Savage Nights (The Savage Trilogy #2) (6 page)

I gasped with surprise. “You did that for me, my lord?”

He shrugged carelessly. “I told you: it was done last week from purest selfishness. Since no excuses are accepted by His Majesty and I must attend myself, I wanted you there as well to keep me from falling asleep. It was an easy favor to ask.”

“You asked Bertie himself, didn’t you?” Laura asked, faintly accusing. Bertie was the disrespectfully affectionate nickname for His Majesty, and I’d heard it used several times last week among the guests at Wrenton. “No doubt you told him how … agreeable our Mrs. Hart was, and that was enough for him to summon the Lord Chamberlain posthaste. There is nothing the King likes better than a pretty new face.”

“She is not ‘our’ Mrs. Hart, Laura,” he said drily, again looking at me rather than at the countess. “Rather, at present she is mine, as His Majesty will learn for himself soon enough.”

I heard Laura sharply draw in her breath, but I didn’t look her way, either.

“That’s bold of you, my lord,” I said softly to Savage. It was the answer that I should say and not the one I wanted to say: that he’d been completely right and for now I
was
his and hearing him say so had made me ridiculously happy. “I’m afraid I cannot excuse it.”

“Then don’t,” he said evenly. “Come riding with me in Hyde Park instead.”

“She can’t go now, Savage,” Laura protested. “You shouldn’t even ask her. You know what people will say. Why, it’s nearly four thirty in the afternoon! No one goes riding at this hour.”

“I do,” he said, “and I expect Mrs. Hart does, too. Will you join me, ma’am?”

I didn’t have a horse in London, but I did have a splendid new habit, and now I had Savage to ride with me. I put every word of caution that Laura had shared earlier from my head. Regardless of the hour, riding was a respectable pastime. For Savage and me, it was also one that could lead to many other activities that weren’t, particularly so late in the day.

The lack of a horse seemed inconsequential. I smiled, and so did Savage.

“Yes, my lord,” I said. “Yes.”

4.

It’s often said (primarily by gentlemen, of course) that a lady spends at least half her day in the ritual of dress.

In other words, she is expected to change from a dressing gown to a morning dress to one for luncheon, followed by another suitable for making calls, another fit for dinner, and then, finally, a dress for evening, whether the theatre, opera, or a ball, and then a nightgown and peignoir for bed: six changes in all, with the possibility of more if there are also specialized activities in her daybook such as sailing or hunting. Considering that a lady must also allow time for adjusting her hair, selecting the proper jewels, and shifting shoes, gloves, hats, and stockings to match the rest of her attire, that estimate of half a day spent in the dressing room with one’s maid could well be accurate.

I explain all that for a purpose. First, to show the tedium of my ordinary day. And second, to prove how swiftly I managed to change from my tea dress and into my riding habit: a mere quarter hour passed from the time I parted with Laura and Savage in the tearoom until I was briskly crossing the hotel lobby in my full riding habit, with one of my footmen dutifully accompanying me to act as my groom.

In short, any lady can achieve miracles if she is properly motivated, and the thought of Savage waiting on horseback could have offered sufficient motivation for an entire legion of London ladies.

Nor was I disappointed. We’d arranged to meet at the park’s main stables, where many Londoners kept their horses. I was earlier than we’d planned, but he was already there. He stood in the stable yard, speaking to one of the grooms, as he held the reins to a magnificent black gelding: clearly no hired nag, but his. The sight of Savage nearly stole my breath, as it always did. How could it not?

Unlike other gentlemen who had begun to wear less formal clothing for riding, tweed jackets and derby hats, he preferred to remain firmly in the older style. He wore a black frock coat that came to the middle of his thighs, snug buff trousers tucked into top boots, black gloves, and a snowy white shirt with a white silk neckcloth. On his head was a gleaming beaver hat with a high crown and a curved brim, also in black.

Everything was tailored exactly to accentuate his imposing frame, as his clothes always were. On another man so much black would be funereal, but it suited him with his dark hair and light eyes, making him stand out even more. He’d told me once that he felt misplaced in the modern world of electricity and motorcars and that he’d much rather have been born in the dashing, dangerous age of men like Wellington and Byron.

Yet that was the kind of man that Savage was, darkly elegant yet with a hint of animal wildness. It didn’t matter if we were playing the Game or not: he was still my Master. No wonder I found him so intensely attractive.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” I called to him, making as much of a curtsey as I could manage with the trailing skirt of my habit over one arm as I walked. As was the fashion, my habit was mannishly severe, with a row of tiny buttons up the tight, corseted bodice and sleeves over the draped skirt. My hat echoed Savage’s in style, although I wore mine pinned at a flattering angle and the black silk netting of the trailing veil gave it a decidedly feminine touch.

I knew the habit was becoming to me, and yet from the way that Savage looked at me as I approached I might as well have been naked. His gaze swept over me with a familiar possessiveness that was slightly predatory, and I felt myself shiver as if he’d touched me already.

“Mrs. Hart,” he said, touching the brim of his hat to me. “I’m glad you are here. I’ve heard that American women are veritable Amazons in the saddle. Are you?”

“I am reasonably accomplished, my lord,” I said. “I won’t lag behind you or hold you back, if that is what you fear.”

He raised a single skeptical brow, taking that as a challenge. I hadn’t intended it that way. I
was
a skilled rider, not that parading up and down in a park would be much of a test. But I’d do better to let Savage judge me himself; he would anyway.

A groom was already leading out a smart bay mare for me as well as a sturdy chestnut for my servant. Both were better than most hired horses, and I suspected Savage had taken care with the choice. I was glad that he wasn’t objecting to having my servant ride behind us. The man would stay back behind us as we rode, out of our hearing, but his presence would give me an aura of respectability. I had heard Laura’s warning, and I could see the wisdom of a certain degree of propriety. I wanted to be with Savage, yes, but I didn’t want to become notorious because of it.

With that in mind I was relieved that Savage stood back as I used the mounting block to climb onto the lady’s sidesaddle and let my servant hand me my reins and adjust my stirrups. As I arranged the drape of my skirts over my legs I couldn’t help but watch as Savage mounted his own horse in a single athletic motion. He swung his horse around to join mine, and together we rode through the arched gate of the stable yard and towards the wide avenue through the park inelegantly known as Rotten Row.

Despite its name, the sand-covered bridleway was a beautiful place to ride at this time of day. It was surprisingly peaceful, for all that we were in the middle of London. The sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows through the trees that lined the avenue, and Savage set an easy pace, little more than a walk, so that we could converse.

“You didn’t lie, Eve,” he said. “You do ride well. But then, I should have guessed as much from our past … experience.”

I looked up quickly through the haze of my veil and smiled, glad that we were alone so that he could call me by the name he’d invented for me, instead of my husband’s surname.

“Thank you, Master,” I said simply, happily falling back into the Game.

He grunted, pleased I’d done so. “I’ve missed you, Eve,” he said with unexpected honesty. “I do not like sharing you with others.”

“I missed you, too, Master,” I said softly. “Lady Carleigh has become my friend, but I prefer to be alone with you.”

“As it should be,” he said. “Now tell me of your challenge last night.”

“I did exactly as you bid me do, Master,” I said quickly. “I walked through the lobby by myself, dressed as I was, spoke with the clerk at the desk, and then rode in the lift to my suite.”

“That’s not what I meant, Eve,” he said, a slight irritation in his voice. “Anyone could have told me that.”

“Forgive me, Master,” I said, bewildered. “But I thought that—”

“Do not
think,
Eve,” he ordered. “Only feel. Feel, and remember that this was to have been a challenge.”

I nodded, and in confusion I looked before me as I strived to collect my thoughts. The crowds that usually thronged both the avenue and the adjacent walks had gone home to prepare for the evening. In addition to a few solitary gentlemen there were small groups of officers from the Household Cavalry in their scarlet tunics and plumed silver helmets, exercising their horses along the row.

I was the only lady in sight.

It had been the same way in the Savoy’s lobby early this morning, when I’d walked past all the leering men. The only difference was that with Savage at my side the men we passed on horseback now might steal a glance in curiosity, but most only nodded at me in respect. None of them would dare appraise me as freely as the men had this morning.

But that was what Savage had wanted, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that the challenge he’d set for me? For me to experience what it was like to be ogled and desired by strangers?

“I thought I was accustomed to being a woman alone when I entered the hotel, Master,” I began slowly. “I thought I knew what to expect from the challenge. But it wasn’t like anything else I’d done before, ever.”

“Go on,” Savage said, his eyes hooded but bright with interest. “Tell me more.”

“If it pleases you, Master.” I swallowed and continued. “I knew that no one could tell what I wore beneath my coat. That coat is heavy, as furs can be, and no one else would know that I wasn’t wearing a corset, let alone petticoats, or a camisole, or even drawers. No one could have known, and yet I was certain somehow that every man I passed did.”

“Why did you think that?”

“From how they looked at me,” I said. “It began with the doorman who tried to help me from your motorcar. He didn’t say or do anything that was not respectful, and yet I could see the longing in his eyes.”

“I warned you that men sense these things about a woman,” Savage said. “They can tell when she has been fucked, and how much she relished it. In countless inexplicable ways, you displayed your satisfaction. Your eyes were heavy with pleasure, your mouth swollen from my kisses, your walk languid with satisfaction.”

I nodded, remembering. “All of those things, Master. And yet it wasn’t that I was shameless, but fearless. Because of you, I was proud of who I was.”

I expected him to smile, but his mouth remained a solemn, implacable line. He took being my Master very seriously.

“Because in that moment,” he said, “you were not a lady, but a woman. What was your response to this attention?”

I gave a little shake to my shoulders. “I told you, Master. I was proud of it, and I was—”

“No, Eve,” he said patiently. “I wish to hear of how your body responded to being the center of so much male desire. Did it arouse you? Did you feel the heat in your quim?”

“Oh.” I blushed behind my veil. I shouldn’t have. With Savage I’d learned to speak with a frankness that would have stunned me a month ago. But somehow the combination of wearing a restrictive, formal riding habit along with being in the middle of Hyde Park with my groom riding behind me made that same frankness more difficult to repeat. I felt once again like Mrs. Hart, not the Innocent Eve.

“Do not be shy, Eve.” Clearly Savage was aware of my misgivings, but instead of sympathy I heard an edge of irritation in his voice. “You’ve come too far for that now. I asked you to tell me if you were aroused by the challenge, and I expect you to answer me.”

I nodded, though my thoughts were spinning. I didn’t know why I was suddenly so modest. I didn’t want to displease Savage. I never wanted to do that, not after he’d done so much for me.

In desperation I tried to recover my memories of this morning and find the words to describe what he’d requested of me. It was as if by wearing my usual, confining corset and clothes I’d lost all of my newfound freedom and returned to my old, restricted self. I felt an uneasy, unladylike sweat gathering beneath my habit and my chemise, trickling between my breasts, and I was acutely aware of the muffled, rhythmic sound of our horses’ hooves on the sand-covered avenue, the rustle of the evening breeze through the leaves overhead, and the creak of my mare’s leather saddle.

Yet most of all I sensed Savage’s growing unhappiness beside me. He sighed, and my despair increased. What was wrong with me? How could I have survived the challenge itself, only to fail him in the telling of it?

“Eve, please,” he said, and to my surprise his voice had softened in a way that made me long to please him all the more. “I simply want to share the challenge with you, that is all.”

“I do not wish to disappoint you, Master,” I confessed with frustration.

“You never do that, Eve,” he said, soothing me. “Not you. Now remember last night. Remember how we left Wrenton in the middle of dinner. Remember the red silk dress with the black lace that you wore, with nothing beneath it. No corset, no drawers. That pleased me very much. You were wearing it still this morning at the Savoy.”

“Beneath my fur,” I continued with a little hitch of emotion in my voice. Hearing him describe what I’d worn made my task easier. “Last night I’d felt very daring wearing a dress like that. I knew it would make me more … more accessible to you.”

“It did,” he said. I heard the rawness in those two words, revealing perhaps more than he intended. “It pleased me, too. Very much.”

I nodded, my memories returning along with my confidence.

“Wearing a dress like that, I didn’t need a lady’s maid,” I said. “In the motorcar, I pulled it over my head. I sat across your legs and rode your cock as we drove, and you squeezed my breasts, and I rocked with the movement of the motorcar to make it better for us both. And because it was you and your cock filling my … my cunt, it was perfect.”