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Authors: Lavinia Kent
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stays in this position and then the male mounts from behind. I have seen it several times.”
A small noise. A cough. A sputter. Was he choking? And then laughter filled the room, deep masculine guffaws.
What had she said that was so humorous? Embarrassment swept over her. She scurried up the bed, reaching for pillows to cover herself. Nothing had ever been so mortifying.
“I am sorry,” he tried to say, but the laughter overtook him. The bed sank as she felt him settle onto it. And then more laughter. It sounded unstoppable, like it really would choke him.
She hoped it would.
There were a lot of pillows. Big ones. Little ones. She began to pile them in front of her, building a wall between her and that—that buffoon.
She ducked her head, separating herself completely from him. If only she could go home. This had started so wonderfully—far better than she could ever have imagined—but nothing was worse than the shame that was filling her now.
If only she could escape—but she couldn’t without removing the blindfold. There was no way that she would ever let him see her now, not ever. If there had been the slightest temptation before, it was gone.
Embarrassment began to turn to fury. “Would you please leave?”
The laughter stopped instantly. “I am sorry. I should not have laughed.”
She did not reply, but hid behind her fort of pillows.
She felt him shift until his weight was more balanced on the bed. Sitting? Lying? She was beginning to hate the blindfold. It left her far too vulnerable. If only not being able to see made one invisible.
He shifted nearer. “Please come out. I don’t know how else to apologize.”
She sniffed, trying to hold back tears.
Bloody hell. He knew that noise. A man with four sisters could not escape knowing what that noise meant. She was going to cry. And not a delicate tear or two, but a good blubber.
He had to do something. He barely tolerated his sisters’ tears—he was certainly not going to deal with hers.
And it was his fault. His chest tightened. He should not have laughed, but there had beenno way to stop. If only she could have seen herself, perched on all fours and trying to turn her head to stare at the ceiling. No, it was probably best she had no idea that she’d looked so amusing—although still desirable.
He would have enjoyed positioning her just so—only without the neck turn.
Sheep.
She was modeling her lovemaking on sheep. Had nobody ever bothered to tell her anything, anything besides to look at the ceiling?
It was a wonder the upper class didn’t just die out.
Another sniffle. This one quite loud.
He had to do something. “Come on out, my sweet, and I’ll make you feel all better.”
Another sniffle.
“I’ll let you touch me, taste me.”
A pillow came sailing at him—or at least in his general direction. “Do you think I want to touch any part of you after that?”
Pillow fight. Would a pillow fight distract her? Plenty of fun could be had in the midst of a good tussle.
No. He didn’t think that was the answer now. But there had to be something that would get her out.
“How about if I tell you something embarrassing about myself. Something so bad I would stab my eyes out if another person knew.”
A half-sniff. “Nothing could be that bad.”
“I assure you that it is.”
He could feel her thinking.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she answered after a moment.
That was definite progress. “So should I tell you?”
No response.
“I am only going to tell you if you say yes.”
The pillows shifted. “Yes.” It was so quiet he had to strain to hear.
And that gave him another idea.
He leaned back on his elbows and reclined, staring up at the canopy. It was probably good that Grace could not see. The embroidered nymphs were doing some things definitely notmeant for virgin eyes. Although, perhaps if she’d seen it first they wouldn’t be in this mess. None of the nymphs was trying to stare at the
A small noise. A cough. A sputter. Was he choking? And then laughter filled the room, deep masculine guffaws.
What had she said that was so humorous? Embarrassment swept over her. She scurried up the bed, reaching for pillows to cover herself. Nothing had ever been so mortifying.
“I am sorry,” he tried to say, but the laughter overtook him. The bed sank as she felt him settle onto it. And then more laughter. It sounded unstoppable, like it really would choke him.
She hoped it would.
There were a lot of pillows. Big ones. Little ones. She began to pile them in front of her, building a wall between her and that—that buffoon.
She ducked her head, separating herself completely from him. If only she could go home. This had started so wonderfully—far better than she could ever have imagined—but nothing was worse than the shame that was filling her now.
If only she could escape—but she couldn’t without removing the blindfold. There was no way that she would ever let him see her now, not ever. If there had been the slightest temptation before, it was gone.
Embarrassment began to turn to fury. “Would you please leave?”
The laughter stopped instantly. “I am sorry. I should not have laughed.”
She did not reply, but hid behind her fort of pillows.
She felt him shift until his weight was more balanced on the bed. Sitting? Lying? She was beginning to hate the blindfold. It left her far too vulnerable. If only not being able to see made one invisible.
He shifted nearer. “Please come out. I don’t know how else to apologize.”
She sniffed, trying to hold back tears.
Bloody hell. He knew that noise. A man with four sisters could not escape knowing what that noise meant. She was going to cry. And not a delicate tear or two, but a good blubber.
He had to do something. He barely tolerated his sisters’ tears—he was certainly not going to deal with hers.
And it was his fault. His chest tightened. He should not have laughed, but there had beenno way to stop. If only she could have seen herself, perched on all fours and trying to turn her head to stare at the ceiling. No, it was probably best she had no idea that she’d looked so amusing—although still desirable.
He would have enjoyed positioning her just so—only without the neck turn.
Sheep.
She was modeling her lovemaking on sheep. Had nobody ever bothered to tell her anything, anything besides to look at the ceiling?
It was a wonder the upper class didn’t just die out.
Another sniffle. This one quite loud.
He had to do something. “Come on out, my sweet, and I’ll make you feel all better.”
Another sniffle.
“I’ll let you touch me, taste me.”
A pillow came sailing at him—or at least in his general direction. “Do you think I want to touch any part of you after that?”
Pillow fight. Would a pillow fight distract her? Plenty of fun could be had in the midst of a good tussle.
No. He didn’t think that was the answer now. But there had to be something that would get her out.
“How about if I tell you something embarrassing about myself. Something so bad I would stab my eyes out if another person knew.”
A half-sniff. “Nothing could be that bad.”
“I assure you that it is.”
He could feel her thinking.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she answered after a moment.
That was definite progress. “So should I tell you?”
No response.
“I am only going to tell you if you say yes.”
The pillows shifted. “Yes.” It was so quiet he had to strain to hear.
And that gave him another idea.
He leaned back on his elbows and reclined, staring up at the canopy. It was probably good that Grace could not see. The embroidered nymphs were doing some things definitely notmeant for virgin eyes. Although, perhaps if she’d seen it first they wouldn’t be in this mess. None of the nymphs was trying to stare at the
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