The Ace: His undercover Maid

Losing her cool

*Daisy*

I can't believe my good fortune. I've been given the chore of carting up the evening tray because Perkins heard it was something I wanted to do, and he grew tired of Tom grumbling about it.

Tuesday night, as I carry out my new duty, I'm surprised to discover Ace sitting opposite Luna Duckling, who is perched on the edge of the settee as though she wants to slide into a pond and paddle away.

Unlike Luna Parker, who wore a gown that bared her shoulders, she is buttoned up tight as a drum, with only the skin of her throat and face exposed. I'm astonished that the she-wolf would be so nervous around her lover, barely lifting her eyes from her gloved hands clasped in her lap. I'm also taken aback by Ace tracking my movements to the table, his gaze a continual caress along my neck.

I set down the tray with an unsteady hand, grateful that no china sits upon it to rattle and alert him that I'm very much aware of his presence. Of course, he dominates the chamber, but more importantly, he seems to dominate me, enveloping me in a comforting embrace while at the same time stirring to life embers of passion that cause those warm and tingly sensations, the ones Sarah mentioned she experienced when looking at Tom, to ripple through me. Blast him for having that effect upon me. I refuse to become one of those ninnies who fall at his feet or into his bed with the crook of his finger.

"Will there be anything else?" I'm incredibly proud of my voice for not warbling, of my breath for not sliding out on a sigh.

"Not tonight." He says softly.

Another night then? My mind has become frightfully inconvenient, popping thoughts into my head that have no place being there. It's the heat in his eyes that conjures up images of naked, entwined bodies lost to rapture, like those I've seen in paintings at the National Gallery.

With a brisk nod and a quick look at his guest, who seems far too shy for a man such as Ace, I walk briskly out of the room. I can't fathom what aspect of Luna Duckling appeals to him. He requires someone bold, defiant, and interesting. A she-wolf who would lounge upon his lap as Luna Parker had done. Perhaps he enjoys a variation in his encounters, and I wonder if it ever crosses his mind that I would provide a different experience.

Wednesday night I discover that he no doubt does worship the notion that variety is the spice of life because when I reach the door to his bedchamber, I hear laughter coming from the room, his deep and joyful mingling with a lighter, more carefree mirth. I don't much like the little spark of jealousy that erupts because he is so enjoying his latest paramour. In addition, I find being privy to the sound feels intrusive and prying, more so than walking in to see a she-wolf draped over his lap.

"You are such a scamp," a feminine voice sings out. "I hardly know what to do with you."

"Oh, I think you know very well what to do with me." He grins.

Before they can begin doing anything with each other, I knock smartly on wood.

"Enter."

I'm becoming skilled at balancing the tray while releasing the latch. Although tempted to peer around the door to ensure I'm not going to blush deep red, I carry on through because I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he can affect me in any manner.

The couple sits on the settee, one at each end, but they are angled so they face each other. His arm rests along the back, his fingers hanging down and trailing over her bare upper arm, up and down, lazily circling. It wouldn't take any effort at all for the she-wolf, who sports a few strands of silver at her temples that stand out in stark relief to the auburn elsewhere, to slide up right against him and fit herself into the beguiling nook his posture provides. If I had to guess, I'd put the strumpet at forty, if not a tad older. It seems Ace samples all variations when it comes to harlots.

"What temptations have you brought us?" the tart asks me with a bright smile.

"Am I not temptation enough, Chastity?" he asks.

Chastity? Good Goddess, is there any she-wolf with a more inappropriate name?

"Of course, you are, darling." With a heavily bejeweled hand, she pats the empty space on the cushion between them. "Why don't you place it here?"

I glance at him to see that amused smile that he wears far too often when I'm in this chamber, but in his eyes, I see the dare: Will you come this close?

Yes, damn you, yes, I will.

I march forward like a condemned she-wolf on my way to the scaffold, my nerves atwitter. He is once again in shirtsleeves, this time with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, his muscular forearms on display, the hair thick and enticing. My mouth goes dry. When I lower myself to set down the tray, I catch a peek inside his shirt, where it billows out slightly, and I see the dark brown discoloration.

At the unexpected, intimate view of his n****e, I straighten so quickly that I totter. With one smooth unfettered motion, he immediately grabs my upper arm while pushing himself to his feet and pulling me against his firm body to steady me. "Are you all right?"

I nod jerkily, staring at my hand that has come to rest against that tantalizing V. His skin is so hot, the hairs coiling around my fingers so soft. I want to stroke his sternum, slide my hand along what is covered by linen.

With regret, I move my troublesome appendage away before it can engage in any wickedness, wondering why I feel as though I've lost something precious. I step back and shift my attention to where his large hand is still folded around my slender arm. Slowly his fingers spread wide, and I am free, and yet there is such exquisite joy in being his captive.

His fingers curl into a fist, and he drops it to his side. "That'll be all."

His voice is rough and raw, and I wonder if perhaps I am not the only one affected by our nearness to each other. I hold my tongue, fearing this time I will sound breathless.

I take two steps back, hit the chair across from the settee, and wobble. When he makes a swift movement to jump into action, I quickly raise my hand, palm out, to balance myself and stop him from reaching for me. Edging my way around the side and clearing the furniture, I spin on my heel and head for the door. It takes everything within me not to glance back, not to take one more look at him. Because the very last thing I want to see is another she-wolf shoving a grape into his lush mouth.