But his eyes… They were wrong. They were still dark and liquid, with a slight upward tilt at the corners and a long, thick fringe of sooty lashes, but there was no joy in them. No kindness. They were suspicious. Watchful.
At one time she’d thought his eyes the very essence of him. Perhaps they still were.
Her silence didn’t seem to matter to him.
“I’m afraid it makes no difference whether you like it or not.” He eased his coat over his shoulders and tossed it onto a bench at the end of the bed. “It matters only that I like what I see, and I do, sweet. I like it very much, and I’ve paid to see all of it, so remove your clothing.”
His tone was bland now, nearly inflectionless. If she hadn’t known every nuance of his voice, hadn’t heard it echo in her dreams, she might have missed the subtle note of challenge. But she heard it, and as soon as she did, she knew. Her masque hadn’t fooled him. He knew who she was. He’d known from the first moment he saw her. She was sure of it. How could he not? He’d brought her up here on purpose then, so he could…
What? Teach her a lesson. Put her in her place.
Her breath caught on a strange, grim little laugh. Did he really believe there was a lesson she hadn’t yet learned? Did he truly think she hadn’t been shoved into her place, again and again, and with such brutal force it had taken every shred of strength she could muster to crawl out of it?
“Remove your clothing.”
Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what, sweet? Getting what I paid for?”
If he felt any remorse—or any emotion at all—it didn’t show in his face. He was utterly composed, in perfect control of himself. Bored, even, like a lazy cat who held a mouse’s tail under his paw and was biding his time until he slashed a claw through its belly.
Bored, yes, but not so bored he was ready to end his game. Very well. She’d end it for him.
Charlotte reached behind her head to untie the silken cords of her masque, but Julian grabbed her wrists to stop her. “No. I said remove your clothing, not your masque. I’m not interested in your face. Leave the masque on.”
Oh, yes. He knew who she was.
Charlotte stared up into his hard, dark eyes. He thought she wouldn’t do it—he didn’t evenwanther to do it. He wanted her to admit she’d been a fool to risk her reputation by entering a whorehouse, to crumple at his feet and beg his forgiveness so he could refuse to give it to her.
But she was done begging for forgiveness. His, or anyone else’s.
So instead she did the one thing she could think to do under the circumstances. She curled her lips in a slow, seductive smile and turned around to present him with her back. “Aw right, guv, if ye say so. It’s yer coin, right enough. Help wif my buttons, won’t ye, luv?”
Oh, how she wanted to see his face then, to read his expression as she gave him just what he asked for.
But not what he wanted.
He made a faint sound, an angry, strangled word or a harshly exhaled breath. “Do you think I won’t?”
He would, or he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter which. Either way he’d lose, because this wasn’t what he wanted. “Aw, come on, luv. Why should I think that? Ye’ve got a right lusty look about ye, ye do, and ye did say you liked what ye seen. Or mayhap,” she added, her voice as smooth as silk, “Ye don’t like it as well as ye thought ye did, eh?”
She felt his hands against the back of her neck, his fingers twisting the top button of her gown. “Or maybe I like it even better.”
Cool air touched her skin through the flimsy material of her shift as he worked her buttons one by one until her gown was open all the way down to the small of her back. He settled his hands against her waist, his fingers stroking over the soft flesh there before he eased her hips back against the front of his falls.
A tremor passed through her, but otherwise she didn’t move. He was calling her bluff? Surely he wouldn’t—
“What’s the matter,luv?” He grazed his teeth over the sensitive skin under her ear. “You haven’t changed your mind, I hope? It’s a bit late for that. Once a man’s desires are roused, there’s only one way to satisfy him. I would think you’d know that, being a prostitute.”
Anger stiffened her spine and her resolve. “A woman don’t get ter change ‘er mind no matter what, prostitute or not. I’d a thought ye’d knowthat, being a man.”
A low chuckle was his only answer, but he gripped her shoulders, his palms hot, heavy. She braced herself to resist him, to dive across the room for the washbasin, but his touch turned gentle as he slipped his fingers under the edge of her shift to stroke her bare shoulders. She sucked back a gasp as he moved closer, so close his warm breath drifted over her skin. Her eyes fell closed, but just when she thought he’d put his mouth on her, he grasped her shoulders and turned her around to face him.
Charlotte caught her breath.
His perfect impassivity was gone. His eyes were no longer cold, his face no longer composed. His cheekbones were flushed with color and his breath came fast and hard. “Unbutton my waistcoat.”
“No need fer that, luv.” Her voice wasn’t quite steady. “If ye’ll just strip off yer breeches—”
