From the Viscount With Love

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Stepping back and releasing her hand from his grasp, Frost smiled again, though he wasn't certain it was as warm and inviting as he wished for his expression to be at the moment. Especially as this woman made him rather ill with her grasping, clawing ways. "Have no fear, my dear lady. If I am dissatisfied, you will be the first to know."

  Clearly not taking his words as he actually meant them, Desponia backed away, fluttering her eyelashes at him as she went as if she was some coquettish young debutante. Then, finally, she was gone, leaving Frost alone in the silent, dimly lit hallway.

  No. Not silent. For if he listened, he could hear the sounds of passion emanating faintly from other rooms, from behind other golden doors. But if one listened well, words could be made out from the guttural moans of pleasure. So. Well-padded rooms then, ones that ensured the sounds did not travel too far, yet could still be heard in the hallway. That was good to know. For he had a feeling that once he entered Ianthe's room, someone would return to listen at the door. He was not so foolish as to believe otherwise. At a true brothel, he would be left in peace, but here? Here power and secrets seemed to hold sway. So he would need to be extremely careful.

  What sort of mess had Candlewood gotten him into anyway? He was bored. He was not desperate. Rot and bother anyway.

  Exhaling yet another breath - something that he seemed to be doing quite a lot of this evening - Frost put his hand on the doorknob and turned it.

  Chapter Three

  Lavinia heard the click of the doorknob before she saw it move. So. He was here. Lord Robert Tillsbury, the Viscount Chillton. Frost. And he would expect her to lie on her back and spread her legs for him. He would demand nothing less. It was time to meet her fate. She doubted that she would be able to escape it this time. Not all men were as in love with another woman as Lord Candlewood had been.

  On trembling legs, Lavinia rose from the chair she had been occupying and moved towards the door. However before she could reach the barrier, it swung open wide and there, standing before her, was the most impressive male form she had ever laid eyes upon.

  In fact, it was as if the Heavens had opened and deposited the most perfect angel God had created directly in front of her. If Lavinia had still believed in love at first sight, she would have fallen and fallen hard in that moment. She also cursed the fact that she could never be anything more than a soiled dove to this man. If he asked, she would be his forever, silly and stupid and girlish as that sounded.

  Then, Lavinia snapped back to reality, remembering that this man was a gentleman and she nothing more than a whore he was about to bed. Or a woman about to become a whore at any rate. Still, if things had been different, she would have done anything within her power to win his heart. He had, after all, already won hers with just one glance. Not to mention the hearty approval of her suddenly very lusty body.

  Tall and extremely muscular, Lord Chillton wore his dark brown hair cropped close to his head. He possessed an aquiline nose and high cheekbones. His skin, what she could see of it, was almost tan, as if he spent a great deal of time out of doors. Given his reputation as a sporting man, she was not entirely surprised. Unable to help herself, she also stole a quick peek between his legs and she was more than a little shocked to see a bulge quite larger than she had anticipated. Oh dear.

  That sight made her shiver both in fear and with another emotion she could not name. However, another glace at his face made her momentarily forget that soon he would be forcing his hardened member inside of her. Likely whether she wished it or not. Then again, she supposed, better him than one of Desponia's footmen or coachmen.

  For she did very much like the look of this man now rising over her like a god. If she was to have her virtue taken, better by him than by another. At least Frost was pleasing to look at, and she could lie there beneath him and imagine that he cared for her. Perhaps then, what he would do to her body would not be so bad.

  There was also something about the curve of his lips and the way he cocked his head to the side as if he was studying her that gave her pause as well. Her first instincts had been correct, she quickly decided. This man was not a monster. Not like the others who had paraded through Lycosura before him had been. This man was...more somehow. There was a part of him that was hidden away from the world, yet she could see glimpses of that other side of his nature peeking out from behind the bland look he wore on his face like a mask with cool indifference.

  Yet it was his eyes, a stormy sort of silvery-gray, that utterly captivated her. These were not the eyes of a rogue. The eyes of a rake? Certainly. But not a rogue. And strangely, at the sight of him, something flared deep inside of her, uncurling from a part of her soul that had lain dormant for a long as she could remember.

  Swallowing hard, Lavinia dropped into a deep curtsey, the sort her nanny had taught her long ago in the drafty old castle she had once called home. "My lord. It is pleasing to meet you."

  For a moment he said nothing, again merely studying her as if she was a piece of horseflesh he wished to purchase. And in many ways, that was precisely what she was. Then, finally, he spoke. "Your manner of speech. Is that natural to you or were you taught?"

  Of all the questions for him to ask, that was one she hadn't even considered. Was she still untouched? Certainly she had anticipated that question. Was she his for the entire evening, as promised? Given the way some brothels moved women around, that would not have been unexpected either. But a question about her speech? That was far from anticipated.

  "I...I am uncertain what you mean, my lord." Lavinia bit her lip, though she knew instinctively that was far from a seductive act and she really could not fail at this. "I have always spoken this way. My nanny..." Then she trailed off and her eyes likely became as wide as saucers. "What I meant to say..."

  The viscount, however, silenced her with a slash of his hand through the air. Quick, but not harsh. Almost as if he was short on time, though she knew he had arranged to stay with her the entire night. "That is what I thought." Then, for some inexplicable reason, he smiled at her and Lavinia thought she might melt into a puddle where she stood.

  No man had ever smiled at her - at least not in that fashion. Men had looked at her over the years, certainly, including her mother's lover. But those looks had been ones of derision, or their smiles filled with lust as they likely imagined her skirts over her head, her body bared to their hungry gazes. Even Lord Candlewood, for as kind as he had been, had not smiled at her in that very peculiar way that made her insides turn to mush. And she had given him pleasure.

  "'I'm...sorry?" Lavinia had no idea what else to say. She did not know if he was pleased or angry at her reply.

  "There is no need to be sorry," he finally said, gesturing to the chair she had just vacated. "Please. Sit so that we might become better acquainted." Then he frowned and she found that she did not like that expression on his lips half as well as she did his smile. "And untie those infernal garters holding up your skirts. I find I do not care for them in the least. I find I wish you to look like a proper lady."

  Lavinia hurried to comply. Her instructions from Madame had been very clear. She was to do whatever the viscount wished. So if he wished her skirts to be down to their proper length, she would make them just so. Anything so that he would not report her to Desponia. The threat of being handed over to a footman still loomed large over her. Until she was officially no longer untouched, it always likely would.

  "Better, my lord?" she squeaked out in a high voice, so different than her normal throaty tones.

  He pursed his lips and immediately her eyes were drawn directly to them. "Much." Then, without warning, he settled himself on the wide expanse of the bed. Immediately, she rose to join him, thinking that it was expected, but to her surprise, he waved her back into the chair. "Later there will be time enough for that. First, I wish to converse." Those silvery eyes were back on her again and she found that she could not have run even if she would have wished to. And at the moment, she very much wished t
o - no matter the consequences.

  "What do you wish to talk about, my lord?" Primly, she folded her hands in her lap and waited.

  This situation was all very surreal for Lavinia. It reminded her far too much of the Marquess of Burfield, her previous protector. The elderly marquess had been a godsend to her when she was in desperate need of help. Most of society, including Burfield's heir, had assumed that the old man had bedded her. He had not. He had only wished to talk, to have someone to play chess with on occasion, and read to him in the evenings as his vision failed. She had served that role for the marquess and in return, he protected her. He gave her food, shelter, and clothing, saw that she had plenty to read and needlework if she wished it. The kindly man had taken her in when she had nowhere else to run and she had been ever so grateful for him and his assistance.

  However Lavinia suspected that the viscount before her was nothing like her beloved, late marquess. Yet he still seemed to wish to talk, just as Burfield had. It was beyond peculiar.

  When a wicked grin graced the viscount's lips, her suspicions were confirmed. The two men were nothing alike.

  While all the marquess had managed to stir in Lavinia were warm, caring feelings, the sort one might have for a beloved grandfather, the sensations the viscount was stirring up within her were not even remotely the same. In fact, one might say they were downright wanton and for a brief moment, she burned with shame. Then, she remembered who and what she was. What she had been forced to do in the past. And though she was still dreadfully ashamed, especially in front of this man, she did her best to hide that embarrassment. She was a whore. He knew it and so did she. There was no use in pretending. It wasn't as if he was here to rescue her. He was here to fuck her.

  She must not have been as good an actress as she had thought, however, for once more those assessing gray eyes were upon her and she had the most peculiar sensation that they could see right through her and into her very soul.

  "At the moment, I wish to discuss you, my dear." Something dark and vaguely dangerous crept into the viscount's eyes just then. "After all, an innocent in a whorehouse is far from a common occurrence. In fact, some would say that it is utterly impossible." Then he raised an eyebrow, as if in challenge.

  At that, Lavinia felt her temper spike. "I am exactly as I claim to be, my lord, I can assure you. I am as yet untouched. I am still a virgin." She blushed with shame as she spoke, but it was the truth. Even though she had always been taught that a lady did not discuss such things. Then again, that had been a very long time ago. And she was no longer a lady.

  "And yet, my friend the Duke of Candlewood tells me that you have some skill in the bedchamber." More challenge lit the viscount eyes.

  "Lord Chillton..." Lavinia began but he held up his hand.

  "Please. Call me Frost. All of my closest friends do."

  She had the distinct impression that he was toying with her, but instead of arguing, she pressed her lips together for a moment before she spoke. "Very well. Frost." When he inclined his head in appreciation, she continued. "There are, shall we say, certain areas where I am in possession of skills that many men enjoy." She refused to reveal that she had been forced to suck the cock of her mother's lover for many years. He did not need to know how she had acquired her skills, after all. "And I have been taught some of the art of seduction." Again, before she had the chance to escape him, the new Marquess of Burfield had taught her how to touch herself for pleasure. It had disgusted her, but then, it was better than allowing him to thoroughly debauch her, though that had been his planned eventual outcome. "But I am still untouched, as difficult as that might be to believe."

  Lavinia also refused to add that it wasn't for Desponia's lack of trying. The madam had done everything from force Lavinia to sunbathe nude on the brothel's roof to appearing in little more than a sheer chemise in the main sitting room each night, all of her - save for her masked face, for until she bedded a man, Desponia liked playing up the mystery surrounding her "precious" Ianthe - on display for the men of the ton to peruse. All in a vain effort to make her appear more like a harlot and less like a lady. After all, Desponia believed that, at a man's heart, he wanted a whore and not a lady, despite the current conventional thinking.

  It had only been when the Duke of Candlewood had come to Lycosura, seeking a woman to give him a brief respite from his needs without the involved business of a true bedding that Lavinia had been selected to move into one of the golden rooms deeper within Lycosura. That night, she had done her best to pleasure the duke, hopeful that he would be pleased with her efforts. Pleased enough to purchase her from Desponia or at least offer her shelter.

  He had not. And when he had returned the following week and still refused to bed her? She knew that her dream of the duke as her savior had come to an abrupt end. What she had not counted on was that word of her failure would leak out. And that news of her untouched state would spread through the men of the ton. She had also not considered the possibility that most men who frequented Lycosura wanted a woman with some experience. A whore who was still a virgin was a hard sell to most debauched rakes of Society.

  Yet this man - Frost - sitting before her silently, did not seem to mind that she was still chaste. If anything, it seemed to intrigue him. At the very least, he was not bounding from the room, bellowing that Desponia had deceived him. Lavinia supposed that was something.

  Finally, Frost nodded, as if coming to some sort of decision. "I find that I believe you." Then, before he could say anything more, he sprung to his feet and far more quietly than she had thought possible, made his way to the door and pressed an ear to it. He listened for a moment, a frown creeping back over his features and suddenly, Lavinia felt the cold snake of fear begin to uncoil inside of her once more.

  Then, just as abruptly, he returned silently to the bed, snagging Lavinia's hand and dragging her with him as he did so. With an ompf, she landed on top of him in a massive swirl of skirts. She had worn full, formal dress, just as he had requested, and the many layers of fabric and fripperies tangled in her legs, leaving a large portion of her backside uncovered.

  Shame raced through her, but then she remembered Desponia and her threats. Resigned to her fate, she was about to inform Frost that he could take her whenever he wished when suddenly, she found herself wrapped in his strong arms. They were like a vise around her, pinning her body to his while his free hand caressed her bottom.

  Yet for some reason, for the first time since she had fled the castle, she felt safe and protected. And she wanted to cry, for she knew it was only an illusion.

  "Just trust me," he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her neck for a moment before he leaned up to capture her mouth in a hot, searing kiss that wiped the thought of everything else from her mind the moment their lips met.

  For a moment, Lavinia forgot that she was a prostitute in a brothel. She forgot that, though she was still a virgin, she had done things that no proper lady would ever do. She even forgot Desponia's threats.

  Instead, there was just Frost and his glorious mouth. His kisses were merely heated and altogether scorching by turns, his hands roaming freely over her bare backside, kneading the soft flesh until she found herself squirming and arching against him, the core of her growing damp with desire. When she drew in a breath, he took advantage, sliding his tongue into her mouth where it tangled with hers. He parried and thrust, his mouth mimicking what she knew his body wanted to do to hers. And, much to her shock and shame, she allowed it. In fact, in that very moment, if he would go on kissing her as if she truly mattered to him, she would have allowed him anything.

  Dimly, she became aware of a shift in the air inside the room, a coolness that could only have come from the unheated hallway and not inside the room where a fire blazed brightly in the hearth. She also heard the click of the doorknob and the faint sound of the door being closed again. She had been completely unaware that it had been opened.

  And then, when Frost pulled away from her ever
so slightly, Lavinia finally understood. They were being spied upon, most likely by Desponia's servants. When she heard the snick of a lock being clicked, she knew that whatever test she had been given, she had passed - for now. Apparently, the madam was satisfied that Lavinia was doing as commanded. Otherwise, she was fairly certain that Frost would have been yanked away from her and she would have been summarily hauled off belowstairs to the footmen's quarters. Unable to help herself, she shivered, which unfortunately, did not go unnoticed by the man she was currently lying atop.

  "Is something wrong, love?" Frost asked quietly, seeing the fear that had sprung into Lavinia's eyes when she realized they were being spied upon.

  He could tell that she wanted to deny it, but instead, she nodded, indicating to him just how much strain she was under. As if he hadn't been able to ferret it out for himself. Candlewood had been right. The chit did need saving. Including from Frost himself, it seemed. "If I fail to please you, my lord, there will be...consequences."

  Frost's first instinct was to immediately leap to his feet, track down whoever had threatened this woman - most likely Desponia - and thrash them within an inch of their miserable lives. After a moment, however, he recovered his good sense and he decided on a more prudent course of action.

  "Can't have that," he muttered as he began undoing the laces on Ianthe's gown with skilled fingers. Really, he believed he was better than any lady's maid could ever be at getting a woman out of her clothing. Then, he felt Ianthe stiffen in his arms as if she wished to run away, though she clearly forced herself to stay. Whatever punishment awaited her for failure to please him must be harsh indeed. He could not allow that.

  "Tell me your name, love," he whispered as he moved on to the row of buttons down the back of her gown, another clue that she was not the harlot she pretended to be. These were gowns for a proper lady. A true whore's gowns would be far easier to remove. It was yet another indication that this woman was, as Candlewood had correctly surmised, not at all what she appeared to be. She was truly a damsel in distress.