attentions of the two men. Dr. Doyle entered first, and, standing by the bed, began to unbutton his crisp shirt as Mr. Blackstone restrained Lina gently by the arms, his fingers traveling along the length of her limbs with no more weight than a feather. It sent shivers along the backs of her arms to crash with the waves of pleasure radiating from her spine and her shoulders, where his lips grazed her skin, warm and dry.
