“Who are you?” Bastian demanded, keeping the young woman within his sights as she leaned over him still wielding that knife. “What are you doing?” His voice was less autocratic when she bent over him and the candlelight allowed him to see down the front of her gaping robe to the pert and cherry-tipped breasts beneath.
She glanced at him. “I am cutting these straps with a sharp knife from the kitchen, of course.” The blade sliced through the leather cuff on one of his wrists. “I do believe you allowed Carlotta to be a little too…enthusiastic, yesterday evening. I found you here a short time ago, naked and bound, and as I could not find Carlotta or the key for the locks, I decided a knife would do as well.” She sliced through the second cuff, releasing both his hands, before moving to the cuffs about his ankles.
Carlotta…
The name stirred a memory in Bastian of one of the ladies at Club Venus. A dark-haired Spanish beauty, with equally dark and flashing eyes, and a ripe and flexible body. She also, he recalled, liked to play rougher than any other lady he had ever bedded.
Which told him he must have forgone the virgin in favor of the Spanish vixen.
And been discovered here, naked and bound, by— “What is your name?” he demanded again.
She stared down at him for several seconds before answering. “Gail.”
“Gail what?”
“The duke does not allow his ladies the use of surnames.”
Bastian, knowing that to be the case, sat up and swung his legs to the floor, completely unabashed by his own nakedness. Why should he be when this young woman had already seen all there was to see? “It would seem I owe you my thanks for rescuing me, Gail.”
Pale cheeks blushed a pretty pink. “I am sure Carlotta simply forgot to release you before going to her bed.”
Bastian was not so certain of that being the case. The Spanish woman had been at Club Venus for only the past two months, but there was a wildness to her, an unpredictability that, although it appealed to Bastian’s sexual proclivities on occasion, also hinted at there being another reason for the woman’s need to inflict pain on her customers.
Bastian made a mental note to discuss the situation with Blackborne when next they spoke.
Spying his clothes folded neatly on a chair, Bastian stood to cross the room and pull on his black evening trousers before turning to face his rescuer once again. “How can I repay you for your kindness?”
Dark-tipped lashes lowered. “I require no repayment, my lord.”
“Perhaps a pretty gown? Or a trinket of jewelry?” he persuaded.
Those green eyes flashed as she looked at him. “I do not need your charity, my lord.”
Bastian frowned at her vehemence. She did not require his charity specifically or from anyone? Blackborne was very particular as to the ladies he employed—the vicious Carlotta included. Some gentlemen enjoyed pain—but the fact those women were here at all surely meant they had no other means of earning their living.
If this was the virgin Blackborne had referred to yesterday, Bastian was finding her every bit as intriguing as the other man had said she was. “Then perhaps you might consider becoming my mistress?”
Abigail stared at him. Admittedly, being the whore of one gentleman was preferable to being one to many, but that this gentleman in particular should offer her such an arrangement was insufferable. “You do not even know me.”
That sky-blue gaze roamed slowly over her body, from her long golden tresses to the bareness of her feet. A lazy perusal that caused a tingle of awareness through Abigail’s whole body, but most especially her breasts, which seemed to swell, the nipples hardening, and between her thighs becoming very hot and damp.
His gaze returned to her now-flushed face. “I know that you are beautiful. Kind. In need of a protector.” He glanced pointedly at their surroundings. “I am offering to become that for you. To take you away from here, set you up in your own household, with servants of your own, a carriage, an account with a fashionable seamstress and the other necessary shopkeepers.”
It was a tempting and generous offer, Abigail acknowledged, and one she might have thought of accepting. From any other gentleman but this one. “And in return, you would expect access to my body, day or night,” she dismissed.
“That is the usual arrangement, yes,” he confirmed tautly.
Her chin rose. “I repeat, you do not know me. Nor do I know you. In any case, I very much doubt I have the necessary…skills which you require from a mistress.” She gave a scornful glance toward the bed she had discovered him tied naked to.
Admittedly, it had been strangely arousing to look upon Sebastian Forbes’s naked body as he slept, to gaze uninterrupted at the first aroused cock she had ever seen. To note the length and girth of it, the thick vein running along its length, the glistening viscous fluid at the bulbous tip, and to imagine that enormous cock entering her where no other man ever had.
Only for those imaginings to then be overshadowed by the knowledge that if it were not for this man, she would not be living in this establishment at all.
Bastian had no idea what he was doing offering a woman he had just met such an arrangement when, at the age of one and thirty, he had never taken a mistress before. He only knew of the necessary requirements from having listened to the conversation of other gentlemen on the subject at his club. But there was something about Gail, an inborn quality, which told him she did not belong in a place such as this one, no matter how exclusive, and that only dire circumstances could have forced her into seeking employment here.
Perhaps the impulse also came a little from the fact Bastian might not be able to help Rafferty’s child, but he could help this young woman avoid a life to which he very much doubted she was suited. Despite Gabriel’s assurance of her sexual arousal.
“My answer is no,” she stated in a hard voice. “Thank you,” she added belatedly.
Had Bastian ever been told no before from any woman, let alone one who worked in a club that catered to a gentleman’s sexual needs? He did not believe he had. In fact, he did not recall the last time he had ever been given the answer no to anything he asked for or wanted.
“Then have dinner with me this evening? I promise to remain fully clothed throughout, if that is your preference,” he added self-derisively.
She glanced at his bare chest from beneath those dark-tipped lashes before raising her head to meet his gaze. “I do not have the luxury of being able to accept a dinner invitation.”
Of course she didn’t. Evenings were the time she would be required to work. “I will have a word with Blackborne—”
“I said no, my lord,” she snapped, glaring at him. “I work here as one of the duke’s ladies, and I am most grateful to him for giving me the chance to prove I am worthy of his generosity. If you will excuse me?” She didn’t wait for his reply before sweeping from the room with all the imperiousness of one of the grand dames Bastian so often saw in Society.
Piquing his interest even further.
Chapter Three
The new clothes the Duke of Blackborne had ordered for Abigail were delivered later that day. Silk drawers, stockings, and corsets, with beautiful gowns in an array of colors, all with slippers to match. All the gowns were designed in such a way as to leave no doubt as to Abigail’s new profession. The low-cut necklines barely covered the areole of breasts pushed high by the tightly laced corset, the slit in the drawers being wider than was usual, the stockings and garters black rather than white.
One of the maids had helped Abigail to style her hair in curls secured at her crown by jeweled pins. She also wore a black velvet choker about her throat, adorned with a single emerald that exactly matched the color of her eyes.
Abigail’s reflection, when she surveyed her appearance in a mirror, apart from that overabundance of her breasts escaping over the top of her gown, could have been that of a Society lady about to embark on an evening out at the opera or perhaps a ball.
Except Abigail would not be
leaving the premises of Club Venus this evening, because tonight, the duke had informed her, she was to be officially introduced as another of the ladies available for his patrons’ pleasure.
She should be nervous, perhaps even terrified, at the thought of what the night might bring. But having made her decision to enter this lifestyle, Abigail held her head up high as she made her way down the stairs to stand outside the elegant salon where several gentlemen were already availing themselves of the company of the half-dozen ladies present.
If she was to do this, then Abigail intended doing it with pride and certainty of purpose. After all, this was not the first time she had been forced to lower her expectations in life. She could only hope it would be the last.
“You look very beautiful, my dear.” The Duke of Blackborne appeared at her side and offered her his arm. He was dressed meticulously in black evening clothes.
The duke was yet another extremely handsome gentleman, with hair as black as night and eyes a piercing gray. Surprisingly, considering he seemed to spend most of his time at Club Venus, his body was that of an athlete: wide shoulders, tapered waist, powerful hips and thighs.
Abigail placed her hand shyly in the crook of that arm, grateful for the duke’s moral and physical support as she entered the public salon for the first time.
“How are you settling in with the other ladies?” he prompted politely as he handed her a glass of champagne plucked from the tray of a passing waiter.
Abigail gave a gracious inclination of her head. “They have all been very kind.” All except Carlotta, she acknowledged, who had not been in the least friendly from the beginning but had definitely given Abigail a venomous glare as she departed the club earlier today. Her outer clothing and the bags clutched in Carlotta’s hands had seemed to indicate she would not be returning.
Because the Earl of Shaftesbury had complained to his friend of Carlotta’s behavior the night before?
Abigail had a feeling that might be the case.
The duke sipped his own champagne before speaking again. “It seems that word of the angel in our midst has become public knowledge, and I have today received two offers—”
“If one of those offers is from the Earl of Shaftesbury, I will accept the other,” Abigail put in quickly, and then felt the blush heat her cheeks as the duke raised dark brows over speculative eyes. “I apologize for interrupting you, Your Grace.” She lowered her gaze demurely.
“I have today received two offers,” he continued dryly. “One from the Earl of Shaftesbury, requesting you join him for dinner.” He confirmed her suspicion. “The other from Lord Gordon in regard to procuring your virginity.”
Abigail followed the duke’s gaze across the room to where an elderly and overweight gentleman, his face already flushed from imbibing too much drink, was eyeing her covetously.
She felt her cheeks pale at the thought of giving herself for the first time to such an unpleasant-looking gentleman as that. Although, her role as courtesan meant the duke would not grant her the luxury of choosing any other lover but her first.
Perhaps making the earl’s offer more attractive?
There was no perhaps about it.
Her chin rose. “I believe I will dine with the earl this evening after all, Your Grace.”
His mouth quirked in a mocking smile. “I realize that you and Shaftesbury got off to…something of an unusual beginning, but I believe you have made the right decision in regard to how you intend to spend your time this evening.” He held his arm out to her once again. “I will escort you to the room where Shaftesbury awaits your presence.”
Abigail gave the duke a frowning glance as they left the salon together, much to the scowling displeasure of Lord Gordon.
Had Blackborne and the earl been so sure of her choice this evening, the room was already prepared for dinner and Shaftesbury waiting for her there?
Abigail had been shown the private rooms when she moved into the club three days ago. All of them had a bed of some kind, but some, like the one the duke took her to, also had a small sitting area where the couple might dine together first.
The candlelit room, she quickly realized, was arranged for seduction. There was a table set intimately for two at one end of the room, with a warm fire burning in the hearth. There was also the smell of pine from the Christmas bower draped across the mantel. The four lit candles about the room gave it a warm glow and shone off the crystal wineglass and silver cutlery. Abigail was also fully aware of the bed at the other, shadowed end of the room.
But it was the gentleman standing nonchalantly beside the warmth of the fireplace who caused her heart to falter and her breath to catch in her throat.
Lord Sebastian Forbes, the Earl of Shaftesbury, might be fully clothed tonight in evening clothes as expertly tailored as Blackborne’s, but Abigail was only too aware of the muscular body that lay beneath that clothing. The memory of those golden-skinned wide shoulders and muscular chest, of the length and girth of his cock as it rested against his thigh, was something she had been unable to put from her mind all day.
Something she would see again before this night was over?
Her chin rose as she gave a brief curtsey. “My lord.”
Those dark blue eyes took in the whole of her appearance, from her slippered feet to her perfectly arranged hair. “Gail.” He gave an acknowledging bow.
As if they were two people meeting in a fashionable salon or at a dance rather than the whore and the man who was to take her virginity before the evening was over!
“Blackborne.” Bastian gave the other man an acknowledging nod, waiting until the duke, after giving a pointed raise of his brows in his direction, had left the room, before he turned his attention back to Gail.
She was every bit as beautiful as he had thought she was, although he did not much care for the apprehension in her expression.
He indicated she sit in the chair he held out for her at the intimately set table, waiting until she had done so before bending down and speaking softly against her ear. “Nothing shall happen this evening that you do not wish to happen.”
She gave a revealing shiver as the warmth of his breath caressed the skin revealed by the off-the-shoulder style of her gown. “I am completely at your disposal, my lord.”
Bastian could see down the front of her gown from this angle, to where the swells of those luscious breasts were tipped by deep rose nipples. “Bastian,” he instructed as he moved to take the seat opposite hers. “My preferred name,” he explained at her questioning glance.
“Bastian,” she repeated obediently.
He did not wish for obedience, from her or any other woman. He preferred his women to be feisty. Not vicious, as Carlotta had proven to be, but with a will and determination of her own that required Bastian satisfy her desires as much as she satisfied his. He wished to spend this evening with the same outspoken young woman he had met earlier today.
Bastian poured wine into their two glasses before speaking again. “Have you given any more thought to the offer I made you this morning?”
Her eyes glittered like the emeralds they resembled. “I gave you my answer then, and I am not a woman given to changing my mind once it is made up.”
Ah, there she was, Bastian noted with satisfaction. “In that case.” He stood up to move to the trolley where their food was being kept cool. “I shall have to make the most of this evening.” He placed a tray of oysters in the center of the table before resuming his seat. “Oysters are reputed to contain an aphrodisiac,” he told her huskily. “Indeed, Giacomo Casanova, a well-known Italian rake of the last century, is said to have eaten fifty of them for his breakfast every morning.”
Abigail stared down at the twenty or so shells presented on a bed of ice on the silver tray. The shells themselves were pretty, mottled slate gray on the outside, a beautiful white porcelain on the inside, but the oysters themselves… “They look uncooked.”
Shaftesbury grinned. “They are,” he confirmed, picking
up one of the shells and positioning it in front of her mouth. “Open up,” he encouraged gruffly.
She wrinkled her nose. “I do not believe I care for oysters.”
“How can you know that unless you have tasted one? Part your lips,” he said firmly. “Wider. Now tilt your head back slightly and allow it to slowly slide down your throat.”
Abigail found something altogether too intimate about the earl’s instructions. As if he was not talking about oysters at all.
And perhaps he wasn’t.
The most senior of the ladies living at Club Venus had presented Abigail with a book earlier this afternoon in which sketches and directions were given for the sexual poses that might be expected of her. Several of them, including the one where the man’s cock was thrust into the woman’s bottom hole, had shocked Gail so much, she had quickly turned the pages to less graphic poses.
But what the earl was now describing sounded very much like the explicit drawing she had seen of a man thrusting his cock down the throat of the woman kneeling before him.
Chapter Four
Bastian should perhaps not be enjoying Gail’s obvious discomfort quite as much as he was. But considering he had suffered the discomfort of a cock-stand most of the day, one which had hardened to steel the moment Gail entered the room on Blackborne’s arm a short time ago, it was, at the very least, poetic justice.
Placing the oyster shell against the plumpness of Gail’s lips, before he tipped it and watched the succulent oyster enter her mouth and then slide down the slender column of her throat, was the most erotic thing Bastian had ever seen, causing his cock to pulse and pre-cum to moisten the tip.
“Well?” he prompted huskily.
“It tastes salty but of little else.” She licked the excess of the moisture from her lips.
“Another.” He picked up a second shell and repeated the process, holding her gaze with his as he did so.
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