Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.”

Harry held up a palm. “Very nice,” he said. “Although perhaps you could move about a bit while you read. The way a stage performer would. Remember that walk I taught you?”

“Oh, yes.” She moved her hips back and forth.

“Perhaps you could also read the lines slower…and as you do, think about—”

He steepled his hands and thought for a moment.

“About what?” She blinked.

His mouth turned down. “With sincere apologies to Mr. Coleridge, I must say you’ll have more of a chance to win the contest if you pretend Xanudu is the site where you and your lover escape to be together.”

Molly pursed her lips. “That’s rather ridiculous.”

Harry gave a short laugh. “I know. But try it anyway. We want to win, remember. And Mr. Coleridge will never know.”

Molly sighed. “Very well. Although it goes against everything in me to imbue his lovely poem with an…an overtone that’s not there.”

“If it’s any comfort to you, no one is sure how to interpret ‘Kubla Khan.’ Look at the subtitle. He wrote it in some sort of opiate haze or dream.”

“All right,” Molly said, still feeling reluctant, although she did try to imagine what Harry had asked. But after a moment of quiet thinking, she released a frustrated breath. “I—I don’t think I can do it. I’m sorry.”

He stood. “Perhaps I can help you achieve the right frame of mind.” His tone was kind and brisk. “Come to the window and see the beautiful morning.” He beckoned her with a hand.

She rather doubted he knew what he was doing, but she did as he asked. He pushed the window up, and the sweet smell of morning rushed in.

When she leaned out to look, she saw that the day was, indeed, beautiful. A bit of mist still clung to the treetops. The dew had yet to dry off, as well, and several birds were busy flying from bush to tree, while others hopped about the grass, seeking their breakfasts.

When she straightened, Harry moved behind her. “Now I want you to pretend that just beyond those woods is Xanadu, the place where you and your lover meet.” He pulled her close and wrapped his hands around her middle. “Lean back into me.”

Carefully, she did.

“All right,” he whispered, “pretend that we’re there and that we’re in love. Can you do that?”

Molly nodded slowly.

“I’m going to act like your lover while you read. You won’t be able to move around this way, but you’ll get a better feel for how I want you to sound. Understand?”

“Yes,” she choked out.

He nuzzled her neck. “Relax.”

She giggled.

He ran his hands up and down her waist, slowly, as if he were luxuriating in the feel of her, and she sort of melted into him.

“Better?” he asked her.

She nodded. Wonderful was more like it.

“Now,” he said. “Start reading.”

She took a moment to focus on the words, then began to read the poem aloud again:

“In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:”

The difference in the sound of her voice was amazing! She went on, and as she read, Harry lifted aside her hair and pressed light kisses on her neck. And then her ear. And all the while, his hands worked their magic on her waist and hips.

At the third stanza, he pressed a hand to her stomach and made lazy circles. At the same time, he slid a shoulder of her gown aside and pressed kisses on her shoulder.

The feeling was heavenly, and her legs could barely hold her up. But she continued reading:

“The shadow of the dome of pleasure

Floated midway on the waves;

Where was heard the mingled measure

From the fountain and the caves.”

Meanwhile, the circles Harry was making with his hand went lower.

And lower.

“Harry,” she said, overcome with sensation.

And dropped the book.

“You were perfect,” he said in a hoarse whisper, and turned her slowly around. He smiled sweetly and pulled a lock of hair back from her face. “And I’m proud of you.”

She couldn’t look away. “Th-thank you.” She felt the fullness of her mouth and couldn’t make her lips meet, no matter how hard she tried. Her whole body felt open, like a flower. Ready to receive a honeybee’s visit.

And then Harry put his hand at the back of her neck and oh so gently drew her face to his. The kiss was sweeter than any honey, and magical—absolutely magical.

He pulled back from her with a sigh, and she opened her eyes slowly and smiled.

Perhaps Xanadu wasn’t so far away, after all.

“I hate to go,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “But as host, I’m in charge of the shooting every morning. And I’ve a few things to do in the stables, as well.”

“That’s fine,” she said lightly. She didn’t want him to see how much his touch enthralled her. “I’m famished, anyway. I’d like some breakfast.”

“Good idea.” He tugged on a lock of her hair. “A mistress needs to stay well nourished—not for all the lying about she does during the day, but for her more strenuous nighttime activities.”

“Harry,” she chided him. “You know I won’t—”

But before she could think of a delicate way to express herself, he took her in his arms, leaned her back, and kissed her one last time.

“You know I’m only jesting,” he said, a mere inch from her mouth. His eyes radiated heat, along with a healthy dose of good humor.

“I like seeing you happy,” she whispered.

And he tilted her back up. “I’m always happy,” he said, and swaggered toward the dressing room door.

“No you’re not,” said Molly. “Being an Impossible Bachelor isn’t the same thing as being happy.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave you with the last word this morning.” He opened the dressing room door and went through it, then popped his head back in. “Enjoy yourself with the ladies!”

And he shut the door.

Which meant he’d had the last word. Molly bit her thumb. Somehow she found she wasn’t angry.

“Oh, well,” she said. And sank onto the edge of her bed. It was time to stop thinking about Harry and how vexing and charming he could be, all at the same time, and how utterly disoriented she felt after being with him.

She must make some headway with the other mistresses.

Chapter 17

At breakfast, Hildur was delighted when Molly told her about the Byron volume.

“Your alphabet is rather similar,” Molly said to her, as she broke her fast with some coddled eggs, bacon, and toast. “Although your pronunciations differ in some ways, of course. But I think that if we practice enough, you can succeed at reading one of Byron’s poem in English. We’ll find a shorter one. I know you admire him, don’t you?”

“I love him.” Hildur slapped her on the back and chuckled. “And I will win. The men hear my voice and want to bed me. Who cares I’m no actress?”

Molly almost choked—but didn’t—on her toast.

Athena glared at Hildur then back at Molly. “You’re being rather generous with your time, aren’t you, Delilah?”

Molly smiled. “Why not?”

A vertical line formed on Joan’s forehead. “Because you are setting up other people to defeat you, obviously.”

Molly felt her cheeks redden. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy about my arrangement with Hildur. But I shan’t change my mind.” She took a large bite of toast and gazed first at Athena, then at Joan, while she chewed it.

So much for trying to make headway.

Joan slammed her teacup onto her saucer. “I can’t take any more of this nonsense.” She pushed back her chair and left.

But then a loud exclamation came from the drawing room.

Hildur slipped a piece of bacon into her bodice, pushed back her chair, and hurried to the drawing room, Athena on her heels.

Molly exchanged an amused glance with Bunny, and then together they followed to see what the fuss was about.

“Well, blow me down,” Hildur said.

“I told you,” said Joan with a smirk.

“You did not tell. You screamed,” corrected Athena.

But Joan, thank goodness, didn’t bother to answer. She was staring, along with everyone else, at five chairs arranged in a semicircle. On the chair seats were small heaps of glittery baubles. And behind them, displayed on the chair backs, were five spectacular—and truly scandalous—gowns.

Molly could already tell all the bodices were too low. Her nipples would show, which was a problem she’d have to take up with Harry, although she knew what he’d say: she’d have to wear the luscious creation anyway, nipples be damned.

Joan waved a note. “We’re to wear the gowns and the jewelry during the dramatic reading. Prinny’s orders.”

Damn Prinny and his blasted kissing closets and his blasted gowns! thought Molly treasonously.

Athena picked up a matching ruby necklace and bracelet and tossed them aside. “They’re paste. We use them in the theater, so I should know.”

Hildur let a pair of emerald earrings slide through her fingers and drop to the chair. “I have many jewels in Iceland,” she said with contempt.

“But we can still have fun with them, can’t we?” Molly held an earring to her ear.

“Indeed.” Bunny stretched out her arm, adorned now with a diamond bracelet. “I feel like Cleopatra. And look at the gowns!” She picked one up and examined it. “This one’s exquisite. Made by His Royal Highness’s own seamstresses, no doubt.”

Each gown was of a different design and color, all made with the finest silk and lavishly ornamented.