The door opened and George stepped into her dressing room, his gaze running lazily over her figure. She met his eyes in the mirror, thoughts of her own body fading as she came to consider thoughts of his.
She smiled. “Hello, George.”
“I have not stopped thinking about you since we parted,” he said roughly, and it was as though his words ran fingertips along her skin. She shivered. “I think it might be madness.”
“I didn’t know Hatchards could inspire such passion.”
He came to stand behind her, his face at the gilded top of her mirror. Both fair, his broadness perfectly matched her plumpness. The sight gratified her a tad too much, and she turned, letting her robe fall open. His gaze, predictably, travelled downwards.
“Here. I brought you something,” he said, and draped a pink topaz necklace around her neck, the coolness of the metal soothing the flush that had arisen at the sight of him. “A beautiful necklace for a beautiful lady.”
She reached up to touch the stones. The gold surrounding them was intricate, and glowed against her pale skin. “It’s lovely.”
“I hoped you’d like it.”
She did—and she would have trouble letting go of this piece to sell.
Why could he not deliver entirely more standard gifts, such as diamonds or sapphires? They were beautiful, certainly, but not made and chosen to suit her colouring with such care.
“Thank you.” She rose, twisting to kiss him, but he bent and scooped her into his arms. Surprised, she shrieked with laughter, but she was also a little impressed at his prowess—he was not, to her knowledge, a man who prided himself on his physicality, nor was she small in any dimension.
As she landed on the mattress, he smiled down at her. “There, that is where I would like to have you.” He tugged at the belt of her robe, and it opened. He brushed the material from her breasts with quick, impatient movements, and made a sound of approval she would take to her grave. In all her years, she did not think a man had wanted her this much. “Did you know,” he said kissing her shoulder, “that you have three freckles here?”
“A moment.” She pushed at his chest, easing him back off her, and sat, tugging her robe back across her skin, almost shivering at the feel of it. Having him this close was an aphrodisiac all of its own, but there were certain rules she needed to establish. Boundaries she must lay—for his sake and hers.
“What?” he asked, the ardency leaving his voice. “Did I do something to upset you?”
“No, not at all.” She touched the extravagant jewels at her neck. He had gone above and beyond, all because she said she had expensive tastes. Proof that he would pay whatever price necessary to have her, even if it harkened a change from their relationship in Worthington Hall.
There was no way she could make him fully understand. But she would try.
“There are just a few things we ought to establish,” she said. “First.”
“A few things?” He tipped her chin up so she was looking directly at him. “Then tell me. If nothing else, we are friends, are we not?”
Friends. The terrifying thing was that, unlike her other lovers, she thought she could be friends with George Comerford, and that was precisely why she must erect some boundaries between them.
“Firstly, I would like to explain why I require gifts from you.”
He frowned. “Is that not the usual arrangement between a man and his mistress?”
“Yes, but I know that’s not how we were in Worthington Hall.”
“Ah.” He drew the word out. “Is that why you ended things, because you did not want to ask for gifts?”
It was enough of the truth that she could nod.
“Foolish girl,” he said, a smile quirking the corners of his lips. “You know I wouldn’t have minded, so long as I could have kept you.”
And what a heady, delightful prospect that was, to have been kept by him all these lonely weeks. She would have lost herself.
“That brings me to my other rules,” she said.
He traced a lazy finger up the sensitive skin of her wrist. “Rules? Very well. What are they?”
“Wine,” she said as she rose. “To talk about this, there must be wine.”
Chapter Six
