by Vlad Kahany
“Oh. Rejection, then…” May smirked and looked at Lord Ashbee only to meet his gaze that hardened at hearing the word.
“Rejection, May”—he took her chin between his fingers and gazed at her for a second—“is a great teacher and a motivator. It primes one’s character, hardens the soul, and prevents the disappointment that inevitably follows love illusions.” He let go of her chin and added, “One should always chose rejection over disappointment.”
“Do you…” May paused hesitantly. She never asked Lord Ashbee whether he was married. Most men that visited the Belle House were. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know about his private life, but curiosity got to her. “Are you married?”
He gave her a curious look. It shocked him for a second—that she brought it up, that she agreed to the contract without asking about that part. How desperate she was to save another soul!
May looked away without hearing the answer, and her heart got heavier.
So, he is.
And somehow the thought saddened her greatly though it wouldn’t make the difference one way or another. She pictured him with another woman, his legal wife, and for a second felt a pang of jealousy, the envy for the woman that managed to rope in a man like Lord Ashbee.
“No, May. I am not married,” Lord Ashbee answered, and May’s eyes snapped open at him with the relief that betrayed her indifference. The corner of her mouth crinkled in an attempt to conceal a smile that didn’t escape his eyes. “But I am not a marrying type, sweetheart,” he added with a grin. “I have more money than the entire Bond Street. I can support any woman that I find fit. Or two. Or three. But I don’t want anyone, bound by some legal papers, to claim their hold on me, or feel entitled to limit my freedoms and bore me to death.” Lord Ashbee chuckled.
“That’s a grim look on marriage,” May said quietly.
He nodded. “The embodiment of lies and neediness.”
“Huh…” May looked puzzled.
“One day, you will find out.” He stroked her face, and she searched his eyes for any sign of hesitation but it wasn’t there.
“You don’t think that one day you might meet a woman that will sweep you off your feet? Shatter your cynicism?”
He laughed.
“Why marry?” He asked. “I can live perfectly fine without the legal document, sweetheart.”
She shrugged her bare shoulders.
“To prevent her from marrying someone else, let’s say.”
“So be it. It can’t keep her from doing what she pleases. You’ve seen enough around here, sweetheart, to know that marriage never stopped anyone from pursuing other lines of pleasure.”
“Hm…” May searched for something to contradict him. Lord Ashbee was too clever, and she found the immense pleasure in finding the ways to test him. “So”—May looked cunningly at him—“it wouldn’t bother you that the woman you wanted to possess married someone else, and everywhere you go, she would be another man’s possession? On paper, in public, in other people’s minds?”
He chuckled maliciously and drew May closer to him. “You clever little girl!” He kissed her on the lips. “You try to idealize human attachment. Believe me when I tell you that love is a rotten cause. The pleasure is about here and now. Not in the fairytale notions that something lasts for life.”
He slipped his hand under the sheet and between her thighs, making her gasp.
“Don’t you agree?” he said with a devilish smile, and his fingers went to work on the art of pleasing May.
CHAPTER 6
Day followed day.
Lord Ashbee knew it would take some time for May to open herself up to him.
It became a game of patience and pursuit.
May’s desire developed like a flower, slowly blossoming into the hot passion that was hard to conceal. But not from Lord Ashbee. Every time he visited her, he was fascinated by how much she savored every intimate moment of their encounter.
He enjoyed women’s bodies, but with May, he loved how not spoiled she was by a man’s touch, how much she enjoyed his. She would gasp, moan, push against his hand as he caressed her, fondled her, taking pleasure in observing her. Stroked her skin, covered it with soft kisses, even softer bites, and the gentle tongue in places that excited her the most. Unlike with other women, when his own pleasure was the main goal, he was amused to learn that he found pleasure in watching her instead. The caresses that enhanced her sensations. The way she arched her back at peaks and gasped as if she saw God. How her body opened itself up to his touches, her shyness forgotten.
Every time they were naked, she made a closer acquaintance with his member as if it took courage, as if his sex was more intimidating than himself. The thought entertained him! At first, it was a cautious game of occasional touches, timid glances, and purposeful distractions to other parts of his body, though any skillful lover would know that no other part of a man’s body desires as much attention as his sex. But Lord Ashbee enjoyed it even more at her, May’s, own pace. He could teach her many things, and he did, slowly, one by one, but the skill of sensuality could only be learned by exploration. The most thorough explorers found the most delightful spots. And gradually, May’s hands found the courage to be more persistent with his body. Her touch—more eager to please, to excite, so erotic at times that it almost made him blush. The first time she made him moan, she giggled, amused with the knowledge of her newfound power.
He couldn’t wait for her to grow into the proper mistress of the bedroom. The thought excited him, though her timidness that of a kitten was more arousing than any skill. It puzzled him. Amazed him. His mind would drift to the thoughts of her in the middle of the day, amid random chores, business meetings, or at dinner, or in the morning when he woke up. Especially in the mornings! When after dreaming all night, the urge to have her in his bed was the strongest. When he was finally in her room, he took her in bed, on the floor, on the bureau, from behind, with her legs on his shoulder, or intertwined with his limbs in intricate ways. He found a way to every orifice of her body, opened gently or with force, took her slowly, exciting her for hours without letting her climax, or suddenly, in minutes, without much consideration. She did not resist, instead, seemed to enjoy every bit of it. He was an excellent tutor, and she was the best student he could have. But he never seemed to get enough. Never before had his body and mind been so preoccupied with any woman.
May, on the other hand, so enthralled by the physical part of the relationship, soon realized that there was much more that drew her to Lord Ashbee. She would watch his hands flip through the pages of a book or hold a cigarette and found herself jealous of the objects that his fingers touched. She thought of other women that Lord Ashbee entertained and was involved with, and it pained her to think that she was just one of his little entertainments. She was his sex slave, confined to this room. Oh, how she wanted to go out in public! Dress up for him! Make others turn their heads and watch his jealousy! Instead, she was shut in the room, the only way to keep his attention—to let him be her teacher. The only gain for her was to learn everything he talked about.
What a fascinating mind he had! It tickled her curiosity, sent her thoughts flying. Never in her life did she meet anyone remotely as staggering and smart as Lord Ashbee! Stories he told her, the ideas so poisonous yet so fresh that they scared her! It was her own doing that put her in the situation that made him her lover and her teacher. Finally, she realized she was grateful. Excited! She loved it! The intimacy, the conversations, how he moved and talked. All of him!
He became her obsession.
When Lord Ashbee didn’t visit for a day or two, she would get melancholic. The room seemed to suffocate her. Every spot and object around—the reminder of their time together. She tried to distract herself, read more than usual, sent Krissy to bookshops. She read the silly books of Jane Austen, and they ignited all sorts of romantic dreams in her. Then she realized the absurdity of her situation and started “Tartuffe,” but even that had some hidden meanin
g that set her in the state of utmost unease. She read Dante again. Then tried Seneca’s plays. But those caused troublous thoughts.
She remembered Lord Ashbee’s scars, the stories he told her.
“We all have a darker side, May,” he explained. “The deeper core that we are afraid to show others or admit to ourselves. Only when you face it, do you realize what it is and how to handle it. The poor and the unfortunate don’t have that fear. They are too far into the horrors of everyday life. The privileged don’t bother. They feel entitled. They are the masters of the world, or so they think. But you can’t possibly be a powerful person unless you know the depth of human nature. You can’t know the depth of it until you saw it, experienced it, explored the highest and the lowest points.”
“Did you?” May asked, looking with wonder into his dark eyes.
“I try.” He chuckled. “It can teach that pain has an infinite number of shades. That one can learn to live with its constant presence. That physical pain can be nothing compared to the mental torments, yet, the pangs of the heart can be cured by physical torture. There are many things you learn from despair and humiliation—quite more than from joy and happiness. I was fortunate to have a teacher—a great man that showed me the depth of human nature. Sometimes, I try to pay it forward. Alas, most people are not very curious. They prefer comfort.”
She listened to him talk, was hypnotized by his voice. She remembered the place where they found Ada. The living hell in the center of the beautiful world. The recollection sent the ice-cold shivers down her body. She was curious but wasn’t sure she would want to go there again. Lord Ashbee, on the other hand, was like the dark power himself, able to transcend any depth of human experience.
May would sit by the open window for hours observing the life of the back alley, the street, the windows across, wondering what sort of life of others they hid. Occasionally she saw an old lady in one of the windows. In another—young couple’s quarrels. Though it all entertained her, she found the lives of others quite mediocre. It was nothing compared to the worlds Lord Ashbee told her about.
Martha came occasionally, cried, and thanked her every time, hailing her Saint Mary. Oh, if only the maid knew!
Occasionally, May saw Ada down on the street. The little girl would wave at her, sometimes stop for a chat, her big eyes somehow sadder after the incident. Once, she brought May fresh flowers that added to the collection of those brought by Lord Ashbee. May looked at Ada and marveled at the fact of what saving this little girl plunged her into, how such an innocent gesture resulted in the things she was doing with Lord Ashbee.
“Sometimes, gestures of kindness result in horrible things, May,” Lord Ashbee told her when she once voiced her thoughts. “Just like beauty can grow from the acts of monstrosity.”
Ah!
Lord Ashbee!
The recollection of their love-making made her blush, smile, throb with more desire, ache for his presence. But she knew, could feel it, that she was like a beautiful caged bird to him. At first, it was a novelty. Then, the comfort and pride of possession. But soon, the bird is forgotten, the occasional chirping—the mere reminder that it is always there to entertain the master in the minutes of utter boredom. There was nothing May could do. But she dreaded the time when Lord Ashbee would start coming less often and eventually stop. Her heart ached from the thought that she, May, was a toy, however beautiful and precious. Oh, if only they had met under different circumstances!
CHAPTER 7
One evening the three men sat at a table in Willi’s Rooms Restaurant. They had just finished dinner and waited for coffee. Walter observed the other tables with subtle curiosity as Lord Ashbee sipped champagne, studying the shapes of irises that stood in the vase in the center of the table. Charles, in his turn, made small talk, occasionally throwing inquiring glances at the other two men.
“Oh, come! Why do I feel like I’m talking to myself?” he finally exclaimed, irritated at the silence from his companions.
Walter snapped his eyes at him.
“I am just trying to figure out if any of the women in this room are of the profession,” the young man said.
“You see?” Charles turned to Lord Ashbee. “You see what you have done? The young man has an obsession now. I wish it were a better one.”
Walter blushed.
“It’s quite an appropriate one for his age,” Lord Ashbee said with a chuckle, and everyone fell silent for some time.
“Well, we can go to Drury Lane tonight,” Charles made another attempt at the conversation. “There is a new play, The Rajah’s Daughter, and the young thing that plays the leading part is quite marvelous. There are real horses on stage, they say, as well as waterfalls. It sounds like quite a show!”
There followed a long silence as Charles’s eyes moved from one man to another, and he finally broke down.
“Oh, God! Talking to you two is like banging my head against the wall. What is the matter with both of you?”
Walter threw a timid glance at him and looked away.
“I have other arrangements,” the young man said, hiding his eyes.
“So do I,” echoed Lord Ashbee.
“I see. I seem to be the only one without ‘arrangements’ these days.” Charles sighed with intentional exaggeration. “What is it that preoccupies you these days, Walter?” he asked with a tone of bitterness.
“Tonight…”—the young man paused—“I promised…” he murmured and fell silent, his eyes darting around.
Charles cocked his head, and Lord Ashbee raised his eyes toward him.
“You were saying?” Lord Ashbee stared at Walter as his lips twitched in a smile.
“I promised Lucie I will see her tonight,” Walter said quietly.
“Ah! You see? You see?” Charles exclaimed theatrically. “The Belle House! It is ruining him!”
Lord Ashbee smiled.
“He finally found the girl that occupies his mind more than his body,” he said. “And the upside is that there is no commitment. What a wonderful arrangement. Isn’t it, Walter? To have a woman you like that you can turn to any time, for pleasure or company?” He thought of May and the strange similarity.
“Until she sucks all the money out of you,” Charles retorted, “or suddenly disappears, or is promised to someone else. And then you are left with the bitterness at that very ‘lack of commitment’ that you so praised in the first place.”
The words affected Lord Ashbee in a strange way. “You are being overly dramatic, Charles,” he said nevertheless.
“Am I? One day, Ashbee, you will find out. Again! And it will hurt more than it did back then when you were so young and naive. When—um, what was her name?” Charles frowned as if remembering, but with a playful grin.
“All right, Charles, enough. I was a different man back then, if you could call me a man at all.”
“What is your deal these days, Ashbee? I know that look. It’s dangerous. Are you involved in another enterprise? Or ruining another soul, perhaps?”
Lord Ashbee smirked.
“Aha!” Charles exclaimed. “Do tell! A new venture?”
“Quite of a private kind, my friend.”
“Oh, I heard rumors,” Charles finally admitted. “Yes, yes, don’t look at me like this. There are rumors. And I know that dreamy look. Don’t smirk! You can’t hide it! It is a woman, isn’t it? I even have an idea of where to find her—“
“Enough, Charles! When do you ever have so much interest in my private matters?”
“Oh, those are the only ones that are worth being interested in. Are you going to tell us?”
“There is nothing to tell,” Lord Ashbee waved him off, but the sudden heaviness in his heart at the thought of May told him he was lying.
CHAPTER 8
It wasn’t the first time Lord Ashbee asked May out.
“Just a night at my house,” he said, “nothing more.”
As much as he liked getting women in trouble, it wasn’t the case with Ma
y. But every time he mentioned it, her eyes flew up at him in despair.
He finally got more persuasive. The little room was suffocating him. The establishment started to bother him. He wanted to get May away from this place. More than anything, he wanted to see her in his house, his bedroom.
“My cousin had left town. There will be no one to disturb us. Gordon, my butler, is a loyal man. If you are that afraid, I can give him a night off. Just me and you. I will show you my place, my library, my collections. We will have food, drinks, anything you want, sweetheart. Come!”
“Your butler might tell someone, and the rumor will go around.”
“Not Gordon. He’s been with me since I can remember. Do you trust me?”
Oh, how many times he asked women this question! How misleading it was! The irony was that women could trust men but never themselves. Not around men. Especially, the men they were infatuated with. Men never promised eternal love and kept it to themselves. Women wanted love to last forever and told everyone.
Did May trust Lord Ashbee? She wasn’t sure. But she desperately wanted to go elsewhere. With Lord Ashbee. Lust and emotions wiped her better judgment and all the precautions that she had taken in the weeks before. Ah, women!
“Do you trust me, May?” Lord Ashbee insisted.
“Yes,” she said though she didn’t, but it didn’t matter anymore, for the idea already consumed her.
—————
It was late evening the next day, and the Belle House was busy with the clients and the usual business of pleasure. The servants went back and forth, bringing food and drinks. No one paid attention to May, who slipped out of the back door and into the carriage where Lord Ashbee was already awaiting her.