Read Lord Savage for Free Online Page B

looking
     after ladies. Most lady’s maids were dour, even plain, so as to offer no competition
     to their ladies, or temptation to their masters. Certainly Hamlin, left behind in
     London, fit that description.
    But Simpson had a voluptuous figure more suited for a sultan’s harem than a severe
     maid’s uniform, and her corseted breasts seemed to test and strain her bodice’s buttons
     as she reached up to hang my gowns in the wardrobe.
    As I watched her from the bath, I wondered idly if Simpson, too, would be willing
     to offer herself for amorous play to the gentlemen guests. Or, perhaps, even to the
     ladies, and with my thoughts already simmering with Lord Savage, I let myself consider
     the shapely Simpson as she moved gracefully about her tasks, her full hips and breasts
     swaying seductively.
    While I had never explored lovemaking with another woman, I had overheard other women
     in the cloakrooms at balls. They’d laughed and whispered to one another, teasing whispers
     that suggested such things were not only possible but pleasurable, especially with
     a woman like Simpson.
    What would it be like to suckle at those full breasts, I wondered, to flick my tongue
     over those nipples until they puckered and reddened, and caused their owner to sigh
     with delight?
    How would it feel to have another woman touch me instead, a woman’s small, soft hands
     so different from a man’s? How fascinating would it be to kiss and fondle a body that
     mirrored my own, a body whose responses I could share so intimately?
    I chuckled to myself, sinking more deeply into the perfumed water to hide how taut
     and rosy my own nipples had become. The fullness of my breasts bobbed gently just
     below the water’s surface, and I longed to have a gentleman here to admire them. Such
     lascivious thoughts for me to have! Wryly I decided that there really must be something
     in the very air at this house, exactly as Hamlin had feared.
    But even the most interminable afternoons finally pass, and at last it was time to
     go downstairs for dinner. Whatever other qualities Simpson might possess, she was
     an admirable lady’s maid, and when I paused one final time before the pier glass in
     the bedroom, I could only be pleased by my reflection.
    My dress had been delivered to me only yesterday at the hotel, directly from the shop
     of Monsieur Poiret. The gown was so daring that I might have thought twice about wearing
     it in London, and in staid New York, ruled by conservative Mrs. Astor—no.
    Like all of Poiret’s chicest dresses, this one was deceptively simple, with a slender,
     draped skirt that seemed to pour like liquid silk over my hips and legs. The neckline
     was cut square and dangerously low, with only a breath of silk gauze, embroidered
     with glittering faceted beads, over my bare shoulders and upper arms. Most shocking
     of all was the color, or rather the lack of color: the gleaming silk was exactly the
     same creamy color as my pale skin. Even from a short distance, I appeared to be more
     nude than clothed.
    Blurring the lines of decency further was the jewelry that I had added liberally,
     ropes of gleaming pearls that only contributed to the sense of excess. I’d had Simpson
     dress my hair in the latest fashion, pinning the heavy chestnut waves into a burnished
     cloud around my face and elaborate curls around a twisted knot at the crown. One final
     jewel—a glittering diamond star that was both a signature and a lucky piece to me—was
     pinned into my hair over my right temple.
    I smiled at my reflection with satisfaction, slowly opening my black-feather fan.
     I was accustomed to being beautiful, for I’d been beautiful since I’d been born—a
     final gift from my mother—but I’d never looked so blatantly and shamelessly seductive.
     Dressed as I was, there was no possible way that Lord Savage could overlook me, or
     my intentions.
    I forced myself to walk slowly down the stairs, the slight train of my