quite muddled of late. It is all very obvious. For the plan to work, Miss Calloway must be kept by someone Sloan considers a rival. Since you have shown so little enthusiasm for this project, Miss Midwinter and I thought to enlist Captain Gibbs.”
Tess gasped and brought the napkin to her mouth, but not before momentarily drawing everyone’s attention to her. Lord Marcliffe’s attention lingered longest. Tess wished the table was smaller or her leg was longer so she could give him a hard kick. Damn him for completely dismissing the plan. Now Lady Stadwell had brought a stranger into the deal. If Lord Marcliffe had no role in tricking Sloan then he’d have no reason to stay.
“Besides, Miss Sparkes would not be pleased,” Lydia said.
Tess had heard more than enough about the earl’s mistress. Miss Sparkes had boasted of his talents to Lydia Midwinter and Lydia, in turn, had obviously felt it her duty to pass along those intimate details to Tess.
Captain Gibbs moved closer so that the sleeve of his coat brushed Tess’s arm as he reached for the sugar bowl. “Miss Calloway, have we met before? London, perhaps? The Hampton’s party more specifically? There was a beauty in London a season ago who had just such rare coloring. An exotically plumed bird who made the other females look like drab sparrows by comparison.”
“Alas, I’ve never been to London.” The man had such an open and earnest face that it actually pained Tess to lie to him.
“Exotically plumed birds find themselves easy prey. They get eaten.” Lord Marcliffe, who was ever alert to any contradictions in her story, had managed to pick up on the least important part of the captain’s conversation. A steady diet of whiskey, Tess surmised, did not improve a man’s skills of perception.
“Have you been drinking as well, Captain? Birds and plumes, whatever are you two talking about?” Lady Stadwell asked.
“Gibbs, you don’t want to get involved in this.”
“But I assure you, I do.” Captain Gibbs bestowed another beaming smile on Tess.
Lord Marcliffe swept his cup and saucer aside and leaned menacingly across the table. “I assure you. You do not.”
Captain Gibbs still had a charming, innocent smile plastered on his face as he pulled his gaze away from Tess and glanced at his friend across the table. When he saw the look Lord Marcliffe was giving him, the smile melted into a grimace and the color in his cheeks drained.
Lord Marcliffe got up from his chair abruptly. He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. “I will be the man to whom she belongs.”
Relief washed over Tess.
Captain Gibbs held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I was only trying to help, Marcliffe.”
“If you want to help, you can start by talking these women out of this mad idea,” Lord Marcliffe said as he lurched out of the room.
*
The modiste arrived not long after Lydia Midwinter and Captain Gibbs had departed. Tess and Lady Stadwell spent the rest of the day ensconced in the parlor deciding on patterns and fabrics for a spring wardrobe.
The next morning, Tess woke to find herself tangled in her blankets. She’d been dreaming of satin and silk and erotic couplings. The explicit pictures that Miss Midwinter had shown her were branded on her brain. A woman bound with ropes, lifting her bottom in offering as she waited for the man to plunge into her. A woman servicing three men at
once. Miss Midwinter had added her own narrative, describing the sexual acts depicted so graphically Tess had been forced to open the window to the chill morning air to cool her cheeks. All her lessons lacked were practice. Her dreams had revealed a deep hunger for that real experience. Unfortunately, in every dream Lord Marcliffe was the man she explored with her mouth and hands and body. She’d slid satin over the smooth skin of his chest until it snagged on the rough scars of his shoulder. More shockingly, she’d followed the trail of the fabric with
Tess gasped and brought the napkin to her mouth, but not before momentarily drawing everyone’s attention to her. Lord Marcliffe’s attention lingered longest. Tess wished the table was smaller or her leg was longer so she could give him a hard kick. Damn him for completely dismissing the plan. Now Lady Stadwell had brought a stranger into the deal. If Lord Marcliffe had no role in tricking Sloan then he’d have no reason to stay.
“Besides, Miss Sparkes would not be pleased,” Lydia said.
Tess had heard more than enough about the earl’s mistress. Miss Sparkes had boasted of his talents to Lydia Midwinter and Lydia, in turn, had obviously felt it her duty to pass along those intimate details to Tess.
Captain Gibbs moved closer so that the sleeve of his coat brushed Tess’s arm as he reached for the sugar bowl. “Miss Calloway, have we met before? London, perhaps? The Hampton’s party more specifically? There was a beauty in London a season ago who had just such rare coloring. An exotically plumed bird who made the other females look like drab sparrows by comparison.”
“Alas, I’ve never been to London.” The man had such an open and earnest face that it actually pained Tess to lie to him.
“Exotically plumed birds find themselves easy prey. They get eaten.” Lord Marcliffe, who was ever alert to any contradictions in her story, had managed to pick up on the least important part of the captain’s conversation. A steady diet of whiskey, Tess surmised, did not improve a man’s skills of perception.
“Have you been drinking as well, Captain? Birds and plumes, whatever are you two talking about?” Lady Stadwell asked.
“Gibbs, you don’t want to get involved in this.”
“But I assure you, I do.” Captain Gibbs bestowed another beaming smile on Tess.
Lord Marcliffe swept his cup and saucer aside and leaned menacingly across the table. “I assure you. You do not.”
Captain Gibbs still had a charming, innocent smile plastered on his face as he pulled his gaze away from Tess and glanced at his friend across the table. When he saw the look Lord Marcliffe was giving him, the smile melted into a grimace and the color in his cheeks drained.
Lord Marcliffe got up from his chair abruptly. He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. “I will be the man to whom she belongs.”
Relief washed over Tess.
Captain Gibbs held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I was only trying to help, Marcliffe.”
“If you want to help, you can start by talking these women out of this mad idea,” Lord Marcliffe said as he lurched out of the room.
*
The modiste arrived not long after Lydia Midwinter and Captain Gibbs had departed. Tess and Lady Stadwell spent the rest of the day ensconced in the parlor deciding on patterns and fabrics for a spring wardrobe.
The next morning, Tess woke to find herself tangled in her blankets. She’d been dreaming of satin and silk and erotic couplings. The explicit pictures that Miss Midwinter had shown her were branded on her brain. A woman bound with ropes, lifting her bottom in offering as she waited for the man to plunge into her. A woman servicing three men at
once. Miss Midwinter had added her own narrative, describing the sexual acts depicted so graphically Tess had been forced to open the window to the chill morning air to cool her cheeks. All her lessons lacked were practice. Her dreams had revealed a deep hunger for that real experience. Unfortunately, in every dream Lord Marcliffe was the man she explored with her mouth and hands and body. She’d slid satin over the smooth skin of his chest until it snagged on the rough scars of his shoulder. More shockingly, she’d followed the trail of the fabric with
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