Submitting to His Lordship by Em Brown Page B

He removed the necklace, set the box upon the vanity, and went to stand behind her.
    “I could not,” she objected immediately.
    “You shall.”
    “I should be afraid something terrible would happen to it.”
    “You will not wear it for long, but I desire to see how it looks upon you.”
    He pushed her hair to one side and fastened the necklace about her. It served almost like a collar, covering most of her neck. Little red beads dangled like raindrops from the bottom row of the necklace. Methodically, he attached the other pieces: earrings that dangled like miniature chandeliers from her ears; a bracelet that fit first like a ring about her middle finger and ran down the back of her hand before encircling the wrist; and a headdress laid down the center of her head and onto her forehead. Every time his fingers grazed her skin, she felt a rush. The weight of the jewelry, like an extension of his hand, continued to caress her. That familiar tension down below began to simmer.
    Rockwell stepped back and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Deana stared at the same in awe.
    “The jewelers of India cannot be bested,” he said.
    He traced the bottom of the necklace with his forefinger. She shivered as his finger glided along her collar, and suddenly the unquenched desire of the prior night flared through her. She had no wish to be denied once more.
    “What is your desire today, my lord?” she asked.
    A muscle tensed along his jaw. “I thought to show you the extensive grounds. Our horses are being saddled, and I will have Bhadra prepare a picnic.”
    His answer disappointed her, though at any other time she would have delighted in his proposal.
    “Ah,” she said flatly. Recalling how she had once seduced him, she taunted, “Is there no debauchery at the Chateau Debauchery?”
    He raised his brows, though he seemed pleased. “Patience is a required virtue here.”
    She refrained from pouting for she had no wish to be like Miss Walpole, but her desire would not be quelled. She squirmed in her seat.
    “Your intentions are quite the mystery to me, Lord Rockwell.”
    He cupped her chin and turned her gaze to his. “You have much to learn, Miss Herwood.”
    “Then begin your lessons—”
    “I have.”
    “—and, pray, do not prolong them more than necessary. I am an avid pupil.”
    She fixed her most smoldering stare upon him. “Have you no appetency or are you lacking in resolve?”
    She dropped her gaze to his crotch. It was risky challenging his manhood, but she had no interest in a picnic till her ardor was relieved.
    He did not take the bait. “I need no enticement to ravish you, Miss Herwood.”
    “Then ravish me.”
    It was the boldest statement she had ever made.
    “Learn me what you will, my lord,” she urged when he did not respond.
    “Very well,” he decided and gave her a serious stare. “You are short of patience but it can be forced upon you.”
    She did not comprehend his statement, nor care. At last they were to attend to that wanton part of her that wished to experience all that the Chateau Follet portended to offer.
    He undid the gold buttons of his coat one by one. Watching him remove his coat, she sensed desire growing. He hung the coat on the back of a chair.
    “Tell me, Miss Herwood, did you pleasure yourself last night?”
    Stunned by the audacity of his question, she had no reply.
    He went to stand before her. “I have no desire to repeat myself.”
    The sternness in his voice prompted her to speak. “Pleasure myself? In what manner?”
    “I think you know to what I refer.”
    She felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair.
    “There is no shame in the act,” he added. “The Hindus are not alone in their acceptance of this simple human urge. The ancient civilizations of Egypt and Greece regard it as commonplace.”
    “We are neither in Egypt nor Greece.”
    “If we were, would you have?”
    “Perhaps,” she mumbled.
    “I should like to witness it.”
    Her eyes widened.