by EM BROWN
Deana contemplated what had been said. Bhadra might know better than most the true sentiments of Lord Rockwell. Perhaps he even confided in the maid. That he enjoyed his time with her, however, did not negate his preference for Lady Isabella.
“Thank you, Bhadra,” Deana acknowledged of the attempt to console her. “It has been a pleasure to know you.”
Bhadra made a curt nod and finished dressing Deana for dinner. Deana looked at the reflection of herself in a pale blue frock with white lace edging. She wished there could be another night in which she could wear the sari. She had felt beautiful then.
At dinner neither Lord Devon nor Lady Isabella were present. Though she had Rockwell all to herself, he seemed preoccupied and they conversed little. Madame Follet had the card tables brought out after dinner. Deana encouraged Rockwell to play, thinking it might lighten his mood. They had just sat down to a round of vingt-et-un when Lord Devon and Lady Isabella appeared. Contrary to her quietness after the picnic earlier, Lady Isabella seemed in cheerful spirits. She flashed them a large smile as she fluttered her ivory handled fan. Lord Devon was his customary self.
“I might as well hand over my money now, eh?” Devon quipped as the pair sat down at their table.
Deana raised a quizzical brow.
“Are you not a maestro at this game, Miss Sherwood?”
“I have played it many a time,” Deana replied, “but there is always the element of luck, which no man can master.”
“As there are four of us, perhaps a game of whist is in order.”
Deana looked over at Rockwell, whose countenance had darkened considerably since the advent of the couple.
“Very well,” she agreed for a few hands of whist was surely harmless.
“Now, what shall the stakes be?”
“Whatever you wish,” Lady Isabella replied. “There can be no amount Rockwell here can ill afford.”
“You would have to carry us both,” Deana said quietly to him, “as I am, well, low in the way of funds.”
Devon waved dismissively. “Rockwell here can front you any sum you desire. For myself, I prefer stakes of a different sort. Perhaps you would care to join me, Miss Sherwood?”
Beside her, Rockwell stiffened. The Baron seemed more displeased with Devon than ever.
“What manner of stakes?” she asked.
“If we win, you join us in the East Wing tonight. If you win, name your price.”
Rockwell straightened as if interested. Deana wondered what he would name as the price. Would he ask for the Lady Isabella? As for losing, venturing into the East Wing could not be so bad. After all, the Lady Isabella was staying there.
“Why not?” Deana replied.
Chapter Fourteen
DEANA WAS CONSCIOUS OF Rockwell’s stare but began shuffling. He put his hand upon hers to stop her.
“I have not agreed to the terms,” he said.
“The stakes are quite favorable, Halsten,” Lady Isabella said. “I wonder that you would turn them down? Surely our company is not so abhorrent?”
“Or perhaps it is,” Lord Devon remarked, his own tone now as solemn and quite out of character.
Deana glanced between the two men. Had something transpired between the two?
“Or perhaps he is fretful,” Lord Devon continued, assuming his carefree manner once more, “that his skills are not up to par for the East Wing.”
“What is required of our presence in the East Wing?” Rockwell asked, his voice low and dark.
“Merely that you engage with us and mirror the amusements of the East Wing.”
Silence.
“No one will come to harm,” Devon stated. “As you are well aware, one has only to employ a safety word to bring all activity to a halt.”
“The East Wing is quite exhilarating,” Isabella addressed Deana. “You ought not leave Chateau Follet without experiencing it for one simple night.”
“Yes, I should like to,” Deana said. Though it may well ruin her stay at Follet, she wanted to force Rockwell’s hand should they win.
“Miss Sherwood, a word with you,” Rockwell said rising to his feet.
Deana followed him over to the sideboard. She could tell he was displeased, but she could not determine who or what was the main culprit.
“I did not grant you permission to agree to Lord Devon’s terms,” he said to her.
“You proposed I honor three rules in coming to Chateau Follet,” she returned. “They had nothing to do with playing cards.”
“I know not what Devon has planned, and I would sooner task a snake not to eat a large, fat mouse before it.”
“Then you have only to win. If you wish, I will grant you the option of stating the reward should we win.”
He seemed to contemplate the enticement, then looked at her with searching eyes. “Are you certain you would wish to venture into the East Wing?”
Inside, she shook her head most vociferously, but she was assured in her speech. “Yes, I profess a great curiosity.”
It was the truth, and if Lady Isabella could tolerate it, surely she could do no worse.
They returned to the table.
“It seems I am outvoted here,” Rockwell said.
“Capital!” Devon cried. “Let us begin!”
Deana took a deep breath and handed the cards to Devon to shuffle. Rockwell then cut the cards. Her hands trembled a little as she dealt the cards. To her surprise, Rockwell called to a servant for wine and poured them each a glass. Deana took a welcome sip of the port and waited for Lord Devon to play the first trick.
Devon and Isabella won the first score, and Deana wondered if she had been hasty in agreeing to the game. Despite her vast experience at cards, she did not often play games with partnerships. Cards had become more of a vocation than a form of amusement for her, and it had been some time since last she had played whist. Lord Rockwell, however, appeared well versed in the game. In the next round, he won enough tricks to gain them two points. Then Rockwell and Deana, feeling more relaxed after finishing her port, secured a third point. Devon and Isabella won a point from the following hand to put themselves just one point behind Rockwell and Deana.
“This could go on all night!” Isabella lamented.
“Technically impossible as the partnership to first reach five points wins,” Rockwell explained.
They played two more hands, and split the wins with one point per pair.
“I think I should like to stretch my legs with a walk about the room,” Deana said.
“A grand idea!” Devon exclaimed.
“I am more in need of another glass of port,” Isabella said with a languid wave of her fan. “Halsten, would you be so kind?”
Rockwell seemed to hesitate between satisfying Isabella’s request or joining Deana and Devon.
“Your servant,” he said to Isabella.
Of course, Deana sighed to herself and took Lord Devon’s arm.
“I must say,” Devon began when they were out of earshot of anyone. “Halsten has all the luck. How did he come by such a fetching maiden as yourself?”
“I am hardly a maiden,” Deana replied. “I’ve six and twenty years to my name.”
“Remarkable. You look not a day over eight and ten.”
“You’ve no need to flatter me, Lord Devon. I’ve no wish to be eight and ten years of age again.”
“Nor I. The years since then have been for too advantageous. But tell me more of yourself, Miss Sherwood. I know so little and confess to being greatly intrigued in your person.”
“As I remarked to Lady Isabella at dinner last night, I am most uninteresting. There is very little to tell.”
“A woman of mystery! I am further captivated!”
Observing his boyish grin, Deana could see how he could charm many a woman.
Devon leaned in toward her and lowered his voice. “You belong in the East Wing.”
“You can make such a statement while professing to know me little?”
�
�I have known enough women in my lifetime and have cultivated an ability to sense which ones are the more adventurous sort.”
She gave him a dubious look, aware of Rockwell’s unhappy gaze upon them.
“You shall see that I am right when we are in the East Wing.”
“Are you so certain of wining, Lord Devon?”
“I am certain I have not wanted anything more at the moment.”
His stare bored into her, disconcerting her greatly, and she suggested they not keep Rockwell and Lady Isabella waiting too much longer.
“Time to even the score,” Devon said upon sitting.
They executed exactly that and tied the score with four points per partnership. As the dealer in the next hand, Deana turned over a six of hearts for the trump card. Her heartbeat quickened. Hearts were not her favorite suit. For no rhyme or reason, she never had much luck with hearts. By this time, she was having second thoughts about whether or not she would do well with losing.
Rockwell took the first two tricks, then Lord Devon, followed by Isabella. Deana looked at Rockwell, who, as ever, was fairly expressionless when playing cards. She recalled how calm he had been during that fateful hand at vingt-et-un when he possessed an ace and queen to best her king and ten.
Rockwell won the next trick, and Deana could not stop her heart from thumping. She wanted another glass of port but no wish to ask permission for it before Lord Devon and Lady Isabella. Eight tricks remained, and Devon took three of them in a row. Deana wondered if he had been overly modest in downplaying his abilities at cards.
Deana won a trick, then Rockwell, then Isabella.
“I say! This is the most exciting round of whist!” Devon said.
“What would you claim if you win?” Isabella asked of Rockwell, her gaze inviting as she peered over her cards at him.
Rockwell only smiled as he won the next trick. Two tricks remained, but Deana had a sinking feeling. Given the cards that she had already observed and the two remaining in her hand—a paltry two of clubs and four of diamonds—unless Rockwell had two trumps remaining, their chances did not look well.
Devon won the next trick. Deana saw the muscle along Rockwell’s jaw tighten. The final suit was diamonds. Isabella had no match. Rockwell had no match.
And Lord Devon had a jack of hearts.
* * * * *
They were headed to the East Wing.
With a silent curse, Halsten watched as a smile spread from ear to ear upon Lord Devon’s face. Halsten had nothing against taking Miss Herwood there. On the contrary, he would have liked nothing less. But she had not been long at Chateau Follet. And he would have wanted her there on his own terms.
“Well played,” Devon complimented Miss Herwood. “Do not be disheartened Miss Sherwood. As you say, there is the element of luck. It is not always about your skills.”
He finished off his glass of wine. “Now then, shall we begin the night properly?”
Halsten had studied Isabella throughout the game. She had shown none of the hesitancy or reserve from the afternoon. He wondered at her change. He looked next to Miss Herwood, who did not seem as confident as she was earlier. He had allowed her a glass of port to calm her nerves and contemplated another glass for her. He would ensure her safety, but she may well need the additional support.
He should not have placed her in such a position. The enticement to name the prize should they have won was too much. He knew exactly what he would have asked for: Lord Devon was to leave Chateau Follet at daybreak.
“I have the perfect room in mind,” Devon said and practically skipped out of the drawing room and into the hallway.
Rockwell clenched his jaw but followed the man with Miss Herwood on his arm.
“Have you explained to Lady Isabella what she may expect in the East Wing?” he asked of Devon.
“She has seen for herself,” Devon replied.
“You are quite droll, Halsten,” Isabella said, glancing back at him, “but I am hardly your sister Lucille.”
They were in the East Wing, and the art soon reflected the darker nature of the activities there. Whereas the West Wing was adorned with nudes or paintings of a man and a woman in various positions of copulation, the same nudes held whips and chains in the East Wing, and paintings of couples were often engaged in ménage-a-trois. One such painting featured a woman penetrated by two men with disproportionately large cocks. Rockwell noticed Miss Herwood’s eyes widening as she realized that one of the cocks was inserted in the woman’s arse. She turned red and tightened her grip upon his arm.
“The images may seem frightful at first,” he said to her, “but there are many women who enjoy anal penetration.”
She seemed to believe him, but he could not tell if she were comforted by the fact.
“I had this room specially reserved,” Devon announced as he paused in front of a set of gilded double-doors.
He pushed one of the doors opened, bowed and swept his arm. “Ladies first.”
Isabella entered and gasped. Miss Herwood followed and paused briefly in her tracks.
Unlike the ornate set of doors that led to it, the chamber was sparse and austere. No silk wallpaper or golden candelabras adorned the walls, no carpeting or rugs to cover the cold dull floor. The only furnishing comprised two beds on either side of the room, facing each other. The head and foot boards were made of wrought iron more appropriate for a dungeon cell. Upon them dangled chain shackles. Only plain white sheets of suspect cleanliness covered the mattresses. Along the back wall hung all manner of instruments: canes, crops, whips, and more. Upon the shelves were additional accessories of pain and pleasure. A fire had been started in the stone hearth, casting eerie shadows throughout the room.
“Are you sure you’ve the right room?” Isabella asked.
“Undoubtedly,” Devon murmured as he appraised the room, the glow of lust already lighting his face.
Halsten eyed Miss Herwood. She was not entirely new to such a spectacle, having been at his London house where he kept many of the same implements, but Devon’s room was far more grim.
“Now then, the first order of business: I think the ladies have far too much attire upon them!” Devon declared.
“The first order of business in the East Wing is always to establish the safety word,” Rockwell corrected, his patience tested already.
“Ah, yes. How about ‘cease and desist?’”
“A single word would be easier to remember, and it is customary that the word differ from any cries they may utter in the normal course of activities.”
Devon rolled his eyes. “It can be Humpty Dumpty for all I care.”
“A single word.”
Halsten wanted to wring the man’s neck. It was proving to be a long night already.
“Scotland,” Isabella suggested. “I am to travel there with my aunt and uncle later this year.”
“Are the ladies agreed?”
Miss Herwood nodded.
“Then let us proceed!” Devon said. He staked a claim upon his side of the room and pulled Isabella to him.
“But,” Isabella protested as Devon reached for the pins on her frock. “Is there no curtain? After all, they can see.”
“Precisely the point, my dear. It will heighten the experience, I assure you. And is supremely naughty.”
Halsten frowned. Devon was the last person he wanted to share a room in the East Wing with.
Miss Herwood walked carefully to the other side of the room. She looked around her. Was she seeking a means of escape or a place to hide? Seeing none, she seemed to steel herself. Devon had Isabella’s gown undone and was moving to the skirts.
“Remember you can speak the safety word at any time,” Halsten reminded Miss Herwood. “I will ensure its proper execution.”
She nodded and slipped out of her shoes. “I trust your lordship.”
He inhaled sharply. The statement meant more to him than he expected. He undid the pins of her dress. He waited, but she said nothing. Across the r
oom, Isabella giggled as Devon tossed her garments away with flourish.
Slowly, Halsten slid the garment from Miss Herwood’s shoulders. She kept her eyes downcast. He untied her petticoat next. It fell to the floor, leaving her in her chemise, stays, stockings and garters. Against the light of the fire, he could see the silhouette of her legs and the darkness of her garter through the thin chemise. Having engaged in a ménage-a-trois both in India and Chateau Follet, he was no stranger to sharing a woman. But he had no desire to share Miss Herwood—with anyone, let alone Lord Devon. Looking across the room, he found Devon eyeing Miss Herwood. Halsten would have done almost anything to bring pleasure to Miss Herwood, but at the moment he wanted nothing more than for her to utter the safety word and put an end to their situation.
Isabella, in similar state of undress, glanced over to them. A small smile graced her colored lips, perhaps from espying that her own garments were visibly superior in quality or that her form had more classic feminine lines that that of Miss Herwood. Isabella’s stays supported pert alabaster breasts, and her chemise fell over youthful narrow hips. Seeing Halsten’s gaze, Devon smirked and ran both hands down Isabella’s pale, bare arms.
Halsten returned his attention to Miss Herwood. Devon could believe whatever he wished, Halsten knew he had the better woman. He waited until Devon began unlacing Isabella’s stays before doing the same. Miss Herwood trembled slightly as he pulled at the ribbons.
“Do you require the safety word?” he whispered into her ear.
She shook her head.
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
With a deep breath, he removed her stays. Any moment now she would be completely naked. Naked before that damnable Devon.
But despite his loathing of their predicament, the ability of her beautiful body to arouse Halsten persevered. His groin tightened.
Isabella cried out and giggled as Devon, aroused and impatient, stripped her shift away in awkward haste.
“A feast for the eyes, eh, Rockwell?” Devon declared.
Isabella attempted some modesty and covered her bosom with her arms, but Devon tore her arms away. Her shapely breasts, vaguely marked on the sides by the boning of the stays, stood at smart attention. Her rosy areolas constricted as her nipples hardened.