Well, sheknew,of course.
As soon as she’d gotten the note from Mrs. Dove-Lyon after returning home from yet another ball, she’d knownexactlywhy she was being called back to the Lyon’s Den. The woman’s words had been clear enough.
He has returned. So must you.
What she didn’t understand was why she’d so readily complied with the summons.
She should have refused.
There was absolutely no reason to meet with Redington in that third-floor room again. And she certainly couldn’t comprehend why he’d want an encore of that night.
Yet, here she was, back in Amélie’s dressing room, choosing another costume from the woman’s collection while her rational mind warred with the exhilarating rise of anticipation that had taken over her body. Despite her misgivings about meeting the marquess again, she could not deny how badly she wanted him in that room—on his knees, his sculpted torso exposed, his eyes heavily lidded with expectation. Their encounter in the park had only intensified her memories of their other time at the Den.Perhaps because the two experiences were so deeply contrasted in her mind.
She didn’t want to admire him—and shedidn’t. But she understood him a bit better after seeing how protective he was over his family. The way he’d spoken of his duty to them had struck a chord within her. There had been such a poignant mix of emotions in his tone. And though she couldn’t name exactly what she’d sensed in him, she’dfeltit all the same.
After dressing in a floor-length gown made of the softest, supplest black leather that molded to her body like a perfectly made glove, she secured the mask over her face and painted her lips, but decided to leave her hair down. Amélie was occupied with a guest so Charlotte couldn’t ask her opinion if she’d produced the right effect.
She turned to her reflection in the mirror and considered what she saw.
The woman who stared back at her wasn’t angry. Not as she’d been that first night. Nor was she lost or heartbroken. She hadn’t been ravaged by grief and fury over things she couldn’t change. The woman dressed in black was strong and confident in her purpose and her ability to accomplish it. Charlotte might not be totally certain she knew what she was about, but the woman in the mirror was everything she needed to be. If only for an hour.
When she entered the private room, he was already there. Waiting in the center beneath the softly refracted glow of the chandelier.
Charlotte was pleased to see that he was still fully dressed. Watching him remove his clothing had been a particular pleasure she wished to revisit.
She entered the room slowly and as quietly as she could, hoping to observe him as long as possible before he noted her presence. Unfortunately, he turned toward her almost instantly.His dark eyes peering into the shadows at the edge of the room where she stood.
Her body hummed in reaction to his silent stare. She wished she could say it was a defensive reaction. But she understood desire well enough to know that would be a blatant lie.
She’d spotted a pair of elbow length black velvet gloves just as she’d left Amélie’s room and had grabbed them on impulse. Now, she stood just at the edge of the chandelier’s light and silently pulled the gloves through her fingers. The movement drew his attention as she’d hoped. Having his stare directed at her face was too disconcerting. With his gaze locked on her movements, she slowly drew one glove on, flexing her fingers and smoothing the material up to her elbow. Then she did the same with the other, feeling his attention like a blast of heat. When she was finished, she slowly slid her hands down the bodice of her fitted gown, pulling his gaze along the curves of her breasts and waist before bringing it to rest with her hands on her hips.
“You’ve come back for more, mon grand,” she murmured thickly in French. A taunting note colored her tone as she switched to accented English. “Did I leave you unsatisfied at our last encounter?”
The marquess flicked his focus back to her face. His stare—bold and curious—found hers, piercing her core. “My debt was for an hour,” he replied, his voice low and far too commanding. “Why did you not collect in full?”
Because the power you’d given me was terrifying. But I’m not scared tonight. I know what I need to do. For you and for me.
Charlotte took a firm step toward him and lowered her chin, the faint smile of amusement leaving her lips. She could not allow him to have the slightest inkling of how he affected her.
“You do not have the authority to ask that or anything else,” she noted simply. “I decide what you know and what you do not. You are not lord here. Once you walk into this room, you are nothing but a man. A man who must follow my command. Without question. Without hesitation.”
He stared intently back at her. She could see the way her words twisted through his mind. He seemed to hover between resistance and acceptance. As if his instinct was directly at odds with his intuition. His needs fighting with his wants. It was all there in his dark eyes. The depth and force of his turmoil heated her blood, making her skin tingle and burn. Making her yearn…
“Tu comprends?” she prompted.
There was a long pause. Then a subtle, barely perceptible nod. The heat inside her climbed higher.
“Lower your gaze.”
He did.
“In this room,” she said firmly, “you see only what I command you to see.”
The muscles along his jaw clenched, but he kept his focus on the floor.
More warmth flooded her system—golden and light. She clenched her inner muscles, regathering her strength and purpose, then continued slowly toward him. Stalking him. Forcing him to hear every step getting closer—tofeelher increasing nearness.
She wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. She wished Amélie had been available. Perhaps the woman could have given her some more direction. Instead, all she had were Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s words from the other night.
