Page 67 of Their Master

“Hmmm, that must be uncomfortable,” he whispered, petting her mound harder and intensifying the discomfort.

“Why do I feel like that was the point?” she murmured tartly, earning a grin from him.

“As much as I enjoy your suffering, that was not the reason for the delay.”

“What was?”

“I’d hoped to have time to shave you myself—but business matters conspired against me these past few days.”

“You want to shave me?”

“Why should Luke get all the pleasure?” he retorted.

Moira wondered if Luke had been telling their employer how aroused she became when he groomed her.

“Would you like that, Moira? If I were your servant?” he asked.

Although he was barely speaking above a whisper Moira felt that everyone around them must know the shocking things he was saying—and guess the way her body responded: like a well-trained pet—but a quick look around showed nobody was paying them any mind.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I would like that.” In fact, it annoyed her how much it stimulated her to imagine Smith tending her as closely as Luke did.

“Then you shall have it.” He leaned even closer. “I don’t think I told you how charming you look this evening.”

That made her smile. “You did. Several times.”

“Ah, have I been gushing?”

Moira smiled. “Hardly that, but you have been most… generous.”

“I want to be generous with you.” His expression was suddenly solemn. “I want to give you everything you desire.”

Moira swallowed, uncomfortable beneath his probing gaze.

“Nora has a showing at a gallery in ten days—would you care to go?” he asked when she remained tongue-tied.

“I’d love to.”

“Then I will tell Nora to add our names to the guest list.”

They turned back to the conversation to find Nora saying something to Josephine while their men stared at them in silent adoration.

“Quite nauseating, isn’t it?” Smith teased, following her gaze. “Wait until you meet Gideon and Alys, he is just as smitten.”

“You find that nauseating?”

“No. I’m merely envious.”

Before Moira could respond, not that she knew what to say, the Earl and Countess of Taunton arrived at the restaurant, turning heads as the maître d’ escorted them to the table.

Everything she’d heard about Gideon Banks was true; he was quite the loveliest man she’d ever seen, a golden haired, blue eyed god.

His wife, although very pretty, could not hold a candle to her magnificent husband and the pair put Moira in mind of those species of bird—like peafowl—where the male eclipsed his humbler mate.

As Smith and the other four greeted the newcomers Moira couldn’t help envying how much they seemed to like one another—how comfortable and happy they all appeared, even though they were each, in their own way, social outcasts.

“Moira,” Smith said. “Allow me to introduce the Earl and Countess of Taunton. Gideon, Alys, this is Miss Moira Dunsmuir.”

The countess gave her a welcoming smile that turned her merely pretty face into a beautiful one. “Please, call me Alys.”

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