Philip checked his pocket watch as he clattered down the slippery stone steps into the basement of Helene’s house. The outer door stood slightly ajar, so he squeezed past the stacked baskets of fresh produce and five live hens in a flimsy wire cage. He hadn’t anticipated his journey would take so long. To his amazement, even at this unlikely hour of the morning, the streets had been packed with tradesmen, farmers, milkmaids, and assorted children running around to God knew where.
The narrow hallway contained a coal hole, a door marked CELLAR, a laundry room, and another door, which he opened. A warm blast of air laced with the delicious scent of baking bread hit him in the face, and he slowly inhaled.
“Ah, there you are, Philip.”
He blinked and looked around the large busy space. Since when had he given Helene permission to call him by his given name? A rotund woman, whom he assumed must be the cook, stood guard over the range. Two maids swept the floor and a third sat at the pine table. He stared again at the woman seated at the table. It was hard to recognize the fashionably dressed social butterfly of a few hours earlier. Helene’s blond hair was covered by a plain lace cap. Her spectacles were set firmly on her nose. Even he recognized that her dress was at least ten years out of fashion.
“Madame Helene?”
She nodded and gestured for him to join her. He took off his hat and gloves and laid them on the bench beside him before taking the seat opposite her. Helene’s hands clasped a thick earthenware bowl filled with chocolate; beside her lay a plate on which resided the remains of a chocolate croissant.
“Would you like some breakfast, Philip?”
“If we have time, madame; I am already late, and I would not want to keep you waiting.”
She shrugged and sipped at her chocolate. “I haven’t finished yet myself.”
She turned to speak to the cook in rapid French. He watched, fascinated, as her tongue darted out to lick a drip of chocolate from her lower lip. Just like that, he was hard again, wishing her mouth would lick other things, wondering about the night they would share together if he survived his first day.
The cook placed a croissant in front of him, followed by a bowl of chocolate. He smiled at the cook, who didn’t smile back.
“Thank you.”
Helene watched as he took a mouthful of warm flaky pastry and slowly chewed.
“Madame Dubois makes the best croissants in England.”
He nodded his agreement, too intent on eating to worry about his manners. Another croissant appeared, and he ate that one too. By the time he was finished, Helene was on her feet and tying an apron around her waist. Philip rose, too, and put his bowl and plate in the sink.
She looked up at him. “Are you ready?”
He shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Bon, then we will proceed.”
He followed her out a different exit, which took them into the main part of the building. She started up the stairs, and he followed her, pausing to catch his breath as they moved inexorably upward. On the final landing she paused, waiting for him to catch up. He struggled to breathe normally.
“What exactly are we doing, and why are you dressed as a servant?”
She regarded him seriously, her blue eyes huge behind her spectacles.
“I like to walk through all the rooms of the pleasure house every morning. It gives me a sense of how things are and what needs to be improved.”
“You do this every day?”
“Of course.”
“And why do you dress like this?”
“Most of my clients don’t see servants, unless they want something, so for all intents and purposes, I can remain invisible if I happen to bump into someone. And, occasionally, I can discreetly aid any client who has forgotten to leave.” She paused and laid her hand on his arm. “I didn’t show you the third floor yesterday evening. It is the most extreme of the floors and not for the faint of heart. Perhaps you should wait here.”
He pointedly removed her fingers from his sleeve. “As I said before, madame, I wish to see everything this place has to offer, not just the parts you deem suitable. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with anything you dare to show me.”
She sighed. “Then if you wish to accompany me, I must have your word of honor that nothing you see or hear on this floor will ever be divulged to anyone outside this establishment.”
He tried to see her face more clearly in the gloom and failed. What on earth was she hiding from him? His stomach clenched, whether in fear or anticipation he couldn’t tell.
“I give you my word.”
Helene opened the door and stepped into a narrow corridor lined with black-painted doors. Candle sconces lined the uneven walls; spoiled red wax had dripped and hardened on the bare wooden floor.
“What is in these rooms?” he whispered.
“The most extreme of sexual delights or your worst nightmares, depending on who you are.”
“Can we look?”
Helene gave him a considering stare. “We are here to make sure that everything is running smoothly with our business, non? It is our responsibility to make sure that everything is in place.” She slowly opened the first door.
Philip leaned in to get a closer look and then recoiled. “Good God, is that a rack?”
Helene moved across the small space and opened the black curtains and the window. A thin stream of light illuminated the unmade bed, red silk sheets tangled around a long-handled whip. The scent of blood and raw sex made Philip feel nauseous. The chains that dangled from the top of the upright wooden rack swung gently in the draught.
Helene walked back across to him. “The cleaning staff will remake the bed and will clean and put away any of the toys the clients played with. I just check each room every morning to make sure no one has been left chained or tied to the racks or the beds.”
Philip gripped the doorframe. “How can you be so matter-of-fact about such inhuman acts?” He gestured at the rack. “Someone has obviously been brutalized, and yet you not only allow it on your premises but you also seem to condone it.” He shoved away from the door. “I do not understand you.”
She followed him out into the hall and left him fuming as she methodically checked the other three rooms, writing notes as she went. When she closed the fourth door, he grabbed her elbow.
“Are you going to answer me?”
“What do you want me to say? You have already judged and condemned me. Why don’t you leave and save yourself from any further contamination?”
“I want to know why you allow this.”
“Because there are some men and women who crave such excesses in their lives. Some of them can only function sexually if they are submissive or if they can dominate someone else. Surely you know this? You went to boarding school, didn’t you?”
“But this is supposed to be a house of pleasure, not pain.”
She met his gaze, her eyes calm and steady. “But what is painful to you might be pleasurable to another. You must remember that no one here is forced to do anything they do not want.”
“I find that hard to believe. How many of your staff are coerced into indecent acts because they fear dismissal?”
“None, as far as I know. And if you doubt me, please ask them. They are free to say no to anyone here.”
“Even you?”
Her blue eyes flashed fire. “I don’t sleep with my staff.”
“Apart from me, you mean.”
She stepped away from him, her expression chilly. “That is an unfortunate consequence of our wager and has nothing to do with how I normally conduct my business.”
He bowed elaborately. “If you insist, madame.”
She swung around to glare at him. “I do, my lord. Now if you have finished lecturing me, perhaps we might get on?”
“Of course, madame.”
He followed her down the short corridor into a larger open space and abruptly stopped. The walls were painted black and covered with an unthinkable display of floggers, whips, chains, masks, and other degrading paraphernalia. He swallowed hard as his gaze traveled around the room. The two beds were empty, the floor beneath his feet sticky with substances he didn’t care to examine. Helene moved ahead of him, picking up discarded whips and toys and restoring them to their rightful place on the wall.
Suddenly she straightened, her hands on her hips. “Anthony, not you again!”
She disappeared into the second room, and Philip cautiously followed. She was in the corner kneeling on the floor, skirts spread around her as she murmured to someone or something in front of her. An answering masculine groan had him moving forward to look over her shoulder.
A man lay on the floor, his head in Helene’s lap, his eyes closed, face bruised. Helene was busy removing the chains from his wrists as she muttered to him in rapid French.
She turned to look up at Philip. “Can you find his clothes? They should be nearby.”
Philip took a quick survey of the room and saw a mound of clothing flung carelessly on the seat of a wooden chair. He picked up the garments, noticed the fine lawn and the exquisite cut of the breeches. This was no wounded servant but a gentleman. He took the pile back to Helene. The young man was sitting up now, his expression rueful, his swollen mouth half-laughing.
Philip dropped the clothes to the ground and stood back as Helene helped the man pull his shirt over his head and step into his breeches. She continued to talk to him, her tone affectionate and motherly, her expression concerned.
At last the man stood up and stretched. “I’m fine, madame. Really I am. I just fell asleep.”
Philip cleared his throat. “Did someone hurt you?”
Anthony looked curiously at him. “What is it to you?”
“Because I believe madame underestimates the amount of coercion that goes on in a place such as this. I cannot believe that a young gentleman like yourself would willingly participate in such perversions.”
Anthony’s faint smile disappeared. “Then let me set your mind at ease, sir. I was not coerced, and I willingly—nay, happily—engage in perversion. Are you satisfied now?” He bowed to Philip and kissed Helene’s hand. “Thank you for waking me up. I’ll see you this evening.”
Philip watched the young man leave and turned to find Helene watching him.
“Are you satisfied now?”
“That he was not forced?” He shrugged. “I cannot continue to believe what he denies, can I?”
Helene picked up the manacles that had bound Anthony’s wrists and laid them over the back of a chair.
“In truth, he worries me. I find him up here far too often. I am beginning to wonder why he seeks such painful ways to relieve himself.”
Philip stared at her. “Are you saying I’m right?”
“Non. Just that Anthony is seeking the wrong things for the wrong reasons and that it will not end well.”
“All the more reason to shut down this level of the house.”
“Is that what you would do if you owned this place?”
“Absolutely.”
“And then where would people like Anthony go? Probably some place where no one looked out for them, where they might be abused or killed. Is that any better?”
Philip tried to muster his arguments but found it hard to do so when faced by Helene at her magnificent, indignant best. He looked around the room at the discarded whips, smelled the blood and the heavy scent of sex.
“I cannot see pleasure here.”
Helene came to stand in front of him and slowly backed him up against the wall.
“Are you sure about that?”
She gripped his wrists with both of her hands. “Imagine being naked and manacled to this wall. Imagine being blindfolded and not knowing who will touch you, how they will touch you, and whether you will like it or not.”
He shuddered as she stood on tiptoe and kissed his chin. “Imagine hands on your flesh, making you hard, making you want—”
“I would not want…that.” He swallowed hard as his cock thickened.
“Are you sure, Philip?” God, her voice was so seductive. “How can you say so unless you have tried it?”
He forced his eyes open and pushed her away as his memories threatened to overwhelm him. “I can assure you I would not enjoy sex with pain.”
She studied him, her expression calm. “Perhaps I should explain that it is a condition of our agreement that you experience everything the pleasure house has to offer.”
“I did not agree to that.”
She raised her chin. “You are too afraid?”
Of course he was and, by God, he had every right to be. What the hell could he say to her to get her off this subject? There was no way he could allow another stranger to dictate to him sexually. He couldn’t tell her that—couldn’t let her know he feared losing sexual control more than he feared losing his life. He focused his attention on her face, refused to look at the instruments of diabolical pleasure around him.
“What if it was me?”
He swallowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“What if it was only me who played with you?” Her eyes were sharp, as if she could see right through to his fear.
“Why would that make any difference?”
“Because you could trust me not to hurt you?”
“You can’t trust anyone not to hurt you.”
“That is true. Perhaps we will discuss your participation here when we have more time.” She turned away from him and replaced the manacles on a hook on the wall. “We need to move on.”
Philip remained by the wall, his breathing uneven, his mind struggling to deal with the memories she’d forced him to recall. Why had she stopped pressing him? Had she realized the depth of his aversion? It was hardly surprising; he hadn’t exactly hidden it well.
Helene took one last look around the room, wrote another note in her book, and went back to the landing. Silently, Philip followed her, his boot heels echoing hollowly on the wooden stairs as he hurried to catch up. The more familiar lushness of the floor below was almost comforting after the starkness above. Even the air smelled better, fresher, less laden down with suffering and sex.
Helene was already working her way through the first of the small salons, setting things to right, retrieving lost garments, opening windows and drapes. Philip watched her, amazed at the deftness of her touch and the fluidity of her motions. How unlike the languid hostess of the evening before. Which was the real Helene? He wasn’t quite sure anymore.
After they finished the last public floor, Helene waited for him at the bottom of the main staircase, a sheaf of notes in her hand. The clock struck eight times. Philip couldn’t believe he’d already spent two hours at the pleasure house.
She glanced up at him. “It is time to meet the rest of the staff. Please come along.”
She headed toward the back of the house, and Philip dutifully followed, feeling very much as he had when ordered around by his governess. Helene opened a door and was greeted by a chorus of “good mornings.” To Philip’s surprise, there were at least fifty people in the room, including the butler, the cook, and the scullery maids. Philip tried to slip in unobtrusively behind Helene, but she caught his elbow.
“This is Mr. Philip. He will be accompanying me around the pleasure house for the next month. If he has questions or tasks for you, please help him to the best of your ability.”
He nodded at the murmured greetings and leaned back against the wall, for once happy to allow Helene center stage.
She consulted her notes and cleared her throat. “There are several areas that need to be cleaned more thoroughly, particularly the third level. Are we short of staff?”
Judd, the butler, stood up. “We are, madame. Two of our regulars are away caring for sick relatives.”
“Do we know when they will return?”
“I cannot say, madame.”
Helene sighed and took off her spectacles. “Please make sure the staff members receive their wages and something extra to help with the doctor’s bills. If anyone is willing to work upstairs for as long as needed, I will offer a bonus.”
Several hands went up, and she nodded. “Please see Mr. Judd if you are interested, and thank you.”
Philip almost forgot his annoyance as he listened to Helene alternately praise and gently chastise her staff. He’d expected her to be more demanding, more like the typical madame of a brothel insisting her workers increase her revenues, but she wasn’t like that at all. Her staff seemed to appreciate her as well. Staring at each face in turn, he hadn’t seen any signs of discontent or heard any muttering. Everyone seemed happy to work for her. It made no sense. His wife had had terrible trouble keeping staff at their house, but that might have been because she was so difficult to please.
When the meeting ended, he followed Helene back to her office and waited while she sat at her desk and transferred the contents of her notebook to her daily journal.
“How is it that you don’t expect your staff to create moneymaking opportunities for you?”
She looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
He sat down, crossed his legs, and leaned back in the seat. “I’m sure you know. Most brothels offer ‘extra services’ for a price.”
She sighed. “I’ve already told you. This is not a brothel. Every sexual service my clients desire is provided for nothing.”
“So you say, but nothing is really free, is it?”
Her smile was complacent, which irritated him immensely. “That is correct. My members pay a significant fee to enjoy all the activities I offer.”
He raised his eyebrows. “How significant?”
“There is an entrance fee of thirty-five guineas and an annual subscription of twenty guineas.”
Philip stared at her. “Are you serious? It costs only twenty guineas to become a member of White’s, and their annual subscription is eleven!”
She looked interested. “Is that so? I’m surprised they charge so little.”
“And how many members do you currently have?”
She shrugged. “About one hundred and fifty, I believe. I can show you last year’s accounts if you care to see them.”
Mentally Philip tried to calculate how much income Helene was generating from her business. After seeing the amount deposited in his new bank account last month, he should’ve guessed she was doing rather well. The figures made him dizzy. She certainly didn’t need a man to support her at all.
“You have done very well for yourself.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You make that sound like an insult.”
“Well you can hardly expect me to applaud you making money from such perversions, can you?”
Her smile was calm. “I make money by satisfying rich aristocrats’ fantasies. They are not necessarily my perversions.”
“But you provide them.”
“I provide a unique service. My clients trust my discretion, my high prices keep the club small and discreet, and I offer anything a man or woman could desire. What is wrong with that?”
Philip stood up. “Nothing, if you have no morals.”
Helene got to her feet, too, her cheeks flushing. “I have morals. This is a business, not a statement of my beliefs.” She wagged her finger in his face. “And I also offer my staff an opportunity to indulge in their sexual fantasies too. Don’t forget that.”
He bowed. “Of course, I’d forgotten what a philanthropist you are. The rich pay for the poor man’s pleasure as well—how liberal of you.”
She glared at him, her breasts rising and falling with each agitated breath. “I’d forgotten what a prude you have become. What happened to the man who learned about unchristian erotic acts in India?”
“He died, madame, along with his youth the day he got married.” He headed for the door, desperate to get away from her before he said anything even more incriminating. “I’ll be in the kitchen, if you need me.”