office, too,
the stuffed head of a moose he’d shot in Maine and a painted, feathered tomahawk from
a Plains Indian that he swore (to my horror) had been used for scalping.
But then there were other things here in Lord Savage’s rooms that would never have
found their way to Father’s office. Over the fireplace hung a large painting of a
woman sprawled over a daybed, wearing only a small diadem and bright jewels that glowed
against her pearly skin. She smiled shamelessly, proud of her nudity in a way that
made me blush for her.
That was only the beginning: the terra-cotta statue of a muscular, goatish satyr with
a nymph, their limbs intimately entangled; a small watercolor of two beautiful young
women lying together in a bed, kissing and fondling each other; and, most stunning
of all, an engraving of another woman whose head was thrown back in a frenzy of passion,
mating with the sizable swan clasped tightly between her thighs. It was not only shocking
to me but physically impossible.
But, to my astonishment, this engraving and the other artworks had the most curious
effect on me, making my heart race and my blood warm in a way that overwhelmed my
initial embarrassment.
It was much the same as when I’d first spied Lord Savage with the other woman in the
London garden, and I remembered how he’d told me that I must like to watch. I’d been
offended then, but now I merely wondered if he’d been right.
I’d come here to discover passion, hadn’t I? Perhaps looking at explicit pictures
like these were part of my discovery. Perhaps they were meant to be … inspiring. And
if the artwork affected Lord Savage in the same way, then it was no wonder that he
kept it here at Wrenton, where he came to participate in Lady Carleigh’s sensual games.
Yet, I forgot everything when Barry led me through the last door.
“His lordship wishes you to wait for him in here, Mrs. Hart,” Barry said. “Is there
anything else, ma’am?”
“No, Barry,” I said. “No.”
I could scarcely wait for the servant to leave. I was standing in Lord Savage’s bedroom,
and the excitement I felt was almost unbearable. Unlike the exotic, erotic clutter
of the sitting room, this was spare, even austere.
An enormous antique bed with elaborately carved posts dominated the room, the red
velvet coverlet, pillows, and canopy glowing by the light from the candles and the
fire in the hearth. Beneath my bare feet was an oriental carpet, thick and plush with
swirling patterns of crimson and blue.
There were no pictures on these walls. The room’s single ornament was the sweeping
view of the surrounding countryside visible through tall windows without curtains.
A single armchair near the window, two small tables flanking the bed, and a large,
framed dressing mirror were the only other pieces of furniture in the room.
I ran my fingers lightly over the velvet coverlet, trying to imagine Savage himself
lying against the piled pillows at the head of the bed. Before long, I wouldn’t have
to imagine, and a tremor of anticipation rippled through me.
Swiftly I drew my hand back as if it had been burned, curling it against my chest,
and retreated to the chair beside the window to compose myself. The view was lovely,
fields and ancient trees splashed by moonlight, and the dark blue skies overhead scattered
with stars. It could have been a warm evening at my house in Upstate New York rather
than here in—
“Are you stargazing, Eve?”
At the sound of Savage’s voice, I immediately twisted around in the chair to face
him. He was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, still dressed in his impeccable
formal clothes from dinner.
In the candlelight, he was all black and white, from his starkly white shirt and black
suit to his inky-black hair and the white teeth of his smile. It was more predatory
than humorous, that smile, and all that spared it from pure wolfishness were his
the stuffed head of a moose he’d shot in Maine and a painted, feathered tomahawk from
a Plains Indian that he swore (to my horror) had been used for scalping.
But then there were other things here in Lord Savage’s rooms that would never have
found their way to Father’s office. Over the fireplace hung a large painting of a
woman sprawled over a daybed, wearing only a small diadem and bright jewels that glowed
against her pearly skin. She smiled shamelessly, proud of her nudity in a way that
made me blush for her.
That was only the beginning: the terra-cotta statue of a muscular, goatish satyr with
a nymph, their limbs intimately entangled; a small watercolor of two beautiful young
women lying together in a bed, kissing and fondling each other; and, most stunning
of all, an engraving of another woman whose head was thrown back in a frenzy of passion,
mating with the sizable swan clasped tightly between her thighs. It was not only shocking
to me but physically impossible.
But, to my astonishment, this engraving and the other artworks had the most curious
effect on me, making my heart race and my blood warm in a way that overwhelmed my
initial embarrassment.
It was much the same as when I’d first spied Lord Savage with the other woman in the
London garden, and I remembered how he’d told me that I must like to watch. I’d been
offended then, but now I merely wondered if he’d been right.
I’d come here to discover passion, hadn’t I? Perhaps looking at explicit pictures
like these were part of my discovery. Perhaps they were meant to be … inspiring. And
if the artwork affected Lord Savage in the same way, then it was no wonder that he
kept it here at Wrenton, where he came to participate in Lady Carleigh’s sensual games.
Yet, I forgot everything when Barry led me through the last door.
“His lordship wishes you to wait for him in here, Mrs. Hart,” Barry said. “Is there
anything else, ma’am?”
“No, Barry,” I said. “No.”
I could scarcely wait for the servant to leave. I was standing in Lord Savage’s bedroom,
and the excitement I felt was almost unbearable. Unlike the exotic, erotic clutter
of the sitting room, this was spare, even austere.
An enormous antique bed with elaborately carved posts dominated the room, the red
velvet coverlet, pillows, and canopy glowing by the light from the candles and the
fire in the hearth. Beneath my bare feet was an oriental carpet, thick and plush with
swirling patterns of crimson and blue.
There were no pictures on these walls. The room’s single ornament was the sweeping
view of the surrounding countryside visible through tall windows without curtains.
A single armchair near the window, two small tables flanking the bed, and a large,
framed dressing mirror were the only other pieces of furniture in the room.
I ran my fingers lightly over the velvet coverlet, trying to imagine Savage himself
lying against the piled pillows at the head of the bed. Before long, I wouldn’t have
to imagine, and a tremor of anticipation rippled through me.
Swiftly I drew my hand back as if it had been burned, curling it against my chest,
and retreated to the chair beside the window to compose myself. The view was lovely,
fields and ancient trees splashed by moonlight, and the dark blue skies overhead scattered
with stars. It could have been a warm evening at my house in Upstate New York rather
than here in—
“Are you stargazing, Eve?”
At the sound of Savage’s voice, I immediately twisted around in the chair to face
him. He was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, still dressed in his impeccable
formal clothes from dinner.
In the candlelight, he was all black and white, from his starkly white shirt and black
suit to his inky-black hair and the white teeth of his smile. It was more predatory
than humorous, that smile, and all that spared it from pure wolfishness were his
Similar Books
