Regency Romp Volumn 01

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Regency Romp Vol. 1

This book is an original publication of Aphrodite’s Apples and has never before appeared in print. The story is fictional. Names, places and any similarity to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. Aphrodite’s Apples Press 2207 Concord Pike Suite 441 Wilmington, DE 19803-2908 www.aphroditesapples.com First ebook publish March 2007 Regency Romp Vol. 1 Cover Art © 2007 Aphrodite’s Apples Rose Among the Heather © 2007 Jennifer Mueller Laudanum © 2007 Nikki Watson Of Licorice and Decadence © 2007 Katrina Strauss Unspeakable © 2007 Kayleigh Jamison At the Lady’s Discretion © 2007 Emma Wildes

In the year 1816 It all looked the same as the Duke of Cairnmuir came in to breakfast. The dining room was painted blood red with white trim and sported handsomely carved walnut furniture, including side chairs with gothic arched backs, original medieval arches. The service on display around the room carried the names of the finest makers there were. To see it all he might have thought nothing had changed. The walls held just as many portraits and landscapes of all eras and artists of note that they always had. Maybe there were one or two more slipped in here and there. A Duke never had to sleep in the filth like the men did, but he’d seen enough of the fighting all the same. Sinclair men always did regardless of position. How many of their names filled 

 the rolls of soldiers that were kept in the armory, of those never to return? Dukes, the same as peasants, filled the lists of the dead. He could still rarely bring himself to look back far enough to that dark day when two hundred men were wiped off the earth and no war was even being fought. It had kept them out of the whole Jacobite fight for more than thirty years, having so few men of fighting age left to even muster. “Edward, when did you return? My God, you should have told us even if it was the middle of the night.” Edward spun round to find his mother rushing toward him, arms wide open. “Just now. I thought you would be at breakfast and came here first.” She hugged him for what seemed forever. She hadn’t changed either; same black hair, same green eyes, same pleasant face. Was he the only one to change since he left? “With the ball tonight, we all ate early so we could get to the preparations.” “We live in the middle of nowhere.” “None the less, we are having one.” “I’ve just spent two years in Spain and France. I don’t really feel like a ball the day I get back.” “Nonsense; we were holding one without you and it’s high time you find a wife anyway. We have twice the reason to hold

one now that you are back. It will take you most the day to get



presentable with all that filth on you. Might as well go start getting ready now. I’ll find Erskine and have a bath sent to your room.” She rushed off, but Edward sat down at the table regardless of her orders. A woman appeared at his elbow silently. “Una, may I have some breakfast? I know I smell something terrible, but please.” The pretty redhead smiled. “Of course, sir. I’ll bring in more of the dried heather to help you stand yourself indoors.” “Oh, and you’ve lost your sense of smell in two years, have you?” Una vanished with a chuckle.

The bath was waiting for him when he finished, a kettle still in his fireplace to add when he was ready. Erskine at least understood he wouldn’t go without breakfast, Una’s breakfast at that; not after two years from home. Papered in green brocade with an elaborate plaster ceiling and accented with gold, the room was magnificent, but it wasn’t the room he’d left. Mother had redecorated. Finally sinking into the tub, he closed his eyes and tried not to fall asleep. He failed, and it had to have been an hour

 later he heard the door opening. “Would have thought you’d try and stay away with a ball tonight.” Erskine said as he entered. A thin man in his thirties with dark skin and thinning black hair, he could have been a pirate. That’s what most thought when they saw him. Edward and he had grown up together, Erskine’s father the steward before him. “Lord, man, when Una said ye stank, I thought a bath would have helped, not made it worse.” He carried another bucket and promptly dumped it on Edward’s head before opening the windows. “Why a ball? There’s only one family within a good distance.” Edward sputtered, wiping the water from his face. “Ye didn’t see them all when you came in? The castle is full; even some of the empty servants’ quarters are filled with people come in for it.” “Why?” Erskine started laughing. “Because unlike ye, yer brother Bran never leaves the castle, and Lady Cairnmuir wishes to find him a wife.” Edward started scrubbing and used it to try to hide his smile. “She know about him and Una yet?” “No sir, not even the fact that the two boys running around are his.” No, some things never changed much, except for

his room. “Erskine, did mother change any other rooms, or just



mine?” “The ball room has a new carved ceiling with pendants and such hanging down. It is quite impressive.” “Ahh-- now I see why we’re having a ball. Has nothing to do with Bran finding a wife.” The beard covering his chin started itching; it was a lovely beard by the regiment’s standards, but while it had been easier in the field, the itching continued to get worse. “A shave, please. I wonder if I brought back more than just me.” “Yes, sir.” Heaven help him, the woman was right. It took most of the day to be properly shaved, trimmed, and scented, but when it came to putting on a suit of clothes, Edward had to balk. “I’ve been in a kilt for two years, Erskine. I really don’t want to wear breeches.” “I burnt the one ye were wearing, and there’s not much of anywhere to find one with the ball starting in an hour. Have to send away to get the plaids.” Edward started smiling. “Go see to the ball. I’ve been getting dressed for thirty years without help.” “I burned the others in yer bags, too.” Erskine gave that announcement as a parting shot. Edward waited until he was sure the man was out of

 sight before he opened the door and peered out into the hall. A few more rugs lined the hall than before, but it was empty, leaving no one to see him in a dressing robe. Pushing open a door, he discovered that the storeroom was not a storeroom anymore. “Oh, do forgive me,” Edward snapped out quickly. All he had were flashes of muslin and creamy white skin as he closed the door once more, and swiftly. That’s all he would claim to, at any rate. He would keep it to himself that the woman’s thighs were some of the shapeliest he had ever beheld, and the bosom matched. God, he had missed a lot in France. It took a moment to find a servant, any servant, and this one looking wholly uncomfortable in full livery. They weren’t required most of the year. “Where’s everything that was in the store room? The one being used as a bedroom now?” “With the paintings, I believe. The room off the hall tucked behind the old tower, your Grace.” The original tower definitely showed its age, having been built in 856. It still had arrow slits, rough stone, and in its center stood several cannons that while not a thousand years old, were definite proof that the castle hadn’t always been so peaceful. Even if they had never been attacked, they were prepared for every eventuality. Edward found the chest quickly enough, even though the room was packed to the rafters now. He had to wonder if the

woman in the room knew it would be a store room again soon



enough. The chest was ancient, from the 1300’s at least, but it held the oldest relics of the family. Papers from the first inhabitants of the castle, marriage pacts and tartans, the old ones from before they were banned. Two of the footmen came down the hall and Edward waylaid them to carry it back to his room. No one probably knew that was where he stored all of the papers before he left, as the tartans covered others beneath. The plaid lengths had been found stoned up in an old niche under the stairs with a number of swords and other weapons, the same weapons that would have been outlawed. Old Johne Sinclair hadn’t been willing to give up an entire armory worth of weapons when the laws came down. They might not have been involved in the fighting, but they weren’t immune from the laws meant to punish. The armory had been restored to its rightful place only a decade ago. Pulling out a red sett that would go with his regimental coat, Edward finally got dressed, even if the coat he had left behind was now a little big. With dinner about to start when he emerged from his room, the hall was filled with people. No one he recognized, no one that recognized him as he made his way through the maze. Bran just stared as he came face to face with his brother. “Dear Lord, Edward, no one told me you were back.” They were a study in opposites-- brothers, yet one red-haired, one

 black, one with green eyes, one with blue, one thin, one stocky. Bran was the red-haired, green-eyed, stocky one. Edward was an immense man standing near six and a half feet, a dark one of the family with hair as black as night. “Lud, I have no idea where to put you.” Then the voice of an angel spoke. “He may sit next to me, Lord Ravengard. I believe I am on the end. I shan’t mind being a little crowded. If you would introduce us.” Edward turned slowly and wasn’t disappointed. The face of an angel matched the voice, the face he had seen only a flash of before her attributes gained his attention as he’d shut the door to her dressing room once more. “Of course.” Bran stammered for a moment as his mind switched gears. “Miss Rose Beaufort, may I present the Duke of Cairnmuir.” Her mouth formed an O. “I didn’t realize. Do forgive me, your Grace.” “Nonsense. I can’t think of a more delightful dinner companion, especially one offering to endure a little discomfort to accommodate me.” Edward held out his arm for her, but it was a bit timidly that she took it. Her dress was white but a red crisscrossed bodice held her breasts—as any man would wish he could, he mused.

The great hall was a huge room, with soaring stone walls



and giant beams that ran across the ceiling, each holding a huge wrought iron chandelier. The table was of an old style with the ends far across the room from one another. Several smaller tables had been moved in along the sides to accommodate even more settings. “I don’t bite, Miss Beaufort,” he murmured quietly, as the others jostled him. “I should have never have presumed to make your acquaintance. After you opened the door on me, I figured you were as much a stranger to these walls as I.” “They seem to have emptied out store rooms to make more beds available. I’m surprised they hadn’t doled out my own bed. It is I who should be apologizing. Two years ago it was a storeroom. I never dreamed I should have to knock.” “I’ll only forgive you if you haven’t a complaint about the view. I shall become quite missish if you are going to start ill gossip about what you saw.” It had been far too long since he had anyone flirt with him. Edward gaped for a second and then couldn’t help the grin curling his lips. “Nothing ill about you, Miss Beaufort.” “Good, I should hate to imagine you thinking ill of me.” Just as Edward decided that he could indeed stand a ball in the castle on his first day back, Erskine appeared at his side. “Sir,

10 your place is at the head of the table. I’ll show you there.” Surrounded by Van Dyck, Gainsbourough and Hogarth paintings, Edward looked over at the woman on his arm-- he couldn’t do it. Far too long since there had been a pair of green eyes staring at him, except in war. “Miss Beaufort was kind enough to share her space at the table with an unexpected body. If you can find room for her next to me, I’ll take the head; otherwise I can share the foot as easily.” “Eudard?” “This is to find a wife for Bran. He should be in the center of it all, not me. Mother will most likely throw a party to celebrate my return. I’ll take the head then.” Of course the man’s eyes narrowed, in light of his knowledge of Una and the boys. They wandered quickly enough over to Miss Beaufort. “Yes, sir. I’ll have a chair fit in at the foot, then.” A servant brought them glasses of wine as they waited. Hardly a guest said a word to him; had he changed so much in the last few years he was unrecognizable? When all was sorted out, Edward found Erskine showing him to a table. Not the large table that everyone sat at, but a table from who knew where in the house, set for two. “There was no room, try as we could to make it work.

We’d fit too many in already,” Erskine announced. However,

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Edward caught the wink just before he left them. “I hope you are a fine conversationalist, Miss Beaufort.” She laughed delightfully. “I’m sure I will more than make up for your lack of companions, with no one to hear if I say something I shouldn’t. Why did your steward call you Eudard, though?” “We grew up together as boys. It is common enough. I’m not so strict on formality.” “No, your Grace, you misunderstand me. EHdard it sounded like from his mouth. It is Edward, is it not? I heard your brother telling of you earlier.” “Ah, then you’re not Scottish. It’s the Gaelic form of the name.” “No, I am English, just visiting a family friend in Edinburgh.” “Ahh.” Edward held his tongue from asking the question he wanted to until the servants had finished putting small dishes from the main table about for them to eat. “Do you always talk to strange men so, even if no one is there to say you shouldn’t say such things?” Miss Beaufort’s eyes lowered. “No, I should say I do not. But there is something I can’t explain that makes me want to see

12 you smile. You seem far too forlorn for such a party in the house.” Edward’s smile faded a bit, knowing she could see through him so much. She knew nothing about him, and yet she could see what no one in his family could. “Do I seem so much so, then? I shall try harder not to let two years of war darken your dinner table.” “Did you lose many friends?” Edward raised his head slowly. He had expected her to just move on to more frivolous topics. “A good many, Miss Beaufort. I have the sad duty of riding to several of the tenants’ homes and informing them their sons are dead.” “And you arrived home to find everyone in the midst of a party. I should look a little melancholy, too, in that case.” “Well, you could always say such things as you shouldn’t, and take my mind off of it. From you, I would accept it gratefully.” And there she blushed. The room was suddenly quiet. “I believe they are toasting your return,” Miss Beaufort murmured quietly. Edward stood and took the effusive adulation, hardly hearing it. Maybe it was at higher rank, but he served no different from most others. He commanded no great battles; he followed orders and survived where others had not. Why weren’t they being toasted for their sacrifice?

Sitting down, their light bantering mood of earlier was

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gone. Eyes lowered, he watched Miss Beaufort eating her meal, unable to look at him. “Excuse me, Miss Beaufort, I can’t do this.” The second course was being brought in. There was enough confusion; no one even noticed him leaving the room.

The fire burned brightly in the fireplace when he found his room. A mist outside made it a dreary night. A perfect night for feeling sorry for oneself. Why couldn’t he just endure the night and make his family happy? A voice came out of nowhere. “Not very gentlemanly to leave a lady at table alone in a sea of gossipers.” “I am sorry, Miss Beaufort. I assure you it is no slight to you.” A hand touched his neck softly where there should be none. A gentle thumb traced his cheek. “My name is Rose.” Edward pulled his eyes from the fire as she bent down, eye to eye with him. She glowed, there was no other word to describe it. Golden skin, copper hair, emerald eyes. “You blushed earlier,

14 and yet now act as if we are long engaged.” “Have you thought that is perhaps why I am here? No one has made me blush before and many have tried. My heart pounds, my knees are weak, and thoughts are in my head no one has put there before, not even my dead husband.” His knuckle traced the edge of her low-cut neckline and she gasped. “Miss Beaufort, is it?” He asked it as her eyes closed, when his hand dipped beneath the dark red muslin. Full breasts, with nipples that turned hard the moment he touched one. “Lady MacGillivray brought me as companion when she received the invitation. I believe she imagines that your brother would find a Miss more desirable a wife than a widow. Biggest matchmaker in Edinburgh, so I hear. My husband fought in the peninsula. He came back different, not the boy I knew. He wouldn’t even let me comfort him. And then Waterloo took him for good.” Nothing stopped him as he pulled one breast from its confines. “Rose, you should stop me.” “I came to comfort you, I suppose, the way I was never allowed with Graham. Please don’t send me away. I think it’s gotten turned around now.” Edward pulled her around and she fell in his lap. “Send you away?” Her face was hidden in his neck, but it left the breast

he had bared only a hair width from his mouth. The sigh that

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escaped when his tongue touched it was pure music. Rose turned, giving him access. “God, it’s been too long. Did you at least lock the door?” Her smile was radiant. “Of course.” Edward reached behind and undid the few buttons holding her dress tight. She seemed even more eager than he was as she pulled it over her head. The corset and chemise followed quickly. The brief glimpse he was given earlier was nothing compared to the full view. “No indeed, Mrs. Beaufort, nothing ill about you at all.” She sat there on his lap nude and smiling as she offered her up her breasts once more. Suckling made her moan with pure abandon. “More,” she sighed breathlessly, and almost screamed when Edward broke off, moving her from his lap until she was straddling him. “Please, Edward.” Such wide green eyes pleaded for release. “How long had Graham not let you comfort him?” The words never came, though, as he ran a finger through her folds stretched open across his lap. Wet for him like no one before, she cried out as he slipped three full fingers deep within her. As he slowly thrust them in and out her eyes opened, lids heavy.

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“How are you when you have room to maneuver?” His thumb swiped through her folds once more, this

time laying claim to her mound, and she shattered. Even with the noise of the dancing in the other wing, she bit her lip to keep from crying out at full volume. Edward stood as her head rested on his shoulder, and carried her to the bed. She looked like Aphrodite lying there on the bed, sated. “It was 1812 the last time, and you know well when Waterloo was,” she murmured. There was no way any sane man could have ever denied her, looking at him with those eyes. Away in battle yes, but lying next to her and denying her had just been cruel. “I want you, Edward, all of you.” Her hand ran up his thigh. With nothing under his kilt, there was nothing to stop her finding out how much he wished the same. He let out a curse in Gaelic when her thumb ran over the top of his cock. She wasn’t making it easy to get his clothes off as she stroked him throughout his attempts. Rose licked her lips when the kilt finally fell to the floor. “Please,” she whispered, her breath coming short. A knock on the door made them both freeze. “Are you in there, Eudard? Your mother is worried.” Erskine called out. “Never better.” He grinned wider as he climbed on the

bed, hovering just at her opening. “I’ve been on the road a long

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time; I just need some rest. I’ll play the good Duke tomorrow.” Rose ran her fingernails up his back. He knew she was trying to pull him inside, but he resisted for just a moment longer. “And what are you tonight then, the naughty Duke?” she whispered in his ear, as Erskine said goodnight. “The luckiest Duke in the world. Never a finer welcome home a man could have.” Her lips curled up in a cat-like grin. Only then did he slowly push his way in, watching the grin fade as her mouth opened in a silent gasp. He lay there unmoving, inhaling the scent of her in deep gratitude--a woman to comfort him, when war was always in his mind. Lucky didn’t start to describe it. Rose picked his head up from her shoulder. “Come with me this time.” Her kiss was soft, and with it, she set the pace as he started moving. When she moved faster so did he, harder so did he, and just as he felt the start of going over the edge, she rolled. She sat there on him unmoving, holding him captive, her breasts barely rubbing on his chest. “Rose?” “Say it again. I like hearing you say my name with that burr of yours.” “Rose, don’t tease.”

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With that, she sat up. “I never tease. A proper welcome

isn’t over in five minutes.” She held his hands; kissing each fingertip before pulling one into her mouth. Edward swore he felt matching pulls on his cock. “A proper welcome can happen over and over and over.” With that, Edward started thrusting, while she rode him like a horse. He’d never look at a woman on horseback the same again. It didn’t take long before she was on all fours again, matching his strokes, forcing them harder and harder. This time he took her cries away as he kissed her. It was his last thought before he found his end.

In the morning, Rose’s eyes were closed as he licked the nipple that was temping him so much. As he made sure the other wasn’t neglected, her eyes opened. “I’ll be woken here soon. You should get back to your room unless you are prepared to marry a stranger.” Rose stretched like a cat. “For a moment there I thought I was dreaming and I would wake in an empty bed as usual. I’m sick of empty beds.” “As long as I’m around, you won’t have an empty anything.”

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Behind them, there were others of the party that wanted some exercise after the long night dancing and waking late. Rose and Edward walked in silence for much of the way until they reached an aged stone bridge half looking ready to fall down. The castle actually stood on a spit of land out into the sea. That bridge was its only connection to the mainland. Beyond, the castle stood against the blue grey sky, with its clan seals set in the walls. They all were tiny pieces of artwork. Sinclair stood in the middle and largest, surrounded by those who married into the family. It was a veritable “who’s who” of Scotland, and farther afield. “You’re quiet this morning,” Rose finally announced. “Could you make excuses for me? I need to go talk to some families. I’m afraid that it will be on my mind until it’s done.” “Of course.” Watching him walk off, Rose wished there had been someone real to tell her Graham was gone. The letter she had received took weeks to truly hit her. For weeks she kept expecting him to walk in the door any minute, just as she had every other time he was gone. At least until she watched the others that had left with him returning to their homes. Returning to the wives she knew so well. It had been two months before she finally cried that he was gone. Mrs. MacGillivray had finally invited her for a

20 visit determined to rid the grief; Rose had taken the offer, but being forced on every eligible bachelor on Edinburgh had not been the answer. Nothing had helped, not until she was with a man that looked just as out of sorts as she was, one that stirred more than just her compassion, too.

Edward and Bran played billiards in a room filled with hunting trophies, not all as local as the Highland stag, as well as dozens of reminders of the Sinclair penchant for the military. Women were never allowed entrance to that male enclave, probably the reason Bran had suggested it. The ball may have been to show off the ballroom, but at the ball mother had let slip that Bran was ready to marry and of course, now that Edward had returned, he would be looking as well. “Do I just tell mother the truth?” Bran asked quietly as he aimed, speaking low enough that the men smoking cigars on the other side of the room couldn’t hear. “Will Una even take you if you asked?” Edward inquired in turn, and Bran completely missed the shot. “Damn it, Edward.”

21 “I’m the Duke. There’s not much she could do about it if you just took her over to the church in the village and married her, claiming Haki and Ivar as yours. Mother’s going to start noticing who the father is soon anyway. They look more like you than ever.” “So mother can just stop talking to me and make my life hell?” Bran hissed. “Are you sure her not talking to you is hell?” Bran started laughing. “Well, perhaps not.” “Go marry the woman. I’ll miss her cooking, but we’ll have the best run kitchen in the country.” Bran just stood there. “Well, what?” “I’m not really sure she would accept me.” Edward snorted. “You think the woman dreams of cooking for us the rest of her days? I don’t want to see you again until you’re married.” Edward had said his piece; it was up to Bran now. Still, he couldn’t help but laugh at Bran gaping like a trout as he left him there.

Chaos filled the dining hall when Edward entered for supper. Lots of women’s heads huddled together whispering. So

22 Una had accepted him, then. “Ah, Miss Beaufort. I hope you had a pleasant afternoon after I took leave of you.” “You’ll never guess. Bran just announced he’s married the cook, and that her children were his.” Edward tried not to smile and look stern, but the woman saw though him easily enough. She moved her head imperceptibly closer. “You knew.” “Since they were sleeping together when he was eighteen. I told him I didn’t want to see him again until he was married. It was that or have him hiding in the billiards room for the remainder of the party.” Rose lowered her head, trying to hide a grin. “But all these women that came at your mother’s invitation? Oh, you like difficult circumstances.” “I could tell them where we were last night and take their minds off of it.” “I’ll force you to marry me if I hear one word out of your mouth.” “You say that as if it would be a punishment.” Her eyes went wide. “I’m all but a stranger.” Edward started smiling. “You know where I sleep. We can rectify that situation.” Walking off, he heard her gasp. He’d heard the same gasp the night before. He’d bet ten guineas she’d be

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back. “Mother.” Edward kissed her cheek, hoping she hadn’t been close enough to hear his conversation with Miss Beaufort when he saw her standing there in front of him. “Hiding it under my very nose, Edward.” “Only to those not looking. He’s loved her since they

were bairns. Now I think we shall have a wedding party tomorrow. Perhaps you would plan the event?” His mother looked positively ashen that he had known all those years. “He made me look a fool. I invited all these people to see him married.” “Precisely; and he is married. If they read into it to send their daughters to snare a husband, then that is their fault. You were misunderstood, nothing more. Throw them a wedding breakfast and no one need know that you knew nothing of the event. I wasn’t going to see my nephews deprived of a father because you forced him to marry someone he cared nothing for. Bran never has stood up to you. I’m going to propose a toast. You should either leave or go find a glass.” It took a moment for Erskine to get the room quiet, but finally Edward stood at the head of the table, as was his place. He could hardly see Rose, buried as she was at the other end. “Ladies and gentlemen, a marriage was mentioned in the invitation for

24 coming, and a wedding we have had. While the ceremony was kept intimate, since the local church isn’t large enough for us all, the celebration will not be small. Raise your glasses, everyone, to the Earl of Ravensgard and Lady Ravensgard. May they long be happy. The wedding breakfast will be tomorrow before they leave for their honeymoon.” “What honeymoon?” Una asked out of the side of her mouth, as everyone sat. “Edinburgh, London perhaps. I’d suggest Paris, but it’s still coming back after the troubles it’s had.” “I’m the cook,” Una countered. “You’re Lady Ravensgard, and you have been, to my mind, for years, so don’t forget that.” Una lowered her eyes to her plate, unable to look at him. “Thank you, Eudard.” All through dinner, Edward could see the whisperers, but he kept talking to Una as if it was the most natural thing to do. Fortunately, she was so happy at finally being married after years of being the mistress that she just teased and taunted him, as she always did. They were laughing through most of the meal, definitely not looking like a scandalous wedding had just taken place. As they stood around before brandy and cigars, Edward watched Rose walk over. The black dress she wore with a white

bodice drew his eyes to every curve. The little van dykes of black

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that webbed down from the neckline over her breasts were like arrows pointing the way to her treasures. Lifting his eyes to meet hers, he knew it was a challenge to his earlier comment. She was trying to make him come to her instead of the other way around. “Congratulations,” Rose announced, with a wide smile. He was sure it was more at his reaction than over the couple’s marriage. “Thank you for saying that. I feel as if everyone in the room is staring, and not in a good way,” said the new bride. “They’re all jealous. You have what they want.” Una’s eyes widened. “Oh, is that what it is? That I can deal with. I thought it was just that I was the cook.” A sly look filled her face. “Then why are you talking to me?” It was an impertinent question, but she was, after all, the cook, and partook of the legendary cook’s temperament. “I’ve my eye on another, Lady Ravensgard.” How on earth she knew, neither of them could figure out, but Una leaned close to Rose’s ear. “Well, if he’s anything like his brother, I don’t blame you.” “Una!” Bran hissed. “You’ll forgive me for leaving early but I need to pack for my honeymoon. If you’ll excuse me, Bran, Eudard, Miss Beaufort.”

26 Una walked off as serenely as anyone could. “Edward, I’m sorry.” Bran apologized, but as he looked between them, the look on his face changed. “You aren’t protesting much for something over which you should be outraged. You ken she was right.” At that, Edward felt Rose leaving his side, as it had been suggested there be music. The group was retiring to the music room. “She was right?” Bran asked again. “Yes.” Edward left him at that. The look on his face just as astonished as it had been when he’d ordered him to go marry Una.

Rose wasn’t heading in with the crowd, though, and Edward followed her as she made her way down the hall. Losing sight of her as she turned a corner, he heard voices before she was back in sight. For a moment, he could only fume as he found Rose against a wall with a man very close to kissing her. Edward felt a fool. After all, she’d come to his room; who’s to say she didn’t go to others? Just about to turn around, he stopped cold. Only feet away from her was an eerily glowing figure, dressed in a kilt, with long black hair. He was truly from another age. His huge broadsword lifted and came down in a wide arc, as if in slow

motion. Rose screamed, but it was drowned out; the music from

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the other room had started. The castle ghost had been a story well known since he was a bairn, though he’d never seen it himself. Supposedly it was known for protecting women when they were in danger, and having a ghost trying to cut off a man’s head was surely that. Edward’s fist connected with the man’s jaw as well. No sense trusting entirely to the supernatural. Erskine had heard the screaming at last, and came careening around the corner. The Duke stood over a gentleman unconscious at his feet. “Sir.” “Throw this man out now. He tried to attack Miss Beaufort.” Without comment, Erskine grabbed him by the collar and dragged him away. The rough treatment bringing him to, he tried to struggle, but there was no breaking Erskine’s grasp. “He said he knew, and as we are not engaged, I must be . . .” her words faded as Edward slid the small sleeves of her gown down, baring pale white shoulders. “We are in the hall,” she whispered quietly. Edward couldn’t help it; his fingers ran along the red mark where the man had held her too tightly “Did he truly hold you so tight to cause such marks?” Only looking down did Rose see what Edward did. The handprints

28 were clearly visible upon her. Edward took her hand and led her to his room, only a few doors away. Her own room was clear on the other side of the house. He didn’t have to guess where she had been headed. Edward poured a glass of wine, hating that he had thought the worst of her, as she sat before the fire. How much would she have had to endure if he had turned and walked away? “This is what got us in trouble in the first place,” Rose announced, as she took the wine he handed her. Edward sank onto the settee next to her and leaned his head back. “Is this when we are forced to marry because you’ve been ruined when he tells why he was kicked out? Una will keep her tongue still, other than to tease me.” Rose started chuckling. “With me the one that came to your room, I don’t think ruined is the right word.” “Compromised, then?” Rose smiled as she turned to him. “Edward, I would gladly marry because thoughts of last night still make me ache for more, and I could endure that usage for the rest of my life. But I will not be forced into it, or into having a man resent me for committing him where he did not wish. That is not how I wish to live the rest of my life. Duke or not.” “Ache, is it?” Edward pulled her over and gently kissed

each mark on her pale skin. “Try not to be seen when you go to

29

your room this time,” he whispered in her ear.

Saddling two horses, Edward took Rose for a ride about the estate. The village was tiny. It was hardly more than some fifty buildings clustered around a bay where numerous fishing boats anchored. After a brief look at the fourteenth century chapel that stood in the center of town, the only other place to go was the public house. All around were wide-open grasslands where sheep grazed. “You cleared the estate for sheep?” Rose murmured. Edward let out a sigh. “No, we did not follow that practice. The land isn’t fit for farming in the first place. The same families still live here that did a hundred years ago, three hundred years ago, six hundred years ago. That’s why so many serve in the army. There is little to feed them besides fishing and sheep.” “The castle is so grand. How do you ever afford it with so little to bring in income?” Rose put her hand over her mouth, shocked she had said such a thing. Edward couldn’t help but grin. “We married well.”

30

Rose’s hand fell from her mouth. “Then I truly am only

a mistress. Even if nothing comes of it, I should like to think you were at least considering it, if only faintly.” Edward rode his horse closer to hers, close enough so he could reach his hand over to her cheek. “There is none I have ever considered more. The party leaves in two weeks. You might decide that you are too far from London in that time.” Her mouth hung open, and Edward closed it gently. “You did not expect me to consider you? The one who’s best by far at keeping the horrors of the last two years at bay? I have not slept well in some time, and with you, I have. I do consider it greatly.” “An officer’s widow? What about marrying well?” “Aye, I’m a Duke, but I live on the edge of the world. You think I’d look at a woman that would hardly talk to me and I would take no pleasure in? That castle full hardly speaks to me other than yes your grace, no your grace. Would you care if I dally with your title? I have a sickly daughter who will make your life hell because she hates Scotland and will surely never give you any comfort, but she has thirty thousand pounds so you’ll get along well.” Rose started laughing and Edward pulled her over, his mouth covering hers. Stunned or not, there was no denying her mouth opened for him as readily as she had offered everything else to him. He truly did think on the matter a great deal.

31 When at last their lips parted, he looked deep into those green eyes. “Don’t sell yourself short again, Rose. People died around me and my own family doesn’t seem to care. When I get quiet, you know where my mind has gone. Maybe an officer’s widow is exactly what I need.” Edward spurred his horse on; Rose just sat there stunned. As he had with Bran, he had said his piece; the rest was up to her.

Rose wasn’t in his room when he retired from the billiards room. Not that he expected her to be catering to him, but she was sleeping in the old storeroom. He should have let it rest, he knew that in his head, but Edward couldn’t help slipping into the hall and making his way to the other side of the castle. There was no answer to his knock, and even putting his head in, he could see that she was not there. Hell, the castle had sixty rooms. She could be anywhere, and that didn’t even include the storerooms. Heading back to get some sleep, he happened to glance out the window, and saw her on the sea wall. A storm was coming in; the waves crashed into the rocks, spraying into the air around her. The wind battered him as he pushed open the door.

32

“Rose, what are you doing out here?” She lifted her finger and pointed. Down on the rocky

beach walked a trio, two adults and a bairn. They were glowing green, the same way the ghost had been when it had tried to protect her. Edward had heard of the ghost being around but never seen it, and now twice in a week. “He must have died horribly to haunt the castle still,” Rose whispered. “His father-in-law killed him, when he returned from war and found he had married his daughter without permission. He killed his daughter too, and the bairn she carried.” Rose turned slowly, tears running down her face. “And now you give your brother permission to marry whom he wishes.” Edward still stared down at the little family, oblivious to the storm that blew in around them. “Not exactly. I told him to marry Una because I’d returned home and found my nephews were looking more like their father than ever. Either he married her or else endure the gossip, and then live in torment if mother found him a wife. Because it wouldn’t be long before even a dull witted woman knew where his heart lay.” “Couldn’t let me have my little fantasy.” Edward wiped the tears from her face gently. “It’s going to start pouring soon. Let’s get you warmed up before we have to call

the doctor.”

33

“I’m feeling a little lonely all of a sudden.” Edward led her to the library, a two-story room. Shelves from floor to ceiling surrounded them, while a railed walkway gave access to the second floor books. The shelves were filled with classics of Scottish history and law, many in ancient leather bindings. Where the shelves didn’t cover, there was mahogany paneling, while a huge carved renaissance mantle surrounded the fireplace. “Not your room?” Rose asked. “If I’m going to get caught, it will be something worth getting caught for. Getting you warm, we can use a public room.” Still he locked the door as she sank on the chaise. No sense adding fuel to the fire. Alone even in the library would cause enough talk. “I can think of one thing that will warm me quite well.” She stretched out looking for all intents like a painting of a courtesan, if only her clothes were off. “You’re a little vixen; you know that.” “There’s room for two, Eudard; come hold me till the loneliness has passed.” Rose curled into a ball in his arms when he sat next to her. How could he ever forget she knew his sadness as well as he knew hers?

34

Every night Rose slept in his room; every morning she slipped back to her room before the servants came to wake him. Every morning they ate breakfast on opposite ends of the table as if they hardly knew each other until Edward’s mother took his hand and led him to the sitting room as the party neared an end. “Now your brother getting a fine match out of this is lost, but you still can. Mrs. MacKay has been expressing quite a bit of interest in a match between you and Lenore.” “Christ, mother, the MacKays have been trying to get the castle for more than a hundred years, or did you forget that? Might have been by sword then, but it’s no less a scheme to do it now with a sum of sterling.” “Well then, what about Miss Campbell?” “Who? Has she said one word to me since I arrived?” “She was the one that said you look fit for having been in France.” Edward raised an eyebrow and his mother shifted in her seat. “That’s it? I’m supposed to marry the woman on that?”

“And her excellent fifty thousand pounds.”

35

A slight noise drew Edward’s eyes to the door. Rose stood there, eyes as wide as saucers, with several others that were coming for tea, just there long enough to have heard the mention of fifty thousand pounds. Rose fled. Not that he was wavering much about asking her, but the sight of her running off, shattered, was the last straw. “Yes, Mother, I have decided on one, if I can persuade her. I don’t intend to marry Miss Campbell’s fifty thousand pounds.” Edward pushed his way through the crowd at the door, and made a stop at his room before he found the converted storeroom, door open. Rose was packing quickly. “Rose, stop.” It only made her work even faster. “I told you I’d only like to know you were considering me even a little, but I don’t have to stand there while you wed another,” she snapped. “The only one I’ll consider marrying is you, if you’ll have me.” She stopped everything; only the sound of her breath coming short broke the silence of the little room. Edward kissed the expanse of neck that was bare before him, but there was no sound until he held out the emerald ring surrounded with diamonds. Then there was a distinct sob.

36

“I’ve told you what my mother is like and that she would

be pushing others at me.” “I have nothing to give you. No fifty thousand pounds.” “I don’t intend to go back to war and fight a wife every day for the sake of money.” Rose’s head fell back on his shoulder as Edward slipped his hands to the slopes of her breasts. “Easily worth ten thousand each.” His hands cupped her without hurry before caressing her hips. “Ten thousand each.” “That’s all? You seemed to appreciate them far more last night.” “I’m not done yet,” he rumbled in her ear. Her skirt slowly lifted, baring her before his hand cupped one last place, and a finger slipped inside easily. “Fifty thousand alone, Rose. You’d bring the best dowry I’ve seen in all the offers I’ve been presented.” Rose turned her head, a grin clearly lighting her face. Edward started pulling his finger out, and then watched her melt as it slowly returned inside, with a grin of his own. “If your mother is interfering, there’s not much she can do if we are wed.” He added his thumb to her mound and had to answer over her moan. “There’s a chapel down the hall.” Her hand clapped over his as he went to remove it. “After

you’ve finished what you’ve started.” Even after prolonging her pleasure, it wasn’t long before they were down the hall and his Rose among the Heather was staying for good.

37

About the Author



As a Peace Corps volunteer in Kenya a few years back I traveled quite a bit and now I just wish I was. A lot of the places I’ve written about I’ve been to, a lot of them I haven’t. Rafting on the Nile in Uganda, living in a Montana ghost town, African safaris, European youth hostels, the Black Hills of South Dakota all fill my scrapbooks. Now a daughter takes up most of those pages, but I still travel in my head every time I write.

Frederick Barrington watched the boy who had served him grimace as he nicked the back of his thigh against a table leg in his hurry to act upon his master’s desire for him to be out of the study directly. “Oh, and do close the door behind you,” he said condescendingly. With thick red curtains hanging against the windows, and wall hangings decorating most of the walls, within this room, Frederick remained fairly insular, encysted away from the rest of the great house. Long years of being seen as no more than the bastard he’d been born had steeled Frederick against any such slurs, be they truth or not. He had hardened his heart to the point where he did not feel those hurts, and could not understand why others did not 40

simply do the same.

41

The serving boy made his way out of the room without further incident, taking a deep breath to steady himself, as he turned back and bowed his head before closing the door. Frederick stood up from behind his desk, swirling the green colored alcohol around in his decanter, as he debated what to do for the rest of the eve. Outside of his study, there were the sounds of revelry continuing late into the night, of debauchery going on in the Red Light Houses. Frederick lifted his glass to drink as he pushed aside a heavy curtain to look past it, with dark eyes that hid secret thoughts beneath the vague amusement he cast out for the world to see. He would pay the district a visit tonight, he thought, as he emptied the rest of what was in his glass into his mouth. He stood still by his window, reveling in the sensation of the liquid burning its way down his esophagus, before opening his eyes again and waiting for them to refocus. After the moment passed, Frederick moved back to his desk, setting the glass back on the dark wood, and stared at the notes he had scattered across the table. Orders from people who had no better plans for spending their money than on the drugs that he could get them. Frederick was quite popular among rich, if not high, society. He could afford to be a regular patron at Madam

42 Moon’s Establishment for Respectable Ladies. With heavy lidded eyes scanning the room, Frederick reached for his jacket, patting his pockets to make sure they were packed as they should be, and reached for the key to the room that hung on a peg just beside the door on the inside. He pocketed that too, after closing his study door behind him, and making sure that it was locked tight. If he were ever given any reason to discern that any of his servants were snooping around his business, letting them go without notice would be the nicest thing they could hope to receive from him for their impertinence and lack of respect. He passed the serving boy, now standing up taller than the mother to whom he spoke, as Cecilia cleared up from the tea this eve. Isaac looked up when he saw Frederick from the corner of his eye, and he inclined his head respectfully, but Frederick gave him not even the smallest of acknowledgements. His coat hung low against his legs, flaring out as he turned a corner to brush against furniture that Frederick hoped— for the boy’s mother’s sake—had been dusted recently. It would not do to have dust from dirty furniture tellingly showing on his clothing. His reputation was above that. Impeccable. At least in appearances. It was a short walk from Frederick’s estate to where Madam Moon had set up her business. Nobody knew what her

43 actual name was. Frederick had a good idea that Moon had started off as one of the pleasures of the house, and in time, had found herself a good opportunity that earned her the status of Madam to the establishment. If Frederick’s information was right, he had a sizeable lot of respect for a woman with that sort of drive. Most of the women in his forced acquaintance were simpering idiots. It was nice to be in the company of someone who tampered with that mold, just a little bit. “Hello, Frederick. I haven’t seen you here for at least three nights. Are you feeling well?” Moon’s familiar voice had a rasp to it, which was also familiar, and one that had Frederick responding in his loins even before he turned to look at her. She stood before him, curled red hair half coiled on the top of her head, with the rest of it cascading down around her shoulders and back. Frederick stepped forward the few steps between them and took her hand in his for a kiss, which ended in a suggestive lick of the skin and the bringing of her fore finger into his mouth to suckle. Moon smirked, but she was not the blushing type. Instead, she pulled back from him when he was ready to let her go, knowing that he would not hold her longer than was acceptable, for he would not wish to incur her displeasure with him. And she would not wish to push away such a generous patron. Their acquaintance was one of mutual benefits, even if it was not one that

44 included sexual activity, strictly speaking. “I am quite well,” Frederick answered, giving no more than that for explanation regarding his whereabouts. Moon nodded, taking this into stride easily without pushing. “We have a new girl. Someone in whom you might be interested.” Moon smiled as she described the girl who had come to her establishment two days before. She had arrived cloaked in secrecy over where she had come from, who she was, what her family status was; but these things were mostly natural in a place like this. Madam Moon had taken the girl under her wing with few questions, and encouraged the secrecy that ‘Selina’ seemed to like so much. She knew it would be something to spark Frederick’s interest when he returned. “The girl is not slight, but not stocky. Strong. Softly spoken, unless encouraged. I suspect her temper may rise to yours.” Moon’s lips curved as Frederick’s expression became ever more inscrutable. She continued. “She is currently residing in the third suite on the left. Unattended, at present.” “And her name?” Frederick asked of Moon, lifting one eyebrow with only the most latent show of curiosity. “The only name she has given is Selina.” Frederick sniffed. He raised his head and looked down the corridor in the direction of the room in which Madam Moon informed him this Selina was staying. It did not escape him that

45 Moon had expected him to be interested, and privately, his curiosity was piqued. “Shall I book you in?” Moon asked, her lips quietly curving with the same interest that a marketer of exceedingly rare finds might have towards a buyer. Frederick was sure this girl was not so rare. Still, he replied, “You may,” He paid the base amount up front. Any further tip would depend on the girl’s attributes, and the way she knew how to use them. If she was as good as Madam Moon dared imply, then she would see that money laid on her desk later this evening. If not… He straightened, tipping his head towards her, long brown hair flowing forward, before he swiveled on his black leather clad heel, and took long, deliberate strides in the direction of Selina’s room. One door, two doors, three, and Frederick lifted a gloved hand to rap on the door, three times promptly one after one another, then waited for the response that would come from inside, granting him entrance. Inside of the room, Juliana looked up from the small table, and the chair across from her own, where she was eating the food that had been granted to her by one of the younger girls who worked in Madam Moon’s kitchen. No, not Juliana, she reminded

46 herself. While she was here, she was simply ‘Selina’. Her old life was gone from her now, and if this proved the only way to keep it gone, then she would embrace it. She wasn’t going back. Juliana wasn’t aware that she should be expecting anyone else, this late at night, but perhaps the Madam here had forgotten to tell her something of what her keep for her place here entailed. Getting up off the chair, she pulled her robe around her, and walked confidently towards the door. There was one window on the opposite side of the room, and that betrayed how late this was for a visitor to come to call. When the girl with wavy brown hair, which had streaks in it that had been bleached by the sun, opened the door to Frederick, he noticed immediately the V dip in the dressing gown that clung to her curves. Moments passed before he looked up from that, and when he did, it was with a certain leer to his lips. “May I help you?” Juliana asked quietly, careful to give nothing away. She did not know this stranger. “Yes, I believe you can.” Frederick walked past her and into the room after pushing the door wide enough to allow him passage, forcing her to the side with it, or to let go of the door completely and stand in his way. Madam Moon had implied that this girl had a spark to her. Frederick peered at her closely. She did not try to bar his way, but instead held her arms crossed under her

breasts as she watched him in return.

47

“It is late. If you please, state your business and be on your way so I might finish my tea.” Frederick raised his eyebrow at her, as he moved past her to shut the door quietly behind him. Juliana’s head lifted, and he could tell from the way that she spoke that she was used to having her will done. Why, then, would such a girl come to such a place as this? “Rather late to be having tea,” he mused. “I was busy,” Juliana replied, unmoving. “Working.” A smile spread across Frederick’s lips. “That so?” He liked her frank way with what she’d been doing before he got here. “That is so.” Juliana did not like the way that he was looking at her. She cleared her throat. “Did… did Madam Moon send you?” Frederick nodded his head slowly, just the one time, down and up. The girl was staring at him, and he had to admire the close scrutiny she was giving him. He liked them when they were perceptive. It often meant they picked up more of what he liked in his pleasure than those who were unobservant. Though Moon had a way of picking his girls out for him more discriminatingly than that these days. He watched as her eyes changed as she realized the position that she was in; that if Moon had sent him in, what she

48 was required to do. Juliana made him wait for a moment more before giving him any form of answer. “Very well,” she said, in that fine, quiet voice. Frederick longed to make that voice hoarse from passion. “But you will wait, while I finish my tea. I will not miss out on my meal twice in one evening.” Again, Frederick gave a nod of acceptance , while he found himself a place to sit, next to the bedside table, across the room from where her food was laid out. Juliana watched him sit there, then she moved back to her tea of cold meat and salad, only glancing at him once and again to see that he was still staring at her. “Are you going to gaze at me the whole time?” she asked of him, making sure that her mouth was empty of food and there was none around her lips before she spoke. Frederick lifted an eyebrow at her ire. He had paid for his time here. He would spend it doing whatever he wanted. In the end, with no reply to retort to, Juliana put the rest of her tea aside. Perhaps there would be time after this man had gone. With every outward expression of regal nature, she crossed the room towards him, until she had her legs either side of his crossed legs, and the dressing gown open to reveal the negligee that she wore beneath. “How exactly do you wish to do this?” she asked him.

Frederick tilted his head to the side. “How would you

49

usually go about it?” His look called her a harlot, and worse, but Juliana would not let the sting of that show now. She could not tell him that this was only the second time that she had bedded a man. He would hardly believe her anyway. “Usually,” she told him, “I would have the man tell me where he desired me to be.” Frederick looked Juliana up and down fully before replying with relaxed laziness. “Really? Up against the wall. Now.” Juliana opened her eyes, then blinked, his suddenly harsh tone coming as a surprise to her. Her mouth opened to formulate a reply, but instead, the look he gave silenced her, and she moved soundlessly until her back was against the wall. Perhaps the fact that this man asked her what to do meant that it would be better this time. From that position, she stared back at him, willing her body not to shift unconsciously under the intense stare he held her under. She convinced herself that deep breaths were the way to do this, then realized her mistake when his eyes drifted to the expanse of chest she was revealing to him with each deep breath she took. It took a while, but when he advanced on her at last, Juliana didn’t have any time to remind herself to take breaths, deep

50 or otherwise. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, the breath from his lips pressing against her cheek as she tried to stare away from him, but failed. “But first, before anything more, I would have you tell me your name,” Juliana interjected, then bit her lip carefully as she lifted her hands up the sides of his body until she was stroking his face in what she hoped was a seductive manner. His face was smooth, and Juliana’s eyes were on his lips as Frederick smirked. That was the only warning she had before he grabbed her wrists in his strong hands, robbing her of the ability to pleasure him through contact with her fingers. Juliana stared at him in confusion, which she quickly tried to amend into an expression implying knowledge in the ways of seduction. Frederick was having none of that. He had already seen enough. She was new, obviously having never been exercised in those arts before coming to Madam Moon’s establishment. While that may have been enough for other patrons, he could do better. He let go one of her wrists abruptly, and circled his newly freed hand around her throat, pinning her by strength against the wall. Juliana’s eyes opened wider. She could not move. He was going to kill her right here! Then she gasped, all thoughts of death flying from her mind as his lips overtook her own, and he was kissing her with a force she had never before experienced. The

51 pressure of his fingers around her throat scared her. He was stronger than she was , much stronger, and if he took it into his mind, he could kill her. Terror petrified her as the thought of her father’s friend coming here to track her down crawled into her head. He would almost certainly kill her, if he found her in a place like this. Juliana started shaking at the thought. Frederick smirked at the effect he was having on her, his lips crushed against hers, bruising her lips between their teeth, as he opened his mouth to bite the cherry redness of them. He liked being the first to bring the girls to this kind of pleasure; a pleasure almost forbidden in that it was found through pain. But it wasn’t enough. She was nowhere near ready yet. Juliana was gasping, pain tearing up her eyes so that she had to blink rapidly to keep the tears from falling, when he abruptly started moving her back towards the table, where she had left the rest of her food uneaten. His lips came away from hers now, and his hold on her throat slackened, though she could still feel the strength of it where it pressed no more. His eyes glinted in the dim lighting of the room, and his hold tightened on her wrist as he lifted his other hand to his lips to make sure she kept quiet, as he kept steering her back towards her small table. Her chest was heaving beneath the lingerie, and

52 she might have called out but for the dangerous look that lighted Frederick’s eyes. He was giving her a silent warning, one it would not behoove her to ignore. She was sat down hard on her chair, and had to bite her lip hard not to cry out. The man’s face filled up her view as he sat on the chair opposite. “Eat. Make sure you eat all that is there. I don’t want you to be famished by the time I’m done with you.” Juliana looked at Frederick strangely for an instant, then started to eat when he raised his eyebrows at her not doing as she was told straight away. Clearing her throat, she considered the idea of striking up a light hearted conversation with him, but just one glance from beneath her lashes informed her that he was not the type for small talk. Eating in silence it was, then. She had just raised the napkin to her lips, shooting up a nervous half smile at him that crinkled her eyes only, as her lips were still hidden behind the white linen. Frederick stood up from the table dismissively . Juliana’s eyes turned towards him, confused. “What is it? Have I done something amiss?” A frown moved across Juliana’s brow, as she pushed her chair back to stand also. Frederick gave her a brief glance. “You are not yet ready.” He didn’t glance at her again as he stalked the distance between

53 where she stood beside the table, and the closed door of her room. He pulled it open, leaving it that way even after he had left. Juliana was struck dumb to the spot. She had displeased him. But how? She hadn’t done any more or less than he had required of her, and now he was gone. Would Madam Moon now cast her out over this? Moon was working quietly in her quarters, but she looked up, alerted by the sound of Frederick’s footsteps stalking over the stained carpet. His quick step indicated that she might miss him completely if she didn’t make a move now. “Frederick!” She halted him, but he didn’t turn. Instead, the two of them stood in the tiny expanse of the hall, Madam Moon staring at Frederick’s back, and he only standing there, giving only the smallest of indications that he was listening to her at all. Moon cemented her position, putting her hands stubbornly on her hips, and staring him down, even though he was not glancing at her to see. “What is wrong?” she demanded of him. Frederick had barely paused in his walking. He didn’t glance towards Madam Moon, or towards the money he had given for the fuck he had not received. “Inform me when she is ready. She is not yet practiced enough.” “Did she do something to displease you?” Moon’s hands were still on her hips. Unpracticed or not, Madam Moon ran each

54 of her new girls through the same drills, so they would know at least the basics until they picked up the particulars from their clients. If Selina had done one of these wrongly, or forgotten them, then there was no excuse for her incompetence. “She did not displease me.” Frederick still did not deign to look at the Madam of the establishment directly. “She didn’t do anything. I did not stay long enough for her to try.” “Did not stay long enough to try?” Madam Moon gave a laugh that she didn’t deign to hide behind a cough. “There is only one way Selina can get that practice, and it is not from men walking away from her bedside.” Frederick half turned, a sneer on his thin lips. “Then have men come to her. Currently, she is raw. Like an uncooked piece of meat.” He did not wait for her response. His stride increased so he would be the swifter gone from this place, and he planned the remaining evening around absinthe and opium. It was hours later, when he was finished with two glasses of absinthe, and the walls around him looked hazy, with their red curtains draping over the entirety of walls in which there were sometimes no windows at all, and he didn’t dare stand up to attempt a sedate walk from there to his bedroom, that Frederick at last rid his mind of the not stocky, but not slight brunette from the third suite on the left, and decided it was time to retire. Pulling his

55 well used pipe from the top left hand drawer of his desk, he inserted the pea sized dose of opium into the other end, and commenced smoking, after a single call to ensure the serving boy’s attendance. Isaac came slowly into the study as the master called him in after his knock. “Boy, wank me,” Frederick commanded, sitting back in his chair and unbuttoning his breeches with his free hand so that the boy would have easier access. Taking a shuddering breath before stepping forward again, Isaac moved to do as he was commanded, a small, hopeful smile on his features.

It was days later when Frederick next returned to the Establishment for Respectable Women. Juliana was speaking to Madam Moon when he arrived. Not looking at the girl, he strode directly up to where Moon was standing, and she beheld him with a mildly amused, expectant expression. “Is she still raw?” He didn’t give Juliana even a passing glance to show that he was speaking of her. Moon raised her eyebrows at his clipped tones. Juliana blushed a fierce shade of red,

56 but said nothing. “She is…” For once, Madam Moon appeared to have no ready reply. Perhaps it was the presence of the girl they were in conversation over. “As I assured you the last time, there is only one way that Selina can get practice.” Between two such dominant forces, Juliana felt caught up and suddenly out of control. Was there nothing she could do to make this conversation not happen over her head, or at least, not happen while she was standing right here? Now, even Madam Moon was not sparing her a look. “How many have bedded her since I was last here?” Frederick asked. Juliana sucked in a deep breath, loud enough to cause Moon’s expression to finally turn back to her. She stared at her newest girl for a few seconds, including those moments when she spoke those first words of reply to Frederick. “She has worked her way well here these past days.” Moon gave a tight-lipped smile that would have told any other man that this was no longer a topic of conversation she wished to pursue. “I have had no complaints from any of the men who have bedded her.” The closure upon the last words she said was a warning Frederick blatantly chose to ignore. “That so?” For the first time,

57 he glanced down towards where the girl in question was standing. Juliana lifted her chin obstinately, still not having an opening to speak her mind in this interaction, but at least Madam Moon’s words indicated that she was doing well here. The cold intensity in his eyes struck her, and she was rooted to the spot, all angry words that she had thought to fling at him vanishing in a cloud of evaporated air. “I wish to buy her services for the period of these next two days.” Frederick’s look slid from Juliana to Madam Moon, and Juliana stiffened. The thought of spending two unrelenting days in this man’s presence was more than she thought she could stand. Moon looked between Juliana and her most reliable patron, contemplating what funds she could ask of him that he would be less than happy to hand over, but would anyway. She did not think him stupid enough to return her at the end of the period in any other state than he rented her out, and what he chose to do to her in the meantime would not be her concern, so long as she was paid a suitable amount. “75 pound,” Madam Moon informed him after moments of thought had passed. “Done.” Frederick nodded only once to Moon, before turning his attention back to her newest girl possessively. There was a slight curve to his lips as he looked upon Juliana, one Madam

58 Moon looked upon with distaste, regretting immediately that she had not asked more of him. “Fine. But before you whisk her away with you, there is the matter of that payment to be sorted. Selina, go to your room and pack what things you will have need for.” Juliana’s eyes widened at the sharp tone in Madam Moon’s voice, then as Moon turned her head, the reality of what was about to happen suddenly became apparent to her, and she hurried away to her room. She was being bought and sold to the highest bidder. How was this in any way different than what she would have faced at the hand of her father’s friend, apart from that she might have found a wedding ring on the third finger of her left hand? Juliana came back with a quickly packed, single bag, held at her side by fingers tightly clasping the straps and a neat hat perched atop her head. Frederick signed the papers required of him and handed notes to Madam Moon. He spared a glance in her direction. “Are you ready?” he stated. Juliana gave a nod, no more than a slight inclination of her head. “Remember, you’ve paid for no more than two days, Frederick,” Madam Moon warned, clearly in no mood to be

swindled by him.

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Frederick looked up abruptly from what he was signing, and stepped back into the main area, his eyes fixed on Juliana. She had to force herself to stop from stepping back. “We’re going now,” was all he said, before taking her arm in his and escorting her out the way he had come in. Madam Moon stood in the middle of the hall staring after them. She caught the worried look that the girl sent her on her way out, and nodded once. Selina would do best not to ruin this opportunity for both of them. After they left, Moon closed the door behind them and turned calmly away. Juliana held her cloak tightly around her, yet still, the rush of cold air against her face shocked her once she was outside. Frederick did not pause to check on her as she stumbled and caught her feet again. She lifted her head, always aware of the tight hold in which Frederick held her arm, trying, and struggling, to keep up with his stride, as the cold caused damp in her eyes. She was too filled with pride to ask him to slow down for her. Besides, she thought it unlikely that he would slow even if asked. When they reached his estate, Juliana found herself more relieved to be there than she had previously expected to feel. Of the double doors before them, only one was opened, which led into the high ceilinged drawing room of his home. She was not given long

60 to admire her new surroundings, for Frederick’s hand was still at her arm, and Juliana was thrust past the serving boy who opened the door, who could not have been much older than she was. Frederick, however, addressed the boy, pausing only briefly in his stalking towards the grand stairs. “You will attend me and my guest- in my study. Five minutes.” Wide-eyed and alert, the boy nodded his head to the summons until Frederick was no longer looking at him. Juliana was near to dragged up those stairs, at his side until he stopped to fit his key into the lock of the study and pushed the door open. He cast her aside as he turned to place the key back upon its hook after closing the door, and Juliana had just a moment to glance around the room and feel what it was like to have her arm close to her own side again. As soon as Frederick turned back to Juliana, her eyes darted to him, attracted by the movement of his frame. “Let’s see how much you’ve learnt, these past days.” Frederick spoke briskly as he started striding towards her. He wasn’t walking to her, however, Juliana realized in the next second, as he walked around her, and pulled the chair of his desk out. A second later, there was a knock on his closed door. “Enter.” The serving boy, the one that Juliana had seen so briefly

as they arrived, glanced quickly towards her. She tried to slip him

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a reassuring look, but his gaze lowered to the floor too quickly once he was in the room. In his hands, the boy held a tray with an assortment of items. Juliana was not familiar with all of them. “Very good, Isaac. Put that on my desk. No, don’t leave.” Frederick smiled thinly as the serving boy turned in the direction of leaving so soon after arriving. Isaac turned around, on his face an expression of confusion. “I have one more task for you.” Isaac appeared to go to pains to hold himself upright, though his eyes remained slightly averted from Frederick’s, Juliana noted, with nervous heightened curiosity. Frederick waited a moment, seemingly to increase the feelings of tension in the room, then a smile spread over his features. “Isaac, sit here.” Isaac’s eyes widened, but still they did not meet Frederick’s directly. He was well trained. “Master?” “Do as you are told,” Frederick told him, no softness of allowance in his tone. Isaac near fell over himself in the effort to reach Frederick’s side, and the chair, in the smallest possible amount of time. Even so, he shot Frederick a faintly doubtful glance, before sitting down heavily where Frederick bade him . Frederick stepped back from where he had been holding the back of the chair. “Good,” he said; the only indication that Isaac

62 hadn’t inadvertently angered him. Isaac let out a deep exhalation that was short lived as Frederick moved still further back, so that Juliana would have an unobstructed path between where she was uncomfortably standing, and where Isaac was sitting. “Go to him,” Frederick said shortly, his expression barely changing as he watched the two of them with dark eyes. “Go to…?” Juliana stared at him, in the eye, struggling to understand whatever underlying message he was hiding within the dark depths of his mind. “Him,” Frederick answered quietly. Juliana didn’t have it in her to stall him any longer. She dipped her head, moving towards the chair as Frederick wished her to do. After all, he had paid for her time here. “Very well,” she said. Her gaze went to Isaac’s again, and this time, he met hers with the barest hint of empathy, between two people going through the same ordeal. With her face out of Frederick’s line of sight, Juliana was able to give herself the luxury of a small smile in Isaac’s direction, before she stood right beside him and the desk. Glancing at Frederick, she awaited her further instructions. “Stand between Isaac’s legs, your front against the desk.” Frederick was staring at them with an inscrutable expression on his features. Juliana paused momentarily, before moving to do exactly

what he asked without questioning him this time. Frederick was

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nodding, looking at the two of them. Before Juliana could glance at him for further instructions a second time, Frederick indicated to Isaac, and said, “Move the chair forward so she cannot move. Yes. Now remove the fabric of her dress from her shoulders.” Juliana started at this order coming from Frederick. Her hands were placed on top of the desk for balance. She felt, rather than saw, Isaac’s hesitation over doing what he was told, but when Frederick’s, “Now,” was clipped out, his hands moved almost clumsily to her shoulders, pushing the fabric down. Without the fabric on her shoulders, the material at her bust sagged, as Frederick must have known it was wont to do. He moved so that he was standing in front of the desk, his eyes unabashedly raking over the bare expanse of skin ranging from her neck, to her shoulders, to her bust. Without thinking, Juliana blushed to be put into this situation. Frederick picked up on that slight discoloration straight away, and said, “You clearly have not learnt enough in these past days. No matter. Isaac, I want you to put your hands on Miss Selina’s breasts.” His eyes were trained on Juliana’s as he said it, making her powerless to say a word against his. Isaac rose out of Frederick’s chair in order to do what he was told. Juliana’s eyes closed momentarily, but Frederick ordered

64 her eyes opened. “I want you to pay special attention to all that goes on here.” Indeed, she could not help but do exactly that. Isaac’s hands were soft on her breasts, softer than Juliana thought she could expect from Frederick. Clearly, to Frederick as well, the contact was too gentle. “Harder,” he summoned Isaac. “I want you to find her nipples, and to squeeze them.” As his eyes watched for Isaac to do exactly that, a small smile creased his features, before his eyes moved up to meet Juliana’s again. “Do you wish him to touch you under your chemise, Miss Selina?” Juliana blushed in mortification at being so exposed. Even at its worst, in Madam Moon’s establishment, she had never been made to feel so bare. “Yes,” she whispered however, knowing that was what was expected of her. Frederick looked pleased by this; it was evident in the almost unnoticeable flicker of one of his eyes. He glanced up at Isaac, making it clear that he was waiting for him to comply, which Isaac did almost immediately. Juliana gasped, but remembered this time to keep her eyes open, and trained on Frederick. There was something in his eyes that was making her quite heated down low, and Isaac’s hands alternately squeezing and massaging her suddenly bared breasts were only making the sensation more intense. Frederick sat down in one of the other remaining chairs

65 in the room, the better to rest his arm on the chair rest, and stroke his chin at the sight unfolding before him. Juliana was flushed becomingly; her hair was coming out of useless binds and falling over her face. Even Isaac was starting to come into this lesson without Frederick needing to spell everything out for the boy. The dress that Juliana was almost wearing was slipping down as far as her waist, the sleeves of it hooking just above her elbows. Isaac was taking advantage of the skin bared for his touch, although he looked over her shoulder towards Frederick to make sure that he was doing as was required. Each time, Frederick lifted his head and indicated Isaac should continue, watching them from beneath his heavily lidded eyes. It was only at a point where Juliana was making little noises in the back of her throat, and her body was arched towards the desk, tensed from the prolonged arousal, that Frederick stood up to intercede. Immediately, Isaac’s hands upon Juliana’s body slowed, and stilled. “No,” Frederick said to Isaac. “You may continue.” He made sure the inflection in his tone was clear. “You—” he looked at Juliana, as she was staring at him, confused over what had made him step forward-- “may not. I want to hear no noise pass your lips, no matter what he does to you. I want to see no movement of your body.”

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Juliana licked her lips. This went against what Madam

Moon had instructed her to do when pleasuring a man. Except, the last instruction Madam Moon had left her with had been that when with a man, she must comply with his instructions. If this is what he said he wanted… “Very well,” Juliana replied, with a submissive bow of her head. “Very well, what?” Frederick prompted, his stance tall and intimidating before her, while Isaac remained very still behind her. Juliana’s brow furrowed, her confusion quite apparent, but Frederick didn’t move to help her understand his meaning. Instead, she was forced to recall when Isaac had questioned Frederick, after Frederick had first told him he was to sit at this desk. “Very well… Master.” Juliana’s tone lifted at the end, but her sentence wasn’t quite a question, so much as an expression of her wishing to know whether she was pleasing him so far. Frederick nodded. “Very good,” his low voice rumbled, and Juliana slackened ever so slightly against Isaac, until his eyes flashed, and she stiffened against the desk again. Gently, as if arranging flowers in a vase, he removed her hat. Her eyes widened. She’d forgotten it completely. “Remember

67 what I said,” Frederick told her softly, before returning to his chair. He waved his hand in Isaac’s direction. “Continue.” Isaac did, moving his hands over Juliana’s shoulders, down her collarbone, around the sides of her breasts. His eyes stayed close to Frederick’s, and Frederick’s eyes were on Juliana. Juliana’s mouth opened, but Frederick’s stare had her swallowing the sound, and the wish to brush back against Isaac. However, catering for her wants, Isaac brushed close against her back, and Juliana could feel the familiar hardness that meant the boy was almost ready to take her. Still, rather than looking at the boy who was creating these sensations in her, her eyes stayed stuck on Frederick’s. His presence was hypnotic to her. He wasn’t even moving, or any longer saying anything, yet still, just from the way he sat there, one leg crossed over the other knee, and his hands seemingly restful, Juliana had the feeling that his whole body was tensed and ready to strike at the least provocation. Another of Isaac’s teasing touches—this time a tweaking of her nipple as he reached down into her skirt, teasing her below the belly—had Juliana wanting to arch, and a little cry for release escaped through her lips. Frederick arched his brow, and from that single movement, Juliana knew that he had picked up on her weakness and was willing to use it against her. “Take off her dress.” The words were said quietly, with

68 little push behind them, but Isaac moved to do what he was told without any hesitation, and Juliana found herself wanting to turn around to make the job easier on the boy. “No. You will not move. Utter another sound out of turn, and I shall not be so easy on you again.” Juliana froze where she stood, until Isaac, moving to his knees, pulled her dress down around her ankles, and his tongue moved up the inside of her thigh. Juliana thought her legs would buckle when Isaac’s tongue reached the apex of her thighs and started working back and forth across the smooth, pulsing lips there. She never once took her eyes from Frederick. He smiled, and stood. Juliana was learning to tense whenever that happened. In this case, the tenseness in her body only added to the sensations being produced by Isaac between her legs, but she didn’t dare let herself move in any way. In front of her, Frederick reached for the tray that Isaac had placed on his desk upon entrance. While only briefly breaking eye contact with Juliana, he dissolved a dozen pods of opium into the jug of green liquid. Juliana was admittedly curious over what he was doing, but while he was not addressing her directly, his actions did not seem of the most importance to her. Only when he lifted a glass before her and spoke did Juliana make a deliberate effort to refocus her eyes and pay him the proper attention.

“You look quite parched, my dear. Drink this.”

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Juliana’s lips parted. Isaac took that moment to dart his tongue inside of her, and Juliana almost collapsed under the pleasure of it, but Frederick’s stare did not relent. “Perhaps if I were to hold it up to your lips.” Frederick did so even as his words spoke of his intent. Juliana tried to steady herself, and her mouth was open to take the refreshment he offered her. At the first taste of liquid, she gagged, looking up at him with hurt and confusion. Frederick’s expression did not change; nor did his stance with the glass. “It lacks in taste, but some things are worth forcing down,” was all he stated, before lifting the glass to her lips and raising an eyebrow lest she would dare refuse him. Swallowing, Juliana tried to focus more on what Isaac was doing, as he lifted his fingers so that at the same time as he was penetrating her with his tongue, his fingers were also playing with the folds of her labia, increasing her pleasure at his touch. This time when she swallowed the liquid, it burned all the way down, and Juliana shuddered as the drug entered her body and almost immediately started affecting her system. A small smile crept over her features as she looked upon Frederick, and Frederick, in turn, smirked at her, before slowly stepping back from her, and saying, “Miss Selina, you may move

70 and vocalize as you would like.” With this permission, an engaged moan moved from the back of Juliana’s throat outward, expressing all the passion and want she had previously held back, and as she arched her head back with the experience of an immensity of divine enjoyment alive on her features, Isaac’s face lifted from between her legs. Kissing him with wanton abandon, Juliana found that she could taste the tang of herself upon his lips and on his tongue. And the taste, once discovered, was one that caused the feelings of ecstasy to rise from within her and peak as she pressed herself closer to him, enraptured by every touch and sense of contact made between the two of them. Frederick watched on, well pleased by the effects of Juliana’s responses to taking the drug. He stroked his chin as he watched the passion enslave the two of them, on the floor, by his desk. Juliana’s lips moved of their own accord across Isaac’s skin, and he too moved against her, ever more incensed by her reactions to him. Her fingers found his clothes and the ways of removing them, for there was in her a desperation to bring him to a state as unclothed as she herself had become. Even while undressing him, and he moved to help her, their bodies were not separated long. Juliana’s fingers seem to light and tingle with every touch she made upon his skin, and she was locked in a land of euphoria,

created by the mind’s ability to imagine.

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Her eyelids felt too heavy to lift. From outside, she could hear the morning birds were already singing the day in, and light from an unclosed curtain in the corner of the room pressed against her eyelids, which made her want to groan, and roll over, and pull the blankets over her face. When she next woke up, she was sure someone was in the room with her before she even opened her eyes. Instead of opening them , Juliana pretended sleep, in order to draw out what the person in her room’s intentions were. She almost fell asleep a second time without even registering that she was in a strange room, without any recollection of how she’d gotten there. “She wakes at last.” Frederick’s dry tone reached through the mists trying to call Juliana back into sleep. With eyes still bleary and sticky from slumber , she rolled over, the covers traveling with her, until she had a plain view of Frederick standing against the closed door of the room, watching her. Her mouth felt rough and moldy, and all of a sudden,

72 a flood of remembrance of her actions before the drowsiness had started to hit her came into her mind, and she closed kohl covered eyes as she pressed herself further into the unfamiliar pillows. That made her wish she could vanish within them. She had not been herself last night. Who had she been? “It is expected that you will feel drowsy this morn. You had quite a night last night.” Frederick proffered a glass of water towards her, and Juliana reached up to take it, sniffing it first for any sign that it might taste of that foulness he had given her the night before. Her eyes drifted over him as she at first sipped, then started drinking in earnest, until the water in the glass was completely gone. She still couldn’t figure this man out. “You still haven’t…” Juliana paused to clear her throat. “You still haven’t given me your name.” And how she wished for more water! Frederick gazed at her lazily. “My name is Frederick Barrington,” he stated grandly. “Frederick.” Juliana mouthed the word, testing how it felt and how it applied to the dominating man before her. She did not recognize the name, and that was obvious to the man in question as he watched her mull over his name. Interesting. “You desire more water. I shall have the serving boy bring it to you.”

Before Juliana could sit up or cry out that it would not

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be necessary, Frederick had left the room, not quite shutting it completely behind him. Left to her own devices until Isaac came to her anew, Juliana thought to look beneath the covers and decipher the damage done to her clothing while she had slept in it. She was wearing no clothes. Whatever they had done to get her up to this room in Frederick’s estate, they had not bothered to re-clothe her, which meant that her dress was likely still in Frederick’s study, and she had no clothing to change into in order to make her way to that room. Juliana was stuck, still in the bed that was not hers, and as she tried to think her way around these problems that plagued her mind, the bedroom door was pushed open. Isaac’s shy form edged around the door. He came again with a tray, although this time, Juliana recognized all of the items on it. “Master thought you would need a fresh one of these,” he said, as he offered to her a dress she had not seen before. Juliana stared at it for a moment, then glanced up at him, still feeling quite sluggish. Isaac met her look, and his brows arched into his hair as he said, “My apologies, miss!” He turned to walk away abruptly. “No, I…” Juliana stopped when she realized she had

74 no idea of what to say after that. But it was enough to have Isaac stop and half turn his head back towards her, curious about what she would have to say. Juliana grimaced, realizing that she could hardly get into her new dress without exposing that she was wearing nothing now. But what more could Isaac see of her now? He had seen everything there was to see of her the night before. “Isaac, you need not turn away. Mr. Barrington said you would bring me water?” It was easiest to focus on something mundane as she eased herself out of the bed and reached for the dress and underclothing. Isaac turned back to her, and blushed, but remained focused on the question she had asked him and on why he had been sent here. “He does not like it when he is called by his name by the likes of us, Miss,” he told her, his voice lowered for that moment, as if in confidence. A small furrow formed between Juliana’s brows. “He does not? What would he prefer?” she asked, confused. Isaac blinked a couple of times before giving his answer. After licking his lips once, Isaac stated out simply, “Master. It is what he prefers to be called.” Juliana looked down at the floor of the room in which she had been put . Yes, that made a lot of sense. “I did bring you water.” Isaac changed the subject to say. He stared at the rosy peaks of her breasts, the concave of her belly

75 that she had still not covered yet with the clothing he had given to her. Starting, Juliana’s attention was drawn to this by the way he was staring at her, and she maneuvered the fabric of the underdress to put it on. The underdress was easy, and hid most of her body from his eyes. Juliana smiled at him a little, trying to take the way that he was staring at her as a compliment. “You have a very beautiful body, Miss Selina,” Isaac gratified her by saying, as she started to put on her overdress. Juliana smiled. She would have felt much better if she could have had a bath. Just the idea of languishing in a bath for several hours, hanging her head on the rim and feeling the water go from warm to tepid, before she called for Isaac to bring her more hot water, was ideal to her mind. “Is everything all right, Miss?” Isaac broke into her thoughts to ask. She started, staring at him and offering a small smile to convince him. “I am fine,” she answered, as she looked down and smoothed her skirt. Then she reached for the water Isaac had brought her. Anything to keep her hands occupied. “Master said, when you were properly prepared, I was to… to take you to his study.” Isaac stumbled over the words, and it seemed to Juliana that just like her, he was having memories of the night before with the two of them. She distracted herself from

76 looking at him straight on by placing the empty glass back on the tray slowly. “Is that so?” she asked, swallowing. “It is, Miss. Will you come?” What could she do, refuse? Juliana gave a clipped nod of her head, and Isaac led her out of the bedroom, and into the hall. Frederick felt his distraction come to a peak as he heard the noise outside of his door that signaled Isaac and Juliana’s approach. He looked up, waiting for the door to be knocked upon, and for Isaac to bring her as he had summoned. There really was no more reason for him to see her now than there had been for him to be waiting in her room until she awoke. Very easily he could have left the order for Isaac to attend to her and inform her of what would be required of her as his escort for this evening. “Come in,” he growled tersely, as the expected knock came. Juliana allowed Isaac to lead her into the room. The study was as familiar to her as when she had left it last night. The only changes were the lack of the tray and the clothing that had been discarded. Juliana no longer knew where the clothes she had had on her back as she had entered this estate were now. Everything she was, everything she had, was under the control of this man. “That will be all, boy,” Frederick said.

77 Juliana tried to think. Had she ever heard him call Isaac by his name? All she knew, as the two of them stood there, was that she was in a vastly different position to Isaac. How had this come to happen? Juliana and Isaac glanced at each other briefly, before Isaac lowered his head in front of Frederick’s gaze and stepped out of the room, closing the door silently behind him. “Come to me,” Frederick summoned. Juliana did what she was told. Frederick looked upon her with the kind of pleasure gleaned from having obedience granted upon his word. She was a fast learner. He liked that. “Did Isaac help you with everything you needed this morning?” Frederick asked of her. Under his intense stare, Juliana nodded just once, unable to move her eyes from his. Frederick stood up and started moving around his desk, towards where Juliana was still standing by the door, as she had not yet been asked to move. “Do you wonder why you were brought here today?” Frederick asked in a low voice. Juliana kept her eyes carefully lowered as she had watched Isaac do. “No, Master.” Frederick’s eyes flashed with pleasure. “That so.” He

78 moved around her like a prowling feline, eyes just as dark as his clothing. Juliana stayed extremely still, waiting for him to touch her, but when he stepped away from her again without making the slightest move towards contact, her eyes lifted to his in confusion. He still had yet to touch her sexually; why had he bought her services for the weekend if he had no wish to do that? “There is a task I have need for you to do,” Frederick said to her. His back was to her, and so Juliana could not read his facial expression. As he spoke, his voice remained fairly impartial, giving her no indication of what this task might entail. When she waited and he still gave her no more to go on, Juliana hazarded to ask, “What task is this, Master?” Frederick smiled, lifting heavily lidded eyes from his desk and the list of guests he expected this eve. “I need you for an escort. Can you do that?” Juliana nodded as he looked at her again. “Anything you wish,” she answered, with a slight inclination of her head. Frederick had been going to leave it there for now. However, he had not counted on this girl being so malleable a pupil, and the fact that her every nod and half courtesy seemed to taunt him was not helping his restraint. “Selina. I want you at my desk, your hands resting on the desk.”

79 Juliana’s lips parted at the heat in his voice. She did not think, but her legs seemed to move of their own accord, leading her to the desk where she laid down her hands flat against the wood as he had ordered. Frederick had things he needed to be doing. Dominating his pet whore was going to cost him time out of his day. She had no business in being so alluring, especially as how he had not finished his training of her yet. “Take off your dress as far as the waist. Then return your hands to my desk.” Still without looking directly at him, Juliana moved her hands to the sleeves of the dress he had given her, to do exactly what she was told. Once her breasts were free of the camisole that had hidden them, she had assumed that Frederick would move closer to her, would begin to have his way with her. He didn’t. Instead, he reached for a cupboard door in his desk. Frederick brought out his switch and cracked it down beside his leg so that the girl would have an idea of what was to come. Juliana saw the switch in his hand after she heard the sound it made, but she did not suspect he would use it on her. Hurriedly, she shifted the fabric of the dress from her shoulders, lest she give him reason to switch her. No further reason was needed than he already had. When the first touch of it whipped against her flesh,

80 Juliana jerked away from it instinctively, crying out at the pain of it. Frederick looked upon her impartially, turning his head when she reached his eyes with accusation and hurt. He whipped her again, twice more in quick succession, feeling gratified when after the third time, Juliana’s body shuddered and she bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood, but did not cry out. They were flesh wounds only that he was creating on her, but they would still be painful. A fourth time, he whipped her. Juliana’s nails dug into the wood of the desk, and her head dipped low. Her lips were savaged. Frederick stepped back, pleased with his work. While she was left to shake silently in trauma, not understanding the reason for her punishment, Frederick breathed in deep and laid the switch upon his desk. He would call for someone to clean it in due time. For now, he poured the laudanum left over from the night before. “Drink this,” Frederick said, his voice harsher than usual from the exertion of the whipping. Juliana looked up at Frederick with caution alive in her eyes, but Frederick turned away from her stoutly, putting the filled glass down on his desk sharply. Gulping, Juliana picked up the glass and drank from it. Unlike the night before, she did not gag on the taste of it this time, knowing now that it would dull her senses to a point where ecstasy was felt more than pain. She drank until there

81 was no more left in the jug, and then swallowed and waited for the effect to take. Only after he heard the glass return to its place on the desk did Frederick return from his window. Already, a small, euphoric and distracted curve of her lips took over from the painful grimace he had planted on her features. “More?” she asked him, tilting her head to the side as she realized that she had his attention once more. “No more,” Frederick returned. He opened a cupboard and returned glass and jug back to where he had drawn them out, locking the door after he closed it. He stared at her watchfully. “As I said, I have need of you as an escort for this evening. You will do no good to me if you are incapacitated.” Juliana swayed a little on the spot, stopping only when a movement of her arm, with the hand still planted on the desk, pulled at the skin of her whipped back. She gasped, before the pain shifted to a feeling of pleasure that started at the wounds on her back, and then floated outwards, so that it touched her from the tips of her fingers to the tips of her toes, and other pink bits. Juliana’s lips lifted in a smile that Frederick did not return, but that did not matter. The marks on her back were of no consequence to her any longer. Frederick watched as the steady glow of laudanum took

82 her, and he was quite content as he drew out a glass of absinthe for himself to sip. Before it had finished burning down his throat, he moved across to her side, and Juliana looked at him in glorious wonderment. He drew her roughly away from the desk with strong arms going around her, and listened to her hiss as his hands touched the welts upon her back. Dipping his head, he took one of her breasts into his mouth, biting the nipple, and enjoying the way she writhed around him. Before he could forget himself in his enjoyment, Frederick thrust her away from himself. She stared at him, swaying just a little, taking slow, languished breaths that he noticed in the rise and fall of her chest. “Clothe yourself,” he told her harshly. Juliana nodded slowly, looking down over herself to pull up her underdress before donning her pelisse once more. Blinking, she waited to be dismissed, or not. “Until tonight,” was all Frederick told her. His back was already half turned. Juliana interpreted that as a dismissal and left his study.

People had started arriving at Frederick’s estate before

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Juliana felt the blissful effects of the drug slipping away from her, and leaving her less than she had been before. She hoped that her smile was the same as it always had been as she greeted the men and wives, or mistresses, that Frederick had invited; herself in the position of Frederick’s escort. The class of the women she determined by the way they spoke. Socialites, with minds for becoming better than they were through pushing others down. Though Juliana tried to turn her head and pretend she didn’t hear it, it did not mean she missed the whispers they made about her. “Strange girl to be Mr. Barrington’s escort. Did you catch her name?” “She cannot be from a respectable family. What father would give his daughter to such as he?” “I had not heard Mr. Barrington looked upon any lady with favor.” “I had heard this lady was no lady at all…” Juliana felt herself blush to bright colour at that overheard comment, as she ducked her head and hurried past the people having that conversation, towards the relative sanctuary of where Isaac was standing. Frederick spied Juliana moving past and stepped away

84 from a conversation he was having, while the other man was still talking. She looked radiant and alive, in the rich brown pelisse trimmed with a deep band of ermine at the hem. Although she had no accessories, she had had her hair done up to match with the gown he had provided. In her state of obliviousness to being observed, Frederick was quite taken by the blush that was high on her cheekbones, and the strong stride of her walk. She was annoyed. He was intrigued. Before she could meet with Isaac, Frederick intercepted her, taking her hand in his arm and holding her by his side as he made his leisurely way through the groups of his guests. “Are you enjoying your evening?” he asked her in quiet tones. “It’s just lovely,” Juliana murmured, keeping her eyes lowered from the suspicions and judgments in his guests’ eyes. “You do not sound as though you are enjoying yourself.” Frederick’s eyes were just as intense as ever, for all that his tone was more sedate than she’d begun to grow used to. Juliana felt her ire rise at the fact that he thought he could parade her around like this, regardless of the fact that he had bought her time as he had. “Really? I cannot think why. Do you know what most of these people think of me?”

85 Frederick’s eyes sparkled with interest at this show of her temper. “They are none of your concern,” he told her. “Oh really?” Juliana felt herself growing irritable in the face of his games. Frederick’s eyes turned to steel as she continued to challenge him. “Indeed,” he told her firmly, putting her back into her place, if she had dared to think of crossing him. “I own you; you will do as I say. And I say that you have another task to perform.” Juliana took a deep breath as the thought to stare him down struck her, but instead, she gritted her teeth and backed down. “And what task, pray, is that?” she asked. “You are to distribute drinks to my guests. I would not wish them to get thirsty. Do not worry, I will not see you go unrewarded for your efforts.” Juliana’s breath hitched in her throat. His intentions could not be mistaken. Smirking a little at her reaction, Frederick continued. “The boy will have all you need.” And with that, he let go her hand, and moved to speak, in yet another conversation that she was not invited to take part . Of course not. She was a whore, not a lady at all. Isaac found her and caught her eye before Juliana’s anger

86 at the travesty of this gathering could overcome her. “You will need this tray,” he told her quietly, his shoulders hunched as though he feared being on the receiving end of her rage now that Frederick was out of sight. Juliana glared at Isaac, before her features softened to resignation. With the way she was obviously thought of at present, how much worse could it be if she took on the appearance of being a serving wench in addition? Forcing a smile to her features, she relieved Isaac of the tray he held for her. “Miss Selina?” Isaac drew her attention back, as she would have turned away. “The jug on your left is the untreated one.” He pointed. A small line appeared between Juliana’s brows, but Isaac moved away before she could ask him exactly what he meant by “untreated”. Taking a deep breath, Juliana turned herself, and faced Frederick’s guests anew. As she approached, a balding and rotund man tilted his head in her direction and smiled calculatingly. “Ah, we knew that Mr. Barrington would not have us wait too long. And such a pretty one are you,” he said, complimenting her with what felt as pleasant as slime upon her skin. Juliana stretched her lips in a forced smile. “Now, pardon me for needing to ask, but which of the two is the

laudanum?”

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Juliana blinked, but it slowly became obvious what Isaac had been telling her before he disappeared. Frederick had such seemingly easy access to this, it only made sense for him to serve it to his guests. She licked her lips before answering. “The one on your left, sir,” she said, finding a level place to put the tray, before picking up one of the glasses for the man. “Would you like me to pour for you?” “Jolly good!” came the reply, before the rotund man turned to his friends. “What say you, men? A small celebratory drink?” There were murmurs both of agreement and decline amongst them. Juliana hesitated when she had filled glasses for all of those who wanted them. “The other jug, it is untreated, if you have wish for it.” That seemed to please the remainder of the group, and Juliana managed to feed the taste of them all before moving on. In Madam Moon’s Establishment for Respectable Women, a visitor looked up and down the walls with distaste while Moon took her time in coming out to meet him. “Can I help you?” she asked, with reserve. “I certainly hope so,” the man said gruffly, standing in such a way that he was touching nothing but the carpet of the

88 establishment beneath his shoes. “I have traveled far in search of Miss Juliana Williams, and that search has led me to…” The man grimaced. “This establishment.” Madam Moon lifted her eyebrows just enough to show her disdain in return for the insult he was offering her, but he deigned not to notice. “I am sorry, Mr…?” She ended the sentence on a query for his name. “Hew,” he indicated shortly. “Mr. Hew,” Madam Moon began again, “I am sorry, but there have been no women in this establishment by that name.” She opened her mouth to speak again, ready to usher him out of her house with the greatest of haste, for she would not tolerate his company any further than expedient. “I am afraid, Miss, that I am not going anywhere until I have garnered information of Miss Williams’ whereabouts.” Mr. Hew took a strong stance, planting his feet before her, and Madam Moon decided that she was going the wrong way about this. “Very well. Good day, Mr. Hew,” she said to him, moving herself and lifting her skirts so that she could gracefully walk from his presence. He could not very well remain there indefinitely, even after she had retired to her office. None of her girls would likely take him if they came out of their rooms to see

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him there. Clenching his jaw solidly, Mr. Hew remained standing where he was, until an open book left on the counter reached his attention. Stepping quietly so as to not bring that harridan in charge of this establishment back, he peered over the pages that

were open to him, without touching it. There was only one line of note. Selina – Two nights, Frederick Barrington. Paid in full. Selina was the name of Juliana’s deceased mother. The trail he had followed indicated that she may have changed her name somewhere along the way. But Frederick Barrington, that name also was familiar. He had had dealings with the man in the past. And, if he was not mistaken, there was an event being held at his estate this eve. Mr. Hew looked up in the direction Madam Moon had disappeared. It appeared she had been useful, unwittingly. But wasn’t that the way with all women? With the plan he’d set firmly in mind since Juliana’s father had first grown ill, he felt a sense of accomplishment at his prize finally so close at hand. Juliana looked back at Frederick’s guests, growing ever more euphoric and loose of tongue with the laudanum and absinthe Juliana had been offering to them. Isaac was right before

90 her, refilling the jugs, when Juliana happened to notice a familiar man working his way into the fray. With so many people here, theoretically it should have been easy for her to miss his presence. She did not. She must have made some sort of gasp or jolt at the sight of Mr. Hew, for the next thing she knew, Isaac’s low voice was near her ear asking, “Miss Selina? Are you all right?” She could not take her eyes from him. All around her, the world that she had been so careful to create—at a price, true, but was any price worth more than being tied to that man for the rest of her life?—began to topple, with no regard for the painstaking efforts she had gone to. All of the men she had slept with flitted past her mind’s eye. It had all been worth nothing. Her mind held onto the mental image of Frederick lingeringly. It was his dark eyes searing into her as Mr. Hew’s head turned, and he held her directly in his line of sight. Mr. Hew’s eagle eye had roved over all those gathered there at first. Wantons, all of them. He resented the fact that he had been forced to come here again, a fact he blamed heavily on Juliana, and would see her pay in kind once she was brought under his guardianship once more. Oh, how he would see her pay. He recognized her the moment his eyes grazed over her, and knew she recognized him also. Did Barrington have her working as nothing more than a cheap serving girl? Well then, the

91 other man would clearly have no trouble in being parted from her, especially seeing as how she was Hew’s property to take. He began advancing on her, mindless of the peopled space between them. Juliana jumped again, as Isaac’s hand came down on her arm, and he peered at her in concern, silently telling her that she could confide in him. “I need to hide,” she whispered, barely opening her mouth to say it, but it was already too late. Isaac stared between Juliana and the new man to approach, with worry alive in his eyes. “Juliana. You have given me a fair chase.” The voice Hew used was chiding, but the expression in his eyes was cold. Mean. They were eyes that made Juliana want to shrink into herself. She didn’t even remember Isaac’s presence beside her until he uttered quietly, “Juliana?” Mr. Hew gave a brief glance from where he had her pinned, to Isaac, and a cruel smile twisted his features. “Ah yes, I had heard you went by a different name here. Selina, was it not? Not very original, Miss Williams. The name of your dead mother?” Mr. Hew looked back to Juliana, shaking his head in a slow rebuking manner. “Did you really think you could hide from me for long?” Taking a deep breath, Isaac picked up a tray from the

92 counter and said with barely a space between the words, “I have to go serve these to guests.” Juliana cast a desperate look at his departing back, which only made Hew more at ease, as evidenced by his slimy smile. “Ah, alone at last,” he told her, extending a finger to stroke her cheek in a mockery of a tender caress. Glaring at him, she stepped back sharply so that his attempt at physical contact was not realized. Breathing in and out heavily, Juliana kept herself tensed for any further moves he thought he might be able to make. Isaac’s eyes glanced frantically through the throng of people from behind the tray he held up. He hadn’t seen Frederick since soon after guests had been arriving, and did not even know if he was nearby to be called. Surely he would come if Miss Selina was in danger. When he found Frederick, the man was in the middle of what looked like a serious interaction, and at the last minute, Isaac lost his resolve to walk straight in and tell his master that Miss Selina was in trouble. Instead, he stood closely by and shuffled uncomfortably on the spot, wondering if she was still safe. Frederick glanced over the shoulder of the man who owed him money. Isaac was doing an impression of needing to piss on the spot.

93 “Yes boy,” Frederick said, finding it very easy to dismiss the man out of hand. The money would be paid to him, or else the man would find his living situation suddenly becoming quite difficult. Frederick had faith in the man’s survival instinct. “What is it?” he demanded. “Juliana… Miss Selina, Master. There is a man…” Frederick pushed his chair back and stood imposingly taller than Isaac. Even though Isaac was across the other side of the room, he felt towered over, as though Frederick were one foot away from him, rather than several. The man he had been seeing looked nervous to be stuck in the middle of something when he had no idea what it was about. “Out with it,” Frederick ordered tersely, when Isaac spluttered to a stop. “She seemed scared of him.” That was all Frederick needed to hear. He stormed past the man who was standing there dumbly, grabbing him by the arm and thrusting him out of his study in front of him. He didn’t look at Isaac again. The boy had brought him this message; he could remember to close the study door after him. Where was she? She was pressed up against the wall of the kitchen when he found her, pressed between the wall and a lanky, greasy man from whom she was avidly turning her head away as he tried to

94 move in enough to kiss her. The pelisse and petticoat of her dress had been lifted by his hand, showing more leg than was proper or acceptable.

Frederick was sure this display had not gone wholly

unnoticed, as he strode up to where Juliana was standing and dragged Hew away from her, roughly, by the collar of his jacket. “How do you dare!” Hew stormed, paling only slightly as he saw that it was Frederick who held him by the collar. He tried pulling out of the hold and making it look like a simple twist, but Frederick’s grip held, and though he glared mightily at Hew, his first words were to Juliana. “Go. To my study. Now.” That last word held all the force of his anger in it, and Juliana pushed her skirt down to her ankles again, and ran jittering in the direction of Frederick’s study, as Frederick shook Hew hard enough to surely loosen some of his teeth. “Now, Mr. Barrington…” Mr. Hew started, attempting to appeal to Frederick’s more sensible side, one that would not throttle a man in plain sight of the gathering that he held at his own estate. Frederick shook Hew again. “Oh no,” he said, with a dark little smile that held no mirth in it. “You were neither invited nor wanted at this gathering tonight, Mr. Hew. During your brief presence here, you disturbed the peace, compromised Miss Selina—

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”

“Miss Selina is not yours to exact punishment over. She belongs to me.” Hew lifted his head during that statement of ownership. Frederick merely looked as though he could not believe that anyone would dare interrupt him. Abruptly, he thrust Hew away from him, and Hew fell against the very wall he had held Juliana against in his attempt to take her against her will. “Get out.” Frederick said the words very softly, very slowly, and only an idiot could have misunderstood the danger held by only those two little words. Hew looked up from beneath the fringe that had been dislodged and fallen into his eyes at the force of the blow. “Get out? My dear Mr. Barrington, you cannot tell me to do that. Not without giving me Miss Juliana first.” Frederick’s expression did not change. Hew looked the other man up and down, silently measuring how much of that bluster had been used up and how much likely remained. Considering he had been dragged and thrust thus far, he figured that there was not much more that Frederick could do to him that he hadn’t done already. “Your study then,” Hew said mildly, still looking up into Frederick’s eyes for a revealing change of expression. “That cannot

96 be too difficult to find.” Still Frederick made no move. With a cocky smile in Frederick’s direction, Hew moved himself away from the wall and looked first in the direction Juliana had run. “Very well then.” He did not get far before Frederick reached out almost idly to strike a blow between Hew’s neck and shoulder. Mr. Hew dropped senseless to the ground, with barely any awareness of what was happening until it was done. Only then did Frederick turn, to realize that Isaac’s mother stood by, wringing her hands at the debacle before her. “See to him,” was all Frederick said, before straightening his own jacket with an abrupt pulling at the lapels, and stalking out of the room.

“He was going to take me, he was going to take me and I thought I had escaped him!” Juliana was wheezing and hyperventilating, while Isaac held her and tried to calm her before Frederick walked back into his study. Most of what she was saying was obscured by her crying and her struggling to take breath. When Frederick opened the door

97 to his study, and looked over the two of them, Isaac lifted his head from Juliana to stare back at him, wide eyed, as though expecting the man who had come for Juliana to be right behind him. “Leave us,” Frederick said. Isaac’s gaze returned to Juliana , who was clinging to him, but even she seemed to realize the change in the room, and gradually let go her grip on him. Kissing the crown of her head, Isaac stood up and left the room, hesitating in the doorway. He didn’t know what had become of Mr. Hew, and didn’t much relish the idea of another meeting with him. When Frederick turned to raise one eyebrow at Isaac’s continued presence, however, he had no choice but to leave and close the door behind him. Juliana struggled to regain control of her breathing. Frederick would not appreciate an hysterical woman on the floor of his study, of that she was sure. Still, she could not bring herself to look at him in the moments while she made herself find that control. Frederick did not stand by her side for long. In fact, he moved to the seat by his desk and began to write something before he acknowledged her presence again. Juliana bit her lip. She was to return to Madam Moon’s establishment on the morrow. If Hew had found her here, he would find her there. He had probably found

98 that place before coming here. “You need to tell me the truth of your history.” Frederick finally looked up to talk to her. Juliana started at the matter of fact way he said this, then flinched at his solid look. “Mr. Hew informed me that he had ownership over you. Is this true?” “No!” The explosion burst forth from her lips without Juliana even thinking of it. Just the idea of being owned by Hew was more than she could stomach. She knew just how he would use that ownership of her. Frederick stared at her long after she had made her reply, then looked down to his parchment and began writing anew. Pulling herself together bit by bit, Juliana stood up from the floor, still holding her arms around her waist, waiting for Frederick to say something further to her. When he didn’t, she glanced towards his closed study door nervously. “Don’t worry, he won’t come in here.” Juliana’s head swung back towards Frederick, but he hadn’t looked up from what he was writing. She hadn’t realized he was paying such close attention to her. He shocked her when he added, “You haven’t started telling me the truth of your history, Selina.” He paused, and Juliana looked away guiltily. “But we both know that is not your name, don’t we?” Juliana gave a little half nod. When she finally met his

eyes, he was still looking at her, stoic in expectance.

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“My name is Juliana Williams,” she admitted to him, her voice hoarse from her crying. When Frederick’s expression did not change, Juliana continued slowly. “My father was Henry Williams. He died… less than a month ago.” It had been so easy to bury the pain and the grieving; so easy to just pretend to be Selina. Now, however, that she was bringing out the truth of her history, the pain hit her hard and reminded her that she was not yet over the loss. “When he died, my father’s friend, Mr. Hew, appeared before me, with a copy of the will that stated my father relinquished my hand to his keeping in marriage, and blessed the union.” A lump settled high in Juliana’s throat as she had remembered what it had been like the first time she had heard that news. Worse when she had realized she was powerless to do anything to stop it. “There was nobody left to contest it, and so…” A bitter laugh escaped her throat as the irony of the situation struck her. Here she was, talking about the history that had led her here, to the man it had led her to. Frederick listened to her tale with all appearances of patience, until she came to the end of the sentence she did not finish. He did not need it finished. He could basically piece the rest of the story together for himself. “So, you wanted it contested then?” he stated more than inquired.

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Juliana exhaled heavily. “Yes,” she uttered strongly. Frederick nodded once. “Then it will be done.

Meanwhile, he will be cast out and you shall remain here, under my protection, rather than return to Madam Moon on the morrow.” At the end of these statements issuing from Frederick’s lips, Juliana just stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar. How could she agree to this? Was it any more than trading merely one cage for another? Frederick saw and noted her hesitation and took her to task on it. “Will that be a problem… Juliana?” Juliana gasped at the sensuality he used to say her true name for the first time. The glint in his eye said that he knew exactly how it affected her to hear her name thus spoken. “There will be no problem with that,” Juliana said softly. “No problem with that… what?” Frederick prompted her quietly. Juliana’s eyes jumped back up to him again, and she hesitated only briefly before, with a small twist to her lips, she replied, “There will be no problem with that, Master.” Isaac watched as Mr. Hew was not escorted out of the house, so much as thrust out, by one of the men whom Frederick had invited for the gathering this eve. It gave Isaac a sense of great satisfaction to watch. However, as the eve lapsed into the early

hours of the morning, and still Isaac did not see Miss Juliana, he

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began to grow worried over her whereabouts. It was not something to worry about, to be sure; if Frederick was seeing to Juliana, then there was nothing to be worried about. Still, it would not have hurt his sensibilities to see the lady before he retired for the night-- but, it appeared, tomorrow morn would have to be soon enough. Juliana had been told to retire to the bedroom that had been given to her with a minimum of fuss. From the windows in the room, she had been able to watch as Mr. Hew had been escorted away none too gently. She had to admit that the idea of it caused her no small amount of satisfaction. She believed that Frederick would be able to keep him away from her. She worried about her place in Madam Moon’s establishment. If she didn’t return there tomorrow, and Frederick didn’t pay for more of her time here… The door opened and closed behind her, and caused Juliana to spin away from the window she’d been lurking behind. Frederick stood with his back to the door. Juliana licked her lips, not daring to move. Frederick smirked knowingly. “He’s gone, if that’s what you are worried about,” he mused, stepping further into the room, step by lazy step. “I was not worried,” Juliana replied. Her eyes dropped to

102 the familiar switch from the morning before. He held it aloft in his left hand, but made no flicking motions with it and indeed, almost seemed to forget it was there altogether. Taking a deep breath, she made the effort to glance up at Frederick again, seeing the grim amusement shining in his eyes at her expense. “I mean, I… watched him leave the estate.” She dipped her head again as he moved close to her, stopping after he’d only half circled around her. She held her breath, waiting to see what he wanted from her this time. “I know,” Frederick said, with only the faintest hint of his amusement coming through in his tone of voice. Juliana had been watching him out from beneath her lashes and had been just about to question him, when Frederick swept her into one of his arms, and kissed her fit to take all the breath out of her body. Juliana’s eyes fluttered to shut, and she leaned towards his kiss, mindless of whatever costs there would be for such a gesture. Frederick’s eyes were made darker than usual with passion for her, as he pulled back. Immediately, Juliana became aware again of the switch in his hands, and her eyes betrayed her by flickering towards it. Frederick’s deprecating laughter brought Juliana’s eyes back to his again, and she blushed. She steeled her jaw, and Frederick grasped her hand in his to uncompromisingly lead her towards the bed he had granted her.

She gasped as she was dropped on her back onto the

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bed. Before she could move, Frederick was undressing her, baring her breasts with obvious practice, before guttering out, “Roll over.” She did as she was told, though the linen of the bed sheets pressed rough against her already sensitized nipples. Frederick expertly relieved her of all of her clothing, so that when he rolled her over with a hand at her shoulder, she had not even the fabric of a camisole to hide herself from his eyes. “Stand,” he told her, his eyes drinking her in greedily, ignoring the fact that it had been him to push her to the bed in the first place. Juliana did so, without bringing it up, or otherwise speaking back to him. Frederick lifted a finger to flick the pink, protruding flesh of her nipple, and Juliana couldn’t help the moan that rose to her throat. With another flick, Frederick’s eyes lifted to her own to watch her reaction the second time. “Play with your other nipple,” he told her. Raising her right hand, Juliana touched her free nipple, biting her lip as the light touch of her own fingers on herself caused a spark of pleasure straight down to her core. “Good.” Frederick grabbed the nipple he had been flicking, and twisted it, which made her stare at him with raw wanting. “Good,” he repeated. He reached his free hand to her left

104 hand, still hanging by her side, and lifted it towards the crux of her thighs. “Touch yourself there. Yes, that’s right. Now, turn yourself around, press yourself against the bedpost.” While Juliana was writhing against that bedpost, as though it was a surrogate person, Frederick just watched for his own pleasure for a moment. Her fingers, by now, would be well sticky with her own juices, and he could see her pinching and tweaking her right nipple from where he stood behind her. When Frederick made no sound or motion towards her after he had her turned away from him, Juliana half turned her head towards him, never letting her fingers between her legs stop their movements, now that she had discovered the pleasure to be derived from such actions. “Did I tell you that you could turn around?” Frederick asked her, his voice a silky warning that had Juliana gasping a breath and turning her face away from him again. It was too late. He had been looking for a reason to use the switch on her, and now, in the throes of her self-inflicted pleasures, seemed the most ripe time for it. His switch caught her against her buttocks, not her back, this time, which even after the healing salve Isaac had put on it afterwards, had not healed over in the short time since he had done it. Although he used the switch lightly, the impact of it still had

105 Juliana arching towards the bedpost, and then moving her fingers over her sex ever faster to overcome pain with pleasure, much in the way he had used the laudanum for her the first time. She was smart, his girl. Before switching her a second time, Frederick moved up close enough that she would be able to feel his body heat directly behind her. Juliana gasped at it, just holding herself back from rubbing up against him like a cat in heat, when his fingers found the hole inside of her, just near to where she was rubbing with such fury. Juliana moaned, a shuddering sound that escaped first deep in the back of her throat, and then moved into her mouth and through her lips. She so desperately wanted to turn and be kissed with such abandon as he had given her earlier. Frederick smiled, his head positioned almost at her shoulder, as he pushed his two fingers in and out of her. “Do you want me?” he uttered from deep in his throat. “Yes,” Juliana gasped. Frederick lifted his hand. The switch came into contact with her buttock again, but still he did not remove his fingers from inside of her, and she did not cease the pinching of her nipple or the fingers against herself. She groaned, and dropped her head against the bedpost for strength. “Do you want me?” Frederick uttered again.

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Only a slight hesitation before the answer this time, but

the answer was the same. “Yes.” His reaction was the same as well; another switch against her buttocks, this time with slightly more force, owing to the intensity of his arousal. The smell of her and her sex was intoxicating him, and sight of her flushed skin, with sweat beading along her jaw and collarbone, was more than he could stand. He moved forward, and licked the sweat from her jaw line. The groan Juliana had given at the switch against her buttocks turned into a moan. “Do you want me?” He would have drawn everything away from her and strode out of the room had she answered no, knowing that the switch would hit her again if she answered the other way. Still, it did not sway her resolve for him, and after he switched her again, Frederick dragged her from the bedpost so that she was facing him, and he lifted both of her hands over her head and held them with only one of his hands. The look in her eyes was wanton, and he unfastened himself, drawing the hardness of his phallus out in one swift movement. He had waited a long time to take her thusly; to bury himself in her creamy centre, and feel her panting and pulsing all around him, receiving his hot come as it shot out of him and into her waiting body. For the two of them to

107 lie panting in the aftereffects of their splendor, and for him to claim her. “You are mine,” he uttered as he pounded hard into her, his face burying into the crevice of her shoulder. Juliana could not dispute it, as her hips rose forward to meet with his, ground back, then forward again, with unbearable repetition. What would have been the point of dispute? Somewhere along the line, his words had become truth for her. Isaac stood outside of Miss Juliana’s room, holding the tray that Frederick had implied they might have need of as the hours of the early morning wore on. From the sounds coming from inside the room, he ventured to guess that it would not be wise of him to interrupt. Still, he lingered where he was for long moments, before returning back to the kitchen. His mother was there to greet him upon his return. She merely raised an eyebrow to see Isaac returning with the tray still in his hands. “He had no need for this after all,” Isaac murmured, placing the tray on the counter, and then seeming to have little idea of what he wished to do next. Cecilia looked at her son, watching the run of thoughts move through his expressive eyes. She gave him a moment to speak for himself, before asking, “Are you upset that he did not call you

108 in?” Isaac looked up abruptly, before lowering his eyelids over his eyes in a tardy attempt to keep whatever he was feeling to himself. “Perhaps,” he said, though the one word was said barely above a whisper. Cecilia nodded once to herself. It had been much as she had expected, then. It happened often; a boy idolizing an older, more experienced man. However, knowing the master of the house as she thought she did, Cecilia suspected that Frederick had known well of this, and encouraged it. “Well then,” she said to her son abruptly. “I suppose we shall just have to find something to distract our minds.”

Isaac was surprised to find Juliana sneaking around the side entrance to the kitchen as he was putting out the rubbish from the previous night late in the next morning. They both stopped stock still for a moment, Juliana glancing at him guiltily, and Isaac looking surreptitiously behind him to make sure that nobody could see them where they were. “What are you doing here?” Isaac asked in urgent

109 undertone, stepping forward to reach out to her when she made no move to come back inside. “Quickly! Master will whip us both if he sees us here.” “And will that be so different to what he does to us in sexual play?” Juliana was not sure of how far Frederick had gone with Isaac before she had come to be here, but the blush that spread across Isaac’s cheeks was very telling. “Besides, I cannot stay here. Frederick has only paid for me these last two nights. I must return to Madam Moon’s establishment.” “Without even telling him?” Isaac’s eyes almost burst from his face as he imagined what Frederick’s reaction to that would be like when he found out. Isaac wasn’t very fond of being the one left behind, the one Frederick could take a pound of flesh from in his anger. Juliana searched Isaac’s face, reading correctly the emotions flitting across it. “You could come with me,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “We could go together,” she tempted. For a moment, Isaac felt himself almost swayed by the idea. Then common sense—and visions of what Frederick would do to his mother if he left her behind—reared its ugly head. “I can’t,” Isaac uttered, miserably. He liked Juliana. And she liked their master, he knew it! “Can you not stay? Allow Master to take care of your Madam Moon for you.”

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This time, it was Juliana’s turn to look swayed. It was

tempting. Here, she would have a clean room, and the pleasure of friendship with Isaac was not to be underestimated. But it was Frederick’s call from outside of the kitchen, the annoyance in his voice that Juliana was nowhere in easy finding within his house, which brought Juliana back to herself, and to what she must do. “I cannot hide behind him. I will not,” Juliana told Isaac, setting her jaw stubbornly. Again, Isaac looked over his shoulder. He swallowed resolutely. ‘If you are going to go, you had best do it now. Quickly, before he comes!” Juliana took a step away, but her eyes lingered on Isaac. Recklessly, she lunged forward and took Isaac into her arms, hugging him tightly for just a moment, before drawing the small bag she had come here with to her side and hurrying away before she could get caught. Isaac was close lipped and unwilling to reveal what had passed between him and Juliana prior to her leaving. The boy could only hold out for so long, however, and Frederick knew his points of pain well enough to easily use them against him. When Isaac finally told him of how Juliana had returned to Moon’s Red Light house, he pushed the boy away from him, with lips lifting in a kind of grim satisfaction. Yes. That would be his little hellcat, running

111 from him so that he could chase and find her. Oh, the beating she would receive. It would be so severe that laudanum alone would not soothe her pain. As Isaac lay shuddering against the floor of Frederick’s study, and Frederick stalked away without another word, he hoped fervently that he had not caused too much damage to fall upon his dear Miss Juliana. The memory of her farewell embrace had been his alone. He had been unwilling to share it for any less.

“Where is she?” “Why Frederick, she is where she always was. Third suite on the left.” Madam Moon looked at Frederick curiously, her eyes watchful like a cat’s. “Is something wrong?” “I wish to see her now,” Frederick ground out tersely. “Certainly,” Moon answered mildly, never having been one to elevate her customers’ ire. “Shall I have her come out here, or will you go to her?” She had her answer as Frederick stalked down the hall, snarling under his breath. Moon smiled politely, even though he could not see her features. It seemed that her little Selina had done

112 a better job than even she had anticipated. Frederick pushed open the door without even knocking. Juliana spun around from the chair she had been sitting on; the same one she had been sitting at when he had first come to her room, although this time, she was not eating there. It would have been a lie to say she had not expected him to come after her. Perhaps she had not expected him to come so swiftly. “I trust that Isaac is all right,” Juliana said, standing slowly. She would not forgive him if he had done irreparable damage to her boy. “He will live. You, however…” Frederick allowed the sentence to drift off threateningly, but within the walls of Madam Moon’s establishment, Juliana felt a great deal more confident than she ever had within the walls of his estate. “Can I offer you tea?” she asked him, adopting the same mild tones she had seen Moon using. “No, you cannot offer me tea!” Frederick informed her heatedly. Juliana lowered her head deferentially, but made no other movement. Watching her, Frederick forced himself to take slow, deep breaths, but with her looking so calm and composed before him, he could not help but wish to rile her, to bring her to that same state in

the maelstrom of which he felt himself caught.

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“‘You would leave me without word?” He kept himself deliberately unmoving, barely moving his jaw to say the words. It depended on her answer, whether he walked out of here right now, or not. Juliana turned to him, and from the expression on her face, Frederick could see she was not so impartial as she would have him believe. “I thought you had no more care for me than for a trophy. Why, then, would I stay?” she asked simply, her mind full of what it would have been like to stay with Hew. Frederick just stared at her. It was a few minutes before he spoke again. Even then, it was only after swift movement that managed to draw her into his arms and kiss the breath from her, until he lifted his head and asked her, “And if I thought of you as more than a trophy?” “Why, Master, do you?” she asked of him, slightly out of breath, yet still managing to trace the line of his lips with her eyes. Frederick lifted his head, his eyes glowing with some dark color of annoyance at her question. He had already given her more than he had given any other woman, and still it was not enough? He growled, ready to pull away from her. It was her soft-hearted eyes, and the hope in them, that

114 drew him back. “Yes,” he told her savagely. “You are.” Juliana lifted her lips accommodatingly, as his lips moved down to possess hers again. When they next stood in front of Madam Moon, they stood together, with all of Juliana’s possessions, and Moon looked upon them knowingly. “Have you a wish to take one of my girls away from me?” Moon asked archly. “Yes,” Frederick said. “It will cost you,” Moon informed him. Juliana bit her lip, but if he had paid for her for these two nights, surely he would not balk at paying for her release. “No,” Frederick said. To Moon’s arched brow, he added, “I have already paid you once, while she was still in your employ, and once will be enough. Miss Juliana is a free woman.” He did not say it, but Juliana heard it. For now. As Juliana watched Madam Moon consider Frederick’s words, she knew that the Madam of the establishment would have no other option but to let her go. His uncompromising jaw offered nothing else. “I trust that you shall compensate for this with other girls,” Madam Moon said to him as a parting shot.

115 Frederick glanced down to Juliana. “Perhaps,” he said, with a slight inclination of his head and a twist of his lips. Juliana struggled to keep her shoulders steady from the amusement she forced herself to keep on the inside. Then, with his arm draped possessively over her shoulders, they left Madam Moon’s establishment for what Juliana thought, at least for a little while, would be her last time. Isaac finally brought himself to his feet only a little time before Frederick brought Juliana back home. The damage done to his body was not bad. Bruises left by unrelenting fists that had not seen what they had done till it was too late would heal within days. Isaac winced as he forced his sore muscles to stand and be strong. He understood his Master’s fury. If someone had let Juliana free of him, and he had not been there to say goodbye, Isaac’s upset too would have been immense. His eyes lighted up in pleasure at seeing her familiar face, before his expression collapsed beneath the pain again, and he steeled his limbs to keep him upright. Juliana shot a look towards Frederick as she parted herself from him, and swiftly crossed the room so that she could be by Isaac’s side, looking him over carefully, as she sent accusing looks in Frederick’s direction. For his end, Frederick appeared unrepentant as he moved more slowly across the room until he was once again comfortably

116 reclined behind his desk, peering at them both carefully. “Oh Isaac, look what he has done to you!” Juliana said angrily. “It is not so much,” Frederick rumbled in answer. “I would not have told him for anything less than this, Miss,” Isaac told her, his eyes imploring her to understand. “He knew this.” Juliana pursed her lips against further angry words that she wished to have said. They were not said. Between Frederick and Isaac, there passed another look, and Juliana raised her eyebrows, as she caught it, in silent questioning of what this was about. Changing the subject, Frederick allowed a small smile to cross his features, bestowing it on these two pets he owned before him, before saying mildly, as he reached into the cupboard in his desk, “Shall I pour for us something to drink, then?” Issac nodded his acceptance of the closest he would get to an apology from Frederick. As he moved closer to Frederick, he made sure to brush lightly against Juliana, letting her know in his silent way that he was all right, and that between all three of them and their various addictions, all would be well.

About the Author



Nikki spends her time in candle lit, incense burning rooms where she sits in front of her laptop lifeline, writing away with a mad intensity that often has her forgetting to eat, sleep or remember what time it is she’s supposed to leave for school. She is currently in the middle of two diplomas; one in Professional Writing and Editing, which she will finish this year, and a second in Visual Arts, majoring in Photography.

The great Klauss von Alstyne stretched his arms before him, cracked his knuckles with a loud pop, and raised his hands high, the lace train of his sleeves fluttering below. With exaggerated flair, he swooped down upon the ivory keys, banged out a dramatic opening chord, and then… Nothing. His fellow party guests sighed in disappointment and returned to their idle drunken chatter, gradually drowning out the broken notes that echoed and dimmed through the drawing room. “Good god,” cursed Klauss under his breath, pressing his useless musician’s hands against his weary face and running them back through his chin-length hair, pale as corn silk, damned near as white as the powdered wigs that had been in style two decades 119

120 before. The distant strains of a new composition had teased at the back of his mind for the past fortnight; yet when he sat down to play, he produced a discordant cacophony at best. He did not wish to offend his own delicate sensibilities, much less those of an avid audience who had come to expect nothing less than perfection from the great von Alstyne. The toast of the Empire at age twenty-four, Klauss was beginning to worry that his career had been prematurely snuffed like a candle dipped with too short a wick. Shoulders slumped in defeat, he simply sat and studied the recently purchased piano with the same wistful ache as a man longing after an unattainable virgin. His gray eyes followed elegant curves of mahogany, smoothed to a fine polished sheen and still bearing the scent of the woodlands. The leather hammers, stiff from disuse, begged to be broken in; the strings, taut and untouched, cried for a good loosening. Absently, Klauss pushed and released the damper pedal with the toe of his right foot, the light thud the most pleasant sound he’d gotten out of the piano yet. Languidly, he stretched his arm and stroked one fingertip against the ivory-plated spruce keys farthest from his left. The instrument utilized the latest innovation—an extended clavier to reach a sixth octave, lending the strings a wider range of tones, currently unexplored by Klauss’ rival composers.

Three extra keys, he mused, and they’re going to waste.

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Of course, the never-ending soiree at his best mate’s manor didn’t help. Sighing, Klauss reached for the heavy, shortstemmed glass on the end of the piano. He sipped the half-finished absinthe—his third serving that night—in hope the wormwood would take hold and work its usual magic. The problem was, he’d consumed so much since discovering the potent green beverage a few months earlier that he’d begun to build a tolerance for it. And here came his friend now. The infamous poet Stefan Eldritch approached with a buxom beauty clutched in each arm. Klauss paid the women little heed, vaguely noting one was brunette, the other a redhead. Given Klauss’ following, combined with what he’d often been told were his good looks, he’d well tasted the pleasures of countless female admirers. At the moment, however, the musician’s attentions were focused on finding his elusive mistress, the Muse. He looked back at the blank sheet of stave paper propped on the music rack, knowing the notes wouldn’t appear on their own, holding out for a miracle nonetheless. The poet, his hair black and disheveled where Klauss’ was white and smoothly in place, leaned across the piano. “I say, old chap,” said Stefan, his speech slurred from his preferred poison of brandy, “why don’t you give it a rest and join

122 me and these two lovely ladies? My dear, sweet Nicolette is eager to meet you.” Obligingly, Klauss looked up from the stave paper… …and found himself immersed in two liquid pools of warm copper. Startled, he took in the rest of the woman’s features as she demurely lowered her marabou fan to reveal a heart-shaped face, unfashionably bronzed by the kiss of the sun, yet stylishly framed by fringed chocolate curls. The remainder of her luxurious tresses streamed from where they were gathered high atop her head. His attention caught, he recognized her as the actress, Nicolette Neville. She released her grip on Stefan and extended her hand. “It is truly an honor to meet the great von Alstyne.” Her voice flowed in a low, raspy mezzo soprano, the sheer sultriness of it calling to mind one of his more sensual melodies. Klauss realized he was gaping stupidly. Remembering his manners, he snapped his jaw shut and rose from the bench. Towering a good foot above the brunette, he took her gloved hand between both of his. Bowing, he pressed his lips to her elegantly tapered fingers, as any proper gentleman should, yet as her eyes seared into his, the errant thoughts that danced through his head were far from polite. To slip off that glove, suck her fingers into his mouth, take them between his teeth…

Gathering his wits, he turned on the charm and made

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pointed mention of her surname. “The honor is all mine, Miss Neville.” “Please—” she smiled warmly “—do call me Nicolette.” “Then I must insist you call me Klauss. And really,” he added with a casual wave of his arm, “this great business is entirely overrated.” Especially given his recent lack of productivity. Stefan watched their exchange with great interest before whispering into the redhead’s ear. Klauss distinctly heard the words, “My work here is done.” Why, that sly devil, thought Klauss, albeit with gratitude. As if divining his thoughts, the poet looked back at him with a broad grin. “Why don’t I leave you two to get better acquainted while…er, Charisse, is it?” He turned to the redhead in question. “Clarisse,” the redhead corrected him wryly. “Yes, right. While Clarisse and I scour the manor for more brandy. The bar seems to have run dry again.” “Don’t forget to read the book I brought you,” Nicolette cooed over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, love, I shall.” Stefan sauntered off with Clarisse, likely plotting to get her alone and, more likely, undressed. Nicolette turned back to Klauss. “I gave him a copy of

124 Camille Rocheford’s book. I have known her since we were little girls.” “Ah yes, Miss Rocheford,” said Klauss. “Her book has created quite the stir, has it not? A woman novelist—” “She certainly is not the first,” interrupted Nicolette, her tone stiffening. “Of course, my dear,” smiled Klauss, squeezing her hand, quick to gloss over any inadvertent rudeness on his part. He did not wish to offend this talented beauty. “I meant to say, a woman novelist published under her own name, as she rightfully should be.” Nicolette relaxed, seemingly appeased. Her gaze drifted toward the storm doors, opened wide to the manicured garden behind the manor. The faint summer breeze, cooled by the reflecting pond, smelled sweetly of roses as it wafted through the house and infused the drawing room. “It is a beautiful night, Klauss,” she said. Her eyes glittered playfully above her fan. “Would you care to join me for a walk on the grounds?” “I would be most delighted.” He picked up his glass and swallowed the last few sips of absinthe. Licking the licorice-tinged drink from his lips, he proffered his elbow to his stunning new acquaintance and escorted her toward the door, taking full leave of

the piano for the first time in days.

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As they stepped onto the terra cotta patio, Klauss’ senses were assaulted by the fragrance of the garden. By the light of the full moon, the shallow pool reflected mercury while the lush garden, bursting by day with the colorful vestiges of spring, took on a shimmering silver hue. Perhaps the absinthe had touched him after all. Guests milled noisily about, laughing and chattering, drinking and smoking. A civilized gathering, by all appearances; yet beneath the scent of tobacco, the cloying balm of opium hung in the air. And if one listened closely, the nearby bushes rattled with the sounds of copulation. Klauss cleared his throat. “I caught one of your performances at the city playhouse last season. Both your beauty and commanding presence moved me. Your death scene proved so convincing, I—” He could not tell her he had been moved to tears. He was a man, by god! “—well, I must confess, I attempted to meet you backstage afterward, to ensure you truly remained alive! But I saw you stepping into a carriage with your beau.” “I have no beau,” she smiled. “Simply…friends.” Her meaning was clear—paramours. Klauss’ throat flushed hot beneath his neatly-pinned cravat. Taking the lead, he scanned the grounds for a place to get

126 her alone for but a few precious, advantageous moments. Casually, he directed her to the entrance of their poet friend’s pride and joy, the yew maze. “The Labyrinth,” announced Klauss. “I trust you are familiar with Stefan’s rule?” “I certainly am,” laughed Nicolette. She and Klauss recited in unison. “If one gets trapped in The Labyrinth, then one must spend the night there.” “Not that I would know from personal experience,” Klauss grinned sheepishly. “Nor would I,” she winked. Her laughter tinkled merrily from between her lush, earthy lips. As she swept her fan downward, his sight drifted and followed the tickling trail of feathers. Her full, firm bosom swelled just above the sash tied directly beneath her low-cut bodice—and naturally so, for it was evident that she had foregone wearing a corset beneath her sheer white gown. Or any other sort of undergarment, for that matter, as he could distinctly make out the curves of her breasts, waist, hips, and thighs. More and more these days, women wore less and less clothing, eschewing pantaloons, stays, and petticoats for a more comfortable mode of dress. And the gorgeous creature before him had wholly embraced this relaxed aesthetic, right down to the puffed cap of her left short sleeve which had slipped carelessly from

her shoulder and exposed the smooth olive flesh.

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Truly, it was a wonderful time for a man to be alive! On the premise of adjusting her sleeve, he reached out and cupped her bared shoulder, his touch lingering as he traced across her collarbone. She fixed her gaze on him. “Do you want me?” she asked bluntly. Just like that, no pretense or faux modesty whatsoever. Why, paid courtesans were not so frank! And yet Klauss respected the actress’ candor. “Oh god, yes,” he answered, finding his voice, leaning in for the kiss. As his lips brushed hers, she pulled away and giggled. “You will have to catch me first.” And then she dropped her fan and bolted into the maze. “Wait!” he called, chasing her down the first row of hedges. “I’ll lose you! I’ll never find you!”

“No worries, mon chéri,” she laughed, rounding to her left

and disappearing from view. Her voice faded. “I shall leave a trail of clues!” He veered to the left and found her pashmina scarf snagged on boughs of yew. The fine-spun wool bunched in his hands as he held it to his face and sniffed her floral, feminine essence. His cock instantly swelled against his tight breeches.

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Klauss reached the end of the row and looked to either

direction. He spied one dainty flat slipper with a pointed toe. Swooping down, he retrieved the shoe and continued running. Nicolette’s sing-song laughter chimed softly a few rows to his right. “Olly olly oxen free.” In spirited pursuit, he delved deeper into the maze, away from the manor and the noise of the party. There, her other slipper! Farther along the way, he discovered a glove. When he bent to retrieve the second glove, he found himself staring at a hopelessly passé pair of ribboned, high-heeled shoes. “Greetings, my dear fellow,” a drunken voice entreated. “Would you know the way out of this blasted maze?” Klauss straightened to meet an old-time dandy, a relic from the days before The Great Terror, right down to his leadpowdered face, wax mole, and pink wig which hung askew and displayed the antiquated gentleman’s bald spot. His fine, golden coat, embroidered with an intricately woven pattern of fruits and leaves, was bedecked with endless flounces of lace stained burgundy in several spots from wine. He stood grandly, one hand behind his back, drink held to his chest, one foot braced erect before the other. He smiled through crimson-painted lips, revealing a set of teeth blackened by snuff.

129 “Er, I’m not quite sure from which way I came,” Klauss replied in polite apology. Inwardly, he wondered how this particular gentleman had managed to escape the guillotine years ago. Why, his appalling fashion sense alone should still warrant arrest! Haughtily, Klauss smoothed the lapels of his black velvet waistcoat, simple yet elegant and befitting the tastes of the affluent Imperial young. “Ah well,” sighed the dandy. “She didn’t know, either.” Klauss’ ears perked. “She?” “Why yes, that bewitching minx who just ran through here. Oh, she asked me to give you this.” The gentleman started to hand over his cup. “Oh, pardon me, wrong hand.” He jerked the cup away, wine sloshing over the rim and drenching the ruff of his sleeve. He pulled his other hand from behind his back and presented one white silk stocking along with the blue satin ribbon used to garter it at the thigh. Klauss eyes lit. “Which way did she go?” The dandy peered back over his shoulder, one bejeweled finger raised to pursed lips, and thought a moment. “Take your second left. No, wait. Right. Yes, that’s it…the second right.” “Thank you, good man!” said Klauss, vaulting past him. After deducing that he’d been given inaccurate information, Klauss spent the next several minutes retracing his

130 steps. “A-ha!” he smirked in triumph, snatching her second stocking from where it hung hooked on the hedge. “Good god,” Klauss groaned when he found her dress. It was at that moment that the absinthe hit him full force. His head buzzed pleasantly, yet at the same time, his senses grew sharper and keenly alert. A beautiful unclothed woman awaited him in the maze. The mere thought unleashed something primitive from the deepest recesses within him. He inhaled the scent of her dress, still warm from where it had clung to her curves, and then let it flutter to the ground. Unpinning his cravat, he loosed the knot and pulled the silk free. Closing his eyes, he sniffed the breeze and listened to the night. There. Footsteps padding softly, her fragrance filling his nostrils; like a wolf, he honed in on her. Ripping off his waistcoat, he unbuttoned his shirt as he sprinted now, intent on his quarry— winding, twisting, rushing through the maze, panting, sweating, heart racing wildly, wormwood pumping though his veins, his mouth watering and his cock poised to strike. Shirtless now, chest heaving, he came to an opening and halted, winded, gulping for air. Through his moonlit haze of lust, his surroundings vibrated with an otherworldly glow. He stood in

131 a circle of grass, the centerpoint marked by a sundial, the gnomon angled atop a granite column that rose from a rounded marble base. “Why, I’ve reached the middle of The Labyrinth,” murmured Klauss in astonishment. No one, save Stefan, knew the path to the reputed sundial. However, Stefan had failed to mention the statue—bronze cast in the likeness of a gloriously naked goddess. The statue twitched, and then cackled in glee. With a snarl, Klauss lunged and pawed Nicolette to the ground. “Yes!” she encouraged him. “Ravish me right here on the grass, under the stars, clothed only in the rays of the moon!” By god, the way this woman talked! He drew her tongue into his mouth, to savor the source of such deliciously provocative speech, and clamped his teeth, holding her there. Her scrumptious body strained against his own as she raked her nails down his back and clawed his buttocks, her manner feral, her hunger equal to his. “Mmm,” she moaned, breaking his violent kiss, “you taste of licorice.” “And you, my dear, taste of sheer decadence,” he growled in return. Greedily, he trailed his lips over the breasts squeezed between his hands. Roughly, he sucked at one beige bud, then the other, relishing the way they stiffened and peaked in his mouth.

132 Gauging her reaction, he bit down. She yelped pleasurably and writhed against him. Grasping the sumptuous flanks of her thighs, he spread them wide; clutching one hand against the curled tendrils of her mound, he found her swollen bud. With the deft tips of his musician’s fingers, he played her sweet spot with short quick strikes, eliciting a series of sharp staccato gasps. Sliding his lips down her torso, he followed the scent of her heated arousal. “Sing for me, love,” he murmured, and then he trilled his tongue against her. Staccato smoothed to legato, and her cries of passion resounded through the night, the pitch drawn high and pure. Honeyed juices filled his mouth, washing his palate like the purest nepenthe. Kicking off his buckle shoes, fumbling with his highwaisted fly, Klauss slid back up her. Eagerly, Nicolette helped free his breeches and stockings. With a skilled pivot of his hips, he sank inside. Enveloped by her slick heat, her velvet walls snug around his length, he pummeled into her like a beast in rut. Her hips bucked forth and matched his thrusts in perfect syncopation, moved by the timeless tempo of carnal fulfillment. She wrapped her legs around him, hooked her ankles at the small of his back, and pulled him closer and deeper.

133 As her cries rang once more, Klauss joined in the chorus, lending his rich baritone to her rousing soprano. In awe, he listened as Nicolette’s pitch rose perfectly from the A below middle C to the A two octaves above. When they reached crescendo he pulled out, and his passion burst forth upon the soft swell of her belly. Drained from their duet, he collapsed against her, his spent seed slick between them, their breath slowed in diminuendo. “Darling,” he murmured. “Where did you learn to sing? The most rigorously trained diva could not produce such clarity!” “I sing from the heart,” she replied simply. Her body twisted and rolled, and he found himself on his back. “Shall we call for an encore?” Before Klauss could answer, she began to ride him, his cock already grown hard again, his absinthe-fueled libido raging like a wildfire. As Nicolette worked up and down his shaft, her curls loosened and tumbled past her shoulders. He lay back and watched, amazed, as the constellations above her started to spin and the earth beneath him shifted in a dizzying rush.

Klauss’ eyes fluttered and then squinted against the harsh

134 glare of daylight. With a groan, he rolled to his side and sat up. The blades of grass, which had cushioned his flesh several hours before, had grown coarse and scratchy. Through blurred vision he spied Stefan propped against the sundial, one leg crooked, his expression amused; yet Klauss received the distinct impression that his friend also stood guard. Some secret lay hidden here, in the center of the maze… “Good morning,” Stefan grinned, one brow arched. “Or should I say, afternoon? “What time is it?” muttered Klauss. Stefan glanced down at the sundial. “A bit past three. Time for breakfast—well at least for me, anyway. Oh, and congratulations on the rare accomplishment of finding your way through The Labyrinth.” His eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “You wouldn’t happen to remember the path you followed, would you?” “No.” Klauss shook his head, and instantly regretted the stabbing throb induced in his temples. “Good,” smiled Stefan. Leaning down, the poet retrieved Klauss’ discarded breeches from the ground and flung them through the air. Groggily, Klauss caught them. As he stood on wobbly legs, his head reeled. Stepping into his pants, he noted with embarrassment that his knees were stained green. Tugging his pants upward, he suspected

the cheeks of his ass looked the same.

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“Was she just a dream?” asked Klauss. “A hallucination?” “Oh no, I assure you Miss Neville was no illusion. I helped her out of the maze and back into her dress right before dawn, and then I kissed her goodbye and sent her on her merry way. She was due for rehearsal today and didn’t wish to be late.” “Kissed her?” asked Klauss sharply, his words cut by the trace edge of jealousy. “Now now, chap,” laughed Stefan. “Our fair actress is one of the few women I have kissed chastely. My affection for her is akin to that of a brother to his sister. Well within the normal confines of love between siblings, that is to say. I have heard tales of other poets that defy even my standards!” As Klauss followed Stefan through the maze, he retrieved his shirt from where it had caught on a hedge. Slipping his arms through white silk, he saw that in his haste to undress, he had lost a few buttons and torn the lace of his sleeves. “Do you think I’ll meet her again?” he asked hopefully. “Nicolette owes me a favor,” said Stefan. “I’ll see what I can arrange, though it may be several months before she is free to return.” “I shall wait an eternity,” vowed Klauss, “if but for one more night to hold her in my arms.”

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“Damn it, man!” chided Stefan. “Don’t betray our sworn

pact of bachelorhood and go daft in the head over one woman! Variety is the spice of life.” Once back inside the drawing room, Stefan went to the table and poured a cup of tea from the tray the servants had set out. He added two extra lumps of sugar, and then pulled a pewter flask from his waistcoat pocket. Unstopping the cork, he added a dash of brandy to the gold-rimmed porcelain cup and then passed it to Klauss. “Ah yes, the hair of the dog that bit me.” Klauss smiled wanly. Despite his stomach’s grumble of protest, he blew on the tea and took a sip, having benefited from the poet’s hangover cure several times since their boarding school days. Stefan lifted the tray and headed for the landing. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” said the poet over his shoulder, “I have two lovely ladies in my bed who demand my attention. Charisse and…” “Clarisse,” corrected Klauss. He remembered that much from last night, at least. “Ah, yes, Clarisse and—” Stefan paused at the bottom of the stairs, his lips pressed thoughtfully “—well, I didn’t catch the other girl’s name, but we happened upon her whilst en route to my room. Would you care to help serve breakfast?” “No, thank you,” said Klauss, the tea already working, the

137 fog from his head beginning to clear. “I think I’ll have a try at the piano. I am feeling…inspired.” “Have it your way,” shrugged Stefan, starting up the stairs. “I handled both girls well enough last night. I suppose I’m up to the task again.” Once alone, Klauss set the cup and saucer at the edge of the clavier. Taking his seat at the bench, he stretched his arms before him, cracked his knuckles with a loud pop, and then raised his hands high, the torn lace of his sleeves dangling below. He closed his eyes and envisioned himself in the front row of the playhouse, the one lone member of the audience. The crimson curtains parted to reveal Nicolette Neville, onstage and naked, her bronzed curves glistening warmly in the gaslight. Lifting both her arms and her voice, she performed for Klauss, and Klauss alone. Her song swirled around him, tore into him, reached inside to the very core of his being and became at one with his soul. With exaggerated flair, he swooped down upon the ivory keys, banged out a dramatic opening chord, and then… Music. Sweet, blessed music. The notes blended and wove into a haunting, ethereal melody that told a story, of the high silver moon and the warm night breeze; the thrill of the chase and the victory of the hunt; the smooth taste of licorice and the rich spoils of decadence.

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As his mind’s eye watched his Muse slip her hand between

her thighs, he stretched his own arm and found that impossible sixth octave. Thrumming his fingers in rapid succession, he played those three extra keys like Nicolette’s sweet spot and made the piano sing like a chorus of angels. He knew instinctively that this new score would prove his finest symphony to date, and that it would survive beyond his lifetime, immortalizing his name in the annals of Western culture as a true musical genius. With this thought came a smug smile. He was, after all, the great Klauss von Alstyne.

About the Author

Katrina Strauss grew up on sneak-peeks at her grandmother’s forbidden romance novels. As she matured, Katrina fell sway to the underground goth and fetish scenes where she was introduced to more scintillating erotica. Inspired to pen her own erotic twist on the timeless genre of romance, Katrina’s resulting works explore the darker side of love. The characters from Of Licorice and Decadence also appear in Katrina’s novel Lessons Learned, the Regency installment of her Eldritch Legacy series.

The ballroom was insufferably hot, and Trevor’s mood, foul to begin with, was worsening rapidly. Not even a glimpse of the previously elusive and much-lauded Miss Hatton, for whom the party had been given, was worth the misery that had been his evening thus far. Besides, other than an appreciative eyeful, he didn’t have much use for virginal young debutantes, and had his brother not insisted he attend, he wouldn’t have come at all. Although, Trevor noted with amusement as he appraised Caroline Hatton, only daughter of the Duke of Wellington, with an expert eye, it seemed the young ingénue was far less virginal that she claimed. The way she draped her fingers just so along her dance partner’s arm, the slight forward thrust of her bosom, how she made sure her breasts brushed provocatively against the man’s sleeve when 141

142 she turned, all showed a woman with some measure of experience in the art of seduction. And Trevor himself would know, having seduced quite a few ladies in his time. In fact, he found he could barely move about the crowded gathering without encountering one of his past conquests at every turn -- which was, of course, part of the reason he was so loathe to be present. “It wouldn’t be a bad match, Caufield,” a voice interrupted his brooding. Trevor tipped his head and scowled at Thomas Winters, standing a few paces away. “On the contrary, Thomas, it would be a waking nightmare.” “And why is that?” Winters sidled up to him and lowered his voice. “You’ve always said you preferred a woman with experience, after all.” Ah, so he wasn’t the only one to notice. Though Thomas had been quite the rakehell in their youth, his best friend had succumbed to the pressure of his family and married several years back, and now saw fit to counsel Trevor on his carnal pursuits, as he called them, at nearly every turn. Not that he wasn’t used to lectures; Trevor’s brother and more recently, his brother’s wife, also thought he should settle down and honor the Caufield name. “In a lover, yes. In a wife, no,” he answered finally. “I’d rather not have some other man’s cast-off.”

“How predictably rakish of you, Trevor.”

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“I am what I am, my friend.” His tone was completely unapologetic. “Why confuse oneself with complexities when predictability is just as fun? And Thomas, just because you’ve quit the game doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten the rules. You understand my reasoning perfectly well.” “Touchè,” his friend acknowledged. His eyes performed a quick sweep of the room – no doubt in search of his wife – before changing the subject away from his own past behavior. “So, what is it you want in a lady? Isabella tells me that your brother’s darling wife is hell-bent upon seeing you married and settled down.” Trevor snorted and adjusted his cravat with a perfunctory nod. “That woman has been scheming for months now. She parades an endless stream of young socialites through my parlor on a weekly basis, finding ridiculous excuses to call. I find her tireless prodding more of a deterrent, even, than yours.” Thomas laughed heartily. “I hardly think I prod you at all. Tell me, then, what do you prefer in a wife?” “I’d prefer her to have no knowledge of high society at all,” he confessed, quickly growing weary of the conversation. “Ah, some uneducated country girl?” Winters pressed, voice tinged with amusement. “If I should fine one,” Trevor agreed, “I’d whisk her away

144 without a second thought. Only, mind you, because my brother has made it quite clear that he plans to force me to marry before the year is finished. If I had my way, Winters, I’d never wed at all.” His friend chuckled and lifted an eyebrow. “I can tell you from experience, my friend, that you can’t avoid it forever.” “Perhaps not. But I do intend to try. Now, Thomas, that wife of yours is no doubt searching for you as we speak. Best go tend to her.” Trevor turned and started towards the open door closest to him. He had to get out of the damn heat, not to mention away from the prying eyes of so many insipid females. Caroline Hatton had finished her dance and was now smiling coyly at him from across the room. He pushed his way through the throng of revelers, pausing by one of the servants to grab a glass of champagne before slipping into the darkness of the corridor. Trevor didn’t typically make a habit of exploring others’ homes, but the balcony and gardens had been just as overrun with people as the ballroom, and he really did want a moment or two alone. “Ah, silence,” he muttered, rounding a corner and slipping deeper into the house. His steps were unhurried, and the leisurely pace saved him from walking straight into the petite form that blocked his path just after the turn. The woman stared at him with wide, doe-eyes. She was

145 radiantly beautiful in the dimly lit corridor, the rays of moonlight illuminating the golden tresses of her hair, which spilled over her shoulders in rich, enticing waves. She didn’t have the look of a servant girl; her dress, though out-of-date, was far too elegant. Her pixie-like face was soft but refined, with a small, button nose and full, pouty lips that made him, without thinking, lick his own in anticipation. Her eyebrows, the same golden blonde as her hair, were fine and sculpted, arching over eyes that, even in the dim light, he saw were a sparkling, crystalline blue. “My apologies, Madame, I didn’t intent to frighten you,” Trevor soothed, recovering from his momentary shock and offering her a charming half-smile. Where have you been hiding? he wanted to ask instead. Her eyes widened another fraction, but she said nothing. “Truly, I thought myself alone,” he continued, and flashed another smile. “Had I known I would encounter such an enchanting gem hidden away in this dark hall, I would have brought two glasses.” He lifted the champagne flute to his lips, watching her carefully over the rim. Still no response from her. Were it not for the slight tremble of her lower lip, Trevor would have begun to wonder if she was a statue – or perhaps a life-sized doll. Yes, she resembled the dolls his little sister had played with as a child, her skin smooth and

146 pale as porcelain, eyelashes almost freakishly long, fanning against the ridge of her eyebrows. “Am I such a terrifying sight?” More maddening silence. He changed tactics. Trevor reached for her hand, half expecting her to jump backwards out of his reach. She didn’t, and allowed him to grasp her fingers lightly, giving them a squeeze. Her skin was soft and silky, and he felt a jolt of warmth at the contact. “Are you ill, Madame? Hurt?” She shook her head just the slightest bit – a minute gesture, the shimmer it stirred amongst her flaxen curls the only indication that she’d moved at all. Her hand remained limp in his much larger palm. “Damnit, woman, say something, would you? Anything,” he exclaimed. She shook her head again, this time with more force, and gave his hand a squeeze. Rather than pulling out of his grip, as he expected her to do, she allowed her hand to stay where it was, giving a second squeeze with her fingers. “Well, good. We’ve established you’re real, and I’m real,” Trevor said. “Now, I really must insist that you…” That she what, Caufield? Exactly what is it you want her to do? A rustling from around the corner caused him to abandon

his thought process. His companion stiffened, and he heard her

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sharp intake of breath. Before he could stop her she’d pulled her hand free and was running down the hallway. “Wait!” Trevor called. “At least allow me your name!” She paused long enough to cast a final, mournful glance over her shoulder, and then disappeared into the shadows. He wanted to go after her, desperately. It almost felt as if she held a leash on his heart, so strong was the urge to follow her down that blackened corridor. If she was a witch, a demon, or a ghost, he would at least die with a smile. “Leave her be, you fool,” he muttered, running a hand through his tousled hair, though his instincts shouted: Follow her, you fool! “Well, here you are,” a sultry voice chided from the direction of his left shoulder. “I was beginning to worry you’d gotten yourself lost, Lord Caufield.” “No, Madame, not lost.” Unfortunately. Trevor’s features twisted into a grimace, which he forced away before turning to face the intruder. After a brief respite, this night was back to being unpleasant again. “You owe me a dance, I believe,” Caroline chirped. “I met the most intriguing woman, just before you came to fetch me.” He ignored her reference to dancing. She’d have to hit him over the head and drag him down the hall by his coattails to

148 get him back to the ballroom, especially now. “She had blonde hair and blue eyes; are you familiar with her?” “Oh,” Caroline mouth drew itself into a pout. “You must have met Emma.” “Emma?” “Yes, disobeying Father’s orders and wandering outside her room again,” she sighed dramatically. “How very typical of her to try and ruin my night.” “And who, precisely, is Emma?” He said her name again, and enjoyed the feel of it gliding across his tongue. Emma. It was soft, sweet, and elegant. “My sister.” “Sister?” he didn’t try to keep the surprise from his voice. “I was under the impression you were an only child, my lady.” “Yes, well…” Caroline dropped into the window seat with all the grace of an elephant, mashing her hands together atop her billowing skirts. “She’s something of a family secret, I suppose.” “But where did she go? I believe I…” he frantically searched his mind for an excuse, “I startled her, and I should like to apologize, if possible.” “Oh, Lord Caufield,” Caroline crooned, dropping a hand suggestively onto his arm. She’d shifted again, from the reticent child back to the seductive siren. She was undeniably attractive, but

149 faded in comparison with her sister’s pale beauty. “I assure you, you want no interest in my sister.” “And why might that be, my lady?” Trevor arched one eyebrow. He leaned into her, gave a conspiratorial nod. His lips curled into a smile, the expression he knew from experience drove women wild, got him what he wanted. “She’s mute,” the young girl revealed with relish. “Mute?” he repeated. “Can’t speak a word,” Caroline confirmed. “Can’t make any sound at all, in fact.” Well, that would explain a few things, he thought. “She’s not had her introduction, then?” “Of course not!” Her laughter tinkled gleefully and it further grated on Trevor’s nerves. “What sort of wife would she make, with a broken tongue?” A perfect one. “Most men, I believe,” he answered wryly, “long for a wife who rarely speaks. Though having never been married myself, Miss Hatton, I surely couldn’t say.” “Trust me, my Lord, when I tell you that it makes her an insufferable bore.” Trevor bit back a retort. “And so your family simply pretends that she doesn’t exist?” The thought bothered him on several levels. To secrete away such a precious creature was...wrong.

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Caroline at least had the decency to appear embarrassed.

“Yes,” she said finally. “But it’s for her own good, I believe. My mother and father decided not to bother with the embarrassment of introducing her to the Haute Ton.” Embarrassment? She was the loveliest creature he’d ever had the pleasure of encountering, and given his considerable experience with the fairer sex, that was a quite a statement. And making her all the more appealing was her apparent ignorance of high society. Besides, he reasoned with himself silently as Caroline continued to chatter mindlessly, her diatribe shifting from an embittered rant about her sister to the nauseating gossip circulating the party, Emma’s existence could not have gone undiscovered forever, particularly now with her sister being the most eligible debutante of the season. The discovery was inevitable. How fortunate that it had been his discovery. Trevor was nothing if not self-serving. He’d never been a champion of his fellow man, and he didn’t intend to start now. No, he would pursue Emma Hatton with purely selfish intentions.

Emma sighed and shook her head sternly, jolting herself

back to reality. If you had just stayed in your room as you’d been

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told… she scolded herself. Then she wouldn’t have caught a glimpse of the most exquisitely crafted male she’d ever seen. He’d been perfect – like something out of a dream. His hair, a chocolate brown so dark it was almost black, had been wavy and thick, with long sideburns framing a square, chiseled jaw below wickedly full lips and a strong, aquiline nose. Perfectly defined eyebrows had framed eyes as rich and dark as his hair color. Eyes so full of depth that she’d been lost in her own startled reflection. At first, she’d thought him a ghost, or a trick of her overly-imaginative mind. Even after he’d spoken, his rich, tenor voice wrapping around her like a caress, she hadn’t believed he was real. After all, how many times had she dreamt of meeting her own Adonis in the darkened hallways of the vast home that served as her prison? And then he’d touched her – strong fingers gripping her hand in a gesture that was powerful, yet tender, commanding. That one touch had set her on fire, had made her senses come alive in a way she had never known before. Only the very real fear of discovery had jolted her back to reality, forced her to pull away and flee. If those approaching footsteps had belonged to a servant, she would have been safe, but if they’d belonged to her sister or, worse, her father, not even her mysterious Prince Charming would

152 have made remaining worthwhile. Slipping back inside the haven of her bedchamber, Emma undid the laces of her worn, outdated gown and sighed again. She was safe once more. She stripped down to her shift and sat at her dresser, studying her pale, simple reflection in the mirror. She unwound her hair slowly and reached for her brush, another daily ritual that seemed pointless, but one that she treasured nonetheless. She was accustomed to being secreted away – after all, it was the only existence she’d ever known. Her parents had considered themselves lucky; the Duke had been serving an ambassadorship in India at the time of his wife’s first pregnancy, and so no one in London society knew of Emma’s birth. Her affliction, as they called it, had been revealed when she was still an infant, and her nursemaid had noticed that she never made a sound. When she’d cried, she had simply opened her mouth in a silent wail and flailed her tiny fists in obvious frustration. Doctors had found her condition curious; unlike most mutes, she made no sound at all. She’d been three when her father was summoned back to England, the Duchess pregnant with Caroline, and the decision had been made to pass her off as a servant’s child during the journey. Once safely back in the Wellington stronghold, Emma’s mother had declared she was unable to completely disown her own

daughter, and so, Emma was treated as a member of the noble

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family within the household, given a tutor and a maid, but none in the outside world knew of her existence. She wasn’t allowed outside of the family estate under any circumstances. The doctor, when she required him, came to her, and was paid well for his discretion. Her mother was kind to her, but somewhat aloof. The servants seemed frightened of her. Her father ignored her entirely, and her sister seemed to thrive on tormenting her, regaling her with tales of the social world Emma would never herself see. Her imagination was a vibrant one, and she often passed the time lost in daydreams, of handsome, gallant lords who stumbled upon her by mistake and were so captivated by her that they vowed to rescue her from the her father’s cruel imprisonment. But the man in the hallway had been real. “So, what did you think of him?” Caroline appeared in the doorway, a trite smile on her face. Emma gave her a questioning glance over her shoulder, and continued brushing out her curls. “I’m speaking of Lord Caufield, of course,” her sister continued, taking a step into the room and shutting the door. “He told me he saw you.” Damnation. So it had been her sister in the hall. If their

154 father found out… “Oh, don’t look at me that way. Your little transgression is safe with me.” Caroline flopped onto the bed, her skirts rustling, arms flung prostrate at her sides. “ He is dashing, isn’t he? You can tell me, dear sister. You may not have a tongue, but you do have eyes, and anyone can see how handsome he is.” Emma nodded. She could see. Even with her limited exposure to men, and to the world in general, she knew he was extraordinary. She blushed and lowered her gaze, studying the lines of the parquet flooring. “Yes, I thought so. Well, then, you should be quite happy when he becomes your brother-in-law, don’t you think?” Her breath caught in her throat. Brother-in-law? Her sister was going to pursue him? Of course she was. All her life Caroline had taken what was rightfully Emma’s – and had relished in doing so. “Stay away from him, Emma,” Caroline’s tone was menacing now. “He’s mine.”

Trevor had hoped to sneak out of his townhouse

155 undetected, but his sister-in-law, by some amusing twist of fate, had decided to drop by earlier than usual, and now sat sedately in his study, a cup of tea held lightly in one graceful hand. “You seem anxious, dear brother,” she commented, her silky voice deceptively casual. “Have I interrupted something?” “As a matter of fact, you have,” he answered, attempting in vain to adjust the crooked knot in his cravat. He cursed under his breath and opted to start over, untying the slip of fabric and giving it a violent shake. “I’m afraid I have an appointment elsewhere this morning, and I cannot entertain you for long.” “The length of my visit, as always, depends entirely on you, Trevor,” Elizabeth Caufield, Countess of Devon, replied bluntly. “This appointment of yours wouldn’t happen to be an audience with the Duke of Wellington, would it?” “I’d tell you to mind your business, Madame, if I thought it would do a bit of good.” She grinned at him, perfect white teeth flashed behind cherry red lips. His sister-in-law was an attractive woman, and perhaps the only thing that had prevented Trevor from pursuing her himself had been her untarnished and unquestioned virtue. Now, of course, he was more than grateful for his decision to leave her to his brother, since she drove him absolutely mad. “I knew it!” she exclaimed gleefully. “Lady Winters said you seemed rather deep in

156 conversation with Lady Hatton the other night.” “Elizabeth, please,” Trevor groaned, unwinding his cravat again after a second failed attempt at perfection. “Don’t go spreading gossip; things are not what they appear to be.” “Oh, hush,” Elizabeth stood, a whirl of crimson silk, and crossed the room. Taking the cravat from his hands, she deftly tied the knot herself, smoothing the lapels of his coat with an approving nod. “Caroline Hatton is a fine young lady; it would be a wonderful match if you could persuade her father.” “Caroline Hatton is a little harlot in lady’s clothing,” he replied, reaching for his hat. “Now, before I leave, I’ll let you ponder the fact that my audience with her father has nothing to do with her at all.” He smiled in satisfaction at the scandalized expression on his sister-in-law’s face, and strode out the door to his waiting carriage. A short time later, Trevor was escorted into Wellington Manor and ushered into the Duke’s study. He had sent his request for an audience the day before, and the curt acceptance that had returned had contained a scrawling note from the Duke himself that he expected the meeting to be short. Wellington made no attempt to be civil. He didn’t bother to get up or shake hands, merely nodded by way of greeting. “I’m rather busy today, as you can see.” He gestured with a gilt

157 letter opener to the stack of correspondence littering his massive, mahogany desk. “So why don’t we dispense with the pleasantries, young man, and get down to business?” “Very well.” Trevor took a seat opposite the older man, his hands resting lightly on his thighs, doing his best to conceal his nervousness. “I’d like permission to speak to your daughter.” “Your reputation precedes you, Lord Caufield. I’m not surprised at your interest in Caroline, indeed I expected it. But given your penchant for debauchery, I am, to put it mildly, disinclined to grant your request.” Trevor grinned despite himself. “You are correct as to my reputation, your Grace, and I admit it is well-deserved. But you misunderstand what I am asking.” “I don’t believe I do, young man,” Wellington’s stare was icy. “My interest lies with your other daughter. With Emma.” The duke dropped the tiny blade with a clang and sat back, not bothering to hide his shock. “How do you know about Emma?” “I had the privilege of encountering her the other night. I confess I found her very captivating.” Wellington frowned. “I am not a stupid man, Caufield. And neither are you. Surely you realize the value of your

158 knowledge. Now, tell me what you really want.” “I want your permission to speak to her,” Trevor repeated. “If I grant your request, will you agree to stay away from Caroline?” Trevor bit back a laugh. A chance to see Emma and an excuse to avoid her simpering, spoiled brat of a sister? “Absolutely.” “I want your word, Caufield.” “You have it, your Grace.” Wellington was silent for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. Emma’s room is up the stairs to the left, at the end of the hall.” It was Trevor’s turn to be shocked. “I am simply to go up to her room? Unchaperoned?” “Yes.” The man was willing to sacrifice his eldest daughter’s virtue to protect his precious Caroline? Trevor should have been excited by such an easy, welcomed opportunity. Instead, he was angered by such unspeakable conduct. Not only was he calling his own daughter a whore, but the implication about Trevor himself, as a man who would associate with her, was clear. He asked through clenched teeth, “And may I see her again, or is this a one-time opportunity, your Grace?” “Come and go as you please, young man. But remember,

159 you have given your word about Caroline. And if you break it, I’ll see you ruined, and your brother alongside you.”

Emma started at the knock on her door. It took her a moment to identify the sound. No one ever knocked; they simply barged into her chambers as if it were their right, and she’d grown so used to the intrusion that she found herself unsure of how to react to the simple, polite gesture. She sat there, staring at the door, until the knock came a second time. Was Dr. Spencer due today and she had forgotten? No, she’d just seen him last month. Eventually, she rose on trembling legs and went to the door, opening it. Her Adonis stood before her, less disheveled than he had been during their previous encounter, but no less handsome. His long, muscular legs were encased in a pair of tan breeches so tight she could make out the ridged lines of his muscular thighs. Black boots polished to a glossy sheen began at his knees. A black waistcoat with silver buttons, left open, revealed a simple but crisp white shirt, and a crimson-colored cravat, creating a shock of color, was tied perfectly at his throat. She blinked, and lifted her gaze

160 higher – he was a full head taller than her, at least – to take in the dark waves of his hair and the startling perfection of his elegantly crafted face. This really was getting out of hand; she’d daydreamt about him ever since their clandestine meeting, but he’d never knocked on her door before. No, usually he came to her at night, in her bed…and did things no self-respecting noble woman, hidden away or not, should ever be dreaming about. Despite her sister’s possessive warnings, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She didn’t want to. “Forgive the interruption, Madame,” he said, with the same half-smile that had nearly made her swoon once before. Was there a bit of uncertainty in his voice? He seemed almost…nervous beneath the suave veneer. “Your father gave me permission to come and speak with you. Though we met the other night, we didn’t have the chance to be properly introduced. I’m Trevor Caufield, and you, I understand, are Lady Emma Hatton.” She nodded and wrung her hands in front of her, taking a few steps backwards. How could she explain to him that she couldn’t speak? And, more importantly, that though she was mute, she was not an imbecile and could understand him perfectly well? “Would you walk with me, Miss Hatton? The weather is divine, and I think perhaps you would be more comfortable in the gardens than here in your bedchamber with a stranger, would you

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not?” Emma nodded again. It was odd to have him in her bedchamber…well, fully clothed, anyway. Trevor stepped into the room and retrieved her cloak,

which was thrown haphazardly on her bed, and draped it across her shoulders. “Here,” he said, his hands lingering for just the briefest of moments, warm and comforting. She smiled but avoided his gaze. Her heart fluttered wildly in its cage at the slight contact, like a butterfly against a windowpane. Stepping back once more, he extended his hand in invitation to her. When she placed one trembling palm in his, he clasped it confidently and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Shall we, Madame?” And without waiting for a response from her, he led her towards the door. On impulse, Emma grabbed a sheet of writing paper and a pencil from her desk as she passed by it, and shoved them into the pocket of her cloak. They descended the stairs in silence, and she did her best to keep her head forward, but couldn’t prevent sneaking glances at his chiseled profile. His eyelashes were long, almost effeminate, and his lips were drawn into a firm line. She was vaguely aware of eyes on her – her father’s steward had frozen mid-stride to stare in

162 wonder, and one of the maids was watching with open-mouthed curiosity. Trevor seemed not to notice or care about the spectacle they created; he led her through the hall and out door to the back veranda with an almost regal calm, his steps measured and confident. Once they’d made their way outside and down the stone steps into the gardens, he slowed his pace, taking a deep breath of the fresh, sweetly scented air. Emma’s free hand at her side absently caressed the silky petals of a rose as they brushed past. They moved further into the gardens, away from the looming stone manor house. Set on the outskirts of London, the estate provided the best of both the city and the country, with easy access to both. Ages seemed to pass before Trevor cleared his throat with a muffled cough. Though she was anxious to hear him speak, Emma was enjoying the solitude, and the soothing heat of his presence. “I wanted to apologize for startling you the other night. And for my crass behavior. I was not aware of your…condition,” he finished awkwardly. She tried, unsuccessfully, to prevent a frown. Her condition. Her free hand curled into a tight fist, the nails digging sharply into her palm. Oh, how she hated that word. It was better than the one her father used – “disability” – but it still made her feel like an invalid. Less human.

163 “Your sister told me that you are not permitted to leave the estate. I am sorry that you have been treated so harshly by your family.” Emma drew her lips together in a tight line. The hand resting on Trevor’s arm constricted reflexively. Wonderful, the first person outside of her household to know of her existence considered her a charity case. You should have stayed in my imagination, Lord Caufield, she thought bitterly, because there, you were perfect. “I’ve offended you,” Trevor observed with a note of dejection. Emma slipped a hand into her pocket and withdrew the sheet of paper and the stick of graphite. She wrote her question swiftly, the script scrawled and imperfectly balanced upon her palm, then passed the paper to him. Why did you come here? He scanned the paper, and then his gaze locked on hers again. His eyes softened. “Because you have been treated harshly by everyone,” he said. She pulled her hand free of his arm and quickened her steps, just in time to keep him from seeing the tears that sprang to her eyes.

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Blast, Trevor cursed, instantly regretting the lie. This was not going the way he had hoped. To tell her the truth – that she had dominated his dreams, as well as his waking thoughts, without reprieve since their brief encounter, had seemed far too revealing for a seasoned rake such as himself. The cardinal rule for any womanizer was to never appear interested, no matter what. Nothing turned off a woman faster than an overeager fellow. But Emma was nothing like the snobbish, bored noblewomen with whom he usually had his casual affairs. And now, he’d given her the impression that his calling was done out of pity, which it certainly was not. It was infatuation, and raw, masculine need. He watched her lovely backside for a moment – one of the loveliest he’d seen, in fact – as she walked away, her shoulders stiff, her head held high with indignant pride. She had a slim waist, with hips that sloped outwards in graceful curves that were enticingly and utterly female. Her hair curled down her back, long and loose; tiny wisps of it lifted and danced around her head with the slight breeze. The rich golden waves shone like spun silk in the afternoon sun. She was no less beautiful in the full light of day than she had been in that darkened corridor.

“No, that isn’t the reason,” he blurted after she’d taken

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several steps. She paused and looked back over her shoulder expectantly. “I…” Trevor closed the distance between them, stopping just short of what he really wanted to do, which was take her in his arms and kiss her breathless. Instead he gently turned her around to face him, hands settled on her shoulders. “I had to see you again.” She cocked her head to peer up at him. Her lips were drawn taut in a disappointed frown and those azure eyes, glistening with fresh tears, threatened to drown his very soul. At the moment, he would have sacrificed himself willingly in those two liquid pools.

“You’ve bewitched me, milady. I’ve thought of nothing but your angelic face since we first met. Your father has done a great disservice to you – and the world – by keeping you locked away. The last thing I seek to do is cause you more pain.” She blinked, but her expression didn’t change, the look of profound sorrow she wore like a knife in his gut, the pain intensified by the knowledge that his own pride had made her so sad. “Will you sit with me a while? Allow me a chance to prove I’m not as great an arse I’ve made myself out to be thus far.”

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Emma’s ire had faded the instant he’d touched her. And the way he looked at her, how could she possibly decline? His brow was furrowed in obvious concern and he wore an expression of genuine embarrassment, but she read something else in his eyes, another emotion lurking just beneath the surface of his suave façade. Desire. With a nod, she led him deeper into the gardens to her favorite spot, a carved stone bench set beneath a trellis of bougainvillea and roses, surrounded by lilacs, lavender, and poppies. A sea of reds, blues, and purples flowed in gentle waves around them. She sat and patted the bench next to her. Trevor smiled and, lifting his coattails, took the seat next to her, perhaps a bit too close, his thigh brushing hers. She felt a spark of warmth at the contact, heat seeming to radiate from him into her, lighting her insides on fire. Emma saw him looking at her, and laid her palms flat, pantomiming a book open on her lap. “You like to read here?” Trevor interpreted. She nodded, pleased. Then she brought a finger to her temple and tapped twice. “And to think?” She nodded again. Most days, her thoughts were all she

had, but for some reason, they were clearer here.

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Her companion seemed equally pleased with this additional means of communication. His lips curled into a sly grin as he studied her with frank openness. “The flowers are lovely,” he said with a wink, “though not half as beautiful as you.” Blushing, Emma pulled another slip of paper from her pocket. You are a silver-tongued devil, Lord Caufield, she wrote, then passed the missive to him. His grin widened. “Trevor,” he corrected. “Call me Trevor. And yes, I certainly am.” They fell into a comfortable silence. She realized he was probably quite bored sitting there, but she was at a loss as to how to entertain him. She couldn’t exactly sing him a song, after all. And for her, the quiet was normal. After a time, Emma became aware of her hand in his, his fingers lightly stroking her skin. She didn’t know exactly when it had happened – one moment her hand had been in her lap, and the next it was in his. It was such a casual, confident gesture that nothing in the world could have seemed more natural at that moment. “I read a fairy tale once,” Trevor commented, tracing his thumb across her palm, “where the princess went to sleep for a hundred years, and could only wake with the kiss of a prince.”

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Emma’s eyes were fixed on her hand and the strange

sensations his touch was creating. She nodded absently. Perhaps she was just dreaming again, after all. “I wonder, Miss Hatton,” he continued, and she felt him bend closer, his breath stirring the curls of hair around her face, “what would happen if I kissed you?” Kiss her? Oh yes, she was certainly dreaming. But that was just fine, this was the best dream she’d had in ages. She turned her head and found his face so close to hers their noses touched. “May I, Madame?” He didn’t bother to wait for her acquiescence. The moment his lips met hers she was lost. Every sinful, decadent sensation she’d imagined over the past few nights floated to the surface of her mind at once, overwhelming her senses. Not even her own wicked dreams had prepared her for the thrill of his kiss. She would have moaned into his mouth, had she been able. The garden, the flowers, everything fell away; it was only his mouth on hers, and when she parted her lips, his tongue slipped inside, gently probing the recesses of her mouth, soft and silky smooth. It was a surprising intrusion – the books she’d read on intimate relations hadn’t addressed this particular nuance – but even more startling was the damp heat she felt between her thighs. That she could identify. Was she truly so wanton as to grow wet from a mere

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kiss?

But then he sighed against her lips, a purely male sound of satisfaction, and all thoughts of guilt or regret were swept away once more. When he finally withdrew, Emma was breathless and half delirious from the sheer pleasure of it. She opened her eyes a fraction and found him watching her tenderly. “You have such expressive eyes,” Trevor murmured. “So you see, my precious Emma, we have no need for words. You speak to me here,” he lightly traced his fingertips down her face, brushing her lids closed again. “And I listen here,” his hand came to rest over hers for a brief moment before he lifted them both and placed her palm over his heart. This time it was she who initiated the kiss, leaning in and pressing her lips against his, her hand still covering his heart. His arms came around her waist and pulled her closer against his chest, trapping her hand between their bodies as they molded together in what seemed like the most natural thing in the world. One hand slid up her back and settled in her hair, those firm, strong fingers massaging the base of her skull as he tilted her mouth to the side and delved deeper with his tongue. Then, just as unexpectedly as he had begun, he stopped, pulling away with a barely audible groan. He stroked her

170 cheek with his thumb, and she saw uncertainty register in those unfathomable, chocolate eyes. To hell with modesty, Emma decided in a flash of recklessness that was accompanied by a strange, calming clarity. This might be the only chance she had with him, with any man. She was going to take it. Her hand trembled violently as she wrote the question, and she nearly crumpled the paper and stuffed it in her pocket, but he snatched it from her hands before she had the chance. He read the note, then looked at her for a long moment, then read it again. “Are you certain?” he asked. She nodded, biting her lower lip. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Hatton. And yours, I promise.”

The pair snuck back into the house like thieves, hands clasped, slipping quietly up the stairs unnoticed and back into Emma’s bedchamber. Trevor had decided to halt his seduction, to give her time to adjust to his attention, and was about to tell her as much when she’d handed him the note asking him to take her

171 to bed. His first instinct, amazingly, had been to decline, but then his body had taken over, and now only one idea dominated his thoughts, her luscious form supine and willing beneath him. That gorgeous body of hers, twisting in pleasure from his touch. If the lady wanted him, who was he to deny her? His pesky conscience – which always sounded like his brother these days –whispered disparaging thoughts of scandal and ruin in his mind. His more prominent, less honorable voice countered each argument with a sound one of its own until Emma’s tiny hand squeezed his in silent reassurance, ending the internal debate for good. She had said she was sure, it was what she wanted. And, just as importantly, it was what he wanted. Once safely inside the large but simply furnished room, Emma moved to the large wooden chair that sat behind her writing desk and tried, unsuccessfully, to drag it across the room. The chair was massive – carved mahogany with embroidered cushions fastened to the seat, and the legs were complete with feet carved to look like claws. It was quite hideous, really, and had to weigh at least as much as this little golden-haired pixie, perhaps more. He watched her for a moment, both confused and humored by the display. When she lost her footing and nearly fell, however, he sprang to action, scooping her up into his arms before she hit the floor. He set her back down on her own after cradling her against

172 him for a brief moment, but did not step away from her, and did not release his grasp on her waist. “Whatever are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked gently, plucking a stray lock of hair from her face and smoothing it back against her temple. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming, so he didn’t fight it, pressing his lips to the silky skin of her cheek for one fleeting moment. She jerked her chin towards the door. Her small, button nose wrinkled in disgust as she looked back at the offensive furniture. “Yes, I gathered that, but why?” She looked infinitely frustrated with him, and flashed an irritated frown. Curling her thumb and fingers to form a circle, she brought her hand up to her face, peering through them with one sparkling blue eye. Again she nodded at the door. “Ah. We won’t be bothered,” Trevor began, but stopped himself. What could he say? Because your father gave me leave to come and fuck you as I please? Instead of finishing the sentence, he stepped over to the desk and dragged the chair in front of the door. Task completed, he turned back around to regard his companion, and felt another unwelcome stab of guilt. He was taking advantage, wasn’t he? Emma stood in the center of the room, hands clasped so tightly in front of her that the sharp points

173 of her nails dinted the pale skin of her hands. She chewed on her bottom lip and watched him carefully through half-lowered lashes, their blinking dusting the apples of her flushed cheeks. “Emma,” he said, “I would never dream of harming you. If you have changed your mind, I understand.” A moment passed, during which Trevor’s heart seemed to cease beating entirely in anticipation of her answer. Finally, she met his gaze, and with slim fingers undid the sash of her gown, letting the fabric fall. No further convincing was required. Trevor removed his jacked and tossed it over his shoulder onto the desk chair in a haphazard gesture. His cravat followed, and then his shirt. He bent and removed his boots, but left his breeches on. His cock swelled in silent protest of the continued restraint. He wanted her to be completely comfortable with him, to know that she was safe in his arms. And at the moment, she stood watching him like a startled doe, eyes wide, lips parted. The slightly increased rise and fall of her bosom revealed that she was very interested in his movements. Stepping back over to her, Trevor took her in his arms once again, loving the feel of her melting against him, timid, but trusting. He brushed his lips across her eyelids, then her cheeks, finally settling over her lips, his tongue teasing the corners of

174 her mouth. She tasted faintly of something sweet and sugary, overloading his senses, heightening his desire even further. When she began to respond to him, trailing her tiny hands up his chest to wind around his neck, he set to work untying the fastenings of her gown, loosing the fabric so that when he pulled away, only her upheld arms kept her body covered. Taking her hands in his, he lowered them, letting the dress fall to reveal the tops of her breasts. Trevor slipped the dress from her shoulders, and let the fabric flutter to the floor to pool at her feet. Emma’s hands immediately moved to cover herself from his gaze. “No you don’t,” he chided softly, catching her wrists and holding her arms at her sides. “Let me look at you.” Her blush deepened and she lowered her eyes. Trevor released one of her hands to tilt her chin back up. The soft candlelight glimmered off of her honey-colored hair, and her skin gleamed, pale and perfect. Her breasts were high and firm, two exquisitely shaped mounds tipped with rosy pink nipples that had already begun to tighten under his studious inspection. Her stomach, a creamy expanse of flat, smooth skin, led to a waist that narrowed prettily above the flair of her hips. Trevor’s gaze dipped lower, lingering on the flaxen nest of curls at the apex of her thighs and then lower still to the sculpted flawlessness of her legs.

175 “You are exquisite,” he said, honesty and reverence in his voice. She offered him a meek smile in response, but he felt her tremble. “Are you frightened?” She met his gaze with an incomprehensible stare. Go slowly, Caufield, he warned himself sternly, and his shoulders tensed as he fought to control the desire welling inside him. “Don’t be frightened, angel,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers and gently parting her lips with his tongue. “I’m about to take you to heaven.”

Relax, you idiot. Oh, but it was impossible to relax – or to think at all – with him touching her like that. His strong hands were stroking her shoulders, ghosting down the bare skin of her back, settling briefly around her waist before drifting back up again. Her breasts were pressing against the smooth expanse of his chest, creating a delicious friction against her nipples, which had begun to tingle and ache at the contact. She could feel his own arousal, the tell-tale bulge within his trousers, nudging against her thigh. Without breaking their kiss he lifted her into his arms

176 again and moved towards the bed, setting her down amongst the mass of blankets and pillows. Trevor pulled back and stood to remove his breeches. Emma watched him through her lowered lashes, studying every detail of the sculpted perfection of his chest, hoping to emboss the image into her memory. If this truly was her first and only opportunity to be a woman, she planned to remember it for the rest of her life. And if it turned out she was dreaming after all, there was no harm done regardless. His nipples were gorgeous, dark-colored beads, not unlike her own. A tuft of wiry curls covered his chest and trailed a path down the rigid contours of his abdomen to his navel, and then lower…his cock was much larger than she’d anticipated, and she felt a twinge of apprehension as she took in the sight of it, the long, pink shaft curving upwards towards his stomach from amidst a thatch of dark, wiry curls. Without thinking, she reached out and ran her fingers over the hard muscles of his chest, then pulled back just as suddenly, embarrassed. Trevor smiled at her, one hand extending to caress her cheek. “Look and touch all you like, angel,” he said, “I’m at your mercy.” He wasn’t, though. It was she who was at his mercy.

177 Anything and everything he asked, she was willing to give, if only she could have more kissing, more touching…more of him. She hoped her inexperience wasn’t so off-putting as to turn him away. The mattress sagged as he joined her, stretching out along her side, one hand propped beneath his head, the other tracing light circles across her stomach. “I can’t help but wonder,” he commented idly, voicing her own thoughts, “if you aren’t a dream, after all.” She placed a tentative hand on one of his broad shoulders and urged him closer. He came willingly, his hand drifting higher to cup the underside of one breast. When his lips touched hers, he brushed his thumb over her nipple, sending a spark of heat through her abdomen to settle between her thighs. Emma shuddered and arched her back, pushing into his caress. Encouraged by her reaction, Trevor’s mouth dipped lower, lips trailing down the column of her exposed throat to lick playfully at her breasts before covering one straining nipple. He suckled her with experienced determination, eliciting a silent cry as her body responded, her sex throbbing with wanton need. He slipped one hand between her legs, his movements so fluid and precise that she barely realized, at first, that he’d begun to stroke the most intimate recesses of her body. And it felt utterly divine, she acknowledged with a sigh,

178 succumbing to his expert touch and relaxing beneath his skillful, probing fingers. “Tell me, darling Emma,” he whispered huskily, his breath puffing hot against her wet flesh, “do you taste as sweet as you feel?” And with that he slid down her body, scorching her skin with kisses here and there, until he settled between her legs with calculated deliberation. For a brief moment, she wondered what he was up to. His tongue made contact with her sex and she drew in her breath sharply, bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. He teased her with his mouth, parting her slick folds and delving deeper. With each pass of his tongue her pleasure increased, and she felt herself spiraling towards some unknown conclusion. Slitting one eye open, she peered down and took in the sight of him between her thighs; it was scandalous, it was sinful. It was the most wondrous thing she’d ever experienced. But even as she began responding to his skillful ministrations, her body wanted more. Instinct had taken over, and instinct desired something decidedly more substantial between her legs than his tongue. Emma threaded her hands through his wavy brown hair and tugged, gently at first and then more insistent. Finally, he raised his head and peered up at her. “What’s wrong, darling?” She mouthed a single word, and his response – a wolfish

179 smile and a lick of his lips – conveyed his understanding as well as his anticipation. Please. “Spread your legs as wide as you can, sweetheart,” he instructed. “Your body will know what to do.” Following his command, she let her thighs fall apart, unable to suppress a shudder as his weight settled atop her, deliciously, splendidly male. She felt his erection pressing against her folds, seeking entrance. He nudged inside, ever so slightly, just enough to make her tremble from the promise of pleasure, and paused. “There will be some pain, I’m afraid,” he told her gently, brushing the hair from her eyes. “I can’t prevent that. But I believe you are ready for me.” Emma nodded, splaying her fingers across his shoulders, and gave him a nervous smile of encouragement. If he didn’t move soon, she thought she might die from sheer anticipation. Bracing his arms on either side of her, the corded muscles of his biceps straining, he pushed into her in slow, calculated increments. Her body stretched to accommodate him, stirring a myriad of unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, sensations. Then, suddenly, he stopped. “I’m there, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing his sweatslicked cheek to hers. “Please tell me you’re ready, because I can’t

180 hold back another moment.” She managed a nod, and no sooner had she given him permission than he surged forward, tearing through her barrier and burying himself deep within her. There was a brief, flickering moment of stinging pain, and Emma’s eyes watered as her body temporarily rebelled against the unfamiliar intrusion. But then, just as quickly, the pain began to ebb, replaced with raw, carnal need. Move, damn you, she pleaded silently, and tried to lift her hips beneath his weight in encouragement. He did more, pulling almost completely out of her warmth before surging forward once again, laying claim to her, taking what she freely gave. “This,” he told her through gritted teeth as he thrust harder, faster, “is the most basic of human needs. You feel magnificent. And you love it too, don’t you, angel? Tell me you like the feel of me inside you.” Emma nodded, her eyes never leaving his. She did love it; the glorious friction created by the steady rhythm of his cock, the absolute intimacy of this one, fleeting moment. It was more than sexual satisfaction. It was…completion. It was just as well that she had no voice, because if she could speak, then at this moment she knew she would have been

moaning words of love and unconditional devotion, things he

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undoubtedly did not wish to hear. The most wondrous moment of her life was likely little more than conquest to him. Fortunately, he didn’t allow her to ponder her emotions for long; she was swept away once again by the tide of need. It was as if she were climbing towards some strange peak, searching, longing for the release he offered. The sensations were alien but at the same time, familiar. Finally, she sensed the illusory summit and with a choked sob stepped off into an abyss of seemingly limitless pleasure. Her world became an explosion of color and sensation. Time ceased, and it was as if the moment would last forever.

This was quite possibly the best sex of his life, Trevor realized, not long after he’d hilted for the first time, claiming her virginity in one fluid thrust with a combination of pride and awe. Never had he felt this enamored by a woman before. It wasn’t just the feel of her creamy sex wrapping his cock in a caress of liquid fire, though that alone surely would have been enough – it was the look in her eyes as he took her. Her calm, trusting gaze never

182 left his, searing him with intensity equal to the sensations she was creating in his loins, only far more profound. She had given herself to him, and it meant something. To both of them. He didn’t have long to contemplate this interesting development, the fissures he felt in the formerly pristine façade of his rakish existence. Emotion threatened to break through, as raw and powerful and pure as the tide of lust that tensed his muscles and coiled inside him, waiting impatiently for release. To give in to one would be to give in to the other. Trevor felt her begin to come; her sex held his cock in a vise-like grip, and he tensed, grinding his teeth with the effort of holding his own orgasm at bay long enough to guide her through her climax. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears glistening at the corners, her mouth open in a perfect “O”, a silent scream. It was too much. She was too much. Perfect. “Angel,” he groaned, managing one last thrust before falling still, deep within her, and surrendering. His seed bathed her womb in a hot torrent, and tears threatened to spill over from the sheer force of his release, so overwhelmed was he by the intense sensations. Trevor rested his head against her shoulder, pressing kisses

183 to her alabaster skin as he fought to regain control of his breathing. It seemed like hours before he found the strength to move, and though he was loathe to leave her comforting warmth, he rolled onto his back, drawing her with him so that she was nestled against his side. Emma laid her head against his shoulder, and he pulled her closer, reveling in her flowery, feminine scent, tinged with the lingering odor of sexual satisfaction. This upwelling of emotional attachment wasn’t as sudden as he wanted to believe. Truth be told, it had been slowly building ever since he’d first laid eyes upon her. Purely selfish intentions, he’d told himself. Who had he been kidding? The thought of another man holding her as he held her now was enough to make his blood boil. He instinctively tightened his grip on her waist and she responded by nuzzling his shoulder. She’s mine, he thought selfishly. Mine. “Emma,” he muttered as he drifted to sleep, “you are more precious than anything I’ve ever known.”

“Are you sure about this?” Sebastian asked. Nine years older than Trevor, the 12th Earl of Lincoln and his younger, rakish

184 brother looked more like twins than siblings separated by nearly a decade of living. Sitting in the large, leather chair in his study, he’d spent the last hour listening patiently, if somewhat dubiously, as Trevor told him everything – meeting Emma in the hallway, his audience with the Duke, how he’d spent the previous afternoon, and most of the night, in her bed. Finally, he’d explained his intentions, and that had shocked Sebastian most of all. “Yes.” “Do you love her?” Trevor paused. “I don’t know, Sebastian. I’ve never been in love before, so it’s hard to say.” His brother frowned and sipped his brandy. “That doesn’t matter. When a man is in love, he knows it. Prior experience is not required.” “I’ve never felt for any other woman what I feel for her,” Trevor replied, clutching his own tumbler and swirling the amber liquid absently. Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. “You do realize, I’m sure, that the Duke won’t simply roll over and let you take his secret daughter from him. You’re going to have to fight for her. So you’d damn well better love her, little brother.” Did he love her? That was a good question, one he wasn’t entirely ready to know the answer to. For a career bachelor such

185 as himself, love had never been an issue. But it was possible that his heart had already conceded defeat; his mind was simply slow to catch up. Silently, he catalogued the recognizable emotions: attraction, lust, protectiveness, admiration, possessiveness… Yes, he was possessive of her. “I can’t seem to picture the rest of my life without her,” he said finally. “Then I guess we need a plan. Perhaps I should speak with the Duke myself and—” “Pardon the interruption, gentlemen,” Elizabeth said from the doorway. Neither man had heard her enter, and so neither knew how long she had been listening to their conversation. “Have you nothing better to do than eavesdrop on my troubles, dear sister-in-law?” Trevor asked, drawing a sharp look of warning from his brother. “Of course I do,” Elizabeth replied jovially, moving to stand beside her husband. She dropped a hand onto his shoulder, and Sebastian’s immediately came up to cover it, squeezing her fingers. “But nothing more interesting. I always knew yours would be an unconventional match, Trevor, to spite me if for no other reason. I must confess, however, that this surprises even me. And if I may, this venture of yours will never succeed without a woman’s touch.” “Is that so?”

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“Fortunately,” she smiled coyly, “I have a plan.”

“I want to marry you, Emma,” he blurted as soon as he’d closed to the door. She gaped at him. He hadn’t given her a chance to rise from her desk and greet him, hadn’t even bothered to knock at all, for that matter. Fortunately, she was used to such intrusions. Truth be told, she was surprised to see him again, and his impromptu proposal was downright incomprehensible. One trembling hand reached for the stack of paper on her desk. “To hell with what your father will say!” Trevor declared vehemently, answering her unasked question. He crossed the room and dropped to his knees before her, one hand reaching up to caress her cheek. “I won’t let him do this to you any longer, angel. Let me take you away from here.” This time he let her take up the graphite stick and waited patiently as she wrote. I thought you would grow tired of me, once you’d had me. “Well you were clearly wrong on that account, angel, because I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Emma considered that for a moment.

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“Do you regret last night?” he asked. “The things we did?” A shake of the head. She didn’t regret it in the least. “Then you won’t regret a lifetime of similar evenings, either. You know as well as I do that this is right, sweetheart.” It wasn’t that she expected to regret things further down the line; it was that she expected him to regret them. Taking another sheet of paper, she began writing again, revealing her biggest fear of all. My condition won’t go away. I’ll never speak. “I know that, Emma,” Trevor said with equal calm. “I don’t see you as less of a woman because of it, and I never will. I promise you. You are perfect in my eyes. Although,” he continued, taking hold of her hand, “I had an idea about that, but only if you are willing.” She raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Do you know sign language?” She shook her head. There’d been no point in learning it, no one had cared to learn it with her. “I’ve contacted a tutor who is willing to teach us both,” he revealed with a smile. “That is, of course, only if you want to.” If she wanted to? What a stupid question. She launched herself from the chair and into his arms. Trevor caught her

188 effortlessly with a muffled chuckle, enduring her overjoyed assault as she smothered him with kisses. “Be my wife, Emma,” he whispered against her lips, caressing the small of her back. It was too much too soon…wasn’t it? Part of her knew that it was. But even before she’d completed her arguments, her rational side admitted defeat, knowing that it was no match for her heart. Regardless of whether it was simple infatuation for him or not, she recognized her own emotion easily. She was, quite simply, head over heels in love. It wasn’t all that surprising, she supposed; she’d already been half-enamored with him from their first meeting, and when he’d appeared in her doorway just yesterday, even before he’d taken her to bed, she’d been lost. She hadn’t fallen in love with him because she’d slept with him. She had slept with him because she loved him. Was she willing to risk a broken heart sometime in the future just for once in her life, to be happy? Of course she was. “I nearly forgot, I brought you something.” Trevor reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew a small package, wrapped in a velvet cloth. She took the bundle from him and slowly unwound the fabric, revealing a silver rectangular box about the size of her palm.

189 A chain, long enough to slip around her neck, hooked through two loops at the top corners of the oversized pendant, and a third loop on one side held a small pencil. Seeing that the box was hinged, she snapped it open by way of a tiny, rose-shaped clasp. Inside sat a neat stack of paper, cut to fit perfectly. “I spent some time abroad in my youth,” he explained as she continued to examine the pendant. “In France I was introduced to a gentleman about my age, from Spain, whose father had been an acquaintance of my father. He was mute as well, and used a pendant similar to this one to communicate. I only met him a handful of times, and to be honest I’d forgotten about the fellow entirely. I had the silversmith make it just for you.” Turning the box over in her hands, Emma saw that it was engraved with the initials “E.C.” in intricate, looping letters. She raised her eyebrows at him questioningly. “I may have…gotten a bit ahead of myself there. E.C., for Emma Caufield. So you see, now you must say ‘yes’.” Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her forehead. Making use of her new gift, she scribbled a hasty message. You are used to getting your way, aren’t you? He flashed a grin. Oh, but she always melted at his smile. “Say yes,” he repeated. The man was nothing if not persistent. She smiled back at

190 him and Trevor stood, scooping her into his arms with a ‘whoop’ of triumph. “I’ll speak to your father today, angel,” his eyes swept over her hungrily as he advanced towards the bed, “but later. Right now, I have business with my bride.”

Trevor rapped on the door sharply with his knuckles, and then opened it at the permissive response from within. The Duke was seated exactly the same as he’d been the day before, and didn’t bother to look up from the letter in his hands. “Back again, Caufield?” he grunted. Trevor cleared his throat and stepped into the room, moving to the side to allow his companion entry. “Good afternoon, your Grace,” Sebastian said casually, removing his gloves with fluid grace. Pembroke did look up then, his eyes first wide, and then narrowing. “And to what do I owe this honor, Sebastian?” “I came to attest to the veracity of my brother’s intentions.” “What intentions?” “I’d like Emma’s hand,” Trevor supplied without preamble.

The Duke laughed. “Come off it, Caufield. What is it

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you really want? Money?” “I don’t need your money. I want to marry her, period.” “You gave your word to be discreet. I fail to see how introducing my daughter to the Ton satisfies that requirement.” “She’ll be introduced as Lady Emma Caufield, your Grace; your reputation will remain completely intact,” Trevor replied. Wellington’s eyes narrowed further. “I don’t understand it,” he said at last. “To be honest, neither do I,” Sebastian spoke up. “But his intentions are genuine, and I will give you my word as to that.” “I love her,” Trevor stated flatly. “And I don’t give a damn whether you understand it or not. You’ve given her every reason to be as cold, bitter, and hateful as you are. Yet despite all your cruelty, she is one of the most admirable women I have ever met.” He met the Duke’s malicious stare with a defiant one of his own. “I’m taking Emma out of here. The only question now is, will you try to stop me?” The older man heaved a sigh and brought one bejeweled hand up to rub at his eyes. “If you truly intend to introduce her as your wife, and not as my daughter, then no, I won’t stop you.” “I wouldn’t trouble yourself with that, your Grace,” Trevor’s anger finally boiled over, and he whirled on his heels,

192 stalking towards the door with clenched fists. He yanked it open, and narrowly missed the swirling bulk of satin and chiffon that hurtled through the door to land at his feet. “Caroline!” Pembroke hissed. “What are you doing?” “What are you doing, father?” Picking herself up from the floor, she smoothed her skirts with one hand and pushed the hair from her eyes with the other. “How could you?” “You heard the conversation, I assume; what choice do I have?” “He’s to marry me.” “The truth, your Grace, is that I expected your younger daughter to put up more resistance than yourself. For the record, though, I may be the only bachelor in London that hasn’t laid a hand on your daughter.” Trevor smirked at Caroline’s shocked gasp. He nodded to Sebastian; they had one final card to play. “I discourage my wife very strongly from gossiping, your Grace, as I’m sure you do as well,” the Earl said. “But the other day she heard something quite disturbing while taking tea with Lady Marbury, and happened to mention it to me when she came home. Apparently, the rumor amongst the London ladies is that Miss Caroline has been seen leaving Lord Winston’s home in the middle of the night, not once but twice now.” Pembroke scowled. “Caroline, is this true?”

193 “Lord Winston says it is,” Trevor supplied with glee. “I paid him a visit this morning. And according him, he clearly wasn’t the first, if you take my meaning.” The Duke sighed and rubbed his temples. “What do you plan to do with this information, gentlemen?” “Nothing,” Trevor answered. “Out of courtesy to my wife’s family, I plan to ask my sister-in-law to dispel the rumors. Seeing that you are so generously giving your blessing to my marriage, of course.” “So you do plan to blackmail me then. The both of you.” “Not at all,” Sebastian replied. “I simply see no reason why we shouldn’t find mutual benefit from the situation. Do you?” “Just get out, gentlemen.” The Duke sounded weary, and waved one tired hand at them. “Take her and get out.” The brothers turned to leave, and found their path blocked. “She’s dumb! And you’ll have dumb children as well,” Caroline seethed. “She’s perfect, and our children will be perfect. Now kindly step aside.” “No. I won’t. You can’t do this to me!” She balled her fists and squared her shoulders, glaring at him angrily. With a sigh, Trevor grabbed her waist and hefted her out

194 of the way, dumping her into an overstuffed chair before striding out of the study, his brother on his heels… And nearly collided with Emma, who was waiting impatiently in the hall. “Pack your things, angel,” he said, gathering her in his arms and cradling her against his chest. “We’re leaving. You can stay at my brother’s home until we’re married, and then we’ll move you into my townhouse. Just a few more sundry details, and then it’s just you and me – forever.”

Three Years Later

Emma reclined on the chaise, one hand loosely grasping her book, the other idly scratching her swollen belly. It wouldn’t be much longer, now, but at the moment she felt like a beached whale. Doctor’s orders, she was on bed-rest until the child came, which she found inordinately frustrating. Like her husband, she found most of London’s society gatherings to be boring affairs, much preferring simple dinners with family and friends. Old habits died hard, and after a lifetime of

195 being sheltered from gossip and prying eyes, she valued the peace and quiet. But, being confined to her bedchamber for the last two months was a bit more solitude than even she liked, and she felt downright useless most of the time. Fortunately, she had two people anxiously waiting on her hand and foot. She glanced down at the tangled head of blonde curls and the little girl attached to them, who sat drawing happily on the floor. “Catherine?” Trevor’s voice came from down the hall, getting closer. “Catherine, where are you?” The little girl looked up and smiled, her face instantly lighting at the sound of her father’s voice. Then she was up and running. “Daddy!” she squealed. “Daddy!” Emma smiled, listening as her husband and daughter reunited in the hallway, then waited patiently for them to reappear at her door. “And how is your mother today, precious?” Trevor asked, winking at his wife and giving the toddler a pat on the head. Emma offered him a wan smile. Setting down her book she signed quickly and effortlessly. He laughed when she finished, closing the distance between them and kissing her forehead. “You said that when Catherine was born too, angel. I know you don’t mean it.” She made a face and her hands moved in a flurry. But she

196 couldn’t prevent a grin even as she tried to feign annoyance. Some things never changed, she thought fondly. Her husband was as stubborn as ever; and he still always got his way. And they were both still hopelessly in love. Another chuckle. He took her hand in his and kissed her again. “Fortunately, we have the rest of our lives to debate that. After all, I promised you forever.” She gave his fingers a squeeze. Forever sounded just fine.

About the Author



With a Bachelors degree in English and Philosophy and a Certification in Paralegal Studies, Kayleigh Jamison spends her days attending law school, and her nights immersed in the rich fantasy worlds of her imagination. Though some would consider her two chosen professions at odds with each other, Kayleigh wholeheartedly disagrees, citing the importance of both the written word and human interaction involved in both fiction and the law. She currently lives in Jacksonville, Florida, with her two precocious felines, Angel and Jack.

There was probably nothing less romantic than London in the middle of a dreary, sodden spring rain…but then again, thought Louisa Drury wryly, damn the weather, she wasn’t exactly looking for romance. Quite the contrary, she told herself firmly. Alighting from the carriage, she glanced up at the dark façade of the townhouse and shivered, drawing her cloak a little tighter. Moisture streaked her cheeks, caught on her lashes, and dampened the wool around her shoulders as she climbed the steps. Lifting the knocker, she let it fall, merely lifting her brows as the door opened. “Lady Costain calling. I anticipate the Duke is expecting me.” The impeccably dressed servant inclined his head and 199

200 ushered her in, murmuring as he took her wrap, “He is indeed, Madame. Please, follow me.” She did so, down a polished hallway, the delicate scent of beeswax and lemon drifting in the air. The salon where she was shown was almost feminine in its beauty, with pastel chairs and soft carpeting, the paintings on the walls recognizable masterful works by prominent artists, although the theme was all cavorting cherubs and enchanted isles, which she found particularly insipid and boring. “My mother’s handiwork; do not blame me.” Her lips parting in surprise, she glanced over to see a masculine figure standing in the corner by one of the rain-streaked windows, the dusky evening light barely illuminating wide shoulders and severely tailored clothing. The Duke of Hartley stood in half-shadows, his features hidden and obscure, which wasn’t surprising considering his reputation . Louisa said, “I beg your pardon?” “This room.” One long-fingered hand gestured gracefully at the furnishings. “I did not choose the decor, and if I had, it would not include pink settees with sickly green pillows.” Stifling a laugh, she said, “You are exonerated. At least from having poor taste.” “I wasn’t sure you would come.” His tone was subdued and

speculative.

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“After our last encounter, I considered not coming,” she said bluntly. “You forgot the rules, your Grace. I am not your possession and jealousy is not allowed. Your petulance over my having a conversation with Lord Alverney was misplaced and irritating.” “We are lovers. I thought that precluded rules, my dear.” The man certainly had the knack of being irritatingly pragmatic and straightforward. However, her independence was hard won and she wasn’t going to relinquish it, not even for a man as skillful and wildly attractive as the infamous Hartley. Besides, she knew for a fact he disliked submissive women and tired of them quickly. Louisa shook her head decisively, gazing at him from under her lashes. “You are wrong, William. Rule one, of course, is that everything about this…this liaison, is under my control. You might have title and wealth and power, but if you want my body, I dictate when, where, and of course, how.” He elevated a brow at her frankness. Tall and dark, he was not only dashingly good-looking but also seemed vaguely dangerous, which was one of the things that so intrigued her about him. “And if you want a certain part of my anatomy, which you seem to thoroughly enjoy…why is it I have no say?” Certain of her power, Louisa simply smiled. “Because I venture that you want me more than I want you.”

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Stepping a little into the light, she could see his chiseled

features were impassive, his long-lashed dark eyes unfathomable. “You are so sure?” “Yes.” That wasn’t precisely true; she wanted him with a hunger that shook her world, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Politely, he inclined his head. “All right. It would be impolite for me to contradict such a beautiful lady. I concede I want you. I also concede that half of London is panting after you, Lucy, so spare me the details of what other suitors are slavering at your skirts, eager to lift them. What is my penance for my objection to Alverney’s unconcealed lustful pursuit?” “Do you want to have me again?” His lashes flickered a fraction. “Yes.” “I agree, we are…extremely compatible in some ways, so I like that idea as well…with conditions.” With a small dimpled smile, she plucked a card from the safe refuge of her bodice, setting it on one of the elegant little frilly tables. “Meet me here, at this address, at midnight tonight.” Cocking a brow, she added in husky voice, “If you are adventurous enough, that is. It just might prove an evening not for the fainthearted, your Grace.”

The weather was hellish, his mood was foul, and damn the

203 woman if she didn’t have him dangling on her string like a puppet. William Westfield, the seventh Duke of Hartley, stalked up to the dark carved door and rapped sharply, wondering if he wasn’t three ways a fool. Yes, he found Louisa Drury fascinating and passionate, but her wickedly brash need to make sure she dictated every aspect of their mutually agreeable relationship was damned irritating. And a little arousing, if he wished to admit it. Oh, he had no problem with her strength, or her willful sensuality; in fact, he embraced it. But she tended to walk an edge he wasn’t sure he wanted to topple over. Or maybe he did, and that is what brought him back time and again. Bloody hell. The door slowly opened. The figure behind it was dressed in regular evening clothes, a thin man with a cadaverous face and impassive expression. He intoned, “Your invitation, please.” Taking the card from his pocket, William handed it over, not sure whether to be offended or amused. As a peer of the realm, he admittedly was used to a little more deference when he arrived on someone’s doorstep, and he certainly was not accustomed to standing in the rain. “Come in, sir.”

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At least the foyer was dry and warm, even if a bit dark.

Surveying his surroundings, William allowed the concierge to take his dripping cloak. There was nothing remarkable about the paneled walls, the same anonymity evident here as in the outside of the plain townhouse. “This way, please.” In the same deadpan tone, the man gestured toward the shrouded hallway with a slow gesture, and picked up a small lamp. Curious, and glad to be out of the damp night, William followed. They reached a long stairway, and the servant stopped, lifting his light. “Lady Costain wishes you to proceed to the first door on the right. She is waiting for you.” At just those words, William could feel himself hardening, his erection swelling in the confines of his tight breeches. “Thank you,” he said, eyeing the door in question with undeniable male anticipation. His new mistress was inventive and wildly sensual, so the next few hours should be pleasurable. However, he wasn’t quite certain why they couldn’t simply retire to his townhouse—or hers— for that seemed the most simple and straightforward approach. Their romance wasn’t particularly clandestine, so all the mysterious secrecy made him speculate over just what she might be up to this time. Climbing the stairs, he hesitated only a moment, hearing the low murmur of a voice inside, not certain if he needed to knock

or simply enter. The hallway beyond was the same as the rest of

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the house, undecorated but lined with similar doors in the dimly lit corridor, though the carpeting was thick and expensive and the vague scent of perfume drifted in the air. Putting his hand on the knob of the door, he opened it and stepped inside. The room itself was a stark contrast to the plain emptiness outside. Furnished richly, dark blue velvet hangings framed a huge bed; the mantle was marble—probably Italian—and the rug beneath his booted feet was done in delicate shades of blue, pale green and pink. Two chairs nestled before the fireplace, and he realized with surprise both were occupied. One by Louisa, looking spectacular in a dark dressing gown, her long fair hair loose in shining curls down her back, and the other by a young woman he had never seen before. Shutting the door behind him, William said coolly, “Good evening.” Louisa smiled at him, a hint of wicked mischief in that tempting curve of her soft lips, her blue eyes half-veiled by lush lashes. As always, he was struck powerfully by her graceful, stunning beauty, his hunger a palatable thing. The dressing gown was open enough to expose the entire upper parts of her full breasts, and he could see the rosy hint of one areola. “Hello, your Grace. You are a trifle late. We were just discussing starting without you.”

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“Were you now?” A little wary, William walked over to

politely bow over her hand, languidly proffered as she reclined in the chair. She was fully nude beneath the thin robe; he caught the glimpse of one slim leg as she shifted a little and the material gaped open. “This is Anne,” Louisa informed him, indicating her companion. “Anne, please meet William.” The deliberate omission of his title and last name did not escape him and he felt another one of those small tremors of curious anticipation, mixed with misgiving. He greeted the young woman, who was dark-haired and pretty, with olive skin and huge dark eyes. Large opulent breasts were barely concealed under a thin silk wrapper, and when she spoke, her accent was charming but pronounced. “I am very pleased to meet you.” She added in a purr, “Very pleased.” Her amused gaze traveled pointedly to where his growing erection bulged in his tailored, tightly fitting breeches. He was not an unworldly man, and having two almost naked women together in a bedroom waiting for his arrival was a promise of a delightful interlude. However, knowing Louisa’s penchant for keeping control, he said neutrally, “The pleasure is mine. May I ask, since we are on that subject, what exactly it is you have in mind this evening?” “Certainly.” Louisa stood, untying her robe and letting it

207 slip free, her nude body gleaming in the light of several lamps that emitted a soft glow. “Anne and I have been friends for years and she’s asked before, but…well, I wasn’t sure. I have never been with a woman before, but I think the notion intrigues me. I thought you might want to watch.” God yes, was his first reaction, his cock stiffening further. He knew every inch of her delectable body, from the weight of those gloriously firm breasts to the scent and feel of the delicious heat between her long, pale legs. Louisa moved a little closer, placing her hand on his chest, the weight light through the fine fabric of his shirt. Gazing up at him, she said in a sultry whisper, “Don’t worry, darling, you’ll still get to fuck me. You’ll just have to wait your turn.” “And then I get to watch,” Anne said playfully, covetously staring at his lover’s nude body. She licked her full red lips, staring at Louisa’s breasts. “You have the most beautiful tits, Lucy. Please… he’s here now, can we move to the bed?” Reaching up, Louisa lightly touched William’s mouth, tracing his lower lip with the tip of her finger. “Why don’t you undress while we…entertain ourselves for a few moments. Then you can join us.” “Whatever you wish,” he said almost tersely, his cock so hard and throbbing already that he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t spend

208 himself before he ever got his ‘turn’. He tugged his cravat free as he watched Anne discard her robe and both women walk to the bed, hand in hand. When Anne, her long dark hair flowing down her back, slid her arms around Louisa and kissed her, he had to suppress a low groan-- the sight was so erotically charged and arousing. Their breasts pressed together, the pliant flesh lifting, and their mouths moved softly. He was jealous as hell, he was hard as a rock, and he couldn’t wait to see what came next. Sitting down, he started to jerk off his boots as they climbed onto the bed.

This might be one of her more outrageous impulses, Louisa thought hazily, but William had come and he was there watching. She wasn’t personally attracted to women, but it was completely arousing to know he waited, and if one was going to fulfill a naughty fantasy, it certainly had to end with his glorious cock between her legs. Anne had been pressuring her for years to experiment with female sex, but she had always declined because the idea simply really didn’t appeal to her. However, throw the dangerously attractive Duke of Hartley into the mix and she suddenly found some enthusiasm for the idea. It was adventurous, which she knew he preferred. The truth was, she was willing to be as eccentric, wild, and intriguing as she

could possibly be to make sure he didn’t tire of her.

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A warm mouth covered her nipple, sucking gently, while a slim hand stroked the other breast. If felt odd to feel the brush of another woman’s erect nipples on her skin as Anne moved, tasting, licking and touching. Her friend was wet too, their legs entwined, and she rubbed her sex periodically against Louisa’s thigh and moaned against her nipple. “I want to taste you, Lucy,” Anne whispered. “God, I can’t wait to taste it as you come.” Becoming aroused was not as easy as when a man made love to her, but Louisa still could not help but make a small sound of pleasure as the woman touching her slid downward and kissed a path across her stomach. Willingly she spread her legs, and Anne eagerly settled between them, her mouth pressing lightly against her cleft. A rush of moisture followed the first foray of a skillful tongue between her labia, and Louisa could feel her vaginal muscles clench, an involuntary response to the exquisite pleasure. Her hair a dark fall across Louisa’s thighs, Anne moaned, licking, nibbling, then pressed back to find the small nub that swelled and grew with the carnal ministration of lips and tongue. Louisa could feel the rise of her orgasm from the stimulation, the fact that a woman was giving that sensation no longer important. She arched, opening wide, the soft wet sounds of Anne’s mouth

210 greedily working against her throbbing sex filling the silence of the room. Her hand went her breasts, rubbing her nipples as she moaned and reached for that wondrous peak, knowing her climax was very, very close. A moment later she cried out, a small scream of pure pleasure, as her body began to shake, her womb contracting with small, pulsing tremors. Reveling in it, Louisa shut her eyes and drifted, finally going limp. Anne lifted away, her voice thick with arousal. “It’s your turn to play, William. Why don’t you bring that glorious erection over here and put it to good use.” Languid in the aftermath of orgasmic release, Louisa still felt a small quiver of anticipation. It was true, William did have a large cock, right now full and magnificently high against his flat stomach. His body was muscular and hard, and he moved with cat-like grace toward the bed, his glittering gaze on the apex of her still open thighs. Climbing onto the bed, he didn’t even glance at Anne, who had lain down beside her, her hand moving slowly and rhythmically between her own thighs. Louisa lifted her arms and her hands touched his shoulders, a small moan escaping her throat as he positioned himself between her legs and guided the tip of his shaft to her vaginal opening. She was very wet with the sexual fluids of her earlier release, and he

211 thrust in easily, sinking to the hilt, a sound of satisfaction coming from deep in his chest. Anne whispered in obvious arousal, “God yes, that’s it, fuck her hard.” “As you wish.” Whether it was the suggestion or just his own rapacious need, Louisa wasn’t sure, but he certainly seemed to comply. Normally, he was a controlled lover, using finesse and skillful techniques—acquired no doubt in the beds of his former highborn mistresses—but the rhythm he set now was both wild and fast, his hard cock plunging in and out in long, fierce strokes. It felt incredible. She climaxed again in a few moments, clinging to him, her thighs tightening as she twisted and trembled with the sheer physical joy of it. Showing some measure of mercy, he slowed a little, kissing her lightly as the waves of pleasure crashed and ebbed, but as soon as she began to recover, he settled back into his wickedly wild pace. She couldn’t take it, Louisa thought in hazy ecstasy, as her third climax crested, her head falling back as she arched and cried out, her nails digging into his muscled shoulders. This time he went with her, going still as he groaned, the rush of his ejaculation hot and liquid deep against her womb. Only abstractly did Louisa hear Anne’s scream of release, her body arching as her hand moved

212 frantically between her legs. When Louisa opened her eyes, she found he stared at her, his gaze a mixture of amusement and dark desire as he braced himself above her on his elbows. A lock of dark hair hung rakishly over his brow, and his beautifully modeled mouth curved in a wry smile. “Am I playing along to your satisfaction, my lady?” It was Anne that answered, her lissome body stretching like a cat’s, one hand caressing Louisa’s bare shoulder. She purred, “You are doing marvelously, sweet William. Luckily, the fun has just gotten started.”

The club was quiet, the conversations muted, their usual table in the corner private enough for even this type of personal conversation. Reaching for the brandy decanter, William generously refilled his glass. “Quite frankly, I’m the most happily exhausted man in London.” Robert grinned, his younger brother’s expression a mixture of male speculation and open envy. “I can only imagine your pain,” he said dryly. “Louisa Drury is a stunning woman and if she is as sexually adventurous as you claim, you are one lucky bastard.” It was true, and though he thought he’d never find a woman

213 that was such a combination of beautiful refined lady and audacious bedmate, he was completely entranced. “Nothing pleases her more than to tie me up,” William admitted, “because she then has the upper hand completely. Of course,” he smiled and lifted a brow, “what she does after I’m tied hand and foot is distinctly worth being bound like a trussed chicken. The lady in question has one very talented mouth.” “Her late husband was not a particularly likeable fellow. Perhaps she’s wary because of her previous less-than-perfect marriage. As far as I know, you are the only man to be able to get into her bed, though plenty of others have tried.” “I know.” William took a bracing sip from his glass. “From what I understand, he was a jealous tyrant who wasn’t above using physical retaliation for any imagined slight. Too bad he expired of a fever over a year ago, as I’d be pleased to kill him with my own hands. I can tell she is reluctant to trust again, though I am doing my best to convince her.” “Really?” Settling back in his chair, Robert elevated his brows. “Could this be serious?” “Perhaps. I admire her spirit, her sense of humor, her remarkable intellect, not to mention—” “Those spectacular breasts,” Robert supplied cheekily. “We all admire those, even if we are not allowed the same privileges you

214 are graced with, brother. Tell me, what are you going to do, ask her to marry you?” It had occurred to him, though this was the first time a woman had ever even tempted him to walk down the matrimonial path. “She would need a lot of persuasion,” William said with a small sigh. “Right now we are simply indulging each other’s passionate natures. I think if I mentioned marriage, she would feel stifled and oppressed. All the sexual license is her way of emphasizing her freedom to do as she wishes.” Lifting his glass in a small salute, Robert said sardonically, “Once again, you are one lucky bastard, Will.”

This was her favorite part, Louisa thought, wiggling into position. That purely male sound he made as she lowered herself slowly and surely onto his stiff, swollen penis, and the hungry look in his eyes as he watched her take every long inch. William’s thick lashes were lowered slightly over his dark eyes, his hands bound to the bedposts as he lay on his back. Her bedroom was dark, except for one low lamp, the soft glow just enough so that he could see the way her breasts swayed as she began to ride his cock, lifting up enough so it almost slid free of her body, and then sinking down until it completely, wonderfully, filled her. He was a tireless lover, never denying even her most

outrageous suggestions…she blushed when she recalled some

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of things they’d done. And while not all of it was something she wanted to try again, since they had begun their tempestuous affair, her life had been delightfully exciting. For a man with a reputation for dalliance and departure, he was certainly not acting bored, either. It was a little frightening to contemplate how she would feel if he decided to turn elsewhere. “That’s so damned good,” he muttered in a husky whisper completely unlike his normal cool tone. “Jesus, Lucy, you are so hot and tight.” Leaning forward, she kissed him, a slow provocative pressure of her mouth and tongue. “You feel huge,” she whispered against his lips, “and I can’t wait to make you come inside me.” “Then by all means don’t wait,” he responded in a strained voice, his arms flexing slightly, “but I have to warn you, I’m close as hell.” Since she’d licked and sucked his cock before mounting him, she wasn’t surprised. Sliding up, she closed her eyes as she sank back down, sensation flooding every nerve ending, her vagina tightening. “I’m close too.” So in tune sexually to her hot-blooded lover, she could sense the moment his control wavered and broke, and her own climax rushed in response. She pushed down hard, pleasure rippling

216 through in small exquisite waves, feeling the flex of his shaft as he went rigid and spilled his seed. Moments later, sprawled comfortably across his chest, she sighed against his neck. “I suppose I should untie you, darling. Your arms must be aching.” “If they are, I haven’t particularly noticed.” His laugh ruffled her disheveled hair. “Though I would like to hold you.” She would like it too, but it made her feel at a disadvantage. He was a large man, and when he held her so effortlessly it reminded her of the differences in their respective sizes. It reminded her that if he wished to hurt her, it would only be too easy. Of course, William was not someone who would do such a thing. The problem was that though her mind recognized that important fact, her instincts were still geared toward safety. Even the fact she had fallen completely in love with the notoriously, determinedly single Duke of Hartley did not overcome her insistent feelings of vulnerability. Actually, it made her feel more vulnerable. Her body was one thing, but her heart was at risk. He was a confirmed bachelor and she had no desire to marry again. Their relationship was wonderful in many ways, but it was inevitably doomed to end. Rising up, she tugged the knots of the silken ties free.

217 Almost immediately his arms came around her, pulling her against his chest in a tender embrace. “That’s better.” His mouth traced her temple, sliding down her cheek. “I love the feel of you against me. I love the fragrance of your hair, and the way you look at me, as if we are speaking without words. And that is just the beginning. Tell me, Lucy, do you think you could ever give this up?” It was so much an echo of her thoughts she was startled. After a slight hesitation, she said cautiously, “You are a very talented lover, your Grace.” “Is that all I am? A stiff cock that pleases you?” The unconcealed reproof in his tone took her by surprise. Tilting her head so she could look into his eyes, Louisa stammered, “I was not trying to insult you, it was a compliment. And no, that is not all you are to me.” “What am I then?” The man I love. The words were simply too difficult to say. His dark gaze direct, William said evenly, “All right, I can go first, if you like. I am infatuated with you, true. But it is not like anything I have ever experienced. I am not an expert on the subject, quite the opposite, but I know I am also deeply in love with you. If you would contemplate becoming my wife, I will agree to whatever terms you offer. Even,” a small smile twitched the corner of his mouth, “if it means being tied to the bedposts the rest of my life.”

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Marriage? She’d vowed to never go down that road again,

but she had also never counted on meeting someone like William. A slow warmth began to thaw her icy resolve to stay single forever and sample whatever delights life had to offer. After all, it wasn’t as if he denied her anything she had ever wanted. With a small secret smile, she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. Lifting her head, she whispered, “We might be able to come to an understanding, your Grace. As long as the terms are at my discretion, of course.” “Of course,” he agreed, his arms tightening and his mouth seeking hers again.



About the Author

Emma Wildes is the author of over twenty novels, most of them set in the Regency period. She loves history, and she loves to hear from her readers. Please visit her at www.emmawildes.com