M'Lady Read online

  “There,” Jack finally said. “Now you look presentable. Your mum should be waiting at the table.”

  “Thank you, for everything,” Ian said, clasping Jack’s forearm.

  Jack’s gaze dropped and pink-tinged his ears, but his smile suggested he was quite chuffed. “Just doing my duty, Sir.”

  “Right, well, don’t steal the silver.”

  Jack’s chuckle followed Ian as he walked out the door and descended the stairs to the breakfast room with its heavy wooden table and sideboards. The novelty of having a whole room for a single meal hadn’t quite worn off yet, along with the delight that someone else made the toast and eggs.

  His mother, in a brilliant yellow morning gown, sat at the table with a paper in one hand and a cup of chocolate in the other. She looked up and smiled. “There you are.”

  “Good morning, mother. How are you today?” He tried not to stare at the gossipy rag in her hand.

  She set the paper down. “My health is fine, but I am troubled. And I am resolved to do something about it before I’m in my grave.”

  Ian piled eggs onto his plate. “You’re nowhere near the grave.” It wasn’t like her to be prone to theatrics.

  His mother let out a breath. Setting her cup down, she took his hand. “But I’m not getting any younger, which is why I’ve made it my mission to find you a bride.”

  Chapter 4

  The red, curly wig on Jane’s head pinched, but she kept her smile in place and delivered her lines as a tragic, scorned woman with the aplomb demanded of her. The play said she’d brought her fate on herself by relinquishing her virtue too easily, but Jane still thought that her speech about regret prior to casting herself off a cliff during a thunderstorm was a touch dramatic for being left behind by a man so he could marry a doe-eyed virgin. However, no one ever asked Jane what she thought about the story and audiences loved the drama paired with the thunder and lightning effects.

  Lines delivered, she held her head up high, stepped back, and screamed as she jumped. She continued screaming as she landed on a pile of feather pillows, trailing off the sound as the curtains whooshed closed.

  She stood and pulled the wig off. The relief as she massaged her scalp made her sigh.

  “Excellent thunder tonight,” she told the stagehand manning the sheet of metal that made rumbling noises. He was a good friend and worked at the Treasure as well.

  “Thank you,” David said, nodding. “Did you hear the news?” They fell into step, his tall lanky frame making her have to scurry to keep up.

  She halted. “Do share.” Gossip moved faster than fleas in a theater company, so this had to be a very fresh rumor if she hadn’t heard it before the start of the play.

  The stagehand grinned and pushed back his blond hair. “Well, I heard from Miss Lucy who had word from Mr. Thatcher that Mr. Wicks delivered tickets to the Earl of Whitecliffe’s house this morning. He’s going to make an appearance at our little playhouse in a few weeks.”

  Jane’s body tensed like it did every time she heard Whitecliffe’s name. Thankfully, David didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Quite a patron of the arts, isn’t he? Should bring in loads of business for us.”

  David grinned. “We’re doing okay, but that kind of notice will make all our pockets fatter.”

  “I don’t know anyone who’ll complain about that.” She did well enough but could use new shoes, and her tiny savings would grow.

  “See you in a few,” David said, stretching his arms.

  Jane nodded her agreement and hurried to the dressing room. It was cramped and packed with actors and actresses laughing and chatting. The show was in its final act, so people were still running in and out. Jane appreciated that her character died at the end of act four, it gave her a moment to breathe.

  She shimmied out of her heavy dress and handed it and the wig over to a costumer. Sitting, she wiped the thick paint from her face. The red spots from her cheeks looked like blood on the cloth, and she wrinkled her nose. With color removed, she felt much lighter. She let her hair down, combed it out, and put it back up in a bun.

  After pulling a plain brown dress on, she bid farewell to the rest of the company and hurried to the back door of the playhouse. David was already there, and he opened the door as she approached.

  The air outside was still too warm from the day’s heat. Jane dodged puddles as they strode towards the Treasure. The sky must have opened up during the performance.

  “You’re eager,” David remarked as she hopped across a questionable-looking bit of mud.

  Jane shrugged. “It’s just nice to be out of the playhouse for a moment.” The tiny flat she shared with two other actresses held little charm and tended to be stuffy. At least walking offered a hint of a breeze.

  “Sure, and it has nothing to do with the fellow waiting for you?”

  They crowded against a wooden wall as a hackney trundled past.

  “No,” Jane said, busying herself with making sure the cab hadn’t splashed any mud on her skirt.

  David pursed his lips. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

  “Your majesty,” she said with a clumsy curtsey.

  “You’ll need to practice that if you ever meet the real queen. But, seriously, have you got a decent one on the hook?”

  “That’s a very transactional way of seeing things, but yes, he’s alright. Needs some training, but he’s a quick learner.” She didn’t want to fully admit to David how much she’d thought of Ian during the week, with his tousled curls, sky-blue eyes, and very eager prick.

  David snickered. “You just sighed with longing.”

  “I did not.” Drat, she probably had.

  “Did too, but your secret is safe with me.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Do you think he’d set you up as his mistress?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it, and I only have one other client right now. Mr. Yates is a dear, but with him only wanting a girl to walk on him and then to suck her toes, I was thinking I’d hand him off to the new girl since he’s so easy to please. That way I could see my fellow twice a week at the Treasure.” She bit her lip. “I know the expense would mean little to him.”

  “Ah, I see.” David avoided stepping in a pile of horse dung that littered the street. “It’s not a far step from there to a house of your own. He could lavish you with jewelry.” This time it was David’s turn to sigh longingly. He’d told her more than once what he wanted to be was a kept man, but society didn’t allow for that.

  Jane didn’t dare tell him that what she wanted more than anything was to be a wife and mother. She supposed it would be different if she’d been born and raised to be only that, in which case it might seem stifling, but her mother had been an actress as well as her grandmother. She made her way the same as they had, dependent on only themselves. It wasn’t a bad life. She had a roof and food, but she wanted warm smiles, someone holding her close, shared ups and downs, and a whole parcel of children. David would laugh at her if he knew.

  “It’s a thought,” she murmured. Money would let her move far away. She could start over, marry a vicar and tend a kitchen garden while giving him babies.

  “What you should be is a duchess. I can just see you in fine silks holding court over tea, with fine bone china on the table.” They’d reached the Treasure, but David blocked the back door they’d enter through. It was an unassuming weathered wooden door in a brick alley, a far cry from the regal portico the clients saw as they disembarked from their carriages.

  Whitecliffe might already be there. Butterflies took flight in her middle.

  She glared at David. “Stop fishing, you know I won’t tell you a thing. Though you can rest easy, were he to snatch me up and declare his undying love, I wouldn’t become a duchess.” She poked his chest with a finger. “And can you imagine the scandal? There’d be no teas, or friends for that matter.”

  “Money talks,” David said with a snort. “After a month or two there’d be
a new scandal, and nobody would risk upsetting a powerful man by being rude to his wife. Also, you’re a star that shines in whatever sky you find yourself in. Don’t think for a minute you wouldn’t be a bloody brilliant society lady.”

  Jane laughed and pushed him aside to knock on the door. “I could tell the ladies all kinds of stories that’d make their hair curl.”

  A dour-faced man opened the old door, smiling when he saw Jane and David. “Hurry up, you two. It’s going to rain again and you should be safe and warm inside.”

  Jane kissed his cheek as she passed. “Thank you, Sam.” She poked David again. “Have a good night, I’ll see you for tomorrow’s performance.” She bustled up the narrow back stairs to her dressing room, flinging off her plain dress in favor of a black lace affair that left little to the imagination. It fell to her knees but was essentially see-through. Her tawny nipples were lovingly framed by swirls of lace, and she hoped Whitecliffe would be appreciative. Black lace gloves and a pair of shiny black shoes completed the look.

  Jane tied her mask in place and let down her hair.

  Through the thin wall, she heard muffled voices. The madam’s soft tone and the Earl’s Scottish lilt. Jane forced herself to slow down. She dabbed on her signature rose scent, caressing her wrists, neck, and the backs of her knees with the cold glass stopper.

  It would be best to make him wait for her. It was a move used by powerful men all the time, he’d recognize why she was doing it even if he wouldn’t be able to say as much if asked.

  Whitecliffe was her present, she wasn’t his, and soon he’d be gone. She’d read the rags about him being on the hunt for a wife. He’d attended some country dance on Friday, writing his name on the dance cards of scores of young, eligible women. The papers had also said he’d danced with no one twice and paid no calls on any of them since.

  She shouldn’t feel so relieved. That wasn’t her place.

  Jane allowed herself one brief flight of fancy, in which she was a Countess with a half dozen sons and daughters, all with blue eyes and curly hair.

  Then she tucked those thoughts away, stood, and made her way to the room she entertained in. The door swung open to reveal Whitecliffe, who was, of all things, kneeling on the floor. He was bare-chested, but the kilt she’d asked for was around his waist. The blue and green tartan looked lovely against the peaches and cream of his skin. Her pussy gave a throb.

  “My present,” she said, stalking over to him. “This is excellent.”

  He beamed up at her, his joy obvious even through his mask, even if his smile was a tad shy. That wouldn’t do.

  She sank her fingers into his brown curls and leaned down, inhaling the soap and man scent of him. “I’ve been at sixes and sevens all week waiting for tonight to see if you’d do as I asked.”

  “I will do anything you ask, M’lady,” he replied promptly, clearly keen to win her good graces. She liked that, he wasn’t play-acting at giving her power, he wanted to do as she said.

  “You look a treat, and you’re a good lad to meet me on your knees, but now up so I can get a better look.” She tugged on his hair before letting go.

  He rose, surprisingly graceful, and stood with his legs slightly apart and his hands behind him, his hands clasping his elbows like she’d already tied him. The shiver of want that passed through her was delicious.

  The exact moment he realized everything he could see through her dress was even better. His mouth dropped open and his eyes fixed on her chest. Jane didn’t doubt that under his kilt he was rock hard. She placed a hand on his chest, rasping the wiry hair with her nails. He was hers to play with, even if he didn’t entirely know that yet. He would soon. Anticipation buzzed in her belly.

  Keeping one hand on him, she circled around him. He nearly turned with her but stopped himself before he pivoted. He let out a very dramatic sigh when she stopped right behind him, out of his line of sight. Jane pressed against him. He was warm and his skin soft and smooth. Jane pushed up on her toes and nipped at his ear, making him shiver.

  “Right now, the game is for you to not move, just because I’ve told you not to. I will punish you, and not the fun way if you do. Understood, present?”

  “Yes, M’Lady.”

  She took his hands and raised them, directing him to rest his forearms on top of his head. It did nice things for his shoulders, and she stroked them with her fingers before slowly gliding her palms down his back. This felt like it was all for her, not her pleasing a client. It was as if the madam had sat her down and asked what she wanted, then given Jane her fantasy as if Jane was the one with the blunt to pay.

  She liked it more than she should.

  And her present needed a lesson of what would happen if he didn’t stay still.

  Smiling to herself, she ducked down and ran her tongue right up his spine, from the waistband of his kilt to his nape. As she expected, he gasped and stumbled forward, his arms dropping to his sides as he spun to face her. His gaze immediately fell to her tits, and she nearly laughed.

  “Bad, present,” she said, giving him a frown. “You’re supposed to not move, you just told me you wouldn’t.” Jane pouted.

  “Ah, hell and damnation, but … licking.”

  “I didn’t add a clause that use of my tongue voided the agreement.” She tilted her head. “So now punishment, then we’ll try again.”

  He nodded. “Yes .. and, er, I’m sorry, M’Lady.” His eyes were wide and nervous as if she might bite.

  Well, now there was an idea, but he’d earned a punishment and she was going to deliver.

  Jane strutted over to an armless chair. From the small table beside it, she picked up a book and a tiny velvet bag. “You’re going to be my ottoman. Hands and knees here.” She gestured at the floor.

  Whitecliffe did as asked, clearly doing his best to be furniture-like. He was precious. Jane lifted the back of his kilt, tucking it into the waistband so his round arse was on display. Unable to help herself, she knelt, caressed his smooth skin, then nipped the firm muscle.

  The shudder and terse groan from her present were delightful, but he didn’t move. Jane shuffled around on her knees to his head. “We’ll be here until you’re done putting these back in the bag. You have to do it one at a time and give me the count as I know the number. If you’re wrong, you have to start again.” She poured out a handful of dried pease, the thick rug on the floor keeping them from rolling away.

  “Yes, M’Lady.” There was a pause. “Can I use my hands?”

  “You may, though it was good of you to ask. I’m just going to sit and read.” She waved the book at him before going to lounge in the chair. Jane kicked off her shoes and put her bare feet up on Whitecliffe’s back. She dropped the book--no idea of the title-- back on the table. It was probably some dry treatise on obscure farming history. Previously she’d used it a couple of times for swats, but if her present thought the dull counting of dried pease was all of his punishment, he was in for a surprise.

  Jane picked up a clean linen handkerchief from the table and unfolded it. Hitching up her barely-a-skirt, she stroked her fingers over her swollen pearl, letting out a breathy moan at the pleasure that winged through her. She pressed the linen tight to her pussy, grinding against it as she pleasured herself.

  Her footstool tensed.

  Chapter 5

  He’d always had a head for sums, doing a spot of counting shouldn’t have been that difficult. The task had seemed simple, and he’d gotten quite a few counted, but now Ian stared at the little velvet bag having absolutely no clue how many were in there. It was a miracle he remembered his name with the sounds Rose made as she pleasured herself.

  Pease counting wasn’t nearly as interesting, which was probably the point. His prick stood at attention, aching with need, and acting as another distraction.

  He dumped the bag out and started over, losing count again as one of Miss Rose’s feet slid down so her toes were digging into his bum. She mewled, a pleading sound, then gasped. He could
feel her release and her feet tensed, then relaxed, as she groaned with completion.

  Bloody hell, he was close to embarrassing himself.

  “Are you done yet, Present?” she asked, tapping her toes against his arse.

  Ian stifled a groan. No, he wasn’t any kind of done. “No, M’Lady.”

  “That’s alright, keep going. I’ll just continue on.”

  Blast.

  His hand shook as he started over with the counting. This time he mumbled the numbers to himself so he wouldn’t lose his place. He did pause, letting his head hang as Rose found her pleasure twice more. She gave a satisfied sigh while stroking his back with her toes. “Did you get them counted?”

  “Fifty,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “Oh, lovely, good job.”

  The burst of pleasure from the praise caught him off guard, and he groaned.

  Miss Rose stood, slipped her shoes back on, and collected the bag. “Now you know what happens to naughty boys who move when they aren’t supposed to.”

  “Yes, M’Lady.” Heavens above, he was going to need to learn a whole new kind of self-control to survive these nights.

  “Now stand.”

  He did, unable to keep his gaze from dropping to her lovely breasts. The lace swirled around her nipples, which were dusky and puckered like she might have been playing with them. The mere idea made him want to beg for the same chance.

  She stepped close, her whiskey-colored eyes warm and sweet.

  “I know you know who I am,” he said.

  “Do I?”

  “Yeah, um, my valet said I was a ninny for thinking otherwise. I gather there are many reasons you’d want to remain anonymous, so I’m not asking for you to, but perhaps I could remove my mask when I’m with you?”

  Miss Rose tilted her head. “Are you sure? It’s a polite fiction we have that I’m ignorant of your identity, Lord Ian Fitzwilliam, Earl of Whitecliffe.”