Page 47 of Their Master

Moira snorted. “I didn’t imagine Leo as the sort to have a steady lover.”

“Yes, he is quite a handful,” Luke said, looking amused.

This was just getting more and more curious. Ex-whores asbodyservants, other servants seeing current whores, the master of the house hiring a live-in-whore… Moira almost felt at home.

“Why so many?” she asked when Luke moved on to yet a third razor.

“They tend to dull quickly, so this will keep the skin from getting chafed.”

Old Amaya had used only one razor and had wielded it like a butcher scraping the bristles from a pig. Not that she’d been clumsy or had ever cut Moira, but she’d certainly never gone to so much effort.

Once Luke was satisfied with his razors, he quickly soaped and shaved each underarm.

When it came time to work on her sex, he moved the rolling stool to the end of the bench, pushed the stirrups one notch wider to accommodate his massive shoulders and removed the towels.

Moira knew she’d be swollen and slick—how could she not be with such a gorgeous man waiting on her hand and foot—and Luke couldn’t help but notice the obvious signs of her arousal. Part of her wanted him to say something. Another part—the part he was currently exposing—wanted him todosomething.

She really was a harlot.

But if Luke noticed anything, he didn’t show it. “Now, relax and I’ll have you smooth the way the master likes in just a few minutes.” He went to work, the razor flickering with almost worrying speed as he stretched skin and shaved areas that she didn’t recall getting attention in the past, leaving no part of her untouched in his quest to eradicate every last hair.

Once he was satisfied, he used yet another steaming cloth to clean away the soap, returned the stirrups to their original position, helped Moira to her feet, and then wrapped her in a thick, soft robe that must have been warmed by the fire.

He led her to a dressing table and sat her in front of the mirror, his gaze on her hair. “It is so glorious that it seems a shame to cut it,” he said, picking up a strand and pulling the corkscrew curl to its full length. He met her gaze in the glass. “But I’m afraid Mr. Smith wants it trimmed.”

Moira nodded.

“How short shall I go?” he asked.

Moira gave him a reassuring smile. “Short.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s just hair; it will grow back.”

∞∞∞

Moira felt as if she’d shed a stone by the time Luke was finished. When she glanced down at the floor it looked like Luke was standing in a sea of copper.

“Well?” he asked, an anxious notch between his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

“Have you ever heard ofcoiffure à la victime?” she asked, running her fingers through the short, tousled curls and loving the feel and look of the new cut.

Luke shook his head.

“It was a haircut that some women wore during the French Revolution to protest brutality. It looked very much like this.” She smiled at him. “I like it.” she said, taking a last look at her reflection before standing. Shelovedit, maybe especially because she knew Marie would hate it. “Thank you, Luke.”

He looked genuinely pleased. “It’s my pleasure. Well, let’s get you into a dressing gown and slippers. I’ll have just enough time to show you around before the doctor arrives.” Luke opened one of the armoires and took out a dressing gown of pale pink silk. “How about this?”

“It’s gorgeous.” She had always dressed in nice clothing, but never anything so feminine.

The dressing gown fit perfectly, as did the matching satin slippers, and Moira couldn’t help staring at her transformed appearance. She had always worn clothing that was plain to the point of severity. Pink was the one color her mother had specifically told her to avoid, but it made her pale skin appear rosy and vibrant rather than sallow. Moira smiled at her reflection; she had never looked better.

“Where did this gown and slippers come from?”

Luke opened the other armoires and she saw dozens of garments hanging inside each. “Mr. Smith had a selection delivered earlier in the week. If there is anything you don’t like I will send it back.”

Moira couldn’t help smiling at Smith’s arrogance; not for a minute had he doubted that she would accept his offer. Had there ever been a time when he’dnotgot what he wanted?

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