Chapter One

 

 

SHE WAS INSANE. SHE had to be.

Elizabeth balled her hands in her lap, training her eyes forward even as she was dying to explore the whole establishment. The brief glimpse she’d had as she’d been led to this rather benign sitting room a half hour before would inspire curiosity in even the most sedate of women.

All had been red—red walls, red hangings, red floors—and yet somehow the décor still seemed mundane. Surprisingly, the walls sported portraits of the queen, rather tastefully framed. It was probably meant to be ironic, and there was no doubt if Her Majesty knew of the portrait’s placement, she would be ill amused. However, it was not as if she would ever know. Really, who would tell a queen, especially one as obsessed with propriety as Victoria, her portrait graced the wall of this place?

Oh, but such inconsistencies were maddening. With the décor and the portraits, the hallway would not have appeared out of place in her mother’s home. This only made her want to investigate further.

After all, it wasn’t every day one found oneself in a brothel.

Elizabeth tightened her hands in her lap. Surely there must be some evidence of the purpose of the establishment, apart from the obvious. Paintings of nude women? Gentlemen walking the halls, without reason and ill at ease? Numerous doors had lined the walls, opening to what had to be bedrooms. How were the bedrooms decorated? Was there an illusion of gentility or were they decorated with an eye for sin? The few women she had seen on this and her previous visit could quite comfortably have attended any societal assembly. Was this then what men desired, the facsimile of propriety?

Why was this place called—? Sod it, she’d always had trouble with French. What on earth was it? Oh, La Belle Jeune Fille Pieuse which meant…. It meant…the beautiful, remorseful maiden. No, not remorseful, pious. Yes, the beautiful, pious maiden.

She frowned. Was it meant as irony?

Taking a breath, she looked down at her hands. Enough. Her curiosity had gotten her into trouble any number of times. If she didn’t curb herself, no doubt she would leap to her feet to investigate. It had happened before and, more than like would happen again, but even she conceded one shouldn’t go wandering alone in a brothel.

Absently, she rubbed her thumb and middle finger together. The kid leather of her gloves was still supple, though the seams were beginning to show their age. How long could she continue to wear the gloves before they fell apart? Rocksley had given her this pair on the occasion of their engagement, and while their marriage had not turned out to be all she had dreamt, they reminded her of a happier time, when her life was before her and so very exciting.

A smile tugged at her as she thought of those days anew. The balls, the dancing, the stolen kisses Rocksley had pressed upon her. Remembered excitement bubbled through her as memory touched his lips to hers once more, the brush of his mouth as sweet as the champagne she had so daringly enticed him to consume.

Her smile dimmed. Rocksley was gone now, these three years past.

The door opened. Immediately Elizabeth stood, a little too fast if truth be told, pulling the panels of her cloak together as she did so. The ensemble was too dramatic, but really what does one wear to a brothel, at least, if one was not going to employ their services? Well, maybe she was going to employ their services, but not in the usual way. Then again, what did she know of the usual way? It could be women sought their services daily. The name of La Belle had easily been obtained, and perhaps Lady Wright’s knowledge of the place had a more intimate acquaintance than she supposed—

Stop it, Elizabeth.

Taking a steadying breath, she looked toward the door, pasting on what must undoubtedly appear a false smile. She knew why she prattled silently. Nerves were besting her, and she always blathered on when she was nervous.

A man entered instead of the madam she expected. Surprise rid her of nerves. His cold gaze raked over her and, from his lack of expression, very little about her impressed him. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for him.

He wasn’t beautiful. He was too haughty for that, but something about his bold features, his strong jaw, his jet-black hair, and ice blue eyes combined to make him absolutely compelling. Dark hair curled gently from a centre part, shorter than most men would wear. Even his sideburns were shorter, stopping just as his cheekbones began. Did this display a concession to fashion, or a flaunting of it?

His garb, however, caused no such doubt. Dressed in the height of fashion, an exquisitely tailored coat hugged his form, outlining broad shoulders and a slim waist. Pale grey trousers contrasted with the unrelieved black of his coat, exhibiting his form to perfection. How very disappointing if he wore padding, but such a form could not be natural, could it?

He could not be an employee, not with those clothes and that demeanour. Who had the madam of this establishment sent in her stead? He had to be a member of the aristocracy, nothing else would explain his appearance. Good Lord, what was Mrs. Morcom about with this?

While she was low enough in society to pass almost unnoticed no matter what her discretion, Elizabeth still had some reputation to maintain. However, she had placed her trust in the madam. She would believe Mrs. Morcom would not steer her wrong.

She refused to think anything but the best.

Unaccustomed sensations ran through her, hot, sudden and impossible to discern for their contradiction. Excitement? Trepidation? Something about him spoke to her, and she couldn’t for the life of her understand why. For all his seriousness, Rocksley had been quick to smile. Even Farindon, her one descent into wickedness, had been affable, though he insisted on the façade of an unrepentant rake.

This man now before her, he was cold. Hard.

Unable to swallow past the sudden constriction of her throat, she wondered, quite insanely, what it would take to thaw him.

“You are here to see Mrs. Morcom?”

His voice rushed through her, rich and decadent, and the clipped precision of his words confirmed him as an aristocrat. How would it sound lowered and husky, whispering over her bare skin as he detailed all he would do to her?

Elizabeth blinked. What on earth had come over her? She never thought such things, and never about a stranger. In a brothel.

A brothel.

For all she had planned, the pursuit that had seemed so perfect only moments ago abruptly appeared unwise.

“Well?” Though the word implied impatience, the man himself displayed no irritation, instead continuing to regard her in that cold, hard manner.

Affecting a smile to disguise her imbecilic turn, she held out her hand to shake as a man might, attempting a sophistication she most certainly didn’t feel. “Yes, I am here to see Mrs. Morcom. I take it she is on her way?”

He glanced at her hand, then back at her.

Smile faltering, she dropped it back to her side. Humiliation began a slow burn, his disdainful gaze intimating clearer than any words how foolish she was to offer her hand.

She squared her shoulders. No one would make her feel a fool. She was bold and brave, and no one else of her acquaintance had the stomach to pursue what they wanted the way she had. Lifting her chin, she dared him to comment.

He, however, appeared to have already forgotten his slight. “Mrs. Morcom told me of your desire. I am here to fulfil your request.”

She could not have heard him correct. “I beg your pardon?”

“I assure you, I am more than qualified. If you require references, I can provide excellent recommendations.”

“No, no, I believe you.” She had the distinct feeling he was mocking her, but no matter if he was. Placing a hand over her heart, she tried to calm the racing organ. “I was under the impression my education would be verbal, conducted by Mrs. Morcom.”

His expression remained unchanged as he offered neither reassurance nor comment. Damnation, would her stomach never cease its nervous churning! She refused to feel nerves and indecision. After the obscene amount of effort she’d expended to convince herself to pursue this goal, no one—not even herself— would sway her from her course. Nothing in life was as expected. Why had she thought this to be any different?

The silence in the room was deafening. Why couldn’t she hear outside the room? Was it soundproofed? Anything could be going on, even in the harsh light of day, and no one would be the wiser—

Taking breath, she forced a stillness to her thoughts.

They stood, staring at one another.

“Remove your cloak.” His words sounded abnormally loud in the hush.

A moment passed. What should she make of such a command? She didn’t know whether to snap to obey, or be offended he expected her to comply.

Her chin lifted. No matter. She had come this far. She would not let a small thing like this man’s arrogance stand in her way. And so she complied with his command.

With narrowed eyes, he raked her from head to toe, his face ever expressionless. She felt naked without her cloak, which was patently ridiculous as she was wearing at least four layers of cloth between her flesh and his gaze, so there was no cause for these nerves.

She would conquer this anxiety.

“I believe it should be no hardship to educate you,” he said.

Inwardly, she heaved a sigh of relief. Thank the Lord, his assessment of her had finished. “That is, if you are amenable?”

“Oh. Well, I suppose….” Why was she balking when what she had sought was offered? “Yes. Yes, I am amenable.”

At her words, a curious release rushed through her. Good Lord, she was really going to do this.

“Excellent.” He stepped forward, close enough to touch her.

She almost took a step back. He was tall, at least half a foot taller than she. His hand snaked around her neck, cupping her nape with cool fingers. Casually, he took the liberty, and she allowed it though she should object, but this too familiar touch made her breathless...expectant.

“What is it, exactly, you are hoping to learn?” His thumb gently rubbed her skin, toying with the loose strands escaping her upswept hair.

A shiver ran through her, leaving goose flesh in its wake. Should she stop him? Did she want to?

“I…well, I was hoping—” Nerves would not prevent her. Not when she had come this far. Straightening her spine, she looked him in the eye. “I wish to know carnal pleasure. Both to receive and to give.”

That cold, almost beautiful face remained impassive. She didn’t know why she was surprised. “To what end?”

She frowned. “End?”

“No matter.” He took a step away from her, as if he needed the distance to catalogue something about her only he perceived. With the move, his hand dropped from her skin. She couldn’t tell if what she felt was relief or a longing for more.

Moments passed, that impassive gaze weighing heavy upon her. An overwhelming urge to twist her fingers assaulted her, but what if her fidgeting made him refuse?

He seemed to make some decision. “I shall show you carnal pleasure, madam. As you say, both to receive and to give. However, pregnancy should be avoided at all costs.” His eyes flickered, the first sign of something resembling emotion crossing his face. “I will not marry you, no matter the circumstance.”

Well, of course he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t wed him either. In any event, conception was not a concern for her, not after a marriage that had never yielded—

Good Lord. He spoke of practical application. He spoke of touching and kissing and— Was it warmer in here of a sudden?

He continued with barely a pause. “Actual penetration will be avoided. While many people extol the virtues of withdrawal, I remain unconvinced. We will discuss methods of contraception during your education, but the most effective method is always avoidance. You are in agreement?”

Still confused but now with cheeks aflame, Elizabeth nodded. In all her life, no one had ever spoken so frankly. This, combined with his matter-of-fact manner and lack of emotion, banished any lingering apprehension and left only the excitement. Glorious, thrilling excitement.

“Excellent.” Stepping close to her once more, he brushed his hand from her neck to her shoulder, the back of his fingers now warm against her skin. “Shall we begin?”

“Begin?” Blood beat a furious tattoo, the pounding of her heart frantic.

“Mayhap a demonstration?” The words sent shivers down her spine, gathering low in her belly. Her flesh prickled and heated, his voice a whisper against her skin. Never could she remember feeling like this, though she’d some notion of its cause. During her marriage, and of course on those pitiful forays into wickedness, she had felt something similar, but never this intense, this needful. What strange quirk of nature allowed her to want this man she had barely met?

His hand slid from her shoulder to her waist. Resting there a moment, the warmth of his touch lulled her, his fingers splayed wide against the small of her back. A slight nudge, and then he pulled her into him, his hold strong where before it had been lax.

Balance gone, she could only grip his shoulders and hope she didn’t fall, but then his tongue traced her ear and with it, all thought dissolved. She bit her lip, barely noticing the sharp pain. Instead, she registered the hardness of his body through the cushioning of her clothing, the feel of his legs between hers. Uneven breath dragged through her lungs, her breasts pressing against him with every draw.

With a mouth suddenly gone dry, she stared at his lips. Would his kiss be the sweet giddiness of champagne bubbles? Or the rich headiness of blood-red wine?

“Would you like a demonstration?” he reiterated, his voice wrapping around her, just as she had known it would. Deep. Husky. Mesmerising. “Tell me.” His lips traced the cord in her neck.

“Y-yes.” The word stumbled out, made hoarse by a tone she almost didn’t recognise as her own. His hand still rested on the small of her back, heavy and warm through layers of clothing. What would it feel like if those layers were removed? If his naked flesh were against hers?

“As your expectations were for a verbal tutorial, we shall begin with such.” His lips brushed over her ear. “First, we must determine if my touch is something you desire. Do you want my hand on your skin, my lips tracing its path?” One hand cupped her shoulder, its twin gently trailing up her back and then down, up and down, up…. “How will you react? Will you shrink from me or will you drag me against your skin, writhing as I leave no part of you in want of my flesh against yours?”

As he formed the sentences, she couldn’t look away from his lips, their shape, the movement as he enunciated. Something tugged at her deep inside.

“Will you arch against me as I kiss you? Gasp as my tongue traces your nipple? Will your breasts be so sensitive I can make you come just from caressing them, my fingers plucking at your nipples, the pleasure almost exquisitely painful?”

The world narrowed, containing only him and his words. His rich voice seduced her even as his hands stayed motionless on her body, burning through the layers of her clothing. She wanted to beg him to touch her, caress her, anything to force a distraction from the images he painted.

“I’d trace the line of your collarbone with my tongue, burying my face in your neck to nip and bite. Then I’d explore the delights between your thighs, my hand, my fingers circling closer, ever closer to where you were desperate for them to be. My thumb would trace over you and you’d drench me, telling me you want me, my cock inside you, deep and hard, and I’d make you come like that, with my thumb against your clitoris as I thrust my fingers inside you, knowing you want my cock but tormenting you with the substitute.”

Elizabeth’s imagination ran rife and almost she felt him there, between her thighs. Some of his words were foreign, but he left her in no doubt of their meaning. This was what he’d show her? This was what he’d teach?

“I’d bury my face between your thighs, tasting what my fingers had explored. I’d make you come that way. Then I’d make you take my cock in your mouth, watching as you gave me pleasure as I had given you. And then….” He roughly cupped her chin. Ice blue eyes burned into hers. “I’d do it all over again.”

It was too much. Every part of her ached. She was wet, swollen, her nipples tight, her mouth dry, her breath catching. She wanted him closer, touching her. She wanted it so badly and with nothing more than words he had done this, created this need inside her.

And then, with no warning, he was no longer near.

She almost stumbled. A chill rushed through her as the warmth of his body disappeared. Taking a shuddering breath, she wrapped her arms about herself, still dazed from his verbal seduction.

That had been…. It was indescribable.

A stupid grin pulled at her. Well, that cemented it. Decidedly, she had chosen well to pursue this course. Regaining a semblance of control, she turned to face him.

Her smile died.

His expression was still dispassionate. His breathing still even. His words, those beautiful words that had conjured such desire in her, had not disturbed his cold beauty.

They had meant absolutely nothing to him.

Embarrassment suffused her, the contrast between her reaction and his too great. Of course they had meant nothing. They were a demonstration of his skill, nothing more. What must he think of her?

“That is what I can expect?” she said, hoping for dispassion yet knowing she’d failed miserably.

“Somewhat.” Good Lord, his voice was as unaffected as when they had begun. “It is, of course, more titillating in practice.”

Smiling weakly, she attempted to ignore her traitorous body. Lord, let it not be something she had to repeat any time soon. Even swallowing reminded her of the heat still coursing through her, of breasts too sensitive against her bodice, at the ache between her thighs.

“We will begin three days hence, after the dinner hour. A carriage will be sent for you. I presume the madam knows of your address?”

Dumbly, she nodded. His hands were clasped behind his back, his stance indolent. He appeared bored. Was he bored? Why had he even agreed?

He continued without pause. “As I’m sure you are cognizant of your reputation, we will not continue our lessons at La Belle. My town house is far enough away from prying eyes to keep your reputation relatively intact.” He raised a brow, as if daring her to disagree.

Like a fool, Elizabeth nodded again. There seemed little more to say.

Having obtained her acquiescence, he bowed sharply and departed.

Left alone, the import of what she’d just experienced hit her. Legs shaking, she lowered herself to the chaise. She had been seduced. In a brothel. By a man she had only just met. Dear God, she didn’t even know his name. Only now, when he had left, did she realise she knew nothing about him. What did that make her?

She stood, fairly vaulting from the chaise. It made her exactly as she was before. She refused to feel ashamed. Gathering her cloak about her, she pulled the hood sharply over her head to conceal her face. Pleasure for pleasure’s sake was not a crime and this man—this beautiful, cold man—was the means to discovering that pleasure.

And, when they were done, she would thank him prettily and never have to see him again.

 

***

 

MALVERN MADE HIS WAY through La Belle Jeune Fille Pieuse, ignoring the curious glances of the whores employed there. La Belle opened its doors to patrons only after night had fallen and his very presence at this early hour appeared to have whipped frenzy in La Belle’s inhabitants.

He entered the madam’s chamber without announcement and headed for the brandy. Pouring a glass, he took his time with the first draught, admiring the quality of the alcohol, appreciating the sweet burn of it down his throat.

Finally, he turned to face the woman lounging on the settee.

Lydia Morcom fanned herself, a faint smile playing about her lips. That smile never left her features, calculated as it was to fire a man’s curiosity and stir his lust. She trained that look on him now, even as her artifice was wasted on him. He took a second draw, hardly noticing the taste as he was, instead, entertained by the faint signs of annoyance tugging at her. What would Lydia do if he drained the glass of its contents and turned on his heel? Her curiosity unassuaged, what then would she offer to sate it?

More to the point, did he particularly care? He knew enough of Lydia to know she had not offered such a diversion without some gain on her part. While it would be amusing to discover she had a vested interest, the potential for a titillating reaction was negligible.

However, he’d never let the slightness of such sway him before. He remained quiet, allowing the silence between them to deepen.

A frown lightly touched Lydia’s brow. Without fanfare, she gave up her pretence, acknowledging her curiosity outweighed her false complacency. Closing her fan with a snap, she asked, “Did you enjoy my present?”

Her action highlighted the tasteful glitter of diamonds draped about her wrist, the move surely a hint for something new to adorn such a pretty appendage.

He swirled his brandy. “She seems adequate.”

“Adequate. How perfectly apt. She is much like a little blonde mouse, is she not?” Lydia trailed the fan across her collarbone.

Cynical amusement wound through Malvern at her seemingly artless move, and he noted, as intended, the perfection of her skin.

“A blonde mouse with a most interesting request.” Swirling the liquid inside the glass once more, Malvern contemplated this mouse who’d had the courage to enter such a bargain.

He was incognizant as to her game, but figuring her purpose was for better minds than his. She seemed so ordinary, in her serviceable clothing six months out of date. The blonde hair had curled tolerably about her face, but the sheer mass of it had made her fine features appear smaller than they were, turning a reasonably attractive woman into a plain girl. The eyes, though, they had been startling, a clear green under improbably dark brows.

“Why did she come to you?” How surprising. He genuinely wanted to know.

Lydia raised a delicate shoulder. “I have no notion. I do not even know how she became aware of this establishment. Yet, business is business, is it not?” A wicked smile curved her painted lips. “And there was the added titillation of offering something to you, my dear. Come now, it is a most splendid gift, is it not?”

“It is certainly unexpected.” He tilted the glass, watching as the liquid followed the move. Would the mouse be susceptible to brandy? Maybe he could get her drunk, fuck her blind, and send her on her way.

Tilting the glass again, he abandoned the plan before it truly formed. Alas, there was no challenge in that. Surely, this brave mouse warranted some finesse, a small display of the skills she desired. “She gave no indication of what drew her here?”

A slight crease appeared on Lydia’s brow before it was smoothed away with another wicked smile. Ah, so she was annoyed with him. No matter. It would add bite to any sexual encounter and, judging by her repeated insistence on payment for her “gift,” it seemed Lydia was determined to have him fuck her.

“None whatsoever. She simply appeared, announced her desire, and looked at me most earnestly to fill it.” Lydia shuddered. “Such directness is so common, no matter that she was married to a viscount. I could not help but think of you, as she stammered out her request.”

For a brief moment, he saw the cunning that had enabled Lydia to rise from gutter whore to mistress of this place, a grand little corner in the elegant playground reserved for the rich and the bored. Just as quickly, her gaze shuttered.

They were much alike, he and Lydia. Always performing for an audience.

She smiled at him, that Lydia smile. “Come now, you must reward me for my generosity.”

“Must I?” He examined his nails. They were a fraction longer than he liked. “Why me, and not Barton? Or Sandhurst? Or Connaught? Why not some other fool you could ensnare in your game with this woman?”

Lydia shrugged, somehow making the move appear sensual. “Look upon her as the gift I intended. Mayhap this widow will provide some diversion. She does have the makings of something out of the ordinary.” The fan trailed across her scarlet lips. No doubt she was alluding to other, more pleasurable pursuits she undertook with her mouth. “I imagine she will be positively virginal. Surely that should appeal to your degenerate soul.”

“I doubt I am that far gone, Lydia,” he murmured, although the thought of the mousy widow debauched and sprawled across his bed held some intrigue. Mild arousal ran through him at the thought of that hair unbound and wrapped around her pale body, her fingers combing the strands that lay across her stomach only to trail below.

“My dear, I, as always, adhere to your opinion in all matters.” Even he could not disguise disbelief at such an incongruous statement. Lydia adhering to his will in all things? He had yet to see that day.

“As for the widow….” She shrugged again. “I never could resist a patron who pays well.”

“Ah.” He finished his brandy, images of the naked widow still lurking. “The true reason will out.”

“And as for you….” Glancing at him from under lowered lashes, she traced the line of her bodice, her fingers trailing delicately along her skin. “We have always dealt well in the past. Our business transactions have been mutually beneficial.”

“Indeed.” Curiously, Lydia’s display interested him less than his imagined image of the widow. He wondered at himself. In the past, Lydia had managed without fail to pique his interest, no matter that it had been with wilder and wilder sexual peccadilloes. However, the simple image of an unfashionable widow playing with herself held more appeal than the certainty of Lydia’s well-practiced charms.

Abruptly, he felt tired. He must be getting old.

“Now.” Her smile turned provocative as her eyes darkened with the stirrings of lust. “Where’s my reward?” She trailed a hand up her thigh, bringing the fabric of her gown with it.

Ah. He had been correct. The coin of his body held appeal for more than one female.

He went to her, pulling her roughly against him. Lydia’s eyes flashed her desire, as he’d known they would.

“I am never one to disappoint a lady,” he murmured, and lowered his lips to hers.