Page 45 of Doxy for the Ton
By the time Wheeler returned, Alexander’s guilt no longer needled at him—it sliced through his heart with vicious strokes, like an angry duelist at dawn.
“Your brandy, Your Grace.”
Alexander took the proffered glass and drained it, letting the acrid liquid tear into his senses. But it didn’t numb the guilt.
“Another?” the butler asked.
“No,” Alexander said. “Forgive me.”
“What for?”
Alexander sighed. “I think you know what for.”
“In which case, sir, might I suggest it’s notmyforgiveness you require.”
“Ought a butler speak to his master thus?”
“Perhaps not, sir—but though you told Lady Rex just now that prudence is overrated, every butler knows thatproprietyis not.”
Bloody hell—it was almost like being back at Eton standing in front of his housemaster, awaiting a caning for some transgression.
But perhaps a bloody good caning was needed, given the transgression he’d committed—six of the best, trousers down.
I really am an utter bastard.
By rights he should slink back to his house with his tail between his legs. But that was the choice of the coward. The least he could do was face her—match her courage and dignity.
After dismissing the butler, he made his way up the stairs, approached the nearest door, and pushed it open.
The chamber was furnished in soft shades of blue and yellow—a bed beside the window, with a two-seater sofa beside the fireplace, a table beside the window bearing a vase of flowers, and a dressing table opposite the bed. The simplicity of the interior gave it a spacious air—room to breathe. Sunlight streamed into the room from a tall sash window, illuminating the vase of flowers, rendering the petals luminescent. He approached the vase and traced the soft, cool edge of a petal with his fingers.
The dressing table was bare, save a hairbrush and a bottle of cologne—hardly the tools of a doxy’s trade. Suppressing his guilt at the intrusion, he picked up the bottle and held it to his nose, inhaling the scent of rose.
This was her bedchamber—but she was nowhere to be seen.
Feeling guilty at having invaded her privacy, he slipped out and clicked the door shut.
He opened the next door along—and caught his breath.
The room was darker, furnished with thick velvet that absorbed the light and stifled the senses. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the sunlight, but two candles at either end of the mantelshelf cast an orange glow that picked out the shapes of the armchairs beside the fireplace, the vases either side of the window…
…and the naked woman on the bed.
“At last, he comes.” She raised her hand and beckoned.
“What are you doing, Mimi?” he asked.
“Fulfilling my part of the bargain. After all, you’re not here totake tea.”
He approached the bed. “Mimi, I—”
“Hush, Your Grace.” She slid off the bed and placed a finger on his lips. Then she dropped to her knees and undid the buttons on his breeches. A rush of heat coursed through his veins as she slipped her hand inside and circled his already stiffening manhood.
Sweet heaven!Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back, relishing the touch of her hand as she slid it along his length.
“That’s it, my lord,” she whispered, her voice low and hoarse. “Your pleasure awaits.”
He opened his eyes and almost spent at the sight of her ready to service him. Her eyes glittered in the candlelight, their expression soulless and cruel. She curled her lip into a smile and ran the tip of her tongue along her teeth.
