His eyes soften. “Oliver,” he says gently, “It’s eleven-thirty.” He waits for me to get it, but I don’t. “You reminded me of the importance of taking breaks. I thought—”
“We could take awalk,” I finish in relief. “Before lunch. Oh my God. Yeah. Yes, I mean. I…” I take a deep breath and get my shit together. “I’m sorry, my lord, I misunderstood.”
“You certainly did.” But for once, those deep, dark eyes seem to be sparkling. “Unless you’d prefer to go naked, of course,” he adds.
“No, no,” I say quickly. “I’ll get dressed.”
I throw my clothes back on as fast as I can, wondering if my outburst is going to provoke another few marks in my dance card.
I’m kind of hoping it will.
I send a furtive glance toward Lord Arden, who—now that my junk has been covered up, anyway—is staring down at the sheets of music he’s been struggling with all morning. While he’s distracted, I come up behind him, tugging the punishments card back out of my sleeve.
“My lord?”
“What’s this?” he asks in surprise turning to me as I present the card to him.
“I think I deserve a few marks for speaking to you the way I did just before.” I’m so grateful for the mask; it gives me at least a little ability to hide from that dark, searching gaze.
“You think so, do you?”
“I do,” I say firmly.
He opens the card, adds one mark, and then, after consideration, another. “Well done, Oliver,” he says, tucking it back into my sleeve for me. “Youarelearning.”
The sense of pride and achievement that bubbles up in me at his words makes my feet light as I follow him out to the garden.
CHAPTER15
Elliot
Oliver is an early-stage service submissive who makes basic errors of form, respect, and attitude, and in any other staff member in this house, I would find it vexing. But there is something undefinable about him that makes me enjoy his fumbles, rather than fall into irritation. Perhaps it’s because it gives me so many excuses to add tallies to his dance card. Sunday night—Punishment Night—will be fun.
Icansee that he’s trying, despite the fact that service, as an act of submission, is not really his cup of tea. So to speak.
But even so, hedoesenjoy pleasing people. Pleasingme, even. He enjoyed my shock when he turned up with no warning, but he enjoyed even more my own pleasure in his presence.
Yet even now, just as he did the other day, he’s moved ahead of me on the path we’re following, forgetting his form. His feet lead him inexorably toward the maze.
“To me, Oliver,” I murmur, and he remembers himself, skipping back behind me at once.
“Sorry,” he says. And then: “Not the maze today, my lord?”
I glance at it. It always looms larger in my mind than it is in reality. Walking through it with Oliver the other day began to break down the gloom in my own mind that hangs around those hedge walls. Perhaps another walk through will dispel them for good, although the sky today is filled with long, hazy clouds that cast shadows over the grass, and the staff has begun decorating the grounds for the upcoming Halloween masquerade.
“Alright,” I say. “The maze.”
“I mean, only if you want to, my lord,” he says.
“Naturally.”
He gives a low, answering chuckle.
I believe he’s beginning to understand my sense of humor.
* * *
To his credit, Oliver walks in perfect formation through the first part of the maze, but eventually his curiosity gets the better of him. I can’t blame him; the maze has been adorned with all manner of Halloween decorations, from giant, gauzy spiderwebs to skeletons and jack-o’-lanterns.
