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FOR HARRIETTA DELANEY, now Marchioness of Dunnesford, the eye holes in her mask were not large enough to accommodate her wide-eyed stare as she followed Charlotte onto the floor of Madame Botreaux’s Cavern of Pleasures. There were men and women about her in all states of undress, and yet she, clothed from head to toe in a modest evening dress, felt like the naked one.
Not only were these men and women openly naked in public but they were engaged in all manner of...activity...in public. It hardly seemed real. Only in her fantasies—deep, dark fantasies that she had never shared with anyone—had she envisioned such possibilities. Only in London could such a place exist. Certainly not in the small town where she had lived for all four and twenty years of her life. The prospect of living in the City had been the one bright part of marrying the Marquess of Dunnesford. It was a marriage that made her among the luckiest women in England. And the biggest fool.
“He has wealth and breeding and a title and is pleasing to the eye,” Bethany, Harrietta’s junior by four years, had cooed after the Marquess had finally accepted one of their mother’s numerous invitations.
“Exceedingly handsome,” Marianne, who had yet to have her come-out, had sighed.
Even Jacqueline, the youngest Delaney daughter at twelve, had agreed. “He looks like a prince.”
Harrietta had to admit that King George himself was unlikely to have produced as grand an entry as the Marquess, arriving in his gilded carriage pulled by a team of four with gleaming white coats and footmen who appeared to possess more expensive garments than the wealthiest of the bourgeoisie. The Marquess was also perfection, from the finely powdered hair to the elaborate cravat tied at his throat, the rich velvet coat that flared from the hips, his delicately embroidered waistcoat, and down to the jeweled high-heeled shoes. He was elegant yet commanding. Powerful but refined. Regal and sensuous.
Nine long years had passed since she had last seen Vale, and she no longer recognized him. She had dreamt of him, still flushed when she remembered their last encounter, and had heard much about him—especially about the many mistresses he had kept in those years. At the time of her marriage to him, he had been most recently rumored to be with an Italian countess. A family friend who traveled in the same social circles as the Marquess had described him as an aloof and arrogant rake—not the sort of man Harrietta had ever envisioned herself marrying.
The Marquess was a stranger to her. He was not the Vale who once preferred the company of the Delaney family to his own, who had been Harold’s best friend, and who had been like a second brother to her. She resented this magnificent Marquess for failing to be the man she had fallen in love with as a girl. But Mr. Delaney had three daughters with no dowries. That a man of Lord Dunnesford’s stature would offer for Harrietta—poor and plain—was, according to Bethany, nothing short of the most miraculous gift Fate could bestow.
Dear God, Harrietta thought to herself as she glimpsed a woman whose breasts were being serviced by the mouths of two different men, surely I belong in Bedlam for wanting to see this place?
What she saw next answered her question affirmatively. A naked young woman was hanging from a hook like a slab of meat in a butcher’s shop while a man wearing a silver and black mask was circling around her—and striking her with his riding crop. Harrietta had never seen such tight breeches as those worn by the masked man. She flushed on his behalf. Her gaze traveled from his loins to his finely sculpted chest. The sinews of his strong arms revealed themselves as he pulled the crop back and lashed it against the woman’s backside. Harrietta eyed the planes of his pectoral muscles, the ridges that filled his torso, and the rugged hardness of his belly. She had not thought the naked body of a man could be so...captivating. The man would have made an exceptional model for Michelangelo.
“Masterful, is he not?” Charlotte whispered.
“What is he doing to that poor woman?” Harrietta asked, appalled yet intrigued.
“Punishing her. She has displeased him in some way.”
The young woman groaned...in pleasure. Harrietta felt warmth spreading through her body. Her own carnal experiences had been limited to a few encounters with the footman and the squire’s son. There had been groping—a few playful swats on the butt that she had surprisingly enjoyed—but nothing on the order of what she now witnessed. But she had imagined a world of greater possibilities ever since she had found a copy of Fanny Hill that Harold had hidden beneath his bed.
“He is the most desired master,” Charlotte explained. “Only the most beautiful and practiced are selected to be his submissive.”
“Have you ever been with him?” inquired Harrietta as she followed the hard set of his jaw. “I should think it rather terrifying.”
Charlotte closed her eyes and a small smile played upon her lips. “I would be unworthy.”
Harrietta studied her companion, who seemed to be reveling in a daydream. She liked Charlotte—and not because the woman was her only friend in London at the moment. Widowed two years ago, before she had turned thirty, Charlotte Kensington possessed a worldliness and self-assurance that Harrietta appreciated. It therefore surprised her that Charlotte would want to submit to a man like the one in the silver and black mask.
When she saw the man leave the assembly floor, Harrietta felt relieved, though she was also curious to see what he might do next with the woman he had left hanging.
“If you wish to leave, you have only to speak it,” Charlotte said.
Harrietta contemplated the suggestion. She had seen more tonight than she had ever thought possible. Her mind whirled and she needed time alone to digest all that she saw. And yet, she felt a part of her awakening, a part of her that desired to see more, a part of her that was not merely curious.
“Does everyone wear a mask?” Harrietta asked, stalling.
“Mostly,” Charlotte replied.
“Do you know anyone here?”
“No, and that is part of the fun.”
They walked past a row of semi-private alcoves occupied alternately by two women licking each other, a group orgy, and a ménage-a-trois.
“Are there no private chambers?”
“Where is the thrill in a private chamber? Ah, it is the time for presenting,” Charlotte observed of a number of men and women who had begun forming a line in the middle of the assembly. “Did you wish to present tonight?”
“Present?” Harrietta echoed. Her pulse began to quicken.
“Those new to Madame Botreaux’s must first present themselves. Those of a certain seniority here are allowed to choose among the new ones.”
“What happens if you do not like the person you are with?”
“If you find you do not enjoy your initial encounter, you may request to present again upon your return.”
Harrietta’s heart was pounding in her head. For a brief moment she wondered what her new husband would say or do if he ever found out what she had done. He had made it quite clear before they married that he would not interfere in the life she wished to lead if she would afford him the same consideration. The coolness of his tone as he spoke had surprised her. In truth, she had felt a little stung by it. She knew full well she was not the sort of woman to merit the attentions of a man of his wealth and stature. That he had offered for her hand had mystified her. She could only guess that he had felt some obligation to her brother to care for his family.
He was certainly not interested in her. That much had become clear as crystal to her when he had chosen not to consummate their marriage on their wedding night. Instead, he had adopted a fatherly tone, assuring her that he would not press his privileges upon her but would wait until she was ready. What the bloody hell could he have met by that? The only answer that came to her was that he had no desire to bed her. Her lack of beauty had never bothered her before—Harold had often told her how he would sooner be in her company than all the Helens of Troy in the world—but on her wedding night, she had felt the pain of her plainness.
It was possible that despite the understanding that she and the Marquess had not to interfere in each other’s lives, this would be too much for him to accept. But why should he have all the fun? Harrietta found herself reasoning as she thought of the Marquess with his mistress. Moreover, her identity was protected by her mask, and she trusted Charlotte not to divulge their illicit tryst. He would never know.
The man in the silver and black mask had returned and released the young woman from her bonds and her blindfold. He said something to her that made her cry. At first Harrietta thought he was telling the woman how much more she would be punished, but then he gently wiped away the tears from her face, and his lips formed what seemed to be the word adieu. The woman departed with obvious reluctance, casting one last look of longing at him before she left.
What would it feel like to want to be with someone that much? Harrietta wondered.
“If you worry that Vale—” Charlotte began.
Harrietta was quick to dismiss the suggestion. “Not at all. One of the maidservants mentioned that he is likely to be at the home of his mistress, the Countess D’Alessio. I suspect he will not return for some time.”
“Does that mean you wish to present?”
For some reason, the thought of her husband with his mistress spurred her courage. “Yes—for tonight.”
“Very well. I will wait for you when you are done.”
I have lost my mind, Harrietta said to herself as she stepped into the line formed by four other women and three men. She could not deny that her body felt warm from seeing all the bodies of men and women writhing in pleasure, but she had not expected that she might be one of them tonight. From the corners of her eyes, she saw the man in the silver and black mask, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked over the line of men and women presenting. She wanted to flee.
But then she saw him move. He was coming toward her.