Helene watched a series of conflicting emotions flow across Philip’s face. Despite his arousal, he was obviously not the sort of man to be led by his cock. In truth, he seemed to fight any signs that he was a normal hot-blooded male. For the first time, Helene considered his marriage. Had he been happy? Was his disaffection with sex because he’d been so much in love with his wife that he couldn’t bear the thought of touching another woman? Her normal instincts about men seemed to have deserted her.
“My lord, do you wish to accompany me?”
He nodded and turned abruptly on his heel. She touched his arm and he shuddered.
“We don’t need to go back through the salons. We can use the servants’ stairs; it is much quicker.”
She felt the heat of his uneven breathing on the exposed nape of her neck while she unlocked the door. Had she pushed him too far? And how would he react if she had? She hadn’t seen him for eighteen years and had hardly known him even then. He followed her down the steep uncarpeted stairs, the barren decor a stark contrast to the luxury of the pleasure house. She always loved escaping into that world, the place where her hard work and organization made everything happen.
Eventually they arrived at her suite. She murmured a cheerful greeting to the footman stationed outside her door and a dismissal to her maid within. She left the door open for Philip, and he followed her inside. What would he make of her inner sanctum, the place that was hers alone? The color palette was neutral. A harmonious mix of cream white and gold in a simple style that soothed her at the end of her hectic days.
He paused in the center of the room, his hands fisted at his sides. “This is not what I expected at all.”
“It is not?”
She draped her shawl over a chair and kicked off her high-heeled slippers, giving her toes some much-needed relief.
“I imagined it would be more…”
“Crude, tasteless, and sinful?”
He frowned. “I was going to say colorful, but any of the above words will do quite as well.”
Ah, so despite his raging erection, he was back to being stuffy again. Somehow that made it far easier for Helene to deal with him. She strolled across to him, watched him tense as if for flight.
“Could you undo my gown for me? I can’t reach the ties.” She turned her back on him and stood still. It took only a moment for him to start on the task. His fingers shook like a virgin’s whenever they brushed her revealed flesh. Helene fought a smile. Whatever had happened to him in the past, his sexual future was hers—at least for the next thirty days.
“It is done.”
“Merci.”
She slowly turned to face him and allowed the bodice of her dress to fall to her waist. His heated gaze followed the downward slide of the silk. With a deliberate shimmy, Helene allowed the dress to drop to the thick carpet and stepped out of it. She wasn’t particularly vain, but she knew she looked well for her age, her skin firm, her breasts plump and rounded, her derriere tight.
Philip licked his lips as she ran her hands over her corset and sighed. Her breasts were almost fully exposed and were lifted by the design of the shift to look as if they were cupped by a man’s hands. The shift beneath her corset was fine lawn and did little to hide her skin or the fair hair at the juncture of her thighs. Blue ribbons held up her stocking just above her knee.
She let out her breath with exaggerated care. “I hate wearing a corset. They are so restrictive.” She plucked at the strings. “Men do not know how lucky they are not having to follow such absurd fashions.”
Without speaking, Philip spun her around and unlaced the corset, letting it fall to the ground. Helene stepped out of it, turned away from him, and went to her dressing table. She sat down, raised her arms and began to take the pins out of her hair. In recent years, many women had adopted shorter, more fashionable hairstyles, but Helene believed most men preferred a woman to have long hair.
She watched in her mirror as Philip took two halting steps toward her. Even if he didn’t realize it yet, every time he returned to her side was an admission of his sexual interest and of his needs. She picked up her silver-backed hairbrush.
“Would you like to brush my hair for me?”
“Why?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Because my maid has left, and it is hard to see the tangles at the back when I do it myself.”
He held out his hand, and she gave him the brush. She loved having her hair combed. It made her feel like a child again, made her remember her mother in a kinder light than her last memories of their days in the Bastille.
“Mmm…that’s nice.”
Philip still didn’t speak. His gaze was directed downward, his hands steady as he parted her hair and carefully brushed from the roots to the ends.
She tried to catch his eye in the mirror. “You are good at this. Did you brush your wife’s hair?”
He went still, and the bristles stuck in her hair, jerking her head back. Ah, things had definitely been awry between him and his wife.
“No.” He put the brush on her dressing table and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Now enough of this posturing. I want you to suck my cock.”
She met his angry stare in the mirror. “If you don’t take your hands off me, I will scream.”
“I’m sure your footman’s heard you scream before. I’ll wager he doesn’t burst in here every time you have sex.”
She held his gaze. “Take your hands off me, or you will find out whether he knows the difference. Jem is a champion boxer. I can assure you your encounter will not be pleasant.”
“You asked me to accompany you to your suite.” He released her and stepped back, thrusting his hands in his pockets.
Helene swiveled on the low stool to face him. “That is true, but I didn’t agree to touch you, did I?”
A hint of angry red flushed his cheeks. “You owe me thirty nights of sex.”
Helene allowed her hand to slide from her throat to the swell of her breasts, and toyed with the lace ribbon of her shift. His heated gaze followed her fingers.
“Your first day is tomorrow. And night follows day, n’est-ce pas?”
“So why did you ask me in here?”
She opened her eyes wide at him. “I simply asked you to escort me to my suite, did I not?”
A muscle flicked in his cheek and he bowed. “I can only apologize for my error, madame. You must forgive me. A country bumpkin like myself didn’t realize that when an experienced woman who runs a brothel invites a man into her bedroom and he helps her out of most of her clothes, she is not actually offering to have sex with him.”
She offered him her most enthusiastic smile and clasped her hands to her breasts. “That’s exactly right, my lord. I’m so glad you see the error of your ways.”
He glared at her and headed for the door. “I’ll be on my way, then.”
She waited until he almost reached the door. “My lord?”
“What is it now?” He turned reluctantly as she got to her feet.
“Could you possibly open that drawer beside my bed and take out the things inside?”
He slowly exhaled. “Why can’t you get them yourself?”
“But you are closer, my lord.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You do not need to bring them to me. Just place them on the bed.”
“Oh, for God’s sake…”
He yanked open the drawer with such force that the contents ended up on the carpet. Helene kept smiling as he bent to pick them up. Her book of erotic sexual positions had fallen open, so he couldn’t fail to see what she read before she went to bed. Her thick pink marble diletto looked awkward in his big hands. She imagined him using it on her and found the idea strangely arousing.
“Just put them on the bed, my lord.” He obeyed her, his face impassive, his hands steady. She blew him an airy kiss. “Good night, and remember I’ll expect to see you at six in the morning. Meet me in the kitchen.”
“Good night, madame, and good riddance.”
His final words were muttered under his breath as he marched toward the door and slammed it shut behind him. Helene let out her breath. Baiting him was a dangerous game, but she needed to test his limits, find his weaknesses, and work on them to send him packing. She had learned one thing: His marriage had been difficult. She scolded herself for the small twinge of satisfaction that thought gave her.
With a sigh, she wandered over to her bed and picked up her book to study the complicated sexual position portrayed in the engraving. What a shame it involved two women. Philip would never agree to that. In the past, if his interests hadn’t changed, he’d been more interested in men. Helene closed the book with a snap. That was definitely something to consider in her campaign to oust him from her business.
Tomorrow night would belong to Philip. How would he repay her for her deliberate attempts to rile him? Anticipation rose in her and she smiled. At least she couldn’t complain that she was bored.
Philip escaped down the hallway and then realized he had no idea where to go next. His cock and balls ached so badly that he wanted to scream. Damn Helene for playing games with him, and damn that ridiculous agreement he’d made. He should’ve just put her flat on her back and fucked her the moment he’d gotten into her room.
“Can I help you, sir?”
He stared into the face of Sean, the Irish footman he’d met earlier.
“I’m fine, thank you, but I’m still a bit uncertain of the layout of the house. How does one get to the peepholes on the second level? Madame was going to show me them but had to retire.”
There was no flicker of surprise in Sean’s gaze or any hint of condemnation.
“That’s easy, sir. Take the back stairs up to the next floor, and look for a white door in the middle of the hallway that doesn’t have a number on it. That’s where you enter the passages, sir.”
“Thank you, Sean.”
“You are welcome, sir. Have a good evening.”
Philip found his way up the stairs and emerged into the silent corridor, his heart thumping hard, his cock now painfully engorged. After a quick look around, he opened the unmarked door and slipped inside. Despite his fears, the narrow passageway was well lit and high enough to let him stand upright. He also noticed that above each peephole was the number of the corresponding room beyond. How efficient, how just like Helene.
He pictured her creamy skin, the moment when he’d revealed her corset and the hard pink tips of her nipples thrust through the lace. Despite all their years apart, he still wanted her. With a stifled groan, he made his way along to the peephole marked number ten. It was open and he leaned forward, trying to adjust to the new view of the room and the two people on the bed.
The golden ropes tied a naked, dark-haired woman to the bed by the wrists and the ankles, her legs spread wide. A man dressed in elegant gray evening attire stood over her, his gloved hands busy caressing her flesh as she writhed against the bonds. Philip swallowed hard as the man shifted his position, allowing Philip an excellent view of the woman’s sex.
Philip rested his brow against the wall and ripped open his breeches. His shirt and underthings were soaked with precum, his balls high and tight against the base of his swollen shaft. The man in the room also unbuttoned his breeches and knelt between the woman’s legs.
Philip held his breath as the man slid his hands under the woman’s buttocks and began to fuck her. Philip worked his own cock into their rhythm, matched the man’s grunts and groans with his own. After about ten hard strokes, Philip came. The man on the bed continued to move, lifting the woman into his thrusts, his buttocks tightening and relaxing with each forward motion.
Despite having come, Philip kept his hand wrapped around his cock and continued to watch. Had they heard him vicariously sharing their pleasure? Had the thought that someone watched them excited them? Or perhaps they didn’t care, too engrossed in each other to notice anything other than the delights of the flesh.
The man groaned, went still, and collapsed over the bound woman. She kissed the side of his neck and nuzzled his ear as he shuddered and writhed against her. Slowly Philip withdrew his hand from his breeches and took out his handkerchief to wipe the evidence of his lonely passion from his fingers. How pathetic was he? Reduced to watching complete strangers couple to reach sexual completion. No wonder Helene found him so amusing. With her vast sexual experience, his humiliating lack of practice must be all too obvious.
Philip shoved the handkerchief down the front of his breeches and roughly cleaned himself. Despite his efforts, his damp buckskin breeches would cling to his shaft, showing all the other guests at the pleasure house exactly how he had enjoyed himself. Not that he cared what they thought of him. He cared only that he’d allowed Helene to raise his sexual passions to such a height that he had to find release or die.
As he rebuttoned his breeches and slowly straightened, he couldn’t resist one last glimpse through the peephole. The man lay tied to the bed now, his cock already erect, and the woman straddled his chest. Philip felt an answering twinge in his own shaft and forced himself to step away. Pleasuring himself once showed a severe lack of self-discipline. Twice would make him as depraved as the others who flocked to fuck here.
As he made his way back to the door, he thought about Helene. Wondered if she was reading her salacious book and pleasuring herself with that monstrous dildo. His cock hardened in a single rush. Damnation, he was beginning to feel like his fifteen-year-old self again, constantly erect, terrified that his parents and schoolmates would notice and laugh at him. Despite the abrupt nature of his dismissal from England that year, he’d been almost relieved when his father had sent him overseas. At least in India, he’d been able to understand and deal with his budding sexuality.
He paused to readjust his damp breeches. He’d wager he was the only man leaving the pleasure house with a still-hard cock. Helene wouldn’t be happy about that at all. He slammed his hand against the panel and pushed the exit door wide, no longer caring if anyone saw him. How dare she be so comfortable with her brazenly sexual nature? Surely she should have some shame or remorse for the path she had chosen?
Philip consoled himself with the thought that his next night would be spent in Helene’s bed. Perhaps it was time to turn the tables on her, tie her to the bed and do what he wanted to her. He smiled at the salacious thought as he descended the main staircase and waited for a footman to retrieve his hat and gloves. The ornate clock chimed once and he winced. He had only five hours before Helene expected to see him again, and he was already drained. He still had letters to write to explain his continued absence from the estate and his children.
He tipped his hat to the butler and stepped out into the light drizzle. His rented house wasn’t that far from the pleasure house, so he decided to walk. Strangely enough, the thought of returning to win a wager against Helene was far more invigorating than delving into the complex administration of his new position. He had a lifetime to acquaint himself with Sudbury Court and its tenants and only thirty days with Helene to sort out…
He paused at the curb to look both ways and then took a shortcut across the square. What did he need to sort out with Helene? A woman from his past, a woman so far removed from him socially that to be seen in her company would subject him to the kind of gossip and innuendo he’d striven so hard to avoid during his marriage?
Soft rain gusted into his face, and he licked his lips. He’d lost himself somewhere. After his carefree existence in India and his weekend with Helene, something had gone terribly wrong. Was he a fool to believe he was redeemable? He jammed his hat down on his head. Thirty days with Helene was the perfect opportunity to find out.