“As to that,” she continued earnestly, leaving him flummoxed by the turn of her thoughts, “why have your former mistress write your character? Why not your current one?”
“You’re not just innocent! You’re oblivious to the ways of men and women if you think any man is mutton-headed enough to tell his current lover he’s seeking another. And for your elucidation,” he all but exploded, the burden of passion assuaged just a few moments ago now returned with a vengeance and lending fire to his complaint, “I don’t have a current mistress. I stopped funding one years ago so I could accumulate my blunt for things more important!”
“What manner of things, if I might ask?”
“You…might…not.” Striving for control, he inhaled down to his toes. And almost fell over when the scent of her arousal nearly knocked him to his knees. “I seem to be the one doing all the answering. All the acceding.” But he wasn’t the only one aching for a true release, not if her increased squirming was anything to judge by. “This conversation is terribly uneven!”
His aggravation didn’t faze her. “You are the one being interviewed,” she pointed out so punctiliously he wanted to throw something.
So he did. He crushed Marianna’s asinine reference in his fist and pitched it toward the settee. It bounded off and skidded across the table, coming to rest against a flower-stuffed vase.
They both stared at the rumpled parchment, neither making a move toward it.
“There it is. Read it yourself,” he challenged. “I said I was done taking orders. It’s time I showed it.”
Never taking her gaze from the page, she blinked furiously. “I-I’d prefer you read it to me.”
“Well, that’s too jolly bad because I’m done catering to your whims without you answering anything in return.” He looked for his shirt. “And I’ll be damned if I’ll stand around undressed while you sit there all high and mighty, Miss I’m-the-one-doing-the-interviewing-so-what-you-want-matters-not-a-whit!”
“That’s not how I meant it!”
“Oh no?” Zeus craned his neck first one direction then the other, still searching. “You sit on your throne, behind your big, fancy screen, hiding from your applicant peasants, lording over—” Not spying the linen shirt he’d given up too soon and too damn easily, he was starting to realize—too damn late—he rounded on her. “Where in blazes did you stash my shirt?”
“I… I…”
“You what? Now that I already performed to request and am no longer your obedient, sycophantic lapdog, you want me to leave? Is that it?”
“No! Not at all. The truth of it is…is…”
“Is what, dammit? Stop staring at the flowers and spit it out! Whatever your tongue’s tripping on. The way you’re behaving, it’s liable to poison you if you don’t.”
Stricken eyes met his. “I…I cannot read.”
6
Born to Privilege…and now Passion
“Y-you…” Words failed him. “You cannot read?”
In a trice, his anger drained away and Zeus found himself on the settee beside her, gathering her clenched hands into his own. “But you’re aristocracy! Married to an earl!”
“Daughter to a viscount, but there you have it.” She manufactured a brave smile. “In my family, reading wasn’t judged a necessary accomplishment for a mere female. Unlike embroidery, speaking French, or being accomplished on the pianoforte. Music? I can read the greatest of Haydn’s symphonies, but recognizing words beyond my name? My father did not deem it of value. Nor did Lord Letheridge.”
Somehow her fingers had turned, twined within his, both his palms cradling one of her hands. Her other, he saw, was tangled in her shift. “But you’re a lady, born to wealth and privilege.”
“I’m a female,” she stressed, “born to accede to the dictates of men. Now laisser aller!” Let it go, she pleaded with her eyes as well as her tone.
With a decisive squeeze, Zeus released her hand and seized the despised parchment. Flattening the creases over his thigh, he realized reading the words upon it no longer posed a burden. Instead, they provided an opportunity. A privilege. One she’d been unfairly denied.
One he should be grateful for.
She covered his smoothing efforts with one palm. “Nay. You do not have to finish.”
He captured her wrist and relocated her hand to his chest—bad decision, that, but once made, one he chose not to retract. “Shhh. I now want to. In light of what you’ve shared, I need to. Now where were we?”
“Your tongue, I believe.” She said it swiftly, pinkening all over.
“Ah, yes. My blighted, delightful tongue.” A deep breath for courage lifted his torso and she flexed her fingers against him. The palm now splayed willingly across his chest burned a path straight to his soul.
Groaning silently at the delicate pressure, Zeus searched for his place. “Tongue…tongue… Ah. Here we are. His tongue shall surely delight you to no end. The agility with which he employs it will curl your toes, warm your heart, and sear you everywhere in between. And his penchant for feet is equally delightful, if rather naughty. But I urge you to let his tongue have its way—in all things. The rewards will be considerable. And finally…”
He faltered a moment when he reached the one line Marianna had composed without giggles accompanying the flourish of her quill. The one line she’d paused over, granting him a bittersweet smile of remembrance before finishing out, both writing and speaking, “Finally, I can make no greater recommendation for that of trusted friend and lover than the indomitable Zeus J. Tanner. If further details are needed, I remain… Yours, Marianna Longley, Lady Torrington.”
“Lady?” Juliet’s hand tensed upon his skin, tweaking a couple hairs. “She’s married?”
“Is now. Wasn’t then.”
Thunder cracked nearby, virtually drowning out her hushed, “Do you care for her still?”
Ahh, definitely an innocent. To exhibit jealousy over so long ago an association. And one gleaned from a reference she required!
“As a friend and no more,” he told her sincerely, choosing to omit the details of how he’d rescued the young widow-turned-courtesan, new to plying her dubious trade, from a pair of bosky peers who thought if they had the
