The Secrets He Keeps: A Peril & Persuasion Novella

by Amy Sandas

  “Madam,” he greeted with a bow of his head, “I am enchanted.”

  Red lips curved into a tempered smirk. “Of course you are.”

  He smiled at the jaded tone in her voice and thought he might have seen a responding twitch in her lips.

  Once they were both seated at the small wooden table, the manager appeared at their table to ask if they’d like to start their meal with champagne or some other refreshment.

  Pendragon replied first, offering a half smile as she noted her choice. “I’d like a stout, please.”

  “Of course, madam,” the manager said before glancing to Erik in inquiry.

  “The same.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Neither spoke as they waited for the drinks, choosing instead to openly assess each other.

  The previous day in his club, Erik had sensed this woman’s intuitive nature. Her sparkling gaze had a way of making the observed feel vulnerable and exposed. It was no different today. Though it did not bother him at all to fall under her intent perusal, it was clear she could unsettle a man with no more than a fleeting glance if she chose.

  He appreciated that.

  He admired the severity and tenacity it took for a woman to gain the kind of wealth and power this one had in a world so dominated and desecrated by men. But he also knew such endless ambition and resolve often required a person to sacrifice—or at the very least, carefully conceal—their softer elements.

  After their stouts were brought out and the manager retreated once again, Erik raised his glass in a toast. “To the next twelve days.”

  She lifted her glass in a graceful salute. “Eleven, Mr. Maxwell.”

  He smiled. “The day is not over yet.”

  “True,” she acquiesced, “but I hardly think you’ll have me splayed across this table before we finish lunch.”

  She accented the statement by brushing her hand across the table. She wore red gloves today. Satin, reaching up to her elbows. Erik immediately envisioned her wearing nothing but the gloves, her lush body draped in sultry abandon across the bare wood surface of their table as he stepped between her parting thighs.

  The woman’s gaze narrowed. A knowing smirk twisted her reddened lips. “I can see you are now imagining exactly that, though I struggle to believe you are the type of man to indulge in even a little bit of daytime debauchery.”

  He lowered his chin to reply in a tone of dark confession. “You know better than to judge a man by his outward presentation, madam.”

  She searched his gaze for a long moment before replying in a heavy murmur, “I do indeed.”

  Their conversation was briefly paused as a wide tray of chilled oysters was brought to the table.

  As his dinner companion removed her gloves by tugging at each of her fingertips before sliding the satin free, Erik was surprised by what was revealed. A tattoo of a black winged dragon graced the pale skin of her inner arm. The serpent’s tail encircled her wrist like a permanent bracelet while the creature stared out with green eyes as sharp and penetrating as the lady’s own gaze.

  He glanced up to see she had noticed his intent perusal. Rather than feign disinterest, he reached his hand across the table and tilted his head in question. “May I?”

  A fine blonde eyebrow arched and he got the impression most people did not openly comment on the tattoo. Without a word, she extended her hand toward him.

  Her hand fit perfectly in the cradle of his. Pressing his thumb to the soft center of her palm, he slowly drew her hand closer so he could study the intricate detailing in the creature’s scales and wings and its noble expression of disdain. The artwork was stunning. Though it was a decidedly European depiction of the mythical beast, Erik hadn’t seen a tattoo of such quality since his years in Asia. Unable to stop himself, he lifted his other hand to trace the design with his fingertip. From the dragon’s angular head, along the curving coil of its powerful body, following the elegant lines of its tail around the delicate bones of the lady’s wrist to the spiked, arrow-point tip.

  A flawless depiction of grace, power, violence, and sensuality.

  Though he perused the tattoo intently, he did not miss the subtle rise of gooseflesh on her skin in reaction to his light touch, nor did he miss the way her fingers curled involuntarily toward her palm when his fingertip reached the delicate skin of her wrist. When he shifted his hold to continue the soft caress along the individual lines of her palm, he was immeasurably pleased that she did not pull away.

  “Why the dragon?” he asked as he lifted his gaze back to hers.

  The green of her eyes had darkened during his exploration and her eyelids had grown slightly heavy, shielding the secrets of her thoughts. Heat swirled instantly through his blood in response. It amazed him how swiftly and intensely his lust was triggered by this woman.

  “Dragons guard their treasures fiercely and indiscriminately,” she replied. “Any fool who’d covet the dragon’s possessions can expect a fiery death.”

  Erik gave a short nod. “You chose the symbol as a warning.”

  Her hand tensed briefly in his. “That’s correct.”

  “How many men have you been forced to light aflame?”

  Her lips twitched as she gave a graceful shrug of her bare shoulders. The gesture was both dismissive and suggestive at the same time. “I’ve lost count.”

  He had no doubt of that. “Fools,” he murmured thickly.

  “Every single one,” she agreed in voice of subtle steel. Her green eyes stared intently into his for a long, silent moment before she withdrew her hand from his. He knew better than to try to hold her.

  The oysters were the best he’d enjoyed since arriving in England while the stout proved to be a perfect pairing. They ordered a second round as the remnants of their meal was cleared from the table.

  Erik relaxed in his chair as his body embraced the languid aftermath of a good meal. In contrast, his mind remained fiercely alert and focused on the enigmatic woman across from him. He’d known from the onset that seducing the celebrated madam would not be easy. He didn’t want easy.

  He wanted her. Plain and simple. From the moment he’d watched her approach him in his office the previous day. The undeniable strength of purpose she possessed and the dynamic, sensual, almost ruthless confidence she embodied made his blood simmer and his cock stand. But more than the lust she inspired, it was the way she ignited his mind that attracted him most intensely.

  In her presence, he had to be vigilant and shrewd. He could not rest on a superior intellect to retain an upper hand as he so often did. He enjoyed the way she challenged him with her jaded disbelief and brash arrogance. She was formidable. No doubt.

  But he was no fumbling lad.

  “Have you always lived in London?” he asked.

  With a knowing smile, she eased back in her chair. “Have we reached the point in our meal where we disclose our heartbreaking backstories?”

  “I want nothing you aren’t willing to give.”

  She arched a brow at that but didn’t refute him. “My story is no different than many others. Born and raised in the rookery until my morally destitute drunk of a father tried to sell me for a bottle of gin. I preferred to make my own way, instead. As many girls do, I quickly went from the gin shop to the bawdy house. It wasn’t long before I decided how much control I was willing to allow a pimp, which turned out to be not a damn bit.” Erik smiled at that and she smiled back. “I fought hard to get free and claim the right to protect myself and run my business by my own rules.”

  “Not an easy feat.”

  “Nothing worth keeping comes easily,” she noted coolly.

  Though he would have agreed with her, he made no reply.

  “And you?” she asked with a tilted smirk. “What is your story?”

  Erik leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. “I was born into an acting troupe that traveled all across Europe and parts of Asia. Such a childhood instilled a wanderlust in my soul that continued throughout
my life. I was not very old when I started attracting amorous attention. Once I realized the benefits to be found in certain arrangements with my admirers, I left the troupe and fashioned myself as a bit of a Lothario.”

  He looked down at his hands. “Those years of hedonism provided material wealth beyond any I ever had before. It also gave me a range and depth of experience that proved far more valuable.” Lifting his gaze without raising his chin, he met the shielded gaze of the woman across from him as a smile tugged at his mouth. “It turns out that when gentlemen of fine pedigree and sophistication direct their passion and creativity toward their mistresses, it leaves their wives...rather hungry.”

  Pendragon’s brows lifted. “I’m sure you were quite happy to satiate those poor ladies.”

  “Neglect of a woman’s desires is one of the greatest wastes of human existence. I provided pleasure and an opportunity for these women to release inhibition and explore what satisfied them. It was a worthy practice until I began to notice what was missing in the interactions between myself and my paramours.”

  “What was that?” Though the woman was practiced in feigning a subtle disinterest, Erik detected the light of curiosity in her gaze.

  “Intimacy,” he replied simple. “True intimacy that can only be developed over time with someone you trust. A partner in life as well as in the bedroom. The kind of intimacy that grows between two people who are committed to each other. In hearing of how unhappy my lovers were in their marriages, I began to understand how the pleasure found in truly passionate, deeply intimate lovemaking is essential to such unions.”

  “Such a noble perspective.” Her lovely features tightened with a smile of superiority. “But unrealistic. Men will always seek out new flesh to plunder.”

  “Not men who truly love their wives.”

  “Love,” she scoffed. “No matter how enamored they might be on their wedding day, men always grow bored with their pious, perfect mates. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t have a business.”

  Erik nodded. “It is true. For some. But I am not talking of those men. My focus is on the gentlemen who have a true desire to cultivate such a relationship with the woman they have taken as life mate.”

  Giving up her relaxed posture, the madam leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table in a posture that matched his own. Her green eyes flashed. “Tell me, Mr. Maxwell, are you also married?”

  He paused, understanding the antagonizing note in her voice. Meeting her green gaze with steady focus, he replied, “No, madam. I am not nor have I ever been.”

  “Then what exactly can you offer these men?”

  Erik smiled, appreciating her skepticism and her demand for explanation. She was not one to simply accept what anyone told her. She’d need to experience something personally before agreeing it was possible. This was likely the only reason she’d agreed to allow him to demonstrate his practice.

  He lowered his voice. “We’ve previously established that far too many men do not know how to properly make love to a woman. I share the knowledge and techniques I developed in my time as lover to many varied women. But more important than that...I assist them in understanding how to cross that important bridge from gentleman husband to thoughtful, passionate life partner. It often requires a complete overhaul of their trained way of thinking and a destruction of the false assumptions that perpetrated about the fair sex. These men come to me because they want to become a lover and partner to their mates. I help them to see their wife as a woman first with all of the needs—base and exalted—a woman possesses. The seduction and pleasuring come rather easily after that.”

  Pendragon’s gaze was narrow and assessing as she looked back at him. The tension in her jaw was barely discernable, but he saw it. She almost appeared...angry. Interesting.

  “You are obviously very pleased with yourself,” she noted.

  “I have witnessed great love stories unfold before my eyes. It is an honor to be a part of it.”

  “That is a load of bullshit.”

  Erik laughed. Her blunt way of talking caught him off guard on occasion. He enjoyed it. “I can understand why you’d think so. But I assure you, I mean every word.”

  The woman eyed him over the rim of her glass as she took a sip before saying with disparagement in her tone, “You are a sentimentalist.”

  Was he? Probably.

  He shrugged. “I’m also logical, analytical, and sometimes a bit overly focused. Ultimately, I trust in what my experiences have revealed to me.”

  “And what is that?”

  “People need love.” When she rolled her eyes, he smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, madam. The pleasures of the flesh are also absolutely necessary, but when sexual satisfaction combines with true emotion within a devoted partnership, something wonderful is created.”

  “A delusion?”

  Erik caught her gaze and held it. “I promise you. It is very real.”

  The lady set her unfinished stout on the table and stood. Erik rose as well, allowing himself a quick perusal of her stunning figure.

  “While I appreciate your candid explanation, Mr. Maxwell,” she began as she slid her gloves on, smoothing the satin from her fingertips to her elbows, “it reveals a significant flaw in your planned demonstration.”

  He lifted a brow. “Does it?”

  Her red lips widened in a smile that was more genuine than most he’d received from her. “We are not married. And I am not a high-society gentlewoman.”

  Erik watched with deep appreciation as she turned and sauntered to the door where the manager was waiting with her fur-lined coat. She stepped out into a light swirl of winter snow.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning, a small package arrived at Pendragon’s. The card addressed it to Madam Pendragon and also included an invitation to the theater for the following evening. It was signed simply, E.M.

  Callista took the wrapped box up to her private suite to open. Inside she found a stunning pair of red elbow-length gloves made of a leather so fine and supple it felt like butter against her skin when she slid her fingers into place and smoothed the gloves up her arms.

  Recalling the look in Maxwell’s eyes when she’d done the same before leaving the oyster bar the day before, her core tightened with an intense jolt of desire.

  The man had proven to be unexpected. For the most part, he possessed an air of thoughtful patience and self-assured restraint. She’d already ascertained that not much flustered the man. He was not one to waver under criticism nor did he appear particularly vulnerable to female manipulation. His demeanor was almost studious in nature.

  Yet...he’d shown her more than once that a wickedness resided beneath his stoic façade. There was heat in his eyes when he looked at her. And a gleam that suggested the sort of knowledge that came only from extensive experience.

  It made her want to indulge in a little of that experience herself.

  She wouldn’t, of course. And not just because he declared his intention to seduce her as a means of demonstrating his methods. If she wanted a man, she didn’t need him to seduce her. She simply welcomed him to her bed. It had always been that way.

  And wasn’t that exactly why she’d been without a lover in far too long?

  The act had grown stale and uninteresting. The truth was, even though she operated the most infamous and exclusive brothel in London, she rarely thought of sex in a personal context. Her last bed partner had been a few years ago now and she hadn’t felt like she’d been missing anything. There was nothing new to explore. One man was much like another.

  Erik Maxwell was surely no different.

  Her unexpected sexual awareness of the man might simply have been triggered by the fact that she couldn’t fully read him. She knew men. She knew them well. Knowing what men needed before they knew themselves had been the focus of her life for more than two decades. Maxwell was the first in a long time whose motivations and desires still remained unclear to her after two encounters.

  The anomal
y was the only reason she so readily accepted his invitation. Besides, it wouldn’t exactly be fair to declare his efforts at seduction futile if she never allowed him opportunities to employ his supposed skills.

  Typically, she’d never leave her place on an evening they were open for business. However, with the Christmas holiday arriving in only a few days, business had slowed tremendously as gentlemen spent more time than usual with family and at intimate parties. It was exactly why one of her biggest events of the year occurred between Boxing Day and the New Year. Free of familial obligations, her clientele always proved ready for more risqué revelry.

  The reply she sent to Maxwell’s invitation indicated that she would meet him at the theater. She dressed in a gown of black silk beneath an overlay of red lace netting embroidered with a snaking pattern around the hem and over her bodice. Accessorized with her favorite strand of black pearls, her new red leather gloves, and a black velvet cloak, she was finally satisfied with the drama in her appearance.

  The signature colors and eye-catching, seductive style was a crucial aspect of the infamy that surrounded her. Madam Pendragon was a character who’d developed out of a need for Callista to stand out at a time when she’d been just another pretty prostitute. Her ambitions had always reached far beyond whatever current status she found herself in, but at one point, she came to the realization that men wanted more than a pretty face and a good fuck. They craved fantasy and the kind of drama they could enjoy and then walk away from.

  Madam Pendragon provided that and so much more.

  Callista’s dedication to the persona had grown until she’d lost sight of any delineation between herself and the madam. They had long ago become one and the same. Not even her brother—the only person who’d known her as she’d been before all the production she surrounded herself with—saw much of Callista anymore.