Livingston’s had more control of my life than he’s aware of. Never more so than at night when we’re together. The more he teaches me, the bolder I become. I think of what I’d do to him if I went a bit a further than just with my hands. I know the second I tell him I love him, everything will change. The balance will shift, those walls he’s slowly dropped will go back up, and the opportunity to do as I wish will be taken away.
Impatiently, I walk to the door and rip it open. I look back and forth, but there’s no one in the hall. Where is Livingston?
“Are you lookin’ in the hall because you’re expectin’ more company?” a male voice asks behind me.
I nearly jump out of my skin and look over my shoulder. I find Livingston sitting in the dark corner of the room. He has one leg crossed over the other, and his face is hidden in the shadows, but I know it’s him.
Closing my door, I turn to him, beyond baffled. “What … I mean, how long have you been here?”
“Not long.”
“Not long,” I repeat.
Nodding, Livingston sits forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Long enough to watch you lock and unlock the door. Le savauge, were you tryin’ to keep me out?”
Even with the shadows cast on his face, I can feel his eyes on me. I boldly stare back. Looking away means there’s something to hide. This is my room, and I was getting ready for bed.
“No, I wasn’t tryin’ to keep you out. If I remember correctly, you asked to see me.” I hold my hands out in front me, a gesture that says, “Here I am.”
Livingston is undaunted by my words. I can feel his eyes sweeping down my body. He leans forward, and the light on one side of his face reveals his dimple and that devilish smirk that promises so much. “Here you are indeed,” he murmurs.
Don’t utter a word. You are fine. This is only Livingston. Mere minutes ago, you were boldly imagining all the things you wanted to do to him! Be bold!
“I trust your room is within your likin’?” he asks.
Like a nitwit, I simply nod. But I don’t have to feel too bad, because Livingston nods back, and we stand there, resembling two ventriloquist puppets, with our every move being controlled by some unseen force that we can’t explain.
When I don’t say a word, Livingston begins to speak.
“I realize why I don’t care for travelin’. Want to know why?” He doesn’t wait for my reply. “Fine. I’ll tell you. Limited supply of the liquor. And it doesn’t matter how charmin’ you are or how well you know the owners. Hell, I’m related to the owner, and she still won’t relent and give me the key to the liquor cabinet.”
I inch away from the door and wait for him to continue.
“Naturally, I offered to square accounts with Nat for any liquor used. She told me to shove off and informed me her mother-in-law had the key to the cabinet.” He finally takes a deep breath long enough to shudder. “There’s not enough charm in the world for that insufferable woman.”
In spite of myself, I grin. “Sorry to disappoint you, but there is no liquor in my room,” I say.
From where I stand, there’s nowhere but the small stool in front of the vanity. As discreetly as possible, I sit down as though it’s the most desired seat in the room. I tighten the belt on my robe three time before I look in Livingston’s direction. He’s still regarding me with eyes half-mast. Goose bumps break out across my skin, and my nipples poke through my nightgown.
He leans back in the chair. In the shadows, I watch him link his fingers behind his head. “What did you make of the staff?”
The question is abrupt but shouldn’t be unexpected. Livingston and I can be speaking about one thing, and in the next breath, we’ve moved on to an entirely different matter. “That’s no staff. That’s an army.”
Livingston crosses his legs at the ankle and tilts his head. “I wonder … would they go to battle with other staff?”
Perching my chin on my hand, I ponder his question. My imagination runs at full speed, and I let it. When an idea takes shape, I lean forward and smile mischievously. “Absolutely. All because a beloved gravy boat has been stolen.”
“But of course,” Livingston replies without missing a beat. “The Brignac servants have secretly been in conflict with another household for years. With the … with the Hiscock servants.” He gives me a wink. I roll my eyes. He can’t help himself with that last name. “They are consistently attemptin’ to supersede one another in dinner parties.”
“Dinner parties,” I repeat.
Livingston holds a hand up. “You’re cynical but have some faith and keep listenin’. All right?”
I nod.
“Dinner parties in Savannah are the same as they are in Charleston. For years and years, the Claiborne family has been known for their lavish parties, but the Hiscock family rose in the ranks, as if from nowhere and usurp them. Everybody begins to look forward to holdin’ an invitation with the Hiscock family crest stamped on the back.”
“How long does this rivalry continue?”
Livingston stands from his chair and sits on the Victorian bench at the foot of the bed. His elbows rests on his knees, and his hands dangle between his spread legs. His hazel eyes are intent and focused on the story at hand. “Years,” he replies after a moment of thought. “Until the head butler of the Hiscock family decides to come forward and confesses that he saw another servant once use a gravy boat he believed to belong to the Claiborne family.”
I gasp. “Do you think Claiborne knew about this gravy boat betrayal the whole time?”
“You think otherwise?”
With my eyes wide and shining, I lean forward, causing my hair to cascade around my shoulders and into my lap. “I don’t know. The Hiscock family could have placed it there. It’s families with old money you have to be careful around.”
“You’re directly implicatin’ your family. Well … what could have been your family.”
I shrug and give him a sly smile. “I’m sorry, but I believe in the right to expel gas.”
As of late, our conversations have centered around the bachelors, looking through my family’s ledgers, and now, consoling Nat as best as possible through her grief. This unexpected moment of humor and entertainment is well needed. Even something as trivial as a fictional who stole the gravy boat at the dinner party story.
However, now that our fictional adventure is over. The two of us look at one another and at how close we are to each other. I feel his gaze settle on my hair draped over my shoulder and then on my chest. In my excitement to hear the rest of his story, I abandoned modesty, and now my robe is gaping open, revealing what little cleavage I have. Doesn’t appear to deter Livingston. His eyes are fire. His gaze is hungry. I clutch the edges of my robe to cover my chest, but it’s too late.
I look at Livingston from beneath my lashes right as he perches himself on the edge of the bench. Our knees are inches apart. If he lunged forward, he could reach my lips with ease.
I’ve developed a taste for him, and now I want more. I want all of him, and that doesn’t even feel like it’d be enough. Abruptly, I stand. He follows my lead.
Even though our bodies don’t touch, I can feel the heat emanating from him. “Rainey, I can’t leave,” he whispers gruffly as though it pains him to make that admission.