My Three Masters Read Free

questioned, she might stop her tales, and that… I couldn’t bear.
    I’m ashamed to admit that I lived for those stories.
Shocking and titillating though they were, when I crawled into my tiny cot in
my mistress’s dressing room, I thought of nothing else. It was as if I were
transported into another world. A dungeon, perhaps, where I hung helplessly in
chains, my arms stretched overhead, my naked body exposed to the ruthless black
gaze of the devil himself. With that sardonic twist of his mouth I’d come to
know, he’d come closer, closer, then he’d lift one gloved hand, touch his
finger to my nipple and a shivery sensation would sing through me. I’d sag
against the chains, panting and begging for… I knew not what.
    I’d sneak my hand between my legs, where my fingers would
dip into a soft, liquid slipperiness. There was a spot there, just there. If I
rubbed it a certain way, a seed of a feeling would blaze to life. My heart
would begin to pound, my breath come fast, and soon joy would shriek through me.
As I arched and held my hand tight against my throbbing body, the horror of the
world would disappear.
    Maybe it was wrong—it probably was wrong—but when everything
has been ripped away from you, such considerations don’t carry much weight.
    The Marquis hadn’t left Beaumont House. He’d decided to stay
the night. Servants always know such things, and I would have known in any
case. The very air felt different when he was present. Even now, I felt his
dark existence pulling me as if it were some magnetic force. How could I work
for him when he unsettled me so? It would be impossible.
    The solution was simple. I had to tell him that I had no
intention of entering his household. And I had no reason to wait another
moment. The Marquis was a notorious night owl. No doubt he was in the billiards
room or perhaps the library.
    I rose to my feet and drew on the simple brown homespun
dress I wore over my shift. I left off my pattens as they made too much noise
for the quiet nighttime household. I stole through my mistress’s room and ran
silently down the stairs.
    I didn’t have to search far. The door to the library was
slightly ajar and firelight flickered within. I tiptoed to the door and peered
in. The Marquis sat sprawled in a leather armchair squarely in front of the hearth.
He must have asked a footman to move it, or perhaps he’d done so himself, the
unpredictable man. One hand dangled to the side, a snifter of brandy held
carelessly in its loose grip. I wondered if he was asleep, or merely in his
cups.
    That question was answered soon enough.
    “Who’s there?” he drawled thickly, the “s” and the “th”
melding together on his tongue.
    In his cups, most decidedly.
    Cautiously I came closer. I’d seen the Marquis in a drunken
state before, and I knew he didn’t become threatening. But he was always a man
of whom to be wary. “It is I, Miss Brown, your wife’s nurse.”
    “Miranda,” he murmured, and I knew a moment of shock that he
knew my given name. “Don’t lurk behind me. Come around here.” He gestured with
his glass.
    I approached him the way one might a wild boar. Step by
step, he guided me to the spot where he wanted me, which was right in front of
him, between the man and the fireplace. Warmth from the low fire caressed my
back. Heat from the Marquis’ gaze scorched my front.
    He regarded me with black, heavy-lidded eyes. I wasn’t
accustomed to such scrutiny. Most people barely saw me—a plain, inconsequential
servant in brown. A heavy sensation weighed down my limbs, and for a long
moment I forgot why I’d come.
    “So I’m to be your new master,” he said, one side of his
mouth curling in a mocking half-smile.
    Yes, that’s what it was, the topic I’d come to discuss. I
opened my mouth, but he forestalled me.
    “I have many bad habits, chérie , but employing
innocents has never been one of them. Something will have to be done.”
    The fact that I’d thought