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He tutted again. “Well, we shall have to get all of this out of the way, I think.”

Before Beatrice could say a thing, or utter a word of protest, her skirts and several layers of petticoats were pushed up over her back, revealing her underthings. Her hems tickled her ears, and she was suddenly shut into a world of dark warmth, the sweet smell of laundered clothes filling her nose.

Anything was better than the smell of old paper and dust.

Her legs felt cold and exposed without the protective layers of fabric. When Stephen’s hand carefully cupped her backside, she flinched at the sudden touch.

There was movement at the edge of her vision, and Beatrice glanced down to see that it was Stephen’s hand, where he steadied himself on the table.

“You may put your hand on mine if you like,” he said, almost off-handedly. And then, before Beatrice had the opportunity to say a word, his palm came down on her backside where it had been caressing it only a moment before.

She yelped in shock.

It did nothurt, of course, only a faint, invigorating sting.

To Beatrice’s horror and amazement, the teasing slap sent a pulse through her body—a powerful one. She pressed her thighs together without even knowing it and only realized that Stephen would be able to see what she was doing when she heard him chuckle.

“Shall I count, or shall you?”

“I… what?”

“Well, that was one. And this istwo.”

The slap came again, and this time Beatrice was ready for it. She did not yelp this time, although it was probably a little too late to think about salvaging her dignity.

“Three,” Stephen counted, sounding almostbored. “Really, I should have insisted on twenty, or at least fifteen. You’ll still be able to sit down after this. Four.”

“I should hope s–Oh!”

The heat and pressure were building inside her. Beatrice closed her eyes in the warm darkness of her skirts, biting her lower lip.

“Five,” Stephen counted—was the man smothering a yawn? “Six.”

Beatrice was grateful shehadinsisted on only ten. The pleasurable heat and sting from Stephen’s half-hearted slaps would certainly turn into something more uncomfortable soon enough, she thought.

“Seven.”

The pulsing between her legs was growing too intense to ignore. Sucking in a breath, Beatrice pressed her thighs together, desperately trying to seek some friction.

“Eight. And enough of that, my girl.”

She flinched, her eyes flying open. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, yes, you do. Legs a little wider apart, if you please.”

“Certainly not!”

“I hope you don’t wish me to go back to the beginning. I might lose count.”

“No, you won’t,” she retorted. “You’re at eight.”

Abruptly, her skirts were pulled down.

Beatrice blinked in the sudden light, aware that she was red-faced and disoriented and disheveled. Stephen was leaning over her, grinning like some sort of wolfish demon.

“So youhavebeen paying attention,” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.

He leaned close to her, close enough to press his front against her back. With a jolt, Beatrice realized that she could feel a familiar hardness pressing against her hip.