Chapter 11
They entered the kitchen and Chastity staggered at the heat and noise, amazed the house wasn’t on fire.
The servants were roaring drunk, but trying to manage the spits and keep food and drink moving above stairs.
Some had given up. A leg of mutton smoldered, and one drunken woman snored, slack-lipped, in a corner.
No one noticed as Cyn appropriated a basket and put in some sliced meat, fruit pies, and a pot of whipped cream before leading Chastity onward. She looked back and saw a cook turn around and search blearily for his cream.
They passed the butler’s pantry which conveniently had a half-dozen bottles of wine open. One bottle and a couple of glasses went into the basket. Chastity ventured a protest.
Cyn glanced at her. “You did complain of hunger, sweeting. I intend to satisfy you in all respects.”
He was smiling and yet still she sensed a chill behind it. In a way she welcomed the coolness. She didn’t want him to feel warmly toward this chance-met doxy.
Yet again, she acknowledged, they were living a lie.
He led the way to a set of narrow servants’ stairs. There were candles standing in a row, and a lamp to light them by. Cyn lit one and gave it to Chastity to carry as they climbed the stairs.
Cyn would have been hard put to express what he felt at this development. She was a wanton, after all. He’d left her safe in her room then found her, painted in her true colors, playing the whore. She had no reason to join this company except to seek a man.
He could have wept.
On the other hand, he was going to have her.
If she thought to trick him as she’d tricked Gresham, she’d catch cold at it.
She’d expressed willingness; she had come without protest; soon he’d be able to assuage the lust that had been tormenting him for days.
That kiss alone had been enough to set his body throbbing.
And by God, he’d make sure she remembered him. Perhaps she had rolled in bed with half the men in England, but she wouldn’t forget Cyn Malloren.
He led the way up two flights of stairs and opened the baize-covered door into a quiet, dusty passageway. “I thought so. Nursery wing. And long unused.”
In this quiet corner the orgy below might as well not exist. It was cold, though, and even within his coat, Chastity shivered. He checked the four rooms, then indicated one. This had probably been the nurse’s room, for it had a narrow bed with a blanket and quilt still on it.
He placed the basket on the floor and checked the fireplace. “There’s kindling still here and a few coals in the scuttle. Perhaps we can have a fire.”
Chastity put the candle on the floor, its light meager even in the small room. She hugged herself in his coat, drowning in the faint aroma that was Cyn, but beginning to have doubts. What was Lady Chastity Ware doing in this dusty room with this man? How had her life led to this moment?
There were some mouse-nibbled books on a shelf, and he tore them up to start the blaze, then applied the candle. Flames leaped up, then the dry twigs crackled. Chastity moved instinctively closer to the fire.
He looked up. “I think it will catch, and the chimney seems clear. It will be a while, though, before it gives much warmth.”
“At least there’s light.” The room already seemed cozier for the fire.
He pulled the mattress, blanket, and quilt off the bed and laid the mattress on the floor. He spread the blanket over it and bowed with courtly elegance. “Your couch, my lady.”
Chastity acknowledged that once she sat on the mattress her fate was sealed. She subsided onto it in a swirl of silken, perfumed skirts. And a certain amount of dust.
He brought the basket to put on the floor before sitting beside her and spreading the quilt over their legs.
She pulled his coat close around her shoulders. “Aren’t you cold in shirtsleeves?”
He gave her a slanting look. “Not in the slightest.”
Chastity looked away. His expression had just raised her temperature a good few degrees.
He poured wine and passed her a glass. She sipped it, feeling it spread warmth throughout her, feeling it immediately weave up into her brain. She expected him to leap on her at any moment and wished he would, before her nerve failed. “I really do need to eat,” she said quickly.
“Or you’ll be drunk?” he murmured. “Perhaps I want you drunk, sweeting.”
She glanced at him through the slits of her mask and put down the glass. “Do you think you need to get me sozzled to have your way, milord?”
His lips twisted. “No. That would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?” He reached out and traced her lips, a touch that burned. His voice was seductive as he said, “Did your nurse ever tell you not to play with your food?” He took a slice of beef and slowly rolled it. “Now, what does this remind you of?”
Chastity frowned over it. “A roll of beef?”
He considered it. “Too small? You’re doubtless right.” He rolled two more slices around it and showed it to her. “Is that more to your taste?”
He put the meat into her left hand, grasped her right and guided it to his crotch. “What do you think?”
Chastity froze. Eating, again. But she was supposed to be a wanton and had to behave like one. She smiled as best she could. “It seems about right,” she said in a strangled voice. In fact, it still seemed too small. Were all men enormous down there?
“Eat then,” he said softly.
Chastity would as willingly have eaten a snake, but she had no choice. She licked her lips, brought the meat to her mouth, and bit. The bulge under her hand leaped as if she’d bitten into it. She concentrated ferociously on chewing the tender meat. What would a whore do now?
She tried to move her right hand, but he held her there. “I would like some wine,” she said.
He used his free hand to pick up her glass and raise it to her lips. When she had drunk, he leaned over to taste the drops still lingering on her lips, the bulge moving like a live thing under her captive hand. Then he too drank from the glass.
“Eat,” he said softly. “You’ll need your strength.”
Chastity was in a daze. She’d expected to be grabbed, kissed, fondled, and entered. She hadn’t been sure she would like it, just that it was something she had to do. She certainly hadn’t expected she would have to do anything other than submit.
He was clearly ready for her, so why the delay? She dropped the half-eaten meat. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“But you’re a lady of ferocious appetites.
Perhaps you have a sweet tooth.” He moved to reach for the pies and cream, which meant he had to release her hand.
Chastity sidled a few inches away, and the key inside her stomacher pressed on her ribs.
She suspected it would prove an embarrassment very soon, and quickly fished it out and popped it under the mattress.
Cyn was contemplating a pie thoughtfully and Chastity guessed what was to come.
Seduction with food seemed to be his preferred technique.
An effective one, too. Because of their previous encounters, she was already sensitized.
All the confused longing created by a Shrewsbury biscuit and an apple tart returned to swell the tangled longing she felt now.
He bit into the pie, and crimson juice spurted onto his hand. “Cherry,” he said with a grin. “How appropriate.”
He moved the pie to his other hand and held the juicy one out to her. Obeying the silent command, Chastity licked the juice. It was sweet and tart, with the salt of his skin to add savor. The sleek flesh of his hand ran against her tongue. She placed her mouth over his flesh and sucked.
He gently disengaged his hand and held out the pie. “Eat.”
Chastity took a bite. Juice ran again. He angled the pastry and the juice ran onto her breasts. She squeaked and raised her hands to protect the gown, but he captured them and tumbled her backward.
He used his tongue to clean off every trace.
She lay there entrapped by strange desires.
Clever fingers unhooked the gown, untied the laces of the stomacher, and cast it aside. Chastity lay beneath him in her filmy silk chemise and petticoat, her gown open. She wondered if he found her lacking.
A look at his face told her he did not. He was flushed and dark-eyed, entranced, as his fingers traced the swell of her breasts. Rapturous power swelled in her. “Do I please you, milord?” she murmured.
“You are beautiful, as you know.” His voice was scarcely as loud as a whisper.
His hand went to her mask-strings, but she caught it. “No! I remain masked.”
“Is your reputation so precious, then?”
“It is to me.”
He ran a thumb over her cheek along the edge of the black velvet. “Am I to be trusted with a name?”
“No,” she whispered, “but you may call me Chloe.”
“Chloe, is it? Will you laugh at my pain?” Softly he quoted, “ ‘Kiss me, Dear, before my dying; Kiss me once, and ease my pain.” ’
His lips came down hot on hers. Sweet heaven, she’d give anything to ease a pain of his. Tears swelled in her eyes and she thanked the mask that hid them.
Suddenly he left her. She sat up, afraid that in some way she had displeased him, but he had picked up the pot of whipped cream. With a smile and a twitch of his eyebrows, he took a dollop and dropped it in her cleavage.
Chastity looked down and gaped. He pushed her back and spread the cream over the upper swell of her breasts. Then she felt him ease away the chemise and knew she was bare, felt more cream land and be spread.
She waited, breathless, for his mouth. Instead a finger swept across her breasts and was presented before her eyes. “Eat. You are hungry.”
Chastity didn’t have to part her lips for her mouth was still open in shock. She flicked out her tongue and took a little of the cream. It was flavored with orange liqueur. “It’s very good,” she whispered. “We really shouldn’t waste it.”
He smiled. “We’re not going to waste it.” He slowly sucked the rest of the cream off his finger, then gathered more and presented it to her again. “Take it all this time, sweet Chloe. All.”