by Brown, Em
Chapter Six
A SMILE CURLED ABOUT the corners of her lips. She was relieved—and perhaps a bit proud. Vale felt proud for her as well. She had more fortitude than he had expected, and yet, if he were to recollect her when she was younger, he should not have been surprised. He knew full well that she was here tonight to satisfy a curiosity—it was quite obvious she was a novice. But how far would she allow him to take her?
No. He was not to entertain such questions. It was best that she not return. She was looking at him expectantly, waiting for his instructions.
“We are done for tonight, ma petite,” he told her.
She seemed disappointed. “What time shall I return tomorrow—my lord?”
A presumptuous question, Vale thought. “You wish to return?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Not tomorrow,” Vale said. “In a sennight, you may return, but know first that I indulged your inexperience tonight. The next will not be as easy.”
“My lord?”
“The rules are simple. The consequences are as follows: three lashes for failing to address me properly, five lashes for speaking out of turn, ten lashes for failure to obey without hesitation, and twenty lashes for arriving late. You will always stand at attention, your eyes to the back wall, waiting for my instructions. You will be clothed in nothing. Madame Botreaux has a maid who can assist you in your wardrobe. If at any time, you miss our appointment, I will assume you to have concluded your association with Madame Botreaux’s. Is all that clear?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He unclasped the collar from her. “Now be gone. And take your robe with you.”
After she had left, Vale let out a haggard breath and sat down on the bench she had occupied but moments before. He put a hand to his forehead. This was not how he had envisioned his marriage. Granted, he had once sought a mate who shared the same proclivities he did in the bed chamber, but while he had met many such women at the Cavern, he could not find one that he could sustain a fondness for, and so he had given up his quest for the perfect match.
Harrietta’s distaste for their marriage had surprised him, especially since he had taken the precaution of not forcing himself upon her on their wedding night. As it had been nine years since they had last seen one another, he had thought to ease her back into acquaintance. He had sensed that she had not been particularly eager to marry him, though he did not understand precisely why. She had been attracted to him once. He was sure of it.
They had been much younger. Harrietta had been no more than six and ten. Vale, in search of Harold, had come upon Harrietta and her sisters in the garden at their home. Harrietta was to have her come out, and her sisters were speculating about the men she would come across and what courtship entailed.
“Will you let a gentleman kiss you?” Bethany had asked.
“Only upon the hand, but if I am fond of him, I may let him kiss me on the cheek,” Harrietta had responded.
“And not the mouth? What does the lady do when kissed upon the mouth?”
“Why, kissing is quite simple,” Harrietta had said with all the authority merited by being the eldest sister. “You but have to pout your lips a bit like this, and press it like so.”
She demonstrated with the back of her hand.
“With your mouth closed like that?” Jacqueline inquired.
“Of course,” Harrietta answered resolutely.
Vale could not help but laugh at the quaint conviction in her tone.
“Pray, what is it you find so amusing?” Harrietta demanded, her cheeks reddening upon realizing he had heard their conversation.
“Not all kisses are the same,” he explained.
She raised an eyebrow.
He sat down next to her on the garden bench. “Some kisses are better with an open mouth....like this.”
Lifting her chin, he kissed her fully on the mouth, and when he parted his lips, hers opened of their own accord.
When he had disengaged, he could feel that her breath had quickened. Her eyes seemed unable to focus. He remembered the smell of flowers that blew about them, saw the blush in her cheeks deepen. She was still leaning in toward him, as if ready for more, and he wondered if he had parted prematurely. He would have kissed her again had he not noticed the mouths of Bethany and Jacqueline hanging agape in shock.
But that was then. He might have been Harrietta’s first kiss, and an easy source of infatuation.
This was entirely different. Harrietta was not in the bloom of youth. Madame Botreaux’s was not a bucolic garden. And the lips...the lips involved were not those of the mouth but of a more intimate place.
The image of her quim flashed before Vale. Pink, supple, swollen. Her clitoris extended. Her finger working it furiously. The moisture glistening, the color deepening.
Vale unbuttoned his breeches and pulled out his hardening cock. He rubbed his hand up and down the shaft as he wondered how she would have reacted to his touch. He remembered her short little breaths as she neared her climax. The sound of a woman in pleasure was more melodic to him than any opera. Vale circled his hand around the head of his cock and pulled at it until he felt his balls clench. With a grunt, his seed spilling over his hand, he spent in the very chair in which Harrietta had spent.
He was glad he would not see Harrietta at the Cavern for another seven days. For the first time since he had become a regular at Madame Botreaux’s, Vale felt unsure of himself.
HARRIETTA TOOK HER breakfast the following morning in her room. It would not do to appear in good health after she had left her husband at the opera the night before. She gathered he knew it would have taken quite an illness to tear her away from Mozart. For a moment she felt a cringe of remorse for being deceptive, but then she remembered the beautiful Countess D’Alessio. If he could have his little divertissement, why could she not have hers?
Last night had been an experience that had no equal. She had no idea such guilty, sinful pleasures could be so arousing. She felt a side of her, ere hidden, now exposed. It was frightening and exhilarating. Back in her bed, she had pleasured herself again to the memory of what she had done earlier in the Cavern, but most of all, she remembered him. She knew nothing of him, and yet he attracted her. She wondered what sort of countenance he had hidden beneath that mask of his. In the darkness of the Cavern, it was difficult to see details. Was his physiognomy as magnificent as the silhouette of his body or was he a hideous toad? But she had no need for his face. His body and even the harsh whisper of his voice was alluring. The huskiness of his voice was forced, but she found it oddly comforting.
“Did my lady enjoy the opera?” asked Sarah, who had brought up her breakfast tray and was now drawing aside the curtains.
“It was wonderful,” Harrietta responded as she ate readily of her toast and jam. She stole a glance at Sarah, who was quite pretty with her pert little nose and soft tendrils of hair curling out from beneath her mobcap.
“He is a most handsome lad,” Harrietta commented.
Sarah whirled around, alarm in her eyes. “My lady?”
“The tall one who held your hand last night.”
Harrietta had seen the pair kissing upon her own return late in the night. “Worry not,” Harrietta assured Sarah, finishing her plate, “your secret is safe with me.”
Sarah clasped her hands tightly. “Oh, thank you, my lady, thank you. Mrs. Stewart would be most upset if she knew Johnny had come calling.”
The poor distraught thing, Harrietta thought to herself. Sarah seemed ready to throw herself at Harrietta’s feet in gratitude, but a knock at the door drew their attention. Sarah went to open the door and admitted the Marquis.
How debonair her husband always looked. This morning he was richly dressed in a dark blue coat. The ruffles of his sleeves fell delicately over his hands, and he carried with him an ivory handled walking stick. His hair was perfectly pulled back with a dark bow, and the buckles of his shoes gleamed. Adorned from head to foot in layers of garments and
accessories, Vale contrasted sharply to the barren dress of her lordship of the Cavern.
“I came to see how you were faring,” Vale said after Sarah had left the room. “You must have been quite ill to have left the opera so abruptly.”
“Yes,” Harrietta said, busying herself with drinking her hot chocolate.
He strode over to her bed. “What manner of ailment was it that afflicted you?”
“I...a disorder of the stomach,” Harrietta answered. “It was nausea.”
“How terrible. I should have sent for a doctor.”
“Oh, no need for a doctor. I am feeling much better now.”
Vale looked down at her empty plate, where barely a crumb of her breakfast was left. “I see. I am glad to hear it. But you must allow me to accompany you home in the future. It is not wise for a woman to traverse the streets alone at such an hour.”
“You were...occupied.”
It seemed Vale straightened his back a little at that, but then his features softened. “I worried about you, Harrietta.”
Had he really? Harrietta wondered. Now she felt doubly bad for having lied to him.
“Did you leave the opera early then?” Harrietta asked a little nervously.
“I could not stay if you were ill.”
“I took to my bed immediately,” Harrietta lied, avoiding his gaze. “I think the respite did much to improve my state. I am sorry that you could not enjoy the rest of the opera.”
“We shall have to make a point to see it again so that you may see it in its entirety.”
She smiled at him. “I should enjoy that very much.”
“Yes, well, it will have to be in a few days. I am off to a coffeehouse this morning to meet with investors and will be taking a trip to view the properties they wish me to consider. I will be back in a sennight.”
Harrietta nodded, though she felt disappointed that she would lose his company for so long.
As if reading her mind, he added, “Charlotte will prove better company for you than I.”
He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her brow and turned to leave. He stopped.
“You would not happen to know what has become of the draperies in the bedroom upstairs?” he asked. “Mrs. Stewart notified me of their absence.”
Harrietta shook her head. “Perhaps they were taken down to be cleaned?”
“Perhaps,” Vale said, his brows knit in thought, but then his face cleared. “Au revoir, my dear.”
When Vale was gone, Harrietta sank into her pillows. Perhaps she should not consider returning to Madame Botreaux’s.
“How can you not?” Charlotte pressed later that day as they were riding through Hyde Park.
It was a warm afternoon and anyone who was anyone appeared to be in the Park.
“It is no easy task to get to Madame Botreaux’s,” Harrietta responded. “The servants seem quite loyal to Vale. If they should talk...”
“Of course they will talk if they find out, but the worst they will assume is that you have a lover. And if Dunnesford is not concerned, why should you be?”
Harrietta pressed her lips into a grim line. “Vale would be indifferent to my taking a lover?”
Charlotte hesitated. “Well, there be flaws to my cousin’s character, indeed, but unfairness be not one of them. In that regard, he is quite exceptional for a husband. It shows a generosity of spirit, I think.”
“He said as much to you about the prospect of my having an affair?”
“In passing.”
Vale must be more devoted to the Countess than Harrietta had previously thought.
“Pray, do not think me disloyal to my cousin,” Charlotte continued. “I have great affection for Dunnesford, but he and I are both of free minds and a mutual understanding.”
“Would he be indifferent to my association with Madame Botreaux’s then?”
“No. A lover is one thing, Madame Botreaux’s another.”
“I have six days to think on it,” Harrietta said.
They turned their horses around and came upon Lady Falconet and another woman.
“My dear Hetty, what a pleasant sight you are,” Alexandra greeted. “My compliments to your dressmaker. Normally, I am not much fond of the color green, but you wear it well.”
“You are too kind, Lady Falconet,” Harrietta thanked.
Alexandra gave a curt nod to Charlotte, who returned with a tight smile.
“I am hosting a dinner tomorrow evening and would be much pleased to invite you. Mrs. Windleton will be in attendance, and she plays a marvelous spinet. And you as well, Charlotte, you are welcome to come.”
“I should be delighted,” Harrietta replied.
“Wonderful. Six o’clock in Berkeley Square.”
They exchanged further pleasantries. Alexandra introduced her companion, and then they bid adieu. Harrietta looked at Charlotte.
“You do not seem pleased,” Harrietta noted to Charlotte, wondering if her friend was upset Alexandra had invited Charlotte as an afterthought. “Is it because of Vale and Alexandra’s brother?”
“In truth, yes, but I have never felt warmly toward either Lord Elroy or Lady Falconet. I cannot specify why, and will decline her belated dinner invitation to me.”
Harrietta found Charlotte’s sentiments interesting. She understood Charlotte’s loyalty toward Vale, but she herself thought Alexandra and Lovell rather amiable. And she was determined to ascertain the reason for the coldness between Vale and Lord Elroy.
Chapter Seven
THERE WAS SOMETHING familiar about Lovell Elroy, though Harrietta could not put a name to it. She and Lovell were paired together in a game of whist at Lady Falconet’s dinner. He was quite a striking man, Harrietta thought to herself. She had never seen eyes so blue. And his dress was as impeccable as Vale’s. The silk brocade coat seemed quite commanding on his broad shoulders. The lace cuffs of his shirt served to make his large hands appear more masculine. It was little wonder, then, that the ladies flirted openly with him.
He was polite to Harrietta but not nearly as attentive as his sister.
“Has London treated you well thus far?” he asked her in between sets, filling her glass with port.
“Exceptionally well,” Harrietta replied. “There is all the world in London, as Doctor Johnson says. The museums, the arts, the music, the history, the parks...I cannot imagine ever tiring of living here.”
“For oldtimers like myself, it takes a refreshing new view such as yours to make us appreciate what we have come to take for granted. Did you enjoy Le Nozze di Figaro?”
Harrietta colored. “I, er, I took ill during the intermission and could not complete it.”
“That is a shame. I hope your recovery was quick.”
“Very quick,” Harrietta acknowledged and took a sip of her port to avoid Lovell’s piercing gaze. Those blue eyes seemed to miss very little. “We may attempt another performance so that I may see the second half. Mozart is my favorite composer.”
“Ah, mine as well,” Lovell said, surprised. “The six quartets he dedicated to Haydn are masterful.”
“I heard that Haydn himself considers Mozart the greatest composer in a hundred years.”
“Yes. Bach would come in a close second for me, but a second nonetheless.”
Harrietta enjoyed her conversation with Lovell and became increasingly mystified that Vale should have conceived such an aversion to the man.
At the end of their cardplay, Lovell remarked to Harrietta, “You are a marvelous whist player. I do hope we may be partners again. I think I have never had such a successful run at whist, but you must keep the entire winnings for yourself. You merit them more than I.”
Harrietta shook her head. “I could not take them from the brother of the hostess.”
“And I could not from an honored guest. Please. I insist.”
He deposited the pieces in a pouch and handed it to her. Rising, he bowed to her and the other players, then took himself to visit with others in the ro
om.
It was no small sum of money—more than Harrietta had ever won in her lifetime. Most of her games of whist had been with her sisters and Harold, in which the bets were paltry in comparison. Indeed, she had been unsure of participating in a card game here at Lady Falconet’s when the stakes were first voiced. She had not much money upon her, but Lovell assured her that he would be happy to loan her any sum she required. But she had played a good game, and proudly decided that she would donate the winnings to the parish orphanage.
“Felicitations to you,” Alexandra congratulated her afterwards as they were sitting at the sofa listening to Mrs. Windleton at the ivories. “I understand you have quite a way with cards. You must come again. Tomorrow night we feature vingt-et-un.”
“I am not as familiar with that game,” Harrietta said.
“I am sure you will become quite adept at it.”
“Thank you for your invitation, Lady Falconet. Yours is the first I have received in London. You have been most kind to me.”
“If I may be bold, I do hope we can become as sisters, for I have always wanted a sister, and there is a quality about you, Hetty, that I find suits me exceptionally well.”
“I do miss my sisters and family, and understand they will not be visiting me for some time. I should very much like having a sister here in London.”
Alexandra smiled broadly. “That is wonderful to hear. I only hope....”
“Yes?”
“Well...you may have discerned there is no love lost between your husband and my brother.”
Harrietta took a deep breath and decided to ask the question that had been burning in her mind. “Indeed, what has caused the rift?”
Alexandra looked away. “My brother would not wish me to speak of it to you.”
“Oh.”
“But I suppose if we are to be sisters—you must not breathe a word to Lovell or Dunnesford. Lovell would be quite cross with me if he knew I told you. He was quite surprised I had invited you. I believe he has taken a liking to you despite his inclination not to be partial to any wife of Dunnesford’s.”