Wallflowers Don't Wilt (5 page)

“And Mrs. Lawson?”

“In her element, Your Grace. Supervising the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to the dinner Ladies Saltsey and Dunsmuir have prepared. I believe she has a niece in mind as cook, Your Grace, if you are agreeable?”

“I trust Mrs. Lawson’s judgment, Lawson. Ask her to arrange a meet with the ladies.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lawson bowed. “May I impart to you that there will be no more visitors tonight. At any cost.”

He nodded, understanding they would not be disturbed, and allowed Lawson to announce him at the entrance to the drawing room. Smothering a smile, he saw how careful Lawson was not to enter. Well taught by Ivo himself, there would never be any fear of embarrassing situations. He walked past Lawson, hearing the door close, and stopped dead at the tableaux in front of him.

In his time he had seen many beautiful sights. None compared to what he saw now.

Arabella, her glossy chestnut curls cascading down her back, arose from a long, wide, deep crimson velvet sofa as he entered. She swept a low curtsy, her eyes mischievous as she indicated the sheer, pale pink muslin she was wearing. Or almost wearing, he amended. It left her shoulders and the swell of her breasts totally bare and did little to cover the rest of her.

“Is this suitable?” Her tone was mocking, and her eyes were bright.

He found he could not speak. Serena, her long, straight, almost-white hair, which was left totally undressed to fall in a shining waterfall to her waist, was similarly attired. No slouch in what colors suited different females, he would not have even hazarded a guess the same shade of pink would suit them both so perfectly. Yet it did, as it hinted and teased as to what was beneath it.

He saw a hint of a nipple with its delicate puckering showing clearly. Strangely no shadow of downy curls, which, especially on Arabella with her dark coloring, he had thought might be noticed. He guessed Serena, with her coloring so fair, would be harder to discern. For although the material flowed gently around their feminine shapes, no hint of curls showed on either of them. His breath hitched as he wondered if that meant what he hoped it did.

“Ladies.” He returned their salute as Serena joined Arabella in a curtsy. “You are truly pearls above any price tonight.”

Serena laughed. “Oh, Ivo, why not say what you mean? Do we suit?” She twirled around, the muslin flowing after her, trying to catch up. He laughed, appreciating the view. Arabella, meanwhile, had reseated herself on the sofa, which he noted was toned to show off their assets to perfection. Clever, his ladies.

Serena collapsed next to Bella, her face alight with laughter and—he felt sure!—a hint of challenge.

“So, loves, do I dare offer you a drink?”

“With dinner, perhaps,” Bella spoke. “We did not offer you refreshment, for as you take great pains to tell us, we are—well, perhaps, three—therefore, you help yourself. As I consider you will anyway.” He nodded his agreement.

“When do we sit down to eat?”

“Whenever you so desire. Your wish is our every command.”

He had no illusions about that patently untrue statement. “Bella, do not make promises neither of you have any desire to fulfill,” he chided.

She spluttered. Serena laughed, then murmured softly, “My love, he has you there.”

“However, I am desirous to eat as soon as we are able,” Ivo continued, controlling his desire to succumb to amusement. “For we need our food to be well digested.”

He waited for a query. None was uttered. Instead Serena moved to the wall and pulled the bell rope. She saw his look of surprise. “A prearranged signal with the treasure you sent to us for the food to be left in the dining room. Dressed as we are, or rather undressed, we do not wish to scare the servants away before they even start. Nor do we wish to change our attire, only to be asked to change again after we have eaten. So, the food will be ready for us in precisely three minutes. A simple meal, Your Grace.” Her eyes twinkled. “We were somewhat occupied with pressing matters regarding dress for most of the afternoon. Oh, and Mrs. Lawson?” she expanded. “She and Lawson are exactly what we want here. As are the others. We are ever in your debt, Ivo.”

“I’m sure you will both think of some way to repay the debt.” He held out his arms. “May I escort you into dinner?”

He admired the contrast they made as they walked from the drawing room through a door at the back of the room that opened directly into a compact, informal dining room. Himself, tall, well built, dark, very correctly and implacably dressed. The ladies, petite, slight, beautifully shaped feminine bodies, one brunette, one blonde, both very improperly dressed, unconsciously flirting with every step they took.

The table, set for three, was smaller than he would have thought possible, until he realized just how intimately the room had been decorated. Deep, almost maroon, wall hangings, and even darker drapes, closed to shut out the night. The fire burning brightly, the candles in their sconces, and even the elaborate candelabra on the table all were designed with grace and elegance and alluded to the seduction Serena and Bella had in mind. The chairs, he noted, were cavernous and wide, upholstered in a rich, creamy chintz and set at one end of the cherry wood table. He pulled out a chair.

“My Ladies, do sit anywhere you choose, and I will endeavor to remember never to favor one of you over the other in helping you to be seated.”

“I will always sit to your left, Ivo, for much to my mama’s lamentations, I am left-handed and eat with it whenever I am able. Therefore, this leaves my right hand free to explore any possibilities it feels necessary.” Bella smiled as he seated her thus before rounding the table to aid Serena.

“Luckily, I am right-handed, so conversely, I will always sit at your right.” Serena arranged her skirts as she sat, leaving, he observed, very little material in her lap. Confirming his earlier assumption, Serena, at least, was beautifully bare. Now for a perfect beginning to the evening, he needed to know if Arabella sported the same look. No gentleman would question overtly, and his ladies were not inclined to give up all their secrets, but he so very desperately wanted to know.

“Just ask, Ivo,” Serena advised, obviously seeing where his eyes lingered. “If you are desirous to know if Arabella follows the same preference as I and bares all, ask her.”

His composure almost in tatters, he balked, coloring like a woman before giving in and raising an eyebrow. “Well, My Lady, do you?”

Arabella smiled saucily as she offered him the soup tureen.

“Do I what, Ivo?”

Bugger the woman, and he may well do at some point. “Do…you…bare…all…as I noticed Serena does?”

“You mean you noticed Serena’s body but did not notice mine? Your Grace, I am bereft! You noticed Serry, who has much lighter hair than I, but did not notice my curls or the lack of them. Shame on you.”

“A-ra-bella.” His voice was menacing. “You, my dear, have been goading me since I arrived, only giving me the merest hint of what I will find when I strip that muslin from your body, which as I well know, you have watched me admire. I am hoping, praying to any god who may be listening, that somehow you have found the secrets of sugaring as perfected by the early Egyptians and put them to good use. If not, it will be my pleasure to be your teacher.”

“You like the idea then, Ivo?” Bella looked at him with growing desire visible in her eyes. He could see Serena, her arousal equally obvious, also waiting for his answer. Teasing, he took a mouthful of soup.

“My compliments. This is delicious, as is the thought of two totally naked cunts, visible in all their glory for me to enjoy. Now, shall we eat our soup before it grows cold?” He continued to deliberately spoon his soup into his mouth, leaving them both somewhat flabbergasted.

Aroused and excited, but flabbergasted.

Chapter Four

Serena recovered first. “Well. I am not sure having my cunt compared to a soup is a compliment, but I choose to take it as such, and thank you, Your Grace.”

Bella spluttered, choking to such a degree that Ivo left his chair to pat her on her back. Serena saw his downward glance as Bella lifted her napkin to wipe her eyes. Obviously just checking her statement then, taking nothing for granted, just as one expected of Ivo.

When they had finished their soups Bella rose and put the bowls together, leaving them to be collected. Serena watched, and Ivo followed her every movement, obviously admiring—as she did—the sight of Bella’s beautiful, naked buttocks viewed through a soft pink covering.

Walking to the serving table to bring a covered platter to the table, Bella felt Ivo’s eyes on her rear as she moved. She couldn’t help enjoying the feel of the material of her dress as it brushed over her already supersensitive skin. They had always joked—she and Serena—that while Serena got the overgenerous breasts, she got the shapely, seductive rear. Judging by Ivo’s sharp hiss and Serena’s soft sigh of admiration that she always gave when presented with a view of her arse, that proclamation was correct.

She began to enjoy herself, not worrying what may or may not happen later. For how many young ladies of the
ton
would be called liars if they did not admit to a yearning for some small degree of attention from the dangerous Lord Daranton? Tonight, should they choose, she and Bella would receive all of it.

It seemed but minutes to her before they concluded their repast. Looking at the remaining food, she realized none of them were hungry. At least not for food.

“Shall we withdraw to the salon, Bella? Ivo, would you like us to leave you with the port?”

“I would not,” he quipped. “I’ll bring the decanter with me. Upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” Bella spoke before Serena could. “What about digesting our food?”

“Dear Bella,” he began slowly. “None of us ate enough to give a flea indigestion, let alone ourselves. We can, if you deem it necessary, take it steadily for an hour or so.”

For an hour or so? How long could he continue for?
Dare she ask?

She dared.

“As long as you want me to,” he replied frankly as he grabbed the decanter, a bottle of wine, and three glasses before gesturing for one of them to open the door. “I have trained in such arts. You will believe you have died and gone to heaven. I look forward to imparting these secrets to, and sharing them with, you both. Now it would please me greatly if you would precede me up the stairs to our bedchamber. In such a manner I will be able to admire your arses as you walk.”

Serena, conscious of his scorching gaze flicking between her and Bella, could feel the moisture pooling between her thighs as they led the way up to their suite.

“Lud, Bella, I am wet,” she whispered when she felt Bella take her hand and squeeze it.

“As am I,” came the soft reply.

She opened the door to their bedchamber, noting with satisfaction how sensual they had made it during the hours Ivo was gone. Their chosen color scheme was rich gold; the drapes, the carpet, the sumptuous spread on their bed, all in varying, complementing shades. All Ivo had said before about the bed remained engrained in her memory. It was silky smooth. For her, it was akin to the softness of Bella’s breasts as they felt on her first touch, just before tightening in passion.

Only the barest minimum of lit candles glowed, just enough to lighten the darkness. She perceived the scent of incense as it assailed her, knew Bella would have the same sensual overload, and could only hope Ivo would be equally affected. The room was ready, waiting, she thought. Poised for seduction. As was she.

Ivo looked around the room, observed the addition of several large, strategically placed mirrors, and smiled his appreciation. His ladies, he felt, would be ready, willing, and able for anything he chose to impart to them. He knew his cock was ready to convey all he knew it capable of if he was so desirous, which at that present moment, he was not. He had other plans.

“As beautiful as you, my loves,” he complimented them. “However, as seductive as our bedchamber now seems, may I pray the indulgence of more candles? I would not want any one of us to miss the delights we will experience together because the light was inadequate to enable us to see clearly.”

Serena nodded. “As you wish, Ivo.” Fetching a taper, she began to bring more light into the room until it was bathed in a bright glow. “Enough?”

He nodded. Now naught would be overlooked.

“I crave your forbearance for my removal from your company for a few moments. I have a small gift for each of you. Each, I feel bound to impart, I am anxious to see you both put to good use. Please, while I am gone, if you feel the need to start our entertainment while I am away, remember, I will need a verbal and demonstrative description of all I have missed on my return.” He bowed elegantly as he left the room. He could smell their arousal, heavy in the atmosphere.

Running swiftly down the elegantly curved staircase, hand resting lightly on the burnished mahogany banister, it took mere seconds to retrieve the parcel he had left on a delicate half-moon table before retracing his steps.

The room was considerably brighter when he reentered, candles now rearranged to his ladies’ satisfaction. Either by accident or design, he rather suspected the latter; both Arabella and Serena were standing in front of the fire, the light from the coals rendering their thin muslins nigh on invisible. His cock signaled its approval, almost peering over the top of his pantaloons. He could only give thanks to his tailor for the fact they were knitted and, therefore, stretched to accommodate his growing erection.

“My dears,” he praised, ever the gentleman, even though at that moment he wanted nothing more than to strip the interfering muslin from them, allowing him to take in their natural, naked beauty. “What a superb sight. I am so desirous to see more, without any cloak of titillation. Will you grant me my desire?” He waited, interested to see what they would freely give, what he would need to cajole. He found himself pleasantly surprised.

After a swift glance at each other, Bella spoke. “If you so reciprocate, Ivo. For is this not a two-way occupation?” Her hands went to the buttons that slinked their seductive route down Serena’s spine. One brow rose in interrogation.

He inclined his head. “Of course, my dear, should you so crave. So?”

“So…” She considered, looking at Serena, who merely shrugged. “Therefore, a garment for a garment. Me, you, and Serry.”

He nodded. “Wish you to dice for who goes first?” From his jacket pocket he produced dice. He saw the girls glance at each other.

“May I look, Ivo?” Serena held out her hand. He passed them over. After swapping them from hand to hand thoughtfully, she handed them back.

“They are true,” she said softly.

Ivo was incensed. They believed he would cheat? How dare they? Never in all his wanderings had he done so. Well, he mused, not at dice anyway. He listened as Serena maintained that for her, they need not dice, and finally realized they were teasing him. He would take great pleasure in extracting delicious retaliation later.

Serena continued her response. “If it please you both, I have no problem in being first.”

He nodded, satisfied. “And then? Bella?”

She returned. “But as you have so many more layers than us, perhaps you discard two items to our one?”

“Perhaps.” He saw her eyes light up indignantly. “I bow to you, my love, so be it. Therefore, my dear Serry, we await your pleasure.”

Speculation showed in Serena’s eyes. He wondered what she would discard first. To his surprise she spoke and began to take off an earring. He choked back a laugh. He had not suspected she was so devious. “Ivo, when may we open our presents?”

“When we are naked,” he replied briefly, his gaze never leaving hers.

“In that case”—she undid her earring and placed it on the table—”your turn, Bella.”

Bella groaned. “Cruel, Serry. I have no earrings. Only my muslin.”

Ivo couldn’t help it; he laughed. Bella flashed him a sparkling glance.

“I believe she has us there, Bella,” he opined. “For surely I have not that many garments on that would equal two for one?” A patent untruth, he rather thought he was on a winning streak, wearing more than twice the garments his ladies wore. However, he had underestimated the guile of the female sex. Never in his life would he have thought that a simple game in which he started out ahead would end up convoluted beyond reasonable logic.

Bella sighed. “More than me, I wager, though, I shall discard my hair jewel. It is so small as to go unnoticed, so it will not be missed. Now, My Lord Daranton, what choose you to lose?” Two pairs of scintillating eyes fixed on his face, both gleaming with interest.

He shrugged out of his jacket, not without difficulty as it was made to follow the contours of his body. What Debson would think of the state it would be in, he hardly dared hazard a thought.

“And?”

He chuckled. “Are you this impatient in bed, my dear Arabella? I will take great pleasure in showing you the joys of restraint.” A gleam in her eyes showed she understood his double entendre and appreciated it. He untied his cravat and threw it onto a chair. “There. I have fulfilled this round.” He walked toward the table where he had placed the decanter of port, and at their nods of assent, poured three glasses.

“To your health, and to our successful liaison. Long may they all last.” He handed the girls a glass each, noticed how they sniffed the contents with seeming appreciation, and likewise appeared to take pleasure in the taste. Serena saw his glance and successfully interpreted it.

“Trite, but true. We enjoy the taste.”

Ivo nodded. “Good, so you will not be displeased to taste it on our tongues when we kiss. Now, Serry?”

“You, Your Grace, are a tyrant.”

“Not a tyrant, my dear, merely impatient.” He looked at her over his goblet.

Serena put down her own crystal and affected a thinking pose. “Now what shall I remove next?”

His cock was wondering that as well.