He drifted into a warm, arousing reverie, imagining her pretty blue eyes filling with tears as the spanking continued. She would writhe on his lap and clutch his legs, begging for respite, not that she would get it…
Next he knew, she stirred beside him, jostling him awake. He was as hard as he’d ever been in his life with the virile humors of sleep. Oh, how he ached to fuck her again, but he dared not partake of any more of her charms. They’d slept too late, in their exhaustion. His family must have learned of his absence by now, and would send out searchers in a panic.
“Miss Layton.” He moved his hips so his unfortunate erection wouldn’t be the first thing she felt upon waking. “Miss Layton, I’m sorry to disturb you, but…” He nudged her shoulder and brushed back a tangled lock of her hair. “Miss Layton, we must rise and make ourselves ready to leave. I must take you home—”
She came awake with great abruptness, clutching his arm. “No,” she said in a harsh whisper.
“No?”
She blinked at him, her eyes still blurry with sleep. “I—You—” She seemed to have trouble getting the words out. “You cannot take me home.”
“But I must.” He frowned in concern. “Have you lost your voice?”
Her hands flew to her throat, then reached to pull the blankets up high, covering her naked shoulders. “Yes. My throat must be swollen…from the smoke and fire…last night. It hurts.”
“Don’t speak if it hurts you. I’ll be ready in just a moment, if you’d care to rise and dress yourself as well as you may.” He glanced at her brightly colored costume. What a spectacle they’d make, trotting across town, the Duke of Arlington’s son and a disheveled opera actress. There was nothing for it. He would not abandon her here, in the poorer streets of town, where one might mistake her profession. She might be a stage creature, but she was too clean and mannerly to be a common whore.
“Please, Mr. Drake. You needn’t see me home.” She sat up and massaged her throat again. “Oh, no,” she said. “I shall not be able to sing.”
Don’t worry, he thought. With those lips of yours, there will always be someone willing to take care of you.
Perhaps it would be him. He would see where she lived, learn who paid for her niceties, and see if they might pass her off to him in the near future. Though, how could any man tire of such a lovely specimen of femininity, who was also, apparently, possessed of a marvelous voice?
“You’ll sing again.” He embraced her, doing his best to hide his engorged cock beneath the tails of his shirt. If she didn’t let him up soon, he’d lose control and bed her a second time, and a third. Perhaps that was her aim in clinging to him.
No, she was truly upset, and truly bereft of voice.
“Don’t try to speak,” he said again. “My voice has roughened too.”
“I—I must speak,” she whispered. “I—Please—I cannot inconvenience you to see me home.”
“How else will you get there? You’ve no money, no manner of conveyance, and, I dread to mention, no reasonable clothes.”
She gazed in dismay at her outlandish costume. Perhaps she could hide her face within the wig, if she was so ashamed to be seen in his company. Was she worried her special patron, or one of his friends, might glimpse them near Grosvenor Square, and make trouble for her?
“If you like,” he said, caressing her arm soothingly, “I can take you to your place and explain to your…your relations…exactly what has happened.”
“Oh, goodness, no.” The vehemence of her denial clearly hurt her voice further.
“Well, I’ll not leave you here, mute and penniless, to fend for yourself. Not after the, ah…” How to put it without causing her to blush deeper? “The affectionate encounter we enjoyed last night.”
“Take me to Hyde Park then,” she whispered, her gaze troubled. “If you deliver me to the east side of the park, near King Street, that is very close to my home.”
“If that’s what you wish, I’m happy to comply.”
She clearly did not want to flirt or reminisce, and he was tired of arguing with her. That part of town would be safe enough, if she would not allow him to see her to her doorstep. “Now, please, Miss Layton, we must ready ourselves to depart.”
And I must find a private place to relieve this pressure in my cock before I climb atop a horse with you, he added in his mind. Or you’ll find yourself having an entirely different sort of ride.
*
Mr. Drake was a rumpled mess in the daylight, but somehow appeared twice as attractive, with the sun glinting off his gold hair and striking eyes. She could hardly look upon him without coloring deeply. She was so befuddled from the night before, so confused and ashamed she could barely focus her thoughts. Seeing the virile shape of him in the day’s light only upset her more. The man was determined to make her ride home with him. She’d wear the costume and wig, yes, but if one of her Mama’s friends recognized her from the performance, she’d be ruined beyond repair.