Xenia didn’t know which of those discoveries shocked her the most. During their first session in the confessional, she’d pictured her patron as a golden-haired prince whose sensual dominance had seduced her utterly. Then she’d met Lord Ethan, and he’d seemed the opposite: dark and aloof, arrogant and unfeeling…with a beastly temper to boot. She supposed it wasn’t surprising that she hadn’t put two and two together.
Sitting across from him now, with only a curtain separating them, she had no doubt that her shadowy patronwasEthan Harrington. While the old confessional had muffled his voice, his deep tones penetrated the fabric clearly. He was seated in a wingchair, and there was no mistaking his virile silhouette, nor the fact that the hands that lay on the arms of the chair were gloved. Yet her certainty about his identity came from her primal awareness of him…an awareness that had flourished since she’d been in his employ.
Emotions clamored in her chest. Joy and fear. Giddy delight.
He wants me. And I want him too.
The wall she’d erected around her heart crumpled like paper in a fist and left her exposed to a host of conflicting desires. While she couldn’t deny her attraction to him, she had to proceed with caution. If he knew that his housekeeper was also an infamous brothel worker, he would throw her out on the spot.
Never mind that Jane Wood wasn’t even her real identity.
Yet Lord Ethan hadn’t been entirely forthcoming either. If he wanted her, why had he rejected her so soundly? Why had he left for London without a word? Was she reading too much into his request for a fantasy about a housekeeper?
I must discover his true desires.
Determination filled her. Not for the first time, she thanked the Lord for the gift of her voice—the instrument she could play with such precision. As Sirena, she sounded entirely different from herself…and she needed to keep it that way.
“Once upon a time,” she said in honeyed tones, “there was a young woman named Ella. When her papa died, she was left in the care of her stepmother, who was beautiful but cruel. The stepmama fancied herself a lady and treated Ella like a servant, beating and berating her. Our heroine did her best to perform the chores that were asked of her. The work was awful and demanding, leaving her covered in cinders and dirt?—”
“I think I know this story,” Lord Ethan said.
“You haven’t heard this version,” Xenia said confidently. “Ella’s situation grew so unbearable that, one day, she ran away. In need of money, she found a job as a housekeeper. Ella’s employer was a man named Mr. Prince.”
“How fitting.”
“Mr. Prince was the sort of fellow Ella had dreamed about. He was tall, dark, and handsome. Unfortunately, he could be surly.”
“And she still liked him?”
His wistful words tugged at her heart.
“She did,” Xenia affirmed. “Because she knew he was a gentleman at heart. He appreciated her housekeeping efforts and treated her with respect. When burglars broke in one night, he fought them off and protected her. Moreover, he confided in Ella and made her feel special, like no one else ever had. She found herself falling for him…which was a bad thing.”
“Why?” He sat up straighter in the wingchair. “Why was it bad?”
Exhaling, she let out the truth. “Because she knew that she wasn’t good enough for him.”
“He wouldn’t care about their differences in station,” he said dismissively. “Not if he was the gentleman she believed him to be.”
His reply made Xenia both giddy and anxious. While Lord Ethan might not care about their class differences, he didn’t know how depraved her background was. Being a servant was her biggest claim to respectability.
Reminding herself that she was Sirena at present, she continued her tale.
“Ella couldn’t stop thinking about her master. Despite her drab appearance, she was a hot-blooded woman. When he walked into a room, her heart would thump, her skin warming with a flush. Her nipples would stiffen and tingle. And she would find it difficult to breathe, as if his nearness tugged on the strings of her corset.”
“She was aroused whenever her master was near?” he asked hoarsely.
“Even when he wasn’t.” With her imagination lighting the way, Xenia led them down the dark path of fantasy. “She couldn’t stop having depraved thoughts about him. One time, when he was out, she was supposed to be cleaning his study but couldn’t resist sitting in his desk chair. She inhaled his lingering scent, imagining the firm leather beneath her was his lap. She grew so hot and wet between her legs.”
“What did the naughty little thing do about it?”
“She ran her hands over her bosom, imagining it was her master’s hands tracing the curves of her breasts.” Inspired, she acted out what she described, letting her hands wander over her padded bodysuit. “She squeezed her aching mounds, playing with the straining tips, pretending that he was the one rubbing her nipples with demanding strokes.”
Her shadowy, erotic show achieved its purpose, for his next words were serrated with lust.
“Are your nipples hard now?”
It was so easy to slip fully into make-believe with him. Her script faded away, and it was just the two of them, creating their own story.
