Miss Martin sipped at it, watching him warily over the top of the glass. The fine hairs at her temple had curled in the heat of their passion, though the rest of her looked like a dignified lady. Only he knew she wore no drawers, her knees crossed tightly against the slick wetness between her thighs.
A sharp rap at the door drew his attention. "Come in," he called, stepping over his crumpled cravat.
One of the maids bobbed a curtsy, pushing a small trolley into the room with several silver domed trays upon it. The scent of fileted lamb made his mouth water, and he directed her where to set the trays. Miss Martin had shifted from the bed, crossing to stand by the window as she stared out into the night, sipping her whisky. None of the staff would be ignorant as to the circumstances between them and whose bed he was going to be sharing, but both the maid and Miss Martin gave a good show of acting as if this were any normal night.
"Would you care for anything else, my lord?" the maid murmured.
As she left, he told her they did not wish to be interrupted. Dragging a napkin off the table, he handled the cork of the champagne bottle. Drops of moisture clung to its green-tinted glass, and it gave a loud pop when the cork dislodged, frothing up over his hand. Miss Martin jumped at the sound.
"Come here." He cradled a champagne flute for her in his palm as he poured it.
"I think you like giving orders," she said, setting the empty whiskey glass down as she crossed the room. Candlelight dappled her gown and face, warming her creamy skin. The soft swish of her skirts was a seduction in itself.
"And I think you like me giving orders," he countered, handing her the flute. Their fingers met as she took it, her eyes darting to his.
"Champagne on an empty stomach? What are we celebrating?"
"Perhaps I'm merely feeling somewhat... relaxed." Folding his long body into the armchair, he extended a hand to her. Confusion distorted her brow, but she took it, and Lucien drew her into his lap, brushing the tendrils of wispy-fine hair off the back of her neck. Miss Martin tensed, a half-glance back over her shoulder revealing her nerves.
Revenge had never seemed sweeter, though his means of seeking it had changed. There was just one little problem. Lucien brushed his mouth over the soft skin where her neck sloped into her shoulder, fingers working at one of the buttons that fastened her gown in the back. Pearl, of course.
He'd always enjoyed the mysteries of a woman's body, the sensations of learning every inch of it. One ex-mistress had even accused him of being a sensualist, and it was true.
With a sidelong glance at her, he tugged more of her buttons free as he leaned up to press his mouth against the bare skin revealed. Tracing the edge of her chemise and stays, his lips rippled over the indentation of her spine. Warm firelight set her skin to a softened gold.
Time to confront that little problem.
"You didn't come," he murmured, tongue darting out to trace the sweat on her skin.
Miss Martin glanced back. "Yes, I did."
"No lies," he warned, meeting her gaze. "You gave a good approximation of it, but you didn't gain your pleasure." Which meant she had won. In the moment, he hadn't been certain, but now...
Miss Martin's cheeks burned. "It's not always easy for a woman," she murmured. "I have a lot on my mind. It... It's harder to lose myself in the moment."
"Is it the way I touched you?"
"No." The light struck her fine face as she turned, revealing shadows beneath her eyes. "To be honest, it has nothing to do with you. Your touch is... pleasing. Orgasm simply eludes me at the moment."
He considered that. "I prefer honesty in all things. If you cannot seek la petite morte, then don't pretend you did."
"I won't." It was a bare whisper, but her shoulders relaxed, as if some weight had been eased from them.
"Then I'll continue to seek to wring soft cries of pleasure from you," he murmured, brushing his mouth across the smooth slope of her bare arm as he turned his attention back to her buttons. "I like a challenge, after all."
And everything about her was challenging. Revenge would be sweet, now that he'd fixed his mind on the method of it. I'm going to steal you away, my dear. Make you crave me, just as much as I crave you... I'll make you forget his name. Forget your loyalties to him...
The last button popped free and he slid his hands up the curve of her back, separating the gown over her shoulders. Miss Martin made a soft sound in her throat. "Dinner is cooling," she whispered.
"We shall eat soon," he replied, sliding her sleeve down her slender arm and tugging it over the tips of her fingers. "I'm just making you comfortable."
Soft light revealed the swell of her breasts thrust up by the pale pink stays she wore. A little tracery of Venetian lace drew his gaze, and then his fingers, absorbing the roughened fibers of the lace. Lucien let his mouth rove across the bare curve of her shoulder, his cock hard and firm beneath her rounded buttocks, as he drew her other sleeve clear.
She sat in a puddle of skirts, breathing hard. Desire danced over her skin in flushed pinks and reds, and this time he didn't mistake it. The problem then, was clearly not with his skills or her interest in him. Lucien flicked his fingernail beneath the sleeve of her chemise and slipped it from her shoulder, leaving her soft and disheveled.
"Perhaps you are the meal," he suggested.
"I'd rather liken myself to dessert," she replied, and her stomach chose that moment to growl fiercely. Miss Martin flushed a becoming pink and pressed her hands to her abdomen.
