Lucien paused, pressing a kiss to her neck. "Eat," he said, reaching past her shoulder and lifting the first tureen to reveal the white soup. "I wouldn't want to compete with your stomach's attentions."
Miss Martin looked thoroughly out of her depths. "Should I fetch another chair?"
"No." He rather enjoyed her right where she was.
"But how shall you—?"
"I'm not overly hungry," he replied, which was the truth. They'd dined at the Prime's, and he'd only managed a couple of mouthfuls, as delicious as they'd been. At first, the meals had been of better quality and frequent in his incarceration, but during the last two months, after he'd attacked the prison guard, they'd come barely once a day and were little more than gruel. Hunger had been one of the hardest elements to deal with, though his body had grown accustomed. Strange what one could learn to deal with.
He fed her with his own fork, cutting pieces of the minted lamb and sliding it over her plump lips, then spearing a sliver for himself. The richness of the sauce was delicious, but somewhat overpowering. Lucien contented himself with the bread, breaking pieces of it off with his fingers and ignoring the butter. He'd dreamed of hot buttered rolls when he was in Bedlam, but the last thing he wanted was to upset his stomach. Too used to nothing but gruel and water, he didn't particularly wish to spend his night writhing in pain.
Instead, he took his enjoyment in watching her eat. Most gently bred ladies had the appetite of a bird, but Miss Martin evidently enjoyed her meals. Granted, sorcery burned through a lot of an adept's energy, so she would need it.
Lucien contented himself with stroking the silky texture of her stays and watching her. She finished the lamb and he placed her knife and fork down precisely, as her head lowered. "What's wrong?"
"I cannot work you out."
Lucien let his smile show. "Oh?"
"This hardly seems like revenge." He caught a glint of the blueness of her eyes, smoky and violet-tinged in the near-dark. The type of lower-lashed look that stroked a hot hand through his groin.
And I am working you out, my dear. Miss Martin was an accomplished flirt, well used to taking the measure of men. She didn't like that she couldn't do so with him.
Hands petting her hips, he slid them lower, bunching up fistfuls of her skirts. Miss Martin sucked in a breath as he dragged her gown up over her head and raised arms, before throwing it across the room.
"Are you trying to distract me?"
"Is it working?" he asked.
A faint smile hovered around her lips, but then it died. "Perhaps." Something sad seemed to flicker in her eyes. "Perhaps I want to be distracted."
It arrested him, that small sign of loss in her eyes. He felt jubilant, but she was hiding something. "What is it?"
"Nothing." She shook her head. "Everything. I'm worried about Drake."
Of course. "He'll earn his just reward, I'm sure."
The look she shot him was razor sharp. Lucien tapped her on the nose, and she bit his finger. A reminder that she might have submitted, but she wasn't completely under his control.
And wasn't that just fascinating.
"You've been a very obedient lover," he replied. "If you behave, then you shall be rewarded."
Her eyes flashed fire, and Lucien laughed as he resettled her on his lap, reclining in the armchair with his legs stretched out in front of him and Miss Martin's head resting against his shoulder. Gossamer fine petticoats danced around her legs. He seized a fistful, and with a jerk, tore them clear off her.
A gasp. Then she settled again, her fingers twirling in the lapels of his coat. "You're going to owe me a new wardrobe, Rathbourne."
"I'll dress you in whatever you like," he murmured, brushing his lips against her breasts. "Just as long as I get to remove it all."
That earned him a wrathful look. "I'll dress myself, thank you very much."
Flicking one finger under the edge of her corset, he slid her nipple free and smiled at her. "You're proud and independent." Peaked, rosy flesh met his gaze. Watching her expression, he licked it, then drew it into his mouth.
"You would do well to remember that," she whispered, but her defiance died as he suckled hard. Ianthe gasped.
Lucien lathed attention on her breast before turning to the other. Every gasp she gave was just reward. The hand that caught his and began to drag it south made him smile. Then she cupped his fingers over the wet-slick flesh between her thighs.
"What do you want?" Lucien murmured, trailing kisses up her arm.
