Page 46 of Their Master

Luke helped her from the tub and then commenced to dry her.

“You will spoil me, Luke.”

“It is my job and my pleasure to spoil you, Miss Moira.”

“Just Moira, is fine.”

“Mr. Smith would not appreciate such liberties.”

“Is he such a strict master, then?”

“He’s strict but fair. And exceedingly generous.”

This time Moira heard something that sounded near worshipful. So, the gorgeous servant was infatuated with his employer, was he? She could see how that would happen easily with Smith.

Luke led her over to one of thethreefireplaces that were crackling away in the enormous room. “Just hop up on here,” he patted a strange-looking leather covered table, which had multiple drawers in its polished wood base. Beside it was a cloth covered cart that contained a basin, a stack of cloths, and a variety of scissors, razors, and other grooming materials.

Moira used the two steps to mount the table.

He met her gaze, a slight stain spreading over his cheeks. “I’ve been instructed to shave you. It can be, er, intimate.”

“I’m accustomed to such grooming and will not run screaming,” she assured him.

Based on the explicit detail in Smith’s contract—and his own immaculate hygiene—Moira knew he’d expect his instructions to be followed to the letter.

She hadn’t shaved since leaving Bernina’s and had been itching as the hair all grew in, so she was looking forward to being smooth.

“These are for your feet.” He gestured to two metal devices at one end of the table. “I’m going to put a heel in each.” He lifted her left foot and guided it to the metal cup.

“I’ve never seen such a table.”

“Mr. Smith owns a company that makes them,” he said as she put her right heel in the cool metal. “Apparently they are a new invention for use in doctors’ offices.” He did something with a brass crank that raised the back of the bench. “Go ahead and slide down a bit and then lie back and relax.”

Once Moira did so, he lifted the lid on a huge silver tureen, the sort that hot soup might come in, and took out several steaming towels.

“This will make removing the hair easier,” he said, unwrapping the towel around her body and laying a steaming cloth over her mound. “I’m going to adjust the stirrups now.”

He moved first one and then the other foot outward, not stopping until her thighs were spread wide, the suggestive pose enough to make her exposed sex pulse with interest, her mind racing with the uses that could be made of such a table.

Once he’d positioned her the way he wanted, he tucked a second warm cloth over her spread cleft.

“Lift your arms, please.”

When she had a hot towel in each armpit, he covered her exposed torso with a thick towel. Moira was deliciously cozy—perhaps the warmest she’d been in weeks.

“Tell me if you get cold,” he said, and then set about stropping a razor.

“I came here from Bernina’s,” Moira said, suddenly wanting him to know at least that much about her, since he’d confessed part of his own past.

“Yes, I know. One of the other servants said he saw you there.” Luke finished one blade and moved on to another.

Moira’s mind boggled at the thought of a servant who could afford to go to the expensive brothel.

“His sweetheart works there,” Luke said, as if he could guess what she was thinking.

“Who is it?”

“Leo Tinsley.”

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