Susan Johnson (18 page)

“Like you,” he replied softly.

“How did you?” she asked, astonished at the logistics in the dead of winter.

“A boxcar, tons of sawdust, and a fast train,” Trey replied casually, “so my fierce kitten is happy.”

“You’ll spoil me,” she said winsomely.

“I intend to,” he replied.

Although Blaze had left instructions for Mabel to alter the dresses, it was put off, for Trey much preferred Empress without clothes. The servants gossiped, of course, about Trey and his lovely nurse, who never stepped foot outside the bedroom suite, who had all their meals sent up, and only had servants in to change the linens and clean briefly once a day. Blue and Fox had accompanied Hazard and Blaze to Helena, so the lovers were quite alone in their own private paradise.

They slept late and then played in bed, waking slowly in a sensual touching and feeling and wanting. And when they wished for variety, they made love in the mirrored dressing room or in the large marble tub.

Empress blossomed like a summer flower under the ardent devotion she found in Trey’s arms. There were times when she chastised herself for succumbing so readily to the shamelessness of Trey’s charming demands, but the die had been cast, she reminded herself, that night at Lily’s. The sacrifice had been made for her family; the money was secure in her saddlebags. And it would serve no purpose to pretend that Trey’s enchantment was wicked. On the contrary, she had never been so happy. Pampered, cosseted, loved, it was a respite in a five-year life of hardship, and she’d be a fool to repudiate the dizzying joy.

They were reminded by a note from Blaze that company was expected for the weekend, so reluctantly on Thursday, Mabel was sent for, to see to some dresses for Empress. Trey lounged on the window seat in the dressing room, long-limbed and vivid, while an embarrassed Empress stood dutifully still, letting Mabel tuck and pin and talk of letting out darts and taking down hems. Blaze, understanding how vague men could be about clothing, had sent out several new gowns with her note. It was simply a matter now of seeing they fit properly.

Gratefully Trey was well behaved in front of Mabel, but he kept casting her appreciative glances over Mabel’s head with teasing smiles, and Empress nervously feared he’d make one of his personal remarks that would glaringly indicate her immodest position. But he was gallant to Empress and gracious to Mabel, tactfully discussing trivial matters of weather or ranch life, complimenting Mabel on her skill.

He commented only once on the gowns when Empress tried on a cashmere plaid with a white Peter Pan collar and a large taffeta bow. Her honey-colored hair was loose, hanging in ringlets down her back, her face touched with rosy highlights. “You look thirteen,” he said. “Almost,” he added softly, his eyes on the stretched fabric across her breasts.
“Mabel, get Mama’s cameo, will you, and we’ll see how it looks with this dress.”

When Mabel left the room, Trey said, “You look as innocent as a schoolgirl in that.”

“And you look as lecherous as the devil, sprawled in the sun, all dark hair, dark skin, and black silk.” Trey was robed in an exotic-patterned brocade that accented the severity of his features.

“How appropriate. I’ve this devilish urge to play school with you. Do you think we have time before Mabel gets back?” And he half raised himself on one elbow.

“Don’t you dare embarrass me!”

“I’ll just lock the door.”

“Trey! She’s coming back in a minute!”

“If you promise to play school with me, I won’t lock the door.”

Empress glowered at him, his languid elegance and dark beauty juxtaposed to amused pale eyes, an overindulged young man she had no intention of humoring.

Mabel appeared in the next moment.

Trey’s glance met Empress’s, and he said, “Well?”

When he started to rise, she quickly replied, “Very well.”

He smiled, then turned to Mabel, and with an expression full of effervescent charm, said, “Thank you, Mabel. Let’s try that brooch a touch below the collar.”

They all admired the effect, agreed it was very nice with the unusual lavender-and-moss plaid. “Although,” Mabel said, “if the lady wants to wear this dress tomorrow when company comes, I’ll have to get started on the alterations right now.”

“Why not the chamois wool for tea tomorrow,” Trey suggested, “and the emerald panné for dinner?”

Inexplicably it annoyed Empress that he understood perfectly the suitable gowns for both occasions. And panné? How many men knew the distinction between types of velvet? Evidently this was not the first occasion Trey had participated in a dress fitting. And when he asked Mabel, “Where did Mama find the moiré Doucet?” her temper escalated. She supposed he was in habit of purchasing expensive gowns for women a dozen times a week. Damn him.

Mabel went into a long explanation of how Elizabeth Darlington’s
daughter’s trousseau had been partially misplaced in Chicago on her honeymoon trip to Europe, and by the time the trunks had been returned to Montana, new gowns had been purchased in New York so Barbara wouldn’t suffer any deprivation on her trip abroad, leaving Elizabeth Darlington with sixty thousand dollars worth of gowns that would be outdated by the time Babs came back from her year in Europe. And, in any case, it was more than likely, everyone breathlessly hoped, that Babs would be with child by then, a young baronet or lady-to-be, in which case the gowns would be doubly useless to her, for everyone knows what childbearing does to a young matron’s figure. Trey listened to this all with well-mannered attention, said “How fascinating” when Mabel eventually rambled to an end, and then cordially issued instructions for the dresses. “The chamois wool and panné for Friday, the black moiré and Creed’s emerald serge for Saturday. We’ll decide later on the rest, thank you very much.” He said it all with efficiency and practiced charm. Mabel was dismissed.

“Apparently you’ve done this before,” Empress remarked rather coolly as the door closed on Mabel.

“Never,” he replied, his smile wonderfully sunny.

“Panné, moiré, the usual male vocabulary?”

“My tailor is loquacious.”

“Do you wear panné velvet often?”

“I have successfully resisted his efforts to date—with the exception of my scarlet dressing gown.” He had no intention of getting into an argument about the women in his past.

“I don’t believe you.” Empress jealously resisted all attempts at suppression.

“I’m crushed,” he replied teasingly.

“Umph!” Empress sniffed, looking at the tall, handsome man who was unfamiliar with the sensation of being “crushed.”

“Now help me off with this. It’s too tight.”

He smiled and remained in his sprawl on the window seat. “I thought we had an agreement.”

“I have no intention,” Empress took great pleasure in saying, “of playing games with you. Are you going to help unbutton this?”

Against the brilliant sun, the silhouette of his powerful
body was potently dynamic, the dark angel in a blaze of sunlight. His pale eyes were shadowed by his heavy brow. “I don’t think so,” he quietly said.

“Very well,” Empress responded impatiently, “I’ll do it myself.” Flouncing off, she entered the bedroom next door. The first problem she had was with the cameo brooch. It was a Roman original, set in a modern setting, but because of its extreme value, the safety clasp was infinitely complex. Additionally it was too close under her chin to be seen when looking down, and trying to unclasp it in the reverse image of the mirror proved unsuccessful. The safety clasp consisted of a delicate chain attached to a screw mechanism, and after several minutes of muttered frustration, she turned to find Trey standing in the doorway, silently observing her fruitless attempts.

“Need some help?” he offered pleasantly.

She refused to answer.

He slowly walked closer and repeated softly, “Would you like some help?”

“As you can see, I can’t get this off.” That was ambiguous enough; it was not asking for help.

“I need a kiss first.”

“Oh, very well,” and she raised her mouth like Lady Bountiful bestowing a favor on an underling.

Trey kissed her very gently, his hands on the soft cashmere of her waist. It was a slow, leisurely kiss, a daytime kiss that roused in a tingling, languid way—the kind where time stretched limitlessly and one could nibble at passion’s edge without haste.

Tiny, sparking flutters flashed down Empress’s spine, very tiny flutters. “You feel good,” Empress murmured, her hands running up the black silk of his back, her pique vanished.

“You feel small,” Trey whispered, his fingers spanning her narrow waist.

“It’s the boning in this dress,” Empress complained softly. “It’s too tight.”

Setting her slightly away, his hands on her arms, Trey slowly scrutinized her. The sewn-in boning was like a corset in construction, from hip to breast compressing her figure in the acceptable wasp-waisted style that accented womanly curves. In turn, the boning pushed her breasts up and out,
straining the soft cashmere fabric of the bodice. “Is it too tight here?” he asked gently, brushing his fingers over her nipples, which were pressing prominently through the clinging cashmere.

“Umm,” Empress murmured, the rush of pleasure intensified by the elevated exaggeration of her breasts above the tight-fitting corset.

“You look like a schoolgirl in a dress you’ve outgrown,” he whispered, his fingers softly tugging at her nipples until the peaks were distended and hard. “This material is sheer,” he murmured, stroking back and forth across her conspicuous nipples. The fabric was so fine, it hid nothing, the swelling roundness of her breasts as visible as if unclothed. “If you were a schoolgirl in this dress and I were your tutor, I’d think you were teasing me. You shouldn’t be allowed out of your room in a dress this tight,” he whispered, bending to touch her half-open lips. He continued caressing her hard, peaking crests until her face was flushed, until her mouth parted in small, panting breaths. His tongue slowly entered her mouth and entwined with hers, forced its way deep into her throat. She reached out to hold him, a streaking heat shuddering through her. But he didn’t embrace her, his hands on her tingling nipples, his mouth forcing hers wider, his tongue penetrating until she moaned deep in her throat.

His mouth lifted, and he whispered, “It’s not proper for a schoolgirl to kiss her tutor.”

She didn’t answer, only reached up for another kiss, pulling his head down to hers.

His hands moved finally from her breasts and, holding her firmly by the arms, looked at her in mock severity. “Are you trying to tease your tutor?”

She murmured, “No,” very low, and tried to move closer.

“Then why are you making improper advances toward me? You’re flagrantly throwing yourself at me and may reap the consequences. Do you understand what that means?” His voice was husky, teasing, warm against her cheek as he brushed a kiss across her jaw.

“Trey, please, this dress is too tight, and Lord, I want you …”

“Do you want this tight dress off?” His palms brushed over her straining breasts.

“Oh, yes, please. It hurts.”

“You must do as you’re told, then, sweetheart.”

“Anything,” she agreed breathlessly, sensation accentuated by the captivity of her body in a binding corset and overtight gown, as if coercion sensitized her skin and her constrained breasts enhanced desire.

“I’ll take the cameo off first,” he said in a moderate tone.

“Hurry!”

“Patience, dear,” and he unclasped the brooch with deliberate care, then, setting it aside, turned her slowly and undid the top two buttons in back, loosening the constrained neckline and small, lace-trimmed collar. “Is that better?” he asked tranquilly.

“No.”

“No?” Placing his hands delicately on her shoulders, he turned her back to face him. “You’re not very grateful,” he admonished mildly.

“I’m sorry. Oh, Trey, I’m dying for you,” and she reached to feel him, wanted to touch his arousal.

Brushing her hands away, he held them loosely. “We should discuss this, my dear”—his voice took on a feigned prudishness—“this unusual preciosity. Your behavior is quite inappropriate. Come sit on my lap and we’ll analyze this want of principle in you. Would you like that?” And when she nodded yes, he led her to a chair near the window and, sitting, pulled her down on his lap.

She could feel his arousal through the silk of his robe and the fine cashmere of her gown, and moved lightly to touch her throbbing bottom to his obvious hardness.

“Shameless, my dear.” He held her hips, constraining her movement. “You must suppress such unnatural desires, or you’ll stray from the path of virtue. You must sit still.” His faint smile was very untutorial. It was knowing and experienced. And wolfish.

Empress was single-minded, beyond reason or teasing words. She could feel Trey’s erection, hard and long and ready; her breasts were swollen and hotly sensitized from Trey’s attentions. She could only think of how he’d feel when he plunged into her, how his splendid arousal would fill her, put an end to the restless, hot longing.

“Since I’m your tutor,” she heard him murmur low near her
ear, his fingers sliding through the golden silk of her hair, pushing the heavy coils behind her ears, smoothing the tumbled waves down her back, “we’ll recite our lessons now. If I begin very slowly, you’ll be able to keep up, and if you recite your lessons perfectly, I’ll give you a prize.” His large hands cupped one breast and gently squeezed, drawing out the soft, swollen flesh to a peaked point, and when his fingers rubbed the tip in a slow, lazy rhythm, he asked very quietly, “Would you like a prize?”

Empress lifted her face, and he bent to kiss her lips. “You know what the prize is, don’t you,” he murmured before their lips met, and when she whispered, “Yes,” into the softness of his mouth, he kissed her lightly—an abrupt, teasing kiss, and added, “But you must be very good.”

“I will,” she said, the throbbing deep inside her pronounced and insistent, her dampness explicit and pulsing.

“Repeat after me, then. ‘Virtue is its own reward.’ ” He turned her head with a crooked finger under her chin so she was looking at him.