Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(78)

“Then do so. Just not the Countess.”

“Do you hear what a hypocrite you are?” Bliss stepped back from him.

“I am not trying to be mean or—” he began to reply.

“Do you think I care what you are trying? You are not my father and you are not in charge of me.”

“No, but I do arrange for your allowance.”

“Then cut me off, see if I care. I don’t need you, or your money.” With a swirl of skirts and a dance of wings—that almost caught him across the face—Bliss turned and hurried off into the crowd.

Swanston could only stare after her. Blast. That had not gone as he’d meant it to. He’d planned on a few gentle words suggesting to Bliss that the Countess was not to be trusted, and instead he’d been so concerned about her and so busy wondering where Louisa was that he’d let his emotions get the best of him.

This was why he made a practice of holding control so tightly.

“I take it you did not mean to let things get so out of hand.” Duldon approached from near the card room, his costume little more than a handheld half-mask. “I’ve never seen you upset her quite so quickly. And I have had plenty of experience with Bliss and her sudden storms.”

“I was trying to keep her away from the Countess.”

“I can see you were quite successful.” Duldon held out a glass of what looked suspiciously like whiskey.

Swanston took it, asking no questions about where it had come from in a room filled with punch. “I just worry. I should have known she would rush off to do exactly what I asked her not to.”

“That is Bliss. Perhaps you should have explained to her why you didn’t want her near the Countess.”

“And said what?”

Duldon took a swig. “That is a problem. I don’t imagine your family knows of your tastes.”

“No, and I intend to keep it that way. Better they think me a bore than that they believe me a deviant.”

“Are you sure that they would think that? I’ve never heard of Dansers judging anyone.”

“Except for me? I judge everyone.” Swanston knew well what the world thought of him.

“Well, yes—and perhaps me. But I thought we were talking about Bliss. What are you going to do about her? You are right that she cannot continue to associate with the Countess.”

“I suppose I will have to find her a husband. Someone else to worry about the scandals she may cause. It would be much easier to love her if I wasn’t responsible for her.”

“And do you have any ideas about to whom you would marry her off?”

“I haven’t thought about it. No, I’ve thought about it much, but not with anybody specific in mind.”

“What about me?” Duldon asked.

“You?” Swanston could not keep the surprise from his voice. “Why would you want her?”

“I just do.”

Duldon wished to wed his sister? For a moment the thought brought relief. He trusted Duldon. His friend was the best of men—honest, trustworthy; a man who could grow a penny into a pound and not gamble it away. Duldon was also a man who went to Ruby’s. A man who admitted to liking to be called “Master.”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about it.” Duldon met his gaze and held it. “I would promise to keep her out of trouble, and I really do care for the girl. Although, if you wanted to throw in that finger of land that runs into my property, I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

Aah, land. It was much more comfortable to think of Duldon’s wanting land than his wanting anything else—at least when it came to his sister. He’d never judged another man’s tastes—he couldn’t afford to. But it was another matter entirely when the man was talking about Bliss.

Bliss might be a trifle wild, but he was sure she’d run far and fast if she ever knew what went on at Madame Rouge’s.

With that thought in mind, he turned and saw his wife—saw the other men watching his wife. What was she wearing? He’d known of her costume, but not imagined its effect. That shimmer of translucent white, the cleft of her ass begging to be touched, was almost worse than if she’d been naked. His cock sprang to life at the thought, but with it his anger—and his concern. Louisa should not be here dressed like that. Didn’t she know how men thought? How he thought?



Whips?

Hot wax?

Louisa wasn’t sure what to think, wasn’t sure she wanted to think. She certainly didn’t want to think about Swanston and Lady Ormande. The very thought threatened the contents of her stomach.

The lady must be lying.

That had to be it.

Only—only Louisa had a very bad feeling that she wasn’t. She’d spoken with such certainty. And Geoffrey did have a desire for control. That had been clear every time they’d been together, even on those occasions when she’d done nothing but lie still.

And he had mentioned wanting to tie her up.

She’d assumed it was all a joke, but what if … The thought was not as displeasing as it should have been. She’d enjoyed holding herself still for him. What if she had no choice? What if she was bound, hands and feet tied to his great bed?

Her nipples tightened at the thought, pressing hard against the thin fabric of her bodice. She lifted the sheaf of wheat—the pressure had caused her breasts to swell even more—and used her arms to hide her arousal.