Page 94 of The Favourite

“Are you, Jane?” he insisted, climbing onto the bed with her, still fully clothed, and hauling her roughly against him. “Are you mine?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and he groaned, shutting his eyes a moment. Jane stared. She felt dizzy. Just like that, they were poised back on the cliff edge again. Was it all in her mind, or did he feel the same way? Her poor head felt all of a whirl.

When he opened his eyes, they were calm again, like the sea after a storm and he breathed shakily out before releasing her and easing his way back off the bed. Jane watched him without comment as he started removing his clothes in an orderly fashion and placing them carefully on a chair. Enter Viscount Bardulf, she thought.

“I forgot to tell you,” he said conversationally, “but two of your fellow ladies-in-waiting asked after you most particularly today.”

“Oh, yes?” Jane said cautiously. She should get off the bed herself and start undressing, but instead, she just lay there, watching him playing his part. It was strangely fascinating, and it gave her a sort of horrified thrill to realize that he had subtly changed from Alisander de Balon, whom she somewhat trusted, into the Viscount Bardulf, who she heartily detested. At least … she thought she did. Didn’t she?

“It is of no use for you to ask me their names,” he added in regretful tones, “for they all blend into one and I cannot distinguish one from another.”

A lie, thought Jane. He was actually extremely observant. “I see,” she said politely, and he gave her a sharp glance.

“You don’t seem very interested, my sweet.”

“I daresay I will see them soon enough and find out for myself.”

“How fortunate I am, to have such an amenable wife,” he mused. “I doubt many would be so understanding of my nature.”

“Yes, I believe I am starting to familiarize myself with your ways, my lord.”

That made him pause. “You are not getting undressed tonight?” he enquired casually, as he made his way over to the wash basin, clad only in his braies. Jane admired his physique, which was surprisingly muscular when out of clothes. He looked slenderer when he was dressed somehow. Maybe it was all those fancy fabrics.

Jane shrugged. “I will by and by.”

“You are in a strange mood tonight, I find,” he said. “I think all this seclusion has taken its toll on you.” When she did not reply, he lowered his washcloth to look at her.

“Perhaps,” she conceded. “When will that be over, do you suppose?”

He seemed to consider. “The day after tomorrow, I think. What say you to one more day of exile? People are starting to talk. More and more slip mention of you into conversation, hoping to hear news of you.” He looked thoughtful. “In short, Aphrany’s court is more than primed for your return.”

Jane found herself feeling surprisingly indifferent about it. Perhaps just as well, considering the Queen had clearly not missed her at all. She shrugged again and saw him narrow his eyes. Discarding the drying cloth, he sauntered back toward the bed.

To her surprise, he seized hold of her ankle, half dragging her off the bed. “What are you—?”

Then he sank to his knees, placing her one foot on his shoulder. “No matter what I do, keep this slippered foot here,” he said, casting up her skirts and disappearing beneath them.

Jane struggled into a seated position. “A-Alisander! At least let me take off my shoes!” she squeaked as she felt his breath between her legs. This felt highly indecent with her clothes still on and him kneeling at her feet! The way her one leg was raised was frankly scandalizing.

“No,” answered a muffled voice, and his hand fondled her leg a moment before sliding around to grip her firmly behind the back of her knee, holding her open to him. Then he was licking her there, and she found his tongue could be tease and torment without even uttering a word.

Jane turned hot all over. She gazed down at his hand, just below her garter. It felt terribly lewd and decadent to be sat splayed out for him like this, with his face between her legs. How could he do such a thing? It was horribly improper. It was … Oh! Jane’s head fell back.

On the other hand, he had done this to her before, so being so shocked was likely foolish. He had enjoyed it; that was what he had said. And she had too. Jane shut her eyes and sank back down onto the bed. She would just have to … take it.

He was slow and thorough, building her pleasure, one minute applying the flat of his tongue, another darting it out like a snake to nudge her most sensitive spot. He would bring her to the brink of completion and then retreat, changing his angle, or the pressure of his tongue, and start the process all over again.

Jane squirmed and wriggled and arched her back to try and get closer still to the source of her torment, but he evaded her with ease, lightly kissing her thighs when she grew more frustrated.

“Alisander!” she sobbed at last, feeling thwarted.

“Yes, Jane?” She was glad he sounded out of breath at least. He wiped his mouth against her thigh and straightened up, standing between her open legs and staring down at her.

Jane blinked up at him. “Last time, you—you let me!” she burst out indignantly.

He laughed and licked his lips. “Last time you were being good,” he said lightly, and Jane felt bewilderingly crestfallen. She started to struggle up onto her elbows as he unfastened the strings at his waist. “Sit up,” he said almost roughly. The minute she did, his hand fell to her shoulder, caressing her there. “Take out my cock, Jane,” he said, his voice silky smooth again. His what? Her eyes flew to his.

Jane hesitated. Was he actually suggesting…? She gazed dry-mouthed at the unmannerly bulge in his braies. She could either refuse outright, with appropriate horror, or she could do as he asked. Feeling almost in a trance, she reached up to draw down the fabric, revealing the hard evidence of his desire. Freed of the fabric, it practically sprang up and hit her in the face, so swollen was it with arousal.