“Why would you do that?”
“If you asked me to, I’d do it.” His thumbs traced circles on her nape then up the sides of her neck.
“Do you do this to other women?”
“Massage their necks, no.” His hands disappeared, making Vivvie want to curse her tongue, but she felt a need to drive him off, to establish some breathing room. “Nor do I allow them coitus, but I do enjoy the company of the occasional understanding woman, and I’ve been known to allow ladies other privileges for sufficient consideration.”
“Allow them coitus.” Vivian said the words, frowning but not arguing, because she had to conclude that, very likely, coitus with Darius Lindsey would be a privilege.
An expensive privilege, and it hurt to think about that.
“I have many faults, Vivian.” His voice was tired as he put the brush to her hair. “I do not lie.”
“My stepfather lies,” she said, wondering where the words had come from. “He’s like a little boy, expecting me to believe he cares for my welfare, when in truth, it’s his purse he’s concerned about.”
“Which is how you ended up married to William?”
“Oh, that…” The rhythm of the brush was soothing, and Vivian closed her eyes, to rest them at the end of a trying day. “Muriel made me promise I’d look after him, and I suspect she extracted the same promise from William, and so there we were. That feels good. I loved Muriel. William did too. Still does.”
Behind her, Darius said nothing while his hands were in her hair, dividing it into three thick skeins.
“I think William misses Muriel more than he wants to live,” Vivian went on. “He thinks of death not as the end of life, but as the way he can be with her again. It’s sweet.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Darius countered softly. “William can be with you, and he’s pining for a dead woman.”
“They were married forever. Are you going to take your clothes off now?”
“What is this obsession you have with disrobing, Lady Longstreet?” He flipped a fat rope of brown hair over her shoulder. “Would you like me to take off my clothes?”
She shook her head but kept her back to him, and when the silence stretched and stretched, she felt her nerves humming.
“Darius?”
“Come to bed, Vivvie,” he said. “You’re tired and the sheets are warm and it’s too late to argue with me.”
His voice was no longer directly behind her, so Vivian rose and turned, only to see him stretched out on the bed.
Without a stitch on.
Vivian abruptly turned her back to him again. “You are unclothed, sir.”
She put a load of consternation into four words.
“You were going to ask me but lost your nerve.”
“I was?”
“Vivvie.” Darius sighed mightily and not entirely for effect. “You are making this far too complicated. Your clothes are on, and I expect they’ll stay that way for tonight, while mine are off. You might as well see what you’re getting.”
She peeked over her shoulder, face flaming, and Darius wanted to laugh, except that would unnerve her further.
“I can’t be such a horrendous sight as all that,” he said, holding out a hand. “You’ll make me lose all my manly confidence if you stay over there much longer.”
“You want me only to look?”
He nodded, holding her gaze. “For starters.” She crossed the room, step by step, never taking her eyes from his face. “The dressing gown can come off, madam. Your nightgown could house regiments.”
“It’s warm,” she protested.
“So the nightgown stays on,” Darius said, “but I’m warm too.” She stood by the bed, unbelted her robe, and then carefully folded it at the foot of the bed. When she looked like she was planning on blowing out the candles, Darius circled her wrist with his fingers.
“Come here, Vivvie, now. Please.”
She nodded, swallowed, and climbed on the bed, then settled back against the bolstered pillows, keeping her eyes front. “Now what?”
The possibilities were myriad, though none of them exactly in keeping with his preferences. “I don’t know. I could discuss with you the Christmas traditions at Longchamps or maybe exchange childhood Christmas memories with you? But if that holds no appeal, there’s a spot on my back…” He sat forward and crossed his legs tailor fashion. “I can’t reach it, and when the weather is cold, it itches damnably.”
“I know the one.” She risked a glance at him, and when he felt her looking at him, Darius slid over onto his belly.
“Maybe you’d give it a scratch, hmm? Ladies have the most effective fingernails for that sort of thing.”
He lay there, facedown, naked as the day he was born, offering himself to her in a way he’d never offered himself to her more avaricious predecessors. Offering himself and hoping she’d accept what he offered.
“Here?” Vivian’s nails raked lightly in the middle of his back.
“God, yes, and a little higher.”
She obliged, her touch becoming more confident. “Like that?”
“And lower.” She moved her hand down the length of his back. “Lower still.”
“But that’s your…” Her hand fell away. “Does somebody beat you?”
“Regularly.” He shifted up onto his side and cursed himself for being forgetful. “You very nearly had your hands on my backside, Vivvie. Well done.”
“Get back on your stomach.”
He obliged, slowly, dreading what was coming but unwilling to dodge it.
“This must hurt,” she said, her hand skimming over his buttock. “And these are not fresh marks. Darius, why does someone beat you?”
“For diversion.” He rolled to his back, wishing she weren’t who she was, not wanting her to be anybody else. “For profit. It isn’t something you need to fret about, and they never go at me very hard—they haven’t the strength to do real damage. How about if I tell you I have an itch on the front of me, Vivvie?”
“No doubt you do,” she said with some asperity. “You’re a man, after all.” But her eyes strayed—finally, finally—to his groin, where his parts lay quiescent against his thighs. “You don’t.”
“I have a lot of control.” He smiled at the puzzlement on her face. “I have enough control that you can tell me, at any time, for any reason or for no reason, to leave you in peace, and I will. Touch me.”
“I just did,” she said, her gaze remaining on his genitals.
“Touch me where you want to, not where you feel safe touching me.”
She shook her head.
“Pleasure, Vivvie. It takes a little courage to allow yourself pleasure, and all I’ll do is lie here.” He folded his arms behind his head to emphasis how harmless he intended to be—for her.
“I’d rather you were blindfolded.”
He considered her words and understood them. She was not asking to control him, so much as she was asking to protect her own privacy and dignity.
“So blindfold me. The belt of your robe will do, or there’s a handkerchief in my pocket.”
“You’d let me do that?”
He got off the bed, fished in the pocket of his discarded breeches, and handed her the handkerchief. She took it, frowning, but when he sat on the edge of the bed, she tied it securely over his eyes.
“On my stomach or my back?”
“Your back. May I touch you?”
He climbed across the bed and settled on his back. “Wherever you please, however you please, but if I feel you get off the bed, I’ll know you’re blowing out the candles, Vivvie, and that’s not allowed.”
She went still and muttered something in unladylike tones under her breath.
“Naughty, naughty, Lady Vivvie. Give me your hand.”
She did, and he placed her palm on his chest.