Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(62)

He pressed with his palm on the place that he described and it seemed to burn right through the layers of cloth.

She bit her lip, unable to look away from him.

His nostrils flared as if he could scent her arousal. “I’d part yer sweet thighs and touch ye there, where yer pink and wet. I’d slide me finger through yer softness, up until I touched that little spot at the top.” He tilted his head, watching her. “D’ye know the spot I mean?”

“I…” She swallowed, feeling the heat rising over her throat. She knew, of course.

“Tell me.”

She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

“And have ye touched yerself here?” He spread his fingers wide as if claiming possession of her femininity. “Tell me, Silence me love. Have ye touched yerself and thought o’ me?”

She drew in her breath—to deny or confirm, she didn’t know which—but a squeak came from the orchestra.

Michael lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm, his lips warm and intimate.

Silence stared at him, her heart fluttering in her chest.

He smiled into her eyes, placed her hand gently back on her lap, and turned his gaze to the stage. “Hush. It begins.”

MICK SMILED TO himself as he turned to watch the stage. He could hear Silence’s quickened breathing, still saw in his mind’s eye the pink tingeing her lovely chest. He was rock hard from their play and were she a doxie he might’ve pulled the curtains and taken her there.

But she was a lady true and he had no intention of making her flee. No, he’d take this slow, seduce with voice and imagination, and when he finally took her to his bed, well then, the victory would be all the more sweet for the anticipation. He sat back and swiftly made his breeches more comfortable as the music swelled.

The musico stepped out on the stage to calls of approval from the audience. The opera singer was Italian, well known, and had quite a following in London. He was unnaturally tall and a bit fat and he stood woodenly on the stage, his body ungraceful. But when he opened his mouth… what delight!

Mick closed his eyes as the mezzo-soprano voice flew, high and precise, confident even when the notes were rapid and complex. Mick had come to the opera a little more than a year ago on a whim and had been instantly enthralled. That a man could produce such a wonderful sound almost made him believe in a God.

Almost, but not quite.

Mick opened his eyes and turned to watch Silence. She was leaning against the rail, her expression utterly rapt. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes wide, and a curl of her hair drifted against her fair cheek. It occurred to him that he was very content thus, watching Silence and listening to the opera. Was this what happiness was? Strange thought. He’d never considered happiness before. That kind of prosaic life was not for him, he knew. But here, now… he had a glimmering glimpse of what happiness might be.

At the intermission he left her and fought through the crowds to a certain hawker he’d seen outside the opera before.

“What’s this?” Silence asked when he returned with laden hands.

“Cream cakes and wine,” he drawled, and felt the warmth light his chest at her delighted gasp.

He watched her eat the pretty cakes he’d found for her and drink the sweet wine and the satisfaction was so pure that it gave him pause. Was this all an illusion? Could he trust her as he’d trusted once before, long ago?

That time had ended in tragedy. Would this?

She glanced up at that moment, licking the cream from her sweet lips, and frowned. “What is it?”

He sat back, looking away. He’d break in half and die if she treated him as the other had. “Nothin’.”

He felt her gaze for minutes that seemed to drag like an hour, but then, thank God, the orchestra began.

Mick hardly paid mind to the second half of the opera. It was time. Tonight he would take her to bed and end his restlessness. Once she was his, he’d no longer have this womanish worry that she’d betray him.

The decision made, he waited out the rest of the opera impatiently. Silence was hiding a yawn behind her hand by the end, so Mick gave her his arm and led her into the night air.

The carriage was around the corner and he was conscious as their footsteps echoed off the buildings on either side that this would be a grand spot for an ambush. He breathed a sigh of relief when they made the carriage and he grimaced ruefully to himself as he followed her inside. He was becoming a silly old woman it seemed.

He settled beside Silence, very aware of her smaller size and of the delicacy of her profile. Tonight he’d have her in his bed. Tonight he’d discover all that smooth, soft skin, and the woman beneath.

“Thank you,” she said sleepily. “That was the most delightful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Ye liked it then, m’love?” he murmured.

“I did.”

He smiled in the dark. He’d had years of practice with seduction, but this was different somehow. Final and just. After tonight he’d have no need to seduce any other. “What did ye like the most?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I liked the lady singer and the dancer—imagine dancing without stays!” She stifled a yawn. “So scandalous, and yet she was terribly graceful as well, like watching swan’s down float on the wind.” She was quiet a moment. “It must be nice to see the opera or the theater whenever you might wish.”