Chapter 37
GRACE
“My dear! That was simply outstanding!” Julien said, pacing around the green room of the Elysium in excited agitation. “The way you played tonight! Oh! Divine!”
Julien still wore his Renaissance wig and Venetian mask.
Grace sat on the table, kicking her booted feet, her mask dangling in her hand. One of her fingers curled a strand of her giant pink wig. She was truly happy.
They had done this several times in the past—her sneaking away from the Sommervilles’ house, playing at notorious establishments such as this, her face concealed by a mask or elaborate makeup. She loved the thrill of anonymity, the exhilarating sense of freedom and danger.
“You were phenomenal!” Julien went on, gesturing theatrically like he always did. “Oh, I wish we could play that for the ton. It’s much too scandalous, I know. But the public here, they were ecstatic. Did you see that?”
Julien walked up to her and cupped her smiling face. “They all applauded standing up. Some important men were there, the owner said. And?—”
“So was her husband,” a voice behind him said.
Julien turned around and froze.
Slowly, Grace slid off the table and lifted her chin. God save me.
Angry? No, her husband didn’t look angry. But out of all places and times, how in the world did he happen to be here, the one night a year when she played anonymously?
“Where is Nina and the other guard?” Drasko asked, stepping toward her.
Julien moved aside, smiling apologetically, though this situation was entirely Grace’s fault.
“One man is at Julien’s house, waiting outside,” she explained bravely. “Nina managed to track me here. She is at the back entrance. We…” She nervously licked her lips. “It’s not her fault. She’s still on guard. But…” She exhaled nervously. “You and I made a deal, too. I can go whenever I want.”
Drasko nodded. “And you are at a brothel venue.”
“So are you, husband.”
His jaw tightened. “I am a man.”
“And I am a woman.”
“Precisely. Did you have a point?”
She did not give in. He had no right to taunt her. No right! She had her freedom. They had agreed upon it.
“If you are dining with questionable women, then I want to do what I love—play piano.”
“For the questionable women and their clients?”
She shrugged. “Men like you?”
A dangerous sparkle flashed in his eyes. Grace had gotten to learn that gaze and understood the rumors that were passed among the women of the ton. Drasko’s green eyes mesmerized women, who liked that feeling of being for a brief moment invisibly scandalized by its straightforwardness.
That same gaze now held her hostage. And she realized she enjoyed it. It reminded her of the night they had spent together. The night that had changed everything she ever thought about men and pleasure and bedrooms. But mostly, herself.
Slowly, Drasko walked over and stopped right in front of her. He raised his hand and gently tipped her chin.
His full lips moved in a barely concealed smirk. Just like the morning after the wedding, when he was trying to teach her a lesson.
Except this time, she felt a shiver of delight at his touch.
“You were, as always, phenomenal, darling,” he said unexpectedly. “But this time, you pushed it. You tricked your guards. I can’t have you running around the city on your own. For your own safety and my peace of mind. Is that understood?”
She pushed his hand away and lifted her chin higher, standing her ground. Or perhaps, wanting to push him farther, past that invisible line that kept them so proper. The last time she did it, she ended up in his bed.
“Oh? That right?” He feigned surprise and brought his hand back to her chin, taking it between his fingers.
She let out a little smile and pushed his hand away again.
He took a tiny step closer, his body against hers so that she had to crane her neck to look at him.
“Interesting,” he muttered.
The words burned her with the memory of what he’d done to her the night they’d spent together, his expert kisses and wicked tongue, his big, muscled body on top of hers and the ease with which he handled her, made her shut up, then made her moan like a libertine, all through the night.
Grace had tried for days, tried in vain, to get rid of those images—the way he caressed her and kissed the lines on her skin left by the tight corset.
How gentle he was the first time. Then the second.
And the third… The way her legs shamelessly hung over his shoulders as he sheathed himself inside her.
His grunts as she touched him. Her moans as she lost herself in him.
The exquisite mixture of light pain and unimaginable pleasure.
The way he murmured, “Close your eyes, Grace. Just feel,” and all the shameless things he did to her body afterward.
She felt so much that night. His whisper, “I love your little moans,” had scorched her to the core as he slowly thrust inside her, and afterward, when she lay in his arms, breathless and beautifully used, his murmur, “Tell me, wife, did you ever think that marriage could feel so good?” made her wonder how long she would have to wait for their second night together.
She was done lying to herself.
She wanted him to strip her naked and touch her everywhere.
Wanted him to bring his mouth to her breasts and kiss them.
Wanted him to unbutton his trousers and take her, use her body again.
She wanted to know that she made him wild with those same thoughts.
She wanted it all. Wanted him. Was wet for him like a wanton woman.
And the worst part wasn’t finally accepting it. The worst was that when he looked at her like he did right now, she was sure that he read her every thought.
Oh, he did.
His fingers found their way to her face again and stroked her cheek.
He leaned over and his nose grazed her cheek in that soft caress she’d learned from him.
“You push my hand away,” he whispered, “and I will lift your skirt and fuck you right here.”
The breath hitched in her throat. His mischievous eyes burned her with a dare.
With her heart in her throat, Grace pushed his hand away again.
Surprised, Drasko cocked a brow. “Is that how it’s going to be, wife?” An amused smile started on his lips.
“I suppose it is, husband.”
His hand slipped around her waist and yanked her up to her tiptoes, flush against him. He was about to say something when a loud bang at the door stopped him in his tracks.
“To be continued,” Drasko said, his gaze dropping to her lips.
The ma?tre d’ was at the door. “Mr. Brodia was asking for you, sir. And… Well, he insists on meeting the pianist.”
Drasko glanced at Grace’s dress, his gaze pausing on her low décolletage.
“Tell Mr. Brodia that I am taking the pianist home. Julien!”
He turned to the instructor, who leaned against the wall by the door, his arms crossed at his chest. “Julien, you were marvelous.”
“My pleasure, sir,” Julien said eagerly but with an awkward smile, biting his nail as he watched Drasko approach.
Drasko put his hand on Julien’s shoulder.
His fingers tightened as he leaned over and said in a hushed whisper that nevertheless reached Grace.
“I see my wife in an establishment like this again, and I will cut off your fingers. I see your hands on my wife again, and she will not have a piano instructor. It would be a pity. I truly do like you.”