Parlor Games by Jess Michaels Leda Swann Julia Templeton

Author:Jess Michaels, Leda Swann, Julia Templeton [Jess Michaels, Leda Swann, Julia Templeton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2006-04-27T18:34:17+00:00

Tom was such a scoundrel to tease the poor man so.

“You’re too late,” Tom said before she could gather her

wits sufficiently to reply. “She is not mistress of her own des-

tiny at the moment. I have made arrangements with Mrs.

Erskine.”

Sir Richard took back his arm and glared at Tom, thwarted

malice writ large in his piggy eyes. “You have not heard the

last of this,” he warned, as he turned on his heel and waddled

away. “I am not a man to be lightly crossed.”

Sarah shuffled uneasily at his threats, but Tom merely

roared with laughter. “He is not a man to do anything lightly,”

he sputtered, loudly enough that Sir Richard could hear.

Judging by the sudden stiffening of the ramrod posture of

his back and the increase in pace of his waddling, Sir Richard

heard this last insult only too well.

Sarah was saved from replying to Tom’s latest sally by

Mrs. Erskine, who called the company to attention. “Make

yourselves ready, ladies and gentlemen,” she called. “For a

game of blindman’s buff.”

4

Sarah watched as one of the gentlemen set a hard-backed

chair in the middle of the room, with a small table covered in

a lace cloth beside it. With dignified ceremony, Mrs. Erskine

placed a large-figured hourglass firmly on the top.

A round-faced fellow with a pronounced look of mischief

in his eye promptly plumped into the chair with an emphatic

“Me fi rst!”

Mrs. Erskine tied a thick black blindfold firmly around his

head, covering his eyes. “Can you see anything?”

He waved his hand in front of his face. “Not a thing. It’s as

dark as midday in a London fog.”

With this confirmation, she reached over and turned the

hourglass over, starting the flow of sand.

One of the coffee house girls stepped forward. With a de-

liberate gesture, she removed the pins from her coiffure and

leaned over the seated gentleman, shaking her long dark hair

down over her shoulders and allowing some stray strands to

caress his face.

150

Leda Swann

Leaning toward her, he breathed in her scent, looking for

all the world like a pouter pigeon stretching its neck out for a

tasty morsel.

“I do declare,” the pouter pigeon said with a series of ap-

preciative sniffs. “We appear to have Mrs. Isabella Beeton in

the parlor this evening. No one else, I am sure, could smell so

deliciously of home and hearth and all other good things.”

A snigger ran around the room. Sarah joined in the laugh-

ter. Aside from the Queen herself, a less likely player of blind-

man’s buff could not be imagined. Mrs. Isabella Beeton’s Book

of House hold Management had been like a second Bible to her

mother. The very thought of such a pillar of respectability tak-

ing part in naughty parlor games was positively sacrilegious.

Egged on by the gentlemen, the girl started to undo her

bodice, releasing the buttons one by one. Sarah stifled a gasp

of shock as she realized the girl was wearing only the thin-

nest lawn chemise under her bodice. Her exceedingly gener-

ous breasts were practically bare.

The girl leaned into the temporarily sightless man seated

before her and pressed her bosom to his face, nigh on smoth-

ering him with her attentions.

The pouter pigeon chuckled wheezily, his face buried

happily in her chest.

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