Every luxury a man could ever want.
In this light, he could see the thick fan of sable lashes around Jane’s wide eyes as they ventured back to the bed. He was especially proud that the mattress ticking and pillows were stuffed to bursting with downy feathers instead of straw or horsehair. It was like sleeping on a cloud.
There was a bit of smugness in him when he asked, “What do you think now?”
In the seconds that followed, Raven waited for those eyes to light up with wonder. Waited for her to exclaim that she’d never imagined such opulence. And waited for her to offer a shy apology for assuming she knew everything about him at a glance.
Brown thread, indeed.
Before she could respond, however, her cousin tromped in behind them and exclaimed, “Damn, that’s a right giant of a bed. I bet the whole house was built around it. I bet”—he nudged Raven and lowered his voice to a dull roar—“you could fit four girls in there at once.”
Jane cleared her throat. She crossed crisply to the far corner and retrieved the chamberstick from the nightstand, her movements brisk and agitated. “Cousin, there’s no point in dawdling. Light a fire in the hearth, if you please. I’ll need as much light as possible in this iniquitous cavern.”
Raven’s ego took a facer. Cavern? This debutante obviously took for granted such lavishness. Likely didn’t have a clue about how hard a man had to work for everything he wanted, especially when he’d started out with nothing.
But he wasn’t about to enlighten this overeducated bluestocking. Rule number four—keep anonymous.
Besides, her opinion didn’t matter in the least. All he needed was for her to take the pink from his skin and then good riddance.
And the sooner the better.
Chapter 5
It was Jane’s nature to see the merit in ominous beginnings. There was always something to be learned, after all. And what could be better for the book than studying the intricacies of a scoundrel’s mind whilst standing inside the den where his secret ponderings and aspirations sprouted to life from dreams?
The problem was, this scoundrel only appeared to be interested in sexual congress.
What a dismal end to her evening! Was she to learn nothing new about his species—like, perhaps, how women fell for their seductions in the first place?
She unfastened her cloak and dropped it on the counterpane. Her unmated glove came off next, the black garments mere slivers against a veritable sea of dark blue linens. Without her permission, her mind conjured that very scenario—which Duncan had mentioned an instant ago—of four women sprawled on every corner of this continent.
Until this evening, she would have thought such a carnal overindulgence an impossibility. But after seeing Raven so easily manage the two minstrels earlier, what were two more? Certainly nothing to a man like him.
She expelled an irritated breath.
“I don’t see what has you in such a lather,” he said crossly, his attention on one of the dark bedposts as he turned his thumbnail along the carved, decorative swirl. “You can drive the good humor out of a man like a hammer to nail.”
Watching his slow, careful movement into the slender groove—as if he were intent on ferreting out a secret from the recesses of the woodgrain—she felt a strange tingling sensation along her spine. It started at the sacral curve and traipsed lazily up to her nape, distracting her . . .
At least, until Duncan snickered behind her and she remembered why she was so piqued. Ah yes, the four women.
Jane chose to ignore both men and untied the reticule from her waist. Reaching into the ruched opening, she withdrew an assortment of little green jars, small brown flacons and phials, and a miniature wooden spoon. Then she lined them up on the ledge where he kept his shaving cup and razor. With renewed agitation, she flicked open lids and pulled stoppers, and began combining powders and liquids into a composite at the bottom of the washbasin.
She wasn’t entirely certain it would work to remove the profuse pink staining from his skin. But she didn’t particularly care either. She just wanted to end this unsatisfactory night once and for all.
“What else do you have in that bag of yours?” Raven asked, peering across the distance with speculation.
She speared him with a glare, then reached for the pitcher. Empty, of course. She gave him another hard look for the inconvenience.
Turning to her cousin, she said, “Duncan, would you be so kind as to find the kitchen belowstairs and fill this with clean water, tout suite? Oh, and take this rat de cave with you and be mindful of the stairs.”
“A’ course,” he said with eagerness, dusting his hands together after he added a log to the crackling kindling and tinder bundle in the grate.
Taking the ewer and spiral chamberstick, Duncan set off immediately with loud, lumbering footsteps and headed out the door.
Left alone with the instigator of her foul mood, she set her hands on her slender hips and faced Raven. “Come here, if you please, and make haste. I’ve wasted enough time dealing with the likes of you.”
“You look like an angry pixie with your arms flared and your foot tapping away like that,” he said, arching a supercilious dark brow as he pushed away from the post and ambled toward her, taking his time. “Now, why do I get the sense that the little professor is mad at me? It should be the other way around, don’t you think?”
“Do I think? Why, yes, I do. All the time, in fact. Would you like to know what I’m thinking right now?”
“Something tells me I don’t.”
“I’m thinking about how disappointing it is to realize that there are men in the world like you,” she said, her eyes narrowing into slits. “Ones who will sell their meager possessions just to visit an exclusive brothel. Ones with no higher aspirations than a night’s fornication.”
“That isn’t exactly—”
“I’m thinking that the book my friends and I are writing will be less of a primer and more of a tragedy, warning all women away from your sex. And I’m thinking”—she paused to swipe a loose hank of hair from her forehead—“that I should let you remain pink.”
“You’re awfully full of spite for someone so small,” he said, smirking down at her. “And don’t forget, it’s your fault that I can’t return to Moll’s.”
“I’m certain you won’t have trouble finding a woman to bring here. Although you may lose sight of her on this vulgar expansive land you refer to as a bed. I shouldn’t be surprised if you’d purchased it by the acre.”
“I plan to add tenant farms in the south quadrant.”
On a tiny growl, she seized his wrist in a strong grip and hauled him over to the washstand. Before he could utter another word, she scooped up some of her gray concoction and slapped it against his hand.
Scrubbing the grit over his skin, she heard him issue a gruff grunt, deep in his throat. She took it as a sign of his displeasure. Imagining his utter torment only encouraged her efforts. So, she continued to unleash her anger in a rough massage over his palms, down the lengths of his fingers, and in between.
“Is this supposed to be a reprimand for my roguish ways?” he asked in a teasingly low timbre. “I hate to disappoint, but it feels like heaven. Your little hands are as soft and warm as a kitten’s underbelly.”