Chapter Six

 

 

MALVERN STARED AT THE wall as he awaited his pupil, one finger tapping against his temple. After numerous attempts he’d found a comfortable sprawl. Bloody chair. One would think gaining comfort would not be difficult, especially as the chair provided rest for the wealthy benefactors of the women patronizing the store. Instead, the chair seemed a torturous device designed in the farthest depths of Hell.

The owner of the device, and consequently the shop, a female with the unfortunate name of Madame la Belette, had been persuaded to open her doors late at night with a ridiculously small amount of coin, and her discretion had been purchased for even less. However, what could one expect of a woman who didn’t take the time to research her nom de plume before assuming it? No doubt her true name was Bucket or Shovel or something equally as common, never realizing her new moniker translated to weasel. Still, the woman could sew and his long association with her establishment had been of benefit to them both.

Now, though, he waited.

He shifted his seat. Buffed his fingernails. Examined the ovals. Picked a piece of lint off his trousers.

And then he wondered what the hell he was doing.

At the time, the idea had mustered long-absent interest—tutor some clueless widow in matters of sex and desire, maybe even amuse himself with corrupting her totally. Or, conversely, he could scare her with the depths of depravity people could, and frequently did, sink to. A myriad of possibilities the endeavour had held, each more salacious than the last, but never had he thought the woman would actually embrace it. After all, what little nobody widow would really desire actual tutelage on sex? The use of a few graphic words and he had imagined she would balk, horrified, before she ran screaming from the room. He had amused himself with images of a grim-faced matron, shocked to the bone by his use of the word fuck.

The widow, however, was far from a grim matron. Instead of reluctance, she displayed an abundance of curiosity, and a genuine desire to learn all she could about pleasure. She had taken to his instruction with enthusiasm, and where he thought he would have to coax and compel, instead she had taken the lead. All that had been required from him was a willing body and a general push in the right direction.

Reluctant amusement tugged him. Never could he have foreseen such a fortuitous circumstance when first Lydia had suggested the widow’s tutelage to him. What man wouldn’t desire to be the focus of a curious woman’s experiments?

A small rap at the door and the object of his thoughts poked her head through. He straightened, all trace of his amusement wiped from his features.

His pupil appeared vastly troubled, which could only bode well for the design of the gown. “I am unsure about this.”

“That’s the point. Your garments are supposed to be alluring. It’s a mystery how you managed to attract a lover in that sack you were wearing.”

“Well, I wasn’t wearing that. I do have some nice clothes.”

He raised a brow. If she had, he had never seen them. “Show me what you are wearing.”

Worry lurked in the depths of her green eyes as she bit her lip, the flesh red raw. “All right, but know I will kill you if you laugh.”

Amusement tugged again. Most surprising, this mouse.

She emerged from behind the door. A good portion of her corset showed above the low scoop neckline, but the colour and fit were a vast improvement on her previous garments. At least Madam Weasel had the sense to expose her skin, even if the intent was currently compromised by the ill-fitting corset.

Red flattered the mouse, the vibrancy of the fabric putting him to mind of the roses bordering his mother’s garden, those that had been planted before he was born and had been maintained even after her decampment to the convent. Her blonde hair gained lustre from the combination of bold and pale, her skin fairly glowing against the fabric. In fact, everything about her was enhanced by the pairing.

The corset, however, would have to be replaced. As it stood, one could not discern she even possessed a pair of breasts, let alone they were of a pleasing shape. He shifted in his chair, ignoring the hardening of his body at the thought of those breasts beneath his hands. His mouth.

She appeared as if she expected him to comment. Should he make her wait? A valuable tool, anticipation heightened any pleasure, and she would do well to learn it. Enjoying the faint flush on her skin, he entertained a brief fantasy where her agitation was caused by the delights wrought by his hands. Rubbing his thumb over his lip, he imagined beneath the digit instead was the flesh plumping so temptingly above her corset. Then she’d straddle him, the scarlet fabric rucked up around her hips as she moaned and moved upon him.

Her eyes darkened, as if she knew the direction of his thoughts. Her gaze drifted to his mouth and he teased her, rubbing his thumb languidly over his lips, over and over.

Lips parted, eyes slumberous, her face held the window to her desire. Such a responsive mouse.

Satisfaction flowing through him, he turned his attention to her gown. His brows drew together. “This is what Madame thinks you should wear?”

Though obviously fighting for composure, his pupil attempted nonchalance. “Apparently it will look different once I have the correct underwear.”

“Yes, it will.” At his words, a frown creased her brow. Ah, ire at the simplicity of his statement. She was so easy to read, this widow. He leaned back in his chair. “Shouldn’t you don the correct underwear, then?”

Clearly, she did not want to obey. She looked instead as if she wished to reprimand him for his high-handed command, obviously under the impression her words could sway his intent. As if she realised the folly, she pressed her lips together and left the room, grumbling to herself as she did so. He permitted himself a small smile at her display.

After the door had closed, Malvern waited a moment. Then another. An appropriate period passed and he got to his feet, making his way to the concealed peephole opposite the chair. Another of Madame’s specialties.

His protégé stood in her undergarments and yet she remained completely immersed in white cotton. Of true amazement, the ugliness of the clothes with which she covered her form. Seeing them, he could well understand why she had to actively seek out physicality, though she had somehow managed to obtain a lover.

He frowned. The existence of this unknown man was somewhat disconcerting, though he had no notion as to why.

“My lady, you would like help undressing, yes?” For the first time, he noticed the presence of Madame, who appeared to be fawning all over her newest client. Of course, it helped that Malvern had spent a small fortune at this establishment in the past. No doubt Madame was attempted to further line her coffers with Malvern coin.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Madame.” His pupil sighed. “I don’t think he approved of the gown.”

“Nonsense.” Madame worked quickly to unlace the corset. “He did not see it with the correct undergarments. This thing—” Her distaste coloured her words. “This thing would make anyone appear unattractive in any gown. We must find you the correct support, a garment that will lift your bosom to best advantage, while allowing for the line of the gown to flow, uninterrupted, down your body. Voila.” She pulled the corset from his student’s body. “See, already it is better. You have a good shape, my lady, and we will find the right garment to show this. Now, you will remove your chemise.”

“Pardon?” The mouse raised her arms to cover her breasts.

“For my corsets, you will not need a chemise. And this one, this one is an ugly thing. We will take it from you.” Madame clicked her fingers. “Off.”

Clearly uncertain, his pupil stared at Madame, as if that alone would change the decree. Madame, however, was not paid to be deterred. With a sigh, the mouse uncrossed her arms and pulled the garment over her head.

Malvern’s breath hitched at the sight of her unbound breasts. Her nipples had contracted in the coolness of the room, the dark pink buds standing erect. She covered them with her palms as soon as she handed Madame her chemise, leaving her standing only in thin drawers as the dressmaker fussed about her.

“Now, you will wait while I fetch the garments for you.” Madame ignored her protests at being left half-naked. The dressmaker gathered the garments and left, but not before shooting a smug smile in the direction of the peephole.

Malvern ignored the woman. A small smile touched his lips as he watched Elizabeth. Madame’s game was nothing new to him, but never had he played with someone who did not know the rules.

Madame was known for allowing gentlemen to watch as their current mistress modelled the clothes he purchased, with all involved devoted to making the experience as decadent as possible. Never one to let an opportunity for profit to pass her by, Madame kept a stable of girls to add to the spectacle—for a small fee, of course. Malvern had spent many a dissolute hour watching as this mistress or that performed for his pleasure.

He returned his attention to the woman standing so uncertainly in front of the mirror. He’d honestly not thought of Madame’s extra service when he had brought his pupil here, but who was he to deny himself such a show?

All of her was on display to him, from the lip caught between her teeth to the tense set of her shoulders as her hands plumped the soft flesh of her breasts in a vain effort to cover herself. Her gaze darted about the room, returning time and again to the door as she waited for Madame. Little did she know how very long she would wait.

Bracing one hand against the wall, he leaned closer to the peephole, enjoying her disconcertment.

Her brow set in worried lines, she used the mirror to examine the wall behind her, trailing her gaze over the pretentious wallpaper, the too-fulsome gilding. A small quirk danced about her lips at the portrait of the queen, and her brow cleared a little as her gaze came closer to the peephole.

Then, suddenly, it was as if she were regarding him directly.

He stepped back, the move instinctive, before telling himself there was no possible way she could know. Madame would have ensured it. He told himself that, and yet still her gaze was upon him.

The crease between her brows deepened. Her gaze flicked away, and he breathed again. Just as quickly, he berated himself. What care had he if she had discovered the game?

Her gaze returned to her image in the mirror. She appeared to be thinking on something. He cared not for her thoughts, instead drawn to her pale back. She had beautiful skin, a heady mix of cream and velvet, stained with an intriguingly dark freckle below her left shoulder blade. How had he missed such a thing? He would have to explore that patch of skin when next he had her naked and before him.

Arousal began a slow burn through his veins as he thought of situations, entanglements, to facilitate the examination of her skin.

She still looked at herself in the mirror, lip once again caught between teeth. Whatever she thought must be worthy of intense study. Slowly, her teeth worried her bottom lip, reddening the flesh before she soothed the abrasion with her tongue, and then beginning the process over again. She bit her lip often, when she was thinking. One day soon, he would replace her tongue with his, soothing that flesh himself as he drew her inside him, his hands in place of hers on her breasts.

Disgusted with his lack of control, he braced both hands against the wall. Good God, he knew Madame had deliberately placed her so in front of the mirror. He refused to disgrace himself like a boy over nothing more stimulating than a mouse’s image in a reflective surface.

Though still he stared.

Her head tilted to the side and a smile crossed her face. That smile hardened him instantly. Jesus, what had she just thought?

The hands so tightly clasped on her breasts loosened, her thumbs stroking the upper curves. He watched as she watched herself in the mirror, that small smile a siren’s call. Now each hand cupped the corresponding breast, her tongue touching her upper lip as she examined herself. A flush began on her cheeks as she pushed her breasts up and together, turning on her side to admire her form from a different angle. His breathing thickened as she allowed her breasts to fall to their natural shape and then pushed them up again, her smile becoming feline as she stared at herself, her gaze caressing her form in a way he suddenly wished he could.

Slight amusement stretched his mouth, the expression fighting through tendrils of arousal. Even though she had said nothing, she appeared to have undertaken his directive to pleasure herself. He smothered a groan as he imagined what she would do if he strode into the room and replaced her hands with his own.

She widened her stance, her hands moulding her breasts, her breath quickening as she touched herself. She hadn’t exposed her nipples, her palms rubbing against the small nubs. The need to see them consumed him, his arousal shocking in its depth. How was it such an untutored woman could rouse this level of desire?

Finally, a nipple peaked through, caught between her fingers. She squeezed gently, and the bud of flesh elongated beneath her touch, her nipple a dark pink, almost angry in its distension. On a gasp, she released one breast and brought her hand up to her mouth, licking her palm before returning it, a moan coming from her as she started her caress again. He stifled his own groan, imagining her licking him, her tongue playing with his cock as she pulled at her nipples before him, her knees spread wide as she took him deep into her mouth. He started to stroke himself, one hand braced against the wall as the other travelled his length, his eyes trained on her and what she would show him next.

She gave another moan as she arched her back, her breasts thrust forward and her hands moving upon them. Her hips started to undulate, her breathing harsh in the still room. His own was just as ragged. God, could she come from caressing her breasts alone? His cock hardened further at the thought, blood thickening as he watched her.

She looked at herself once more in the mirror, the muscles of her back working as she palmed herself, her shoulders blades rising and falling with the motion. Her left hand kept at the motion on her breast as her right abandoned its flesh, her breast fully exposed to his gaze, displaying white flesh and cherry pink nipple.

He exhaled harshly.

Her right hand snaked across the bare flesh of her belly, hesitating slightly before disappearing beneath her drawers. Her eyes closed as she played with herself, her lip gripped tightly between her teeth.

A curse tore from his throat as he conjured images of what she was doing. Her hand reaching into her drawers, her fingers tangling in the curls before reaching lower. Slowly, delicately, her fingers stroking at the lips of her sex, tormenting herself with the wetness coating her outer lips before she dipped inside, only an inch, only to tease.

She whimpered, adding credence to his fantasy, one hand moving rhythmically between her thighs, her other pinching her nipple.

Shoving his trousers open, he took his cock in hand, executing harsh strokes as blood pounded through him. He stroked in tandem with her, breath strangled as he watched, unable to look away.

Now she found the bundle of nerves hard, as hard as his cock and so sensitive she had to touch it gently, a mere whisper of movement, or she would come immediately. Her thumb would caress the hard bud as her finger thrust inside, finding she was wet and empty. Another finger, reaching deep inside, stroking the walls of her core, and now she could push hard at her clitoris, could circle the flesh as she was circling her nipple, pinching and pulling, her head thrown back, her hand moving frantically. Then she came, her hand stilling on her breast, her mouth open on a silent moan, beautiful in her pleasure.

Blood pounded through him, boiling in his veins, and he could feel it begin, gathering low in his belly. He pulled at his cock, his hand stroking fast, his grip strong, almost painful, but God, he needed it, needed it hard. His balls drew up tight, he wasn’t far and then he came, releasing his semen over his hand, the orgasm crashing over him.

His senses returned slowly, his climax affecting more than any he’d had of late. Breathing harshly, he dismissed the ridiculous notion. Surely the sight of her hadn’t affected him as greatly as he supposed. A few deep breaths, that’s all he needed to recover.

Finally, he calmed. He tidied himself, glancing through the peephole.

His blood turned cold.

She looked directly at him in the mirror. And her smile was smug.

 

***

 

ELIZABETH KNEW HE WAS there, watching her. She had to admit, a large part of her pleasure had been the thought he watched, separated only by plaster and brick. It had spurned her on, making her climax more intense than any she had given herself before.

When he had suggested this trip to the dressmaker’s, she had been hesitant, uncertain how she was to afford such finery. The last half hour or so, however, had been so enjoyable, it was well worth however much Madame charged her.

It had been Madame, actually, who had given the game away. The woman had kept glancing behind them, as if she were seeking approval from the wall. Elizabeth had wondered what on earth could be so very fascinating. From somewhere had come the memory of spying on her parents as a child through the peephole Bella had shown her in their parents’ private sitting room. She knew then Malvern was in the room behind that wall and it had all fallen into place. She had wondered why he had brought her here, to this hardly respectable dressmaker who so obviously clothed the demimonde. She had wondered why Madame was so eager to get Elizabeth half naked, leaving her alone in the room.

Now, she knew.

Her mind, so recently turned to the possibility for carnal pleasure, had taken it a step further and she reasoned this room must be some sort of display area; only instead of gowns, she was on display. A tiny thrill had shuddered through her. It was embarrassing, and nigh on degrading, but she couldn’t deny it had been strangely exciting.

A small smile crossed her lips. He truly was debauching her, one small act at a time.

Elizabeth had finally found the courage to undertake his directive to seek her own pleasure—Good Lord, had that been nearly a month ago? With some trepidation after she had retired for the night, she’d cupped her breasts, her fingers alien against her flesh. She had remembered him doing those wonderful things to her, and her fingers had started stroking her flesh lightly, her breath quickening as she had replayed their encounters in her head. Before she’d known what she was doing, her hand was between her legs and she’d felt it building, that glorious release she’d experienced with him, and then she had broken, the same lovely feeling washing over her.

She had lain in her bed, panting, surprised she’d managed to do that to herself and that it had felt so good. Then, in the interest of exploration, she had done it again—and as often as she could manage ever since.

So when she had discovered he could see her, she’d thought, why not show him what she had learned? And so, she’d pleasured herself and somehow it had been better, knowing he was watching. In the midst of it, she had been reminded of those few times with her lover, in the library of Lady Markham’s town house, Farindon’s chest against her back as he had thrust inside her. Somehow, it had all gotten tangled up and she had imagined it was Malvern behind her that night at Lady Markham’s, his cock inside her, his voice husky in her ear. That had been what had finished her in the end.

The door opened and Madame entered the room, her arms full of a variety of riotously coloured corsets. Certain a blush stained her cheeks, Elizabeth hastily covered her breasts, trying to act as if she hadn’t just been pleasuring herself.

The dressmaker paid little attention to her, however. A smug expression twisted her features, as if she were imagining the extra pounds she would be paid for the use of such an exclusive room.

All embarrassment left Elizabeth at the woman’s impertinence. Imitating Malvern’s superior demeanour, she levelled a stare on the dressmaker. “Is something amusing, Madame?”

Madame’s expression hastily took on a more deferential cast. “No, my lady.” She indicated the corsets still in her arms. “I have brought some garments for your perusal. If you would be so kind?”

Elizabeth suddenly wondered how much Malvern could see from his vantage point. Would the mirror display all of her to him? An imp of mischief raised its head. Let’s find out, shall we?

She dropped her hands from her breasts, spreading her arms wide as Madame came forward with one of the corsets, all cares about being half naked in front of the woman disappearing. She fancied she heard a groan.

Smiling to herself, she was quiet as Madame fastened the corset around her. She’d never gone without a chemise before. The sensation of the silk against her naked breasts was both cooling and arousing, something she could easily get used to.

“You see, my lady.” Madame ran her hands over the corset, smoothing the fabric against Elizabeth’s waist. The corset barely covered her nipples, pushing her breasts up, the rounded flesh looking much fuller than her previous corset had ever made them. “This undergarment will allow for a more daring design of dress. The front—” she swept her finger along the edge of the corset “—provides for a deep décolleté and the low back—” Madame’s hand was now sweeping her back, measuring the space from Elizabeth’s neck to the edge of the corset. “Et alors, vous serez très à la mode.”

Elizabeth couldn’t look away from her reflection in the mirror. She looked wicked. Her waist curved in dramatically, impossibly tiny beneath full breasts that swelled with promise above the corset. Add to that the faint blush left on her cheeks from her pleasure, and she appeared as if she were of the demimonde. All she needed were ruby red lips and a fan, and the picture would be complete.

She loved it.

She licked her lips, wishing Madame would leave the room so she could explore this new shape of hers. “And you have the gown with you?”

Madame inclined her head, producing the gown and pulling it over Elizabeth’s head. Good Lord, underwear really did make a difference! The gown was perfect now.

“Will you show my lord?” Madame asked.

Elizabeth nodded slowly, her gaze still on her figure as she smoothed her hands over her waist. Unbelievable, that it was she in the mirror. Still distracted, she allowed Madame to lead her to the connecting door between the rooms.

Oh, he did well pretending he had not seen her. Sprawled in that chair, his elbow resting on the arm as his finger tapped at his temple, one would never believe he had moved from his seat. But she knew better. She knew he had watched her, and judging from the faint colour still staining his skin, he had enjoyed what he saw.

He ignored her knowing smile, however, instead focusing on her gown. This time, he appeared pleased by her couture.

“Leave us.”

Madame hastened to comply with his order, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Malvern stared at her in silence, his finger rubbing at his temple. Did he mean to disconcert her with such intense scrutiny? Or to distract her from what she knew had happened?

She couldn’t contain an impish smile. “Did you like what you saw?”

His finger still at his temple, he said nothing.

“Oh, please don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Her smile stretched wide now as exhilaration flooded through her, lending bounce to her step as she came before him. “Wasn’t it glorious? I’m so glad you brought me here. I had no idea such places existed. And to think, I thought such places were solely for the purchase of garments!”

Finally, he deigned to speak. “You are amused, are you?”

The wonder of discovery burned within her, and she knew she was grinning like a fool. “How could I not be? This is all working out extremely well. Really, I must thank you. This is much more than I ever expected, and we’ve only touched the tip of the iceberg.” She stopped. “Haven’t we?”

He nodded, the fingers of his hand swaying close to her shoulder. “You have started well.” His fingers brushed against her skin, goose flesh rising in its wake. “Your progress is much further along than I anticipated. I shall have to reassess your curriculum.”

She settled into her seat, enjoying the unfamiliar feel of exposed flesh and the way her breasts moved with the new corset. “Do you really have a curriculum for me? Or are you just being facetious?” Wickedness bubbled within her. “Because if you do, could I have a copy for my records?”

His finger stopped its relentless rub against his temple, and she had the strangest feeling he wanted to smile at her comment. Nothing crossed his face, however. “Do you really feel it would be beneficial for you to have access to your curriculum?”

Well now, how was she to not tease him at that? Affecting a winning smile, she could have sworn she saw an answering flicker in his eyes.

He got to his feet and, just like that, he was cold imperiousness once more. “We will be on our way. Tell Madame to meet me out front.”

“Yes, sir.” She almost saluted at his request.

He paused, and she couldn’t tell if he was fighting laughter or scorn. He settled for neither, instead quitting the room.

She sat where she was for a moment. Then, with a little smile, she got to her feet, asking for Madame as she left the room.

 

***

 

MALVERN TRIED TO IGNORE his hand, but the damn thing wouldn’t stop shaking. It was ridiculous to have such a reaction to a woman so much his inferior, both in knowledge and in rank, but there it was, his bloody shaking hand. He trapped it with his other, concealing them behind his back as Madame came to greet him.

“You were well pleased by your visit, my lord?” The woman’s impertinence would have to be dealt with, standing there with an arch look on her face as if she could pass comment on his activities. Maybe it was he had patronised her store too often and too well.

“Tolerably.” His hand still tap-danced behind his back. “You will send the bill to my man.”

“Yes, my lord.” She curtsied deeply. “Will this include my lady’s clothing?”

“Of course it would. Do not make me take my business elsewhere.”

She blanched, her smug smile becoming uncertain. Good. Finally, the woman remembered her place.

“My lady, she insisted she would pay for her garments.” Madame’s voice faltered, a hint of Manchester bleeding through the French. “Maybe there has been a misunderstanding of your intentions?”

“It is none of your concern.” The statement had come out more forcefully than he had intended. And still his hand shook. “Add her clothing to my bill.”

“Yes, my lord.” Her voice somewhat steadier, she curtsied again and left.

Dismissing the dressmaker from his mind, he instead contemplated her revelation. So his student thought to pay for her garments? For all intents and purposes, the woman was acting the role of his mistress, and he would assume responsibility for her as such. Besides, he was the one who had to look at her. If such a small sum guaranteed the end of the eyesore that was her clothing, he would pay twice Madame’s asking price with nary a blink.

His pupil entered the room dressed in her old clothing, her eyes sparkling. He forced his hands still as she took his arm, disguising the tremor as they left the shop for Malvern House.

The shaking, though, did not leave until long after she had.