When all the dishes were empty, he sat back in his chair. “Remind me to compliment the kitchens in the morning. I think that might have been the best inn meal I’ve ever had.”
Rachel laughed as she began to stack the dishes. “I’m sure they would welcome an extra coin if you could manage it. Everything is more expensive at Christmas, I swear some carts at the market put out half the produce at twice the price. And when you are buying to feed many…”
An odd look passed over his face. “I can indeed manage it. Why were you buying to feed many?”
Oh for heaven’s sake. Would she foolishly reveal all her secrets in the space of a few minutes? Her mother had been a celebrated actress. She had overheard ladies and gentlemen converse on many occasions at the school and after church. Surely she could think of some actual flirtatious banter. “I, er, assisted a school. For foundlings.”
“Ah. Most admirable. Now, if you hold the door, I will do my part and get rid of these trays. Then…”
Rachel’s breathing hitched. “Then?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
What was it about Rachel Lindsay that he liked so much?
Setting the last empty tray down in the hallway, Arran frowned as he returned to their room and latched the door behind him. Although her generous curves, frankness, and untrained yet obviously submissive nature had him hard as stone, it was more than that. She might have fallen on hard times but demonstrated a strength of character and humor that he admired. She also had an appealing sweetness about her, too, even at her boldest.
Now she stood beside the table waiting for him, her hands clasped in front of her again. “Well. Here we are.”
“Rachel, I’m not going to pounce on you,” he said firmly. “In fact, you won’t have my cock inside you until you beg for it.”
“Hmmm. I doubt that will happen,” she replied, peeping up through her lashes, her smile pure mischief. “But I very much want to be bedded by you. Soon.”
Arran took a deep breath at the deliberately provocative words. It was time the wicked minx learned a proper lesson. Earlier, she had responded well to some basic withholding of pleasure play; perhaps that would be an excellent place to start. “Come over by the fire. I’ll help you with your gown and stays.”
Obediently she walked over to the fireplace, before leaning down to add another piece of wood to ensure it burned well and provided plenty of light and warmth. Her long-sleeved blue gown was a little muddy at the hem but hadn’t fared too badly from her travel. Rachel shivered as he carefully unfastened the four buttons at the back and tugged it over her head, then hung it on a nearby iron hook, but pleasingly, let her arms fall to her sides rather than attempting to cover her half-revealed breasts. Something else he liked, that she was comfortable in her own skin.
Rachel’s stays were worn and ill-fitting, and she sighed in obvious relief when he loosened the laces and slid the stays free, leaving her in just a thin chemise, woolen stockings, and shoes. The firelight made the chemise practically transparent, and he stared hungrily at her breasts with their big, rosy-tipped nipples pressing against the threadbare linen, the bush of dark hair between her sturdy thighs, her rounded belly and hips. But he didn’t want so much as a stitch between them, and swiftly removed the garment. Then he crouched in front of her and took off her shoes, rubbing her feet before slowly sliding down her stockings.
Christ. Naked, haloed by the golden light of the fire, she was a goddess.
Rachel tilted her head. “Yes, I’m plump,” she announced. “Always have been. And I’m not sorry for it one little bit.”
His lips twitched. Defiant until the end, and yet the thought that others had made her feel ashamed about her plentiful curves left him irritable as hell. As if he needed another reason to dislike London. “Good. I wouldn’t ever want you to be sorry for such a bounty. Now, I’m going to bathe you.”
After pouring some of the hot water from the bucket into the porcelain washstand bowl, Arran picked up a neatly folded cloth and a small bar of unscented soap and started with her back and ass. Then he turned her around and spent an inordinate amount of time on her breasts, soothing the red lines and indentations left underneath them by the stays, teasing her hard nipples with the slightly rough cloth until she closed her eyes and panted for breath. Even now, a heady spicy scent lured him to part her thighs and feast on her cunt, but Rachel certainly hadn’t earned that reward yet. Instead, he knelt and sponged her belly, hips, and legs.
She trembled, hips tilting, wordlessly offering herself to him. Arran glided the washcloth around her knees, and as he edged higher, she immediately spread her legs further to give him easier access. Very, very gently he sponged her inner thighs, allowing the cloth to brush her bush, but not touch the silken pink flesh glistening with arousal. Rachel whimpered, thrusting her mound forward in an unmistakable gesture of need, and he shook his head, moving the cloth away.
“No!” she protested, her fists clenched at her sides, and cheeks flushed.
“Beg pardon?”
“I mean…er…”
Arran rose to his feet. “Do you have a comb in your satchel?”
“Yes. Why?”
He sent her a quelling glance, and Rachel pressed her lips together, silent as he collected the inexpensive wooden comb and brought it back. First, he unpinned her hair, then ran his fingers through the heavy mass of brown curls and massaged her scalp until she near-purred, her head tilting back. Finally, he held her head with one hand and tugged the comb through her hair with the other. When at last it shone like silk, he set the comb down and collected
