She bared her sharp white teeth and he thought she might actually try to take a lump out of his shoulder, but then she remembered their situation and looked to him for guidance.
“Beg for mercy,” he mouthed.
“Oh, my lord, spare me!” she cried. Not an actress to match Peg Wolfington, but not bad for a beginner.
“Alas, my pretty, I’ve paid six hundred for you. But I swear you’ll enjoy your initiation.” Then he mouthed, “Cry.”
She rolled her eyes, but covered her face and started to wail.
He moved off her. She promptly rolled on her front and went into a full-blown paroxysm of grief, beating the bed with her fists, heaving and howling. It was over-acting of the most atrocious sort, but he thought it would have its effect.
Trying to keep a straight face, he patted her back. “Now, now, sweetheart, it won’t be so bad. Stop crying.”
She wailed louder.“I want to go home!”
That should set the stage for act one, he decided. Now he had to at least partly seduce Portia, both to make this convincing and to win their personal wager. The twelve hundred was nothing. He had to win that personal wager.
He had much on his side, much that she was denying. The energy, the magic, that sometimes sparked between two people from first meeting, was alive between them. He had known it from the first and fought it. Now he surrendered to the folly of it and turned his skills to making her surrender, too.
He eased onto the bed then suddenly covered her, head to toe. She stopped wailing and went rigid beneath him. He brushed away the false hair and kissed the back of her neck.
“Don’t!” she gasped, and it was genuine.
“But I must,” he murmured against her skin. “Isn’t it sweet?” He ran his tongue along her shoulder, easing the gown off as he went. “As sweet as you…”
She clutched the front of the gown to stop it sliding further. “Please!”
It was right for the frightened child, but it wasn’t acting. “Remember,” he murmured, “you get to keep all your clothes on. Which is more than I do.”
He felt her relax a bit. “That was your own choice,” she hissed into the bed.
“Someone had to show the paying customers a bit of skin.”
Her hands made fists. “London is foul, and all in it!”
He laughed against her skin and let his teeth graze her. “Considering the king and queen live here, sweeting, that could be seen as treason.” He kissed down the top few inches of her spine and she shivered. It wasn’t from fear of treason, either.
“Just do it,” she whispered.
“Too soon,” he replied and eased off her a little, sliding his hand down to rub at the small of her back. He rubbed firmly there as he teased and tormented her upper back with his mouth.
He heard her breathing alter. Ah, Portia, one day we are going to do this as it should be done, and take it to its beautiful conclusion. Aloud, he whispered, “You are as sensitive as I dreamed, like the finest instrument.”
“Or a hair-trigger pistol,” she muttered.
He laughed and began to work his hand lower.
With a heave, she turned to avoid that, but his hand ended up in a much more interesting place. For the audience he said, “That’s more like it, Hippolyta. I knew you’d come to like it.”Sotto vocehe added, “No, don’t fight. Whimper.”
Her eyes flashed outraged defiance, but she made a sound like an anxious puppy. It was surprisingly disconcerting and Bryght was strongly tempted to cuddle her. How the devil did men rape these creatures in truth? He’d never concerned himself over it much, and wasn’t sure there was anything he could do about it, but now it bothered him.
Getting rid of Cuthbertson would end one foul supply. It wouldn’t do anything, however, for other victims, or for frightened brides like Prestonly’s poor wives.
He found his hand was stroking her belly in soft, comforting circles, and she was staring at him in wary confusion.
“There’s nothing to be frightened of,” he said aloud and whispered, “Trust me.”
Perhaps there was the slightest trace of trust behind the mask. Daring to be gentle, he kissed her lightly on the lips before leaving the bed to inspect the items on the wall. He relieved one satyric male figure of the oil vial he held and returned to the bed, tipping oil onto his finger and breathing in the aroma.
