Straightening in her chair, Clarinda was about to ask what they meant when the maid showed up with the tea tray. “Oh,” she said brightly, glad for the interruption.
“Just like that,” Dahlia said. “But louder, and more of them.”
“Lots more,” Danielle chimed in.
Clarinda leaned back as the maid set the silver tray on the low table in front of her, her embarrassment becoming more acute. “More of them?” she asked in confusion.
“The ‘oh’s, Mother. It’s as if you were learning the alphabet and you got stuck on that particular letter,” Danielle groused.
Knowing her face was as red as a beet, Clarinda blinked as she waited for the maid to leave the parlor.
Apparently the walls of the mistress suite weren’t as thick as she’d thought.
Did she really say, “Oh!” so loudly and repeat it several times whilst Daniel saw to pleasuring her? When they were in the throes of their twice-weekly trysts, him worshipping her body as if she was a goddess, she paid no mind to how she might sound to anyone but her husband. Besides, he took delight in her verbal cues and her occasional commands, and he seemed to use them to coax her to even more intense pleasures before he saw to his own.
The girls probably didn’t hearhim. When he experienced his release, Daniel would hold his breath, and a growl would rumble from deep within him. Anything else he might attempt to say was usually drowned out because his mouth ended up on one of her breasts, or in the pillow next to her head, or against her shoulder.
Even thinking of it now had her wondering if tonight might be one of the nights Daniel planned to visit the mistress suite. If not, she was going to have to pay a call on him in the master suite.
He would like that. At least, he had never turned her away.
Well, there was that one time, on a particularly chilly winter night when he’d had a head cold and was a bit feverish. She had stayed with him the entire night, if only to provide a pillow for his body as she basked in his warmth. She hadn’t even minded his rather loud snores since they caused the bed to vibrate in a most pleasant manner. Someone would have to sort how to set off that same sensation but without the accompanying sound effect.
And the head cold.
She caught the head cold, of course, and suffered for the next few days in solitude in the mistress suite. At least the fever kept her warm.
So engrossed in her thoughts was she, Clarinda set about pouring tea without even asking her daughters the usual questions. Her motions were rote until her thoughts turned to how her first husband had made love to her. As a result, the teapot hovered over her own cup, the pot not quite angled enough for any tea to actually pour out.
David’s approach to pleasuring her had been far different from Daniel’s. She was sure it was because he’d had more experience in carnal matters. He never asked what she wanted, but then, she hadn’t known what was available. Even after she’d been married to him for a year, he continued to surprise her in nearly every room of Norwick House.
He had owned a gentlemen’s club, after all.
The Elegant Courtesanhad employed a number of young women who catered to a variety of tastes, some rather unusual, some downright frightening. The profitable enterprise was shuttered upon her marriage to him, though, partly because she demanded he give it up and partly because he had inherited the Norwick earldom. As an earl, it wasn’t seemly for him to make money from a business.
Clarinda inhaled softly at the memory of the club. At the memory of David, who she rarely thought of these days. Although he had died well before their birth, he had fathered the two girls who were now of an age to marry and apparently far too curious about the marriage bed.
The oddest sensation skittered down her spine, and Clarinda gave a start. So did the teapot, which suddenly seemed to have a mind of its own as its liquid filled her cup.
“Oh!” she cried out, sure there had been a guiding hand covering hers for the very briefest of moments.
“Yes, you say it just like that,” Dahlia claimed. “As if you’re surprised.”
Clarinda blinked several times before her gaze darted to one of the parlor windows. In the form of a silhouette, she was sure she saw David. He was leaning against the sideboard, his arms crossed with his elbows held in his hands. One booted foot was crossed over the other, which made him appear rather cavalier. And no older than the day he had died in an awful traffic accident in Oxford Street.
“You cannot deny she has the right of it,” David’s ghost said with a chuckle. “I certainly lived to hear them. In fact, thoughts of hearing them kept me from dozing overmuch during sessions of Parliament.”
Swallowing, Clarinda stared at the apparition. David hadn’t made an appearance in over twenty years. “So good of you to join us,” she said, not quite sure if she welcomed him. “I could use your help here, darling. It seems your daughters have questions.”
David straightened from the sideboard and unfolded his arms. “Oh, no, my sweeting. This is one of those times when your counsel is more astute than mine.”
“Then why did you show upnow? I haven’t seen you in—”
“Days, yes I know,” he interrupted. “Apologies.”
“Decades, you mean,” Clarinda huffed. “Two of them, in fact. You were always terrible at telling time.”
David blinked, his head pulling back on his neck so his chin suddenly doubled. “Hmph,” he replied. “How can that be? You’re as gorgeous as the day I died,” he murmured. “I do hope Danny appreciates it.”
