Page 5 of To Dance with a Devil

Jerome ignored Bonnie’s complaints, knowing well enough what the rest of the evening would likely hold as Gideon crooked his finger at a comely serving wench. He watched, amused despite himself at the way Bonnie’s eyes grew wide when the young woman sashayed over and settled herself in Gideon’s lap.

“Now, Bart,” he said, smirking a little.

Bonnie got to her feet and followed him out the door.

It was gone three in the morning by the time they got back to Holbrooke House. By some miracle, Jerome was able to put the curricle away and bed down the horse, waking none of the stable lads in the process.

“Well, then, you dreadful girl, I hope you’re satisfied?” he asked, sliding the bolt across on the stall door and turning to her.

“Oh, yes, Jerome, thank you so much. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

He laughed, shaking his head but unable to deny it. “I suppose so, once I’d convinced myself that my friends really are blind and even more thick-headed than I’d supposed. I thought I would have a heart attack in the first half an hour, I can tell you.”

“You worry too much,” she said, shaking her head at him.

“You don’t worry enough,” he muttered.

She rolled her eyes and then winced, her mouth tightening.

“What is it?” he asked, frowning at her obvious discomfort.

“It’s the binding,” she said, her voice tight. “It’s really hurting now, and Mary will be abed. I’ll have to sleep in the blasted thing, for I can’t risk going to wake her. Not that I’ll sleep, I can barely breathe.”

“You fool girl,” he said impatiently. “You’ll do yourself an injury.”

“Oh, Jerry, please help me get it off,” she pleaded, shrugging out of her coat and letting it fall to the floor.

Jerome stared at her, his mouth growing dry as the visions he’d been lingering on earlier bloomed afresh behind his eyes.

No.

No.

No, no, no. Behave, Cadogan.

“I don’t think….” he began, his voice creaking like a rusty gate, but her slender hands had already undone the buttons on her waistcoat.

“Oh, don’t be so missish about it,” she said, huffing with irritation as the waistcoat joined the coat in a heap on the floor. “It’s not like you’ve not seen everything before, and you’ve made it plain enough you’re not interested.”

Not interested?

He blinked but said nothing, not that he could have. He was a man, and she was suggesting he unwrap her breasts like the best Christmas present a fellow had ever received. Also, he wasn’t dead. Not interested? She was unhinged if she thought that likely in these circumstances.

Before he could find any way of stopping her—which, with Bonnie, would be as futile as trying to put out a fire with a decanter of brandy—she’d tugged the shirt over her head.

Jerome stared.

She was bound, mummy like, from her ribs to beneath her armpits, so tightly her skin was red and chafed where the edge of the wrappings had rubbed against her delicate flesh. He swallowed, heat climbing up his neck as she turned her back.

“The fastenings are in the back there somewhere. I can’t do it by myself, so you’ll have to undo them for me.”

Just undo the bindings and walk away, he counselled himself as his heart began to thud in double time. You can do that. It’s not difficult.

Jerome licked his lips and reached out to where the bindings had been tightly knotted, the ends tucked back under and out of sight. His hands trembled a little as he tugged the ends free and fumbled with the knot.

“Oh, do hurry,” she pleaded.

“I’m going as fast as I can, curse you,” he muttered. “And it’s your own dashed fault, so don’t go chastising me.”