No, I felt more like the mouse, with him as the cat.
“Won’t we, Eve?” he repeated, bemused by my unease.
“Yes, Master,” I said belatedly. I had to remember that he expected an answer to every
question.
“Good,” he said. He dropped into the armchair that I’d been sitting in earlier and
stretched his long legs out before him, making himself comfortable.
I, however, was anything but comfortable. I was standing between his chair and the
window—trapped between them, really—and anytime he wished, he could reach out to touch
me.
Or I could touch him , I told myself, glancing down to the black-clad leg so close to mine. The fabric
pulled and stretched over his muscular thigh, and I longed to place my hand there
to feel his strength, his power.
That’s what a woman like Lady Carleigh would do, I thought. She wouldn’t be shy. If I wanted this man as much as I claimed, then I should let him know with a seductive
kiss or a caress. Likely he’d welcome it, even expect it.
But then Lady Carleigh would know exactly how to please a man, and I … I did not.
“You seem uneasy, Eve,” he said. He didn’t have to be a clairvoyant for that; surely
he could hear the racing of my heart from his chair. “To prove how generous a master
I am, especially compared to others in this house, I shall permit you to ask me three
questions, just like a genie. Anything at all.”
It was a precious opportunity to learn more of him, and an unexpected one, too. But,
in the way of such moments, my thoughts went blank, and I blurted the first thing
that came to my head.
“Why—why do you use candles instead of the gaslight?”
“Because I prefer them,” he said easily. “I have an old soul, Eve, and a romantic
one. I find little to please me in the hasty vulgarity of modern life. If in this
small way I can exist in former days, then so be it.”
“But don’t you own a motorcar?” I asked, in my astonishment unwittingly using my second
question.
“I do,” he confessed, holding the glass close to his cheek. “Several, in fact. One
cannot completely escape one’s life, no matter how much one wishes otherwise. But
I much prefer a candle’s warm light to the greenish glow of gas, the blood and urgency
of a fast horse to a rumbling motor, and a painter’s mastery to the chemical wizardry
of a photograph.”
No other man I’d known would ever have made such an admission, nor so poetically,
and it intrigued me. “Then you are a true romantic, aren’t you?”
“I am, and proudly so,” he said, and smiled. “Which is why I am so intrigued by you.
And that, Eve, was the last of your allotted questions for me.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed with dismay. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I don’t care what you intended, Eve,” he said, cutting me off. “All that matters
to me is what you do, and what you will do now is what I say.”
Reluctantly I nodded. He hadn’t exactly tricked me, but the distraction of his mere
presence had made me trip myself. If this was part of the Game, then I’d already lost
the first gambit.
“Take your hair down,” he said. “I want to see it loose.”
Years had passed since I’d either dressed or unpinned my hair myself, especially without
a mirror; Hamlin would never have permitted it. I hadn’t been seen in public with
my hair loose since I was fourteen. Likely, Savage was aware of all this, but I didn’t
wish to admit to being so helpless.
Instead, I reached up and began pulling out the dozens of pins that held my elaborately
braided, curled, and puffed hair in place. I neatly tucked each pin between my lips,
the same way as Hamlin did.
“Let the pins fall,” Savage said. “Barry will gather them. I’ve far better uses for
your mouth than that.”
I took the hairpins from my lips and dropped them as he’d ordered. One by one they
fell to the polished floorboards with a little ping, like drops of metallic
“Won’t we, Eve?” he repeated, bemused by my unease.
“Yes, Master,” I said belatedly. I had to remember that he expected an answer to every
question.
“Good,” he said. He dropped into the armchair that I’d been sitting in earlier and
stretched his long legs out before him, making himself comfortable.
I, however, was anything but comfortable. I was standing between his chair and the
window—trapped between them, really—and anytime he wished, he could reach out to touch
me.
Or I could touch him , I told myself, glancing down to the black-clad leg so close to mine. The fabric
pulled and stretched over his muscular thigh, and I longed to place my hand there
to feel his strength, his power.
That’s what a woman like Lady Carleigh would do, I thought. She wouldn’t be shy. If I wanted this man as much as I claimed, then I should let him know with a seductive
kiss or a caress. Likely he’d welcome it, even expect it.
But then Lady Carleigh would know exactly how to please a man, and I … I did not.
“You seem uneasy, Eve,” he said. He didn’t have to be a clairvoyant for that; surely
he could hear the racing of my heart from his chair. “To prove how generous a master
I am, especially compared to others in this house, I shall permit you to ask me three
questions, just like a genie. Anything at all.”
It was a precious opportunity to learn more of him, and an unexpected one, too. But,
in the way of such moments, my thoughts went blank, and I blurted the first thing
that came to my head.
“Why—why do you use candles instead of the gaslight?”
“Because I prefer them,” he said easily. “I have an old soul, Eve, and a romantic
one. I find little to please me in the hasty vulgarity of modern life. If in this
small way I can exist in former days, then so be it.”
“But don’t you own a motorcar?” I asked, in my astonishment unwittingly using my second
question.
“I do,” he confessed, holding the glass close to his cheek. “Several, in fact. One
cannot completely escape one’s life, no matter how much one wishes otherwise. But
I much prefer a candle’s warm light to the greenish glow of gas, the blood and urgency
of a fast horse to a rumbling motor, and a painter’s mastery to the chemical wizardry
of a photograph.”
No other man I’d known would ever have made such an admission, nor so poetically,
and it intrigued me. “Then you are a true romantic, aren’t you?”
“I am, and proudly so,” he said, and smiled. “Which is why I am so intrigued by you.
And that, Eve, was the last of your allotted questions for me.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed with dismay. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I don’t care what you intended, Eve,” he said, cutting me off. “All that matters
to me is what you do, and what you will do now is what I say.”
Reluctantly I nodded. He hadn’t exactly tricked me, but the distraction of his mere
presence had made me trip myself. If this was part of the Game, then I’d already lost
the first gambit.
“Take your hair down,” he said. “I want to see it loose.”
Years had passed since I’d either dressed or unpinned my hair myself, especially without
a mirror; Hamlin would never have permitted it. I hadn’t been seen in public with
my hair loose since I was fourteen. Likely, Savage was aware of all this, but I didn’t
wish to admit to being so helpless.
Instead, I reached up and began pulling out the dozens of pins that held my elaborately
braided, curled, and puffed hair in place. I neatly tucked each pin between my lips,
the same way as Hamlin did.
“Let the pins fall,” Savage said. “Barry will gather them. I’ve far better uses for
your mouth than that.”
I took the hairpins from my lips and dropped them as he’d ordered. One by one they
fell to the polished floorboards with a little ping, like drops of metallic
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