Thea looked unbearably out of place. She was the epitome of young and fresh juxtaposed against a backdrop of tawdry cynicism.
The brocade chaise upon which they sat was upholstered in a color that put him in mind of blood. The velvet drapes were the same deep red. Around the room, atop the various dainty tables strewn about, sat do-nothings, carved from ivory or onyx. He recalled now that upon closer inspection, some were obscene—most were downright ugly.
Tremayne had only visited the place once before assuming the rent. The furnishings and décor had remained from the previous occupant, who had recently moved from London and hadn’t wanted the majority of items. No wonder.
What had he been thinking? This was no genteel establishment fit for a lady—
But wait.
Technically, Thea wasn’t a lady. She was his ladybird. Still, to expect her to live in these damnable surroundings day after day? He must have been mad to even consider such a thing. “Forgive me.”
At his words, she stared at him blankly.
“You have an allowance,” he finally remembered to tell her, reaching into his pocket for a few bank notes, which he placed in her hand. “Feel free…” He gestured at the furnishings in the room. “You may choose things more…to your liking.”
She laughed and leaned forward, as if imparting a great secret. “May I keep them as they are?”
Her request shocked him. He nodded slowly. “If you…”
His words dried up when her hand caressed the fabric covering the decadent chaise lounge. Seeing the motion, the desire he’d worked to keep banked flared to life, inciting a fire along his cock.
“For just a short while, perhaps,” she said. “I find I rather like the look of this place.”
With a smile she stood and walked behind the chaise, digging the tip of her fingers into the crimson upholstery. “It’s extremely opulent, isn’t it? And so very rich. Why, I could almost pretend I’m a queen.”
Seeing her fingernails burrow into the fabric made him yearn for her touch upon his body. He inclined his head, acknowledging her words, as he watched her stroll around the room, her fingers lighting upon various items. She stopped behind a candelabra, its multiple flames causing shadows to flicker over her body.
“I’m being dreadfully fanciful I fear, but I have had no occasion to enjoy furnishings such as these. Until now.”
“Then leave the room as it is,” he murmured, basking in the sensual atmosphere she created with her hushed words.
“I’m enjoying how this home makes me feel,” she confessed, looking down.
His attention focused on her now-tangled fingers. They rested beneath her bosom, flexing intermittently. From where she hid in the corner of the room, she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. He wished she was closer and her features more clear so that he could gauge her mood accurately. Judging by the tension that had returned to her posture, she was far from calm. Was she nervous about tonight?
Or excited?
“When I’m in this room,” she said softly, drawing his gaze back to her face. “I feel pampered, indulged. Even a bit naughty,” she ended in a whisper, her body shaking slightly.
The sight put him in mind of an innocent virginal offering standing at the edge of a great pit. Did her words and movements indicate eagerness for their impending joining or relief that their night would soon be over? He couldn’t read her. Unlike his former mistress Louise, who had been such an open book—one filled with blank pages—there was nothing left to discover, Dorothea seemed such a contradiction. A puzzle he wanted to unravel.
In addition to pampering and protecting her, he damn well wanted to explore this naughty side she’d just admitted to. The pressure in his loins demanded release. He stood, wanting to rip his confining trousers off, lift her skirts and plow into her—right on the decadent chaise lounge she rather liked. Before he lost all control, he bit out, “Shall we retire upstairs?”
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