Their Master: A Steamy and Exciting Story of Love and Revenge. (Victorian Decadence Series) by S.M. LaViolette

Author:S.M. LaViolette [LaViolette, S.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crooked Sixpence Press
Published: 2022-11-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Smith read the information from France three times.

And then he had a glass of his favorite Armagnac, the maelstrom of emotions inside him worse than anything he’d felt in over thirty years, not since he’d watched everyone in his family tortured, raped, and slaughtered before his nine-year-old eyes.

His emotional reaction surprised him; he’d not believed that he had the ability to feel such pain anymore. Such betrayal.

After finishing his drink, he went up to his gymnasium and proceeded to engage in two hours of brutal exercise. He worked his body until he hurt—beyond what was wise—but he couldn’t stop.

The pain didn’t lead to an aching erection this time. Indeed, he was the farthest thing from aroused. As emotionally defective as Smith was in so many ways, at least he did not find blazing fury sexually stimulating; it left him feeling hollow and dead inside.

By the time two hours had passed his rage had diminished from an inferno to a white-hot glow. His body was sweat-slicked, his blood coursing through every muscle and sinew. He could have continued lifting dumb bells and doing sit-ups, lifts, and push-ups for the next ten hours.

Fortunately, his mind, which had been like a rabid animal trapped in a too-small cage—had calmed. It was time to stop before he injured himself. He was no longer a young man. If he damaged his body, it would take a long time to heal. And even healing was no longer guaranteed at his age.

Besides, he had no more time for foolish indulgence; he had a great deal to do and very little time to do it.

The first thing he had to do was cancel the evening with Moira. He needed to leave at once—he should have already done so—but he’d wanted to see her.

No, he needed to see her. And he knew exactly where she would be at this time of the day.

Smith dried himself off, slipped into his robe, and went to the room she called her boudoir.

Luke glanced up from the exam table, where Moira lay nude but for the steaming cloth draped over her pelvis, her heels resting in the metal stirrups.

Her eyes widened and she blushed—as if being caught in such an exposed position embarrassed her.

Luke paused in the act of stropping the razor.

“I’ll take over, Luke. Leave us,” Smith said, striding toward the table. Something occurred to him as he looked at her lounging, naked form. “Before you go, bring in the jewelry case that was delivered today.”

Luke bowed his head. “Of course, sir.”

Moira watched her servant leave as if he were the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.

Smith pulled his sash and shrugged out of his robe, letting it fall to the floor, unable to pull his eyes from her naked breasts. They were so small they scarcely filled his palms. They were the perfect handfuls, the tiny nipples a dark pinkish brown against her almost translucent skin. Lately he had envisioned them full and swollen with milk for their child. But

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