Excerpt from Seducing the Master
“Impossible,” Charles murmured as he leaned against the mantel of the fireplace in Madame Devereux’s boudoir and gazed upon the painting above. It was a portrait of the proprietress in her younger days, reclining upon a grassy knoll and surrounded by her favorite flora, chrysanthemums.
He turned to face Joan Devereux, reclining upon her settee, several decades older, a good deal plumper, her complexion far less even but not entirely devoid of the beauty of her youth.
“If Miss Katherine is as terrified as you say,” he continued, “a sennight is hardly enough time to transform her into the perfect submissive.”
“But, my dear Gallant, there is no other member who can provide a better introduction to the arts of submission,” Devereux demurred as she peered through her spectacles at her roster of patrons. “In your early years with me here, you trained many a novice, with splendid outcomes each and every one.”
“That was a long time ago. I am out of practice.”
The greater truth was that he lacked the inclination for the assignment presented him. She still weighed upon his mind.
“But it would seem your time in the Orient has only enhanced your repertoire. Indeed, you are in great demand. I have had many members inquire after you of late.”
Charles returned his gaze to the painting. The young Devereux wore a secretive smile. Some private thought amused her, and she would keep it to herself. He had wondered if the proprietress of the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum, where pleasures of the flesh were carried to their most wicked and wanton extremes, had had a hand in the return of Master Damien, though such speculation served no purpose. It did not alter the fact that Charles was hers for an entire six-week. He had lost his wager with her and would uphold his end of the bargain, even if she might have deliberately undermined him. She had an interest in preserving the identity of Mistress Scarlet, who, if returned to her former state as Miss Greta, was of less value to Joan.
He had nearly succeeded in restoring Miss Greta to what he believed was her true self. Now, she was lost to him entirely. His letters to her in Liverpool were refused, returned to him unopened. Charles had thought to request a leave of absence from the ministry. If she would not receive his letters, he would go to her in person. But Sir Canning required his presence in London. Charles took some comfort in the prospect that time might afford Greta the realization that she could give herself to him.
Unless she was still partial to Damien.
“Lord Wendleson insisted upon you,” Devereux continued.
Her intended compliment had little effect, and he replied, “You say he is newly married. It would seem the duty of the husband to assume the role of mentor.”
“His lordship has been a member here, a master, or nearly two years. He has not the patience to instruct his wife, who has none of his experience.”
“I do not mean to evade my obligations,” he replied. He accepted he was, in effect, Madame Devereux’s indentured servant at the Red Chrysanthemum. If the proprietress desired to make him her own personal slave, he would have serviced her without complaint. And though he had no partiality for his own sex when it came to venereal pursuits, he had fulfilled her first assignment to him by spending the night with a visiting molly. “But I am reticent to interfere betwixt a married couple, and newlyweds at that,” he finished.
“Lord Wendleson would make a terrible instructor. His temperament would stand the both of them in poor stead. It is for her benefit that I recommend you. Wendleson brought her in one evening. I think he thought to titillate her, but she looked quite petrified by the goings on here.”
“And he thinks I—or anyone—capable of turning her trepidation into willing submission? In a sennight, no less?”
“He will pay you richly for your services.”
Remembering that Damien had offered fifty guineas for Miss Greta, Charles stiffened. “Money does not concern me. I would sooner he make his payment to you for I am in your service. I pray you give me another charge.”
Devereux pursed her lips. “I have no other at present.”
“Then I will await your next bidding. Till then, we may pause the clock on my servitude.”
“His wife, though shy, is a lovely little thing. She may make you forget that other one.”
He said nothing. He had tried to forget Greta by throwing himself into his work, and his efforts had not gone unnoticed by his employer, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.
“We need to elect you to Parliament, Gallant,” Sir Canning had said to him the day after Greta had left without forewarning. “I could have you appointed my Under-Secretary. From there, well, opportunities await.”
Sir Canning implied that if he should succeed The Duke of Portland as Prime Minister, the office of Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs would then become available. The prospect of becoming a member of parliament, let alone a cabinet position, had long been Charles’ wish. His own father had tried three times, unsuccessfully, to win election to Parliament. Like Canning, the senior Gallant and former Whig had even allied himself with the Tories when the Whigs fell out of favor, but, whereas Canning found success, the senior Gallant always came within a few votes shy of winning a seat.
“I have spoken of you to Sir Arthur,” Canning had added, “and he is agreed that you would make a fine MP for the borough of Porter’s Hill. He would be fully in support of your candidacy.”
Which meant that Charles had as good as won the election, for Sir Arthur, himself an MP, owned nearly half of the tenements in Porter’s Hill, purchased with gains from his heavy interests in the East India Company.
Shaking his head, Charles faced Devereux once more. “Even were I keen to undertake the task, not everyone is receptive to the distinctive predilections here. For me to make a determination of her tolerance for the various elements, especially pain, requires more time than a sennight. Nor can I, when all is done, fully impart my knowledge of her capacities to the husband, which is why it is preferable that he assume the role of mentor to begin with. I am not training a sailor, who, once he learns the ways of a seaman, can sail on most ships and be captained by anyone.”
Trying a different tactic, Devereux challenged, “Do you doubt your abilities?”
He pressed his lips into a line. In truth, he did. If he had not overestimated himself, if hubris and jealousy had not overwhelmed him, he might not have agreed to that fateful challenge with Master Damien. He might not have lost Greta.
As if worried she might have planted the seeds of doubt, Devereux hastened to say, “I have full faith and confidence in you, Master Gallant. You possess a rare and perfectly balanced quality: a firm and imposing hand coupled with a gentleness that comforts the fair sex.”
“You are eager to satisfy this Lord Wendleson,” he said after studying the proprietress.
She shifted beneath his gaze. “Lord Wendleson is an influential gentleman who will become the Earl of Berksdale. He is also exceptionally generous.”
Charles gathered that the man’s offer of compensation had extended to Madame Devereux as well. He looked at the bright fire crackling in the hearth as he considered whether or not to assist Joan out of friendship and against his better judgment. Only recently returned to the Red Chrysanthemum, he was unfamiliar with Lord Wendleson.
She interpreted his silence as a refusal and, heaving a large sigh, said, “For this favor, I would relieve you of further obligation to me.”
Looking up, he raised his brows.
“Your service with me would be concluded,” she affirmed.
“Servitude. Let us call it what it is.”
Devereux stared at him. “Very well. The word has a nice depraved ring about it. If you can satisfy Lord Wendleson, your indenture with me would be at an end. You would be free to resume your membership with all its ordinary privileges and liberties.”
He inhaled deeply. As much as he had reconciled himself to submitting to Madame Devereux, he wanted the freedom. If he did not have to attend to her requests, he could put more of his attentions toward his election to Parliament. Although the support of Sir Arthur would all but guarantee victory, Porter’s Hill was not a pocket borough, and Charles would take no outcome for granted. He was determined that Porter’s Hill would have in him a fair and dedicated representative.
“I accept,” he said to Madame Devereux.
She beamed. “Your success in this endeavor will benefit us both!”
“Miss Katherine is expected shortly,” she added as she observed the clock above the mantle. “She has but an hour, for Lord Wendleson expects to stop here upon returning from his evening at White’s.”
“He wishes me to complete instruction within a sennight and gives me but an hour of her time? I hope I will be afforded longer on our next occasion.”
“I fear Miss Katherine cannot leave the house till her mother has gone to bed.”
“Then I cannot have her ready within the sennight.”
“You must try. Lord Wendleson saw your performance with Miss Greta and was quite impressed with how you handled her. He will accept no one else for his wife’s instructor. If anyone can succeed with Miss Katherine within the constraints provided, it would be you, dear Charles.”
“I will see her tonight, but I will have a word with Lord Wendleson to temper his expectations before proceeding with any further education.”
Devereux sighed. “If you must.”
“I insist upon it.”
“Perhaps it is wise to do so. You may be able to persuade him to give you more time. I think—I hope—you will enjoy your assignment. I had your interests in mind, too, when Lord Wendleson and I conferred. It will relieve any preoccupation you may still have of her. I am quite convinced that we have seen the last of Mistress Scarlet. Alas, she is a great loss to the Red Chrysanthemum.”
He straightened. “Have you...have you heard from her?”
“No. And I have come to know her well in all these years. The fact that I have received no correspondence from her, it is certain she means not to return. Now, aside from Mistress Primrose, you are my greatest asset.”
Devereux lamented the absence of Greta but without the depth of grief he would have expected from someone who claimed to value Mistress Scarlet with such gravity. Knowing Joan to favor pragmatism, he did not dwell long on her lack of emotion. Bowing to the proprietress, he took his leave to prepare for his evening with Miss Katherine. He now had reason to approach the assignment with more enthusiasm, and he did not dismiss Devereux’s belief that the activity would stay his mind from thinking overmuch of Greta.
As he descended the steps to the second floor, he came upon Miss Terrell at the bottom of the stairs. The nubile blackamoor blocked his path. Her attire was reminiscent of a milkmaid from the prior century, with the corset worn above the garments. Her shift or chemise barely comprised a décolletage, and her supple bosom seemed ready to burst from its confines. The petticoats and skirt rose to her calves, displaying trim ankles, and she wore no shoes at all.
His gaze fixed upon her mouth, remembering that he had kissed those succulent lips and tasted Miss Greta upon them.
“Master Gallant,” she greeted with a smile, revealing remarkably white and even teeth.
He was unsurprised that she was genuinely happy to see him. She had made it quite evident during his public display of Miss Greta that she was interested in him.
“Miss Terrell,” he replied with a bow, lifting his gaze from her mouth to her large, round eyes. Against her ebony skin, they appeared uncommonly bright.
He expected her to move to allow him to descend the final step, but she remained where she was, pinning him with her stare. He was reminded of a panther stalking its prey.
“Do you stay the evening, Master Gallant?” she asked.
“For an hour.” He moved to demonstrate his intentions of proceeding, but still she did not budge, as if she would like nothing more than to have him walk into her. “I am expected.”
She raised her sculpted brows. “Indeed? By whom? I thought Miss Greta no longer with us.”
He must have frowned or tightened his jaw, for, sensing her error, she quickly followed by saying, “Who is the fortunate one tonight?”
“A new member. Miss Katherine.”
Having answered her, he made another move, but instead of standing aside, she leaned in toward him. He already stood a head and a half taller, and the step elevated him such that she looked him straight in the stomach. She tilted her head, and he felt himself caught in her glimmering gaze.
“Perhaps you would entertain a replacement?” she inquired, lowering her gaze to the buttons of his waistcoat so that he could behold the thickness of her lashes.
She was lovely for a blackamoor, though he found her hair far too curly and unruly. Her confidence in her seductive qualities, however, greatly enhanced her allure. He felt a primal response to her nearness. The scent of some form of pomade that she applied to her hair wafted through his nose.
“I could not,” he replied.
“There would be no charge. For you, I give of myself gratis.”
She looked up once more at him, those plump lips beckoning. His blood pumped more forcefully in certain parts. He would not mind another kiss, but he knew not her age. Unacquainted with Negro features, he feared she might be too young, though she carried herself with the wantonness of a mature strumpet.
Her lips parted and slowly her tongue emerged. The tip of it grazed his button. An image sprang to mind of that supple mouth wrapped about his cock, and he had to, literally, shake the vision from his head. When her tongue retreated back into her mouth, he took the final step, sweeping her with him as he went, and pinned her to the wall, more harshly than he intended.
“A generous offer,” he said to her, “but one that I will have to decline. For now.”
He knew not why he added those two last words. Perhaps her proximity—he could feel her curves beneath him—had him rattled. Perhaps he meant to soften the blow of his rejection. He should not concern himself too much on the latter. Miss Terrell had admirers aplenty.
Abruptly, almost as if he feared he might be ensnared by her charms if he tarried, he released her and continued on his way without a backward glance.
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SEDUCING THE MASTER
available August 2015
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