The captain had turned during her provocative speech, but his eyes were impassive as he watched her undo the last lace. Her bodice fell open, revealing the embroidered stays underneath. She had only to unpluck the ribbon through the first few holes and then her stays gaped as well, making her breasts entirely naked. They were white and round and she knew without vanity that they were the stuff of a man's fantasy, but Captain Wargate studied her bared bosom without a change of expression.
Finally his eyes met hers. "Will you take off your mask?"
She stiffened and blurted her reply before she could think. "No."
For a moment panic fluttered in her breast as she waited for him to demand that she remove the mask.
But he merely sighed.
"Very well. Then, yes, there is something I'd like you to do for me." He went to the fireplace and sat in the only chair, his legs braced apart. "Come here."
She exhaled in relief. This she could handle. She tilted her chin and strolled toward him, every bit of all the sexual seduction she'd ever learned in her life in her step.
She stopped between his spread thighs and paused, trailing a single gold-lacquered nail from her throat down between her bared breasts. "Yes?"
"Turn around."
Coral caught her breath and pivoted.
"Bend over."
Her upper lip curled beneath her mask. Was it spanking he liked, then? Oh, how easily the proud fell!
"Now straddle my leg."
She frowned in confusion at that command, but obeyed.
"And grasp my boot."
Her eyebrows knitted. She looked at him over her shoulder. His face was nearly upside down in this position, but she could've sworn she saw his mouth quirk. "What?"
"Help me off with my boots," he said patiently, as if to a child.
"Your boots—"
"My boots." And he had the temerity to put his free boot on her bottom. "Pull."
Boorish, aggravating, confusing man! Coral sucked in a breath, grimly bent and grasped the boot, and yanked.
It didn't budge.
"A little harder," the impossible wrench said helpfully from behind her, pressing her bottom with his foot.
Men had paid fortunes to have her merely sit by their side so that they might be envied by other men—and he was making her pull off his filthy boots!
Coral gritted her teeth and pulled with all her might. The boot came off, nearly sending her tumbling on her nose.
"Well done," Wargate drawled. "Now the other."
Coral threw down the boot in disgust and bent again, aware her position was comical, if not downright ungainly. Her breasts hung down, her bottom was presented to him, and he'd once again placed a foot on it. The second boot came off more easily than the first. She straightened and turned, still holding the wretched boot, and tried to regain some of her former aplomb.
"What will you have me do now?"
He raised his eyebrows as if surprised. "Why, nothing. I'm quite comfortable. I'll bid you goodnight, madam."
And then Captain Wargate folded his arms, stretched out his legs, and before her disbelieving eyes did the most insulting thing possible.
He fell asleep.
Chapter 4
Whenever a flesh and blood man heard the Ice Princess's song he was as if transfixed. So desperate was his need to console the woman who sang to him, he forgot his family, his country, his very self, and would turn and journey toward the singing. When at last he reached the Ice Princess on her lonely throne, she would lean far down and kiss him on the mouth. . . .
--from The Ice Princess
Isaac woke in the morning to the sound of the maid clattering at the grate. He yawned and stretched, wincing at a twinge in his neck from having slept in the chair. Aphrodite was gone, her bedcovers thrown back, the endearingly worn green velvet robe tossed at the foot of the bed. He'd hope to break his fast with her, but was unsurprised to be disappointed. The lady was a cat--he'd invaded her inner sanctum and no doubt that made her nervous.
He'd have to wait for nightfall.
"Will ye be wantin' coffee, sir?" the maid asked gruffly.
"Yes, thank you," Isaac replied pleasantly.
The woman's suspicious expression eased fractionally at his tone. "I can bring you some hot water, too, if you'd like."
He nodded. "You're not used to men staying the night?"
"I'm not used to them staying at all." The maid snorted. "Herself doesn't bring men to her rooms."
His jaw tightened. "She entertains them elsewhere in the Grotto?"
The maid shot him an unreadable look. "I'll be getting that coffee and water, sir." She slipped from the room.
Isaac rose, finding and using the chamber pot. The maid was protective of her mistress' secrets, which said something about how the servants viewed Aphrodite. The worth of a naval captain could always be told by how his sailors spoke of him. When the maid returned with his breakfast. He ate, shaved, and donned his hat and cloak before leaving the Grotto. He had important business to see to if he wanted to play with Aphrodite tonight.
Nearly ten hours later Isaac tramped back up the street to Aphrodite's Grotto. He could've hired a chair to bear him, but after months at sea he welcomed the chance to stretch his legs.
Even if it was in the most notorious part of London.
The big man Aphrodite had identified as Billy stood by the doors to the Grotto tonight. He eyed the small satchel Isaac carried, but merely nodded. "She's awaitin' you in 'er rooms."
Isaac gave the man a coin and entered the entrance hall. His heart beat like an ensign boarding his first ship. Hold hard, son, she's a whore, he reminded his surging libido. She might not entertain gentlemen in her rooms, but she certainly entertained them somewhere in the Grotto. She was the brothel's madam, after all.
Yet oddly the thought did not lower his anticipation. Whore or not, he was looking forward to seeing Aphrodite tonight. He ran up the grand staircase and strode down the long corridor, past giggling girls and men with stupid lust in their eyes--pray he did not wear the same expression. No one gainsaid him when he turned down the smaller corridor and entered the hidden passage, remembering to duck his head. He paused outside the door at the end and then knocked.
There was a moment of suspense when he wondered if she would insist on meeting him elsewhere, away from her rooms.
Then she opened the door.
Aphrodite wore a dress that was almost simple tonight, green, with a bodice that was very low, although it did cover her nipples. He didn't know whether to be grateful or mourn the loss of their distraction. The cold golden mask was firmly in place. Isaac realized oddly that he knew her—knew the grace of her slim arms, the delicate hollow at the base of her neck, the challenging way she tilted her head when she caught sight of him—knew all this, yet had no idea what her face looked like.