Page 74 of Their Master

The holiday in question was Guy Fawkes Day. Normally Smith would have left before the chaotic festivities, but he simply had too much to do this year.

“Would you like to visit the land of your ancestors?” he asked her.

“Yes, I’ve never been.”

“I shall take you.” Smith leaned close and kissed her breast. She wore a pale pink velvet gown without pads, bustles, or cages. The romantic, relaxed design suited her slender build and diminutive size.

Smith sucked her nipple until it was peaked and hard and then sat back and smiled. “I’m afraid I’ve marked your gown,” he said, thumbing the damp spot.

She reached down and stroked his erection.

He groaned. “God, that feels good, Moira.”

“So… we will be in the city for Guy Fawkes?” she asked, squeezing his crown in a way that cleared his mind of any other thoughts.

“Mmm, yes. Do you enjoy going out into the crowds?” he asked, closing his eyes, dreamy and relaxed under her firm, skilled hand.

“Last year was my first year in England but I had to work so I did not get to go out and join in the festivities.”

“Shall we make our own Guy and march him toward Parliament?”

Smith hissed in a breath and opened his eyes when she deftly unbuttoned his placket and slid her cool hand around his hot shaft.

“You are very naughty, my dear.” He stared into the complex blues and greens that made up her irises. “How is your sketching progressing? Do you need a model to sit for you?” He showed her his profile and struck a pose.

She gave a delighted gurgle of laughter. “You aresovain.”

“Yes, I am,” he admitted. He fluttered his eyelashes playfully, “But I am an excellent sitter.” He bit her nipple and she shuddered, her hand closing around his shaft.

There was a scratch on the door and Moira’s hand froze.

Smith sighed “I’m sorry,” he said, “But I’m expecting several important messages today.”

Moira nodded and released him.

“Come in,” he said, not taking his eyes from her flushed, pretty face.

The door opened and Michael entered. “A message has arrived, sir—from France,” he clarified, holding out a salver with a single envelope on it.

Smith stared blankly at his servant. This wasn’t the message he’d been expecting; this was the one he’d been dreading.

His reaction to the fat envelope was visceral; he didn’t want to read whatever it contained.

Did he need to read it?

Undeniably.

Smith shook himself and smiled at his patient servant. “Thank you, Michael—set it on my desk.” When the door closed behind the other man Smith turned to Moira. “Thank you for coming to me. It pleases me that you are eager to spend time with me.” He claimed her mouth with a deep, searching kiss, briefly considering bending her over the chair and taking her right there.

But the envelope on his desk nagged at him.

When he pulled away, he caressed her cheek. “I’m afraid I need to take care of this,” he said. “But I look forward to spending the evening with you.”

She nodded and stood, wearing an odd, shy smile. “I’m looking forward to this evening, too.”

Smith watched her leave and then turned to the envelope. It looked innocent, but he suspected that it would disappoint, if not enrage, him. Should he read it? Or toss it into the fire?

He took a letter opener from the desk drawer and slit the back flap.

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