by EM BROWN
“I won’t tell a soul.”
Alexandra looked in Lovell’s direction, and, assured that he was out of earshot, proceeded. “Many years ago, they were in love with the same woman.”
Harrietta nodded. That explained the animosity.
“She chose Dunnesford over my brother, and though Lovell was quite heartbroken over it, he wished her only happiness. It was no fault of Dunnesford that she preferred him over my brother. But then Dunnesford cast her aside, choosing not to marry her, and instead took a mistress. She died unexpectedly a few months later. Lovell is convinced she died of a broken heart, and for that he holds Dunnesford responsible and has said as much to your husband. I had advised my brother against it, as I am sure Dunnesford did not appreciate hearing such words. But my brother was quite filled with agony, especially when he learned the woman he had loved had died heavy with child. A letter she had written to her sister before her death said that Dunnesford had denied he was the father and said he had found another mistress.”
Harrietta felt her insides crumbling within her. How could Vale have done such a thing?
“Was that mistress the Countess D’Alessio?”
Alexandra looked uncomfortable but eventually nodded.
Harrietta sighed. She tried to think of reasons that might justify his behavior, but she found none satisfactory. It was hard to imagine Vale could have been so coldhearted, and yet she understood him to be quite dedicated to the Countess. Her heart ached for the poor deceased woman.
“I have caused you misery,” Alexandra said, distressed. “I should not have spoken.”
“No, I would rather know than not.”
“Then you are a stronger woman than most.”
Harrietta spent many hours in the following days with Lovell and Alexandra, whose favorite pastime was cards. Vingt-et-un did not come as easily to Harrietta as whist, but she was only in debt to Alexandra a few guineas at the end of it all. No more was said of the history between Dunnesford and Elroy. True to her word, she kept the knowledge to herself, and did not even speak of it to Charlotte, though she did try to ascertain what Charlotte knew.
“I only know it involved a woman,” Charlotte had said.
Harrietta decided she needed no further confirmation and berated herself for ever having had tender affections for Vale. In marrying him, she had executed her obligation to her family. Vale, in turn, had himself a wife who would not ask more from him in marriage than he cared to give. Thus, there was no reason why she should not return to Madame Botreaux’s if that was her inclination. Indeed, she counted the days till her next assignation with the man in silver and black.
VALE COULD NOT UNDERSTAND why Harrietta had greeted him with such curtness upon his return, which was quite in contrast to the warmth and friendship they had shared before his departure. Something clearly seemed to weigh upon her mind. Was she regretting their marriage? Was she thinking about Madame Botreaux’s? He shook his head. He had married Harrietta precisely so that he would not have to trouble his mind over such matters in the manner of a typical husband, but here he was disconcerted by the state of his wife.
The report from his most trusted footman, Francis, whom he had assigned to keep watch over Harrietta without her knowledge—if she was reckless enough to travel the length of Covent Garden to Madame Botreaux’s unaccompanied, he needed Francis to ensure her safety—made his displeasure worse.
“Her ladyship made no visit to Madame Botreaux’s but has spent the majority of her time with Lady Falconet,” Francis told him.
Vale cursed openly. He wondered if Alexandra or Lovell had aught to do with Harrietta’s sudden change in demeanor toward him. Regardless, the pair was not safe companionship for Harrietta. He should have said something to Harrietta when they had first encountered them at the opera, but he had hoped not to draw attention to the twins. Little did he think that Lovell or Alexandra would want much to do with Harrietta. Now he knew they clearly had some design upon her.
He found Harrietta in the library, curled before the fire, reading a book.
“I regret to have left you alone for so long when you are yet new to the city,” he told her.
“I am capable of seeing to myself,” she assured him, then turned back to her book.
“I have been meaning to present you more properly to my friends and acquaintances. Many of them are quite impatient to meet you. Perhaps we can host a dinner here.”
“If it pleases you,” she replied without looking up.
Vale frowned, but forced himself to remain optimistic. “I am sure you will make many new friends...and will have no more need for the company of Lord Elroy or Lady Falconet.”
She looked up sharply. “Did the servants....?”
“It matters not how I know.” He sat down near her and said in a gentle tone, “They are not worthy of your friendship.”
She raised a brow at him. “I know you do not regard them highly, but they have been naught but amiable to me.”
He felt a muscle ripple in his jaw. “I would rather you did not associate with them.”
“Why?”
The bluntness of her question caught him off guard.
“The past is best kept in the past,” he replied.
“It must be an unsavory past for you not to be able to give voice to it.”
Vale narrowed his eyes. “Did Lovell say something to you?”
“No, he did not.”
She sounded convincing, but he remained unsure.
“Harrietta,” he said, attempting his best to be patient, though his blood always boiled where Lovell was concerned, “I have known them for much longer than you. You may trust that I would not dispense such advice lightly.”
“I am not a child and can form my own judgments.”
“I doubt it not, but in this, you would do best to heed my counsel.”
“Will my association with Lord Elroy or Lady Falconet cause you harm or dishonor your name?”
“No,” Vale answered, a little taken aback by her query. He had not expected her to contest him on this with such fervor.
“Then I do not see why I should stop seeing them. We had an understanding, you and I, not to interfere with one another.”
Astonished, he rose to his feet. “You would deliberately defy my wishes?”
“Defy your wishes?” she echoed. “Are you attempting to be my father? I already have one, thank you.”
Vale could hardly believe her words—or the tartness of her tone. “I may not be your father, Harrietta, but I am your husband. And I forbid you to associate with Lord Elroy or his sister.”
Her bottom lip quivered, and Vale wished his words had not come out as harshly as they had. She stood and said through clenched teeth, “You are not my lord and keeper.”
Whirling on her heels, she left the room. Vale let out an oath. He had always respected Mr. Aubrey as a progressive man who raised his daughters to be independent, but at the moment he cursed the man for having done too good a job with Harrietta. Independence could border on foolhardiness. And reining in his wife was not something he had counted on doing. Inside or out of the Cavern of Pleasures.
HARRIETTA STOOD IN the alcove, sans clothing, her chin tilted high, waiting. As he studied her naked form, Vale found she had a nicer body than he would have thought. Although her arms were more slender than he liked, her breasts slightly smaller than the other women he had come across, he appreciated the firmness of her orbs. They would not be as easy to bind because of their smaller size—he once had a submissive who adored having her large overripe breasts tied in a tourniquet till they turned red—but there were so many parts of a woman’s body that could be addressed.
That he should now feel his skin warming was no surprise, being that he was a red-blooded man standing before a nude woman—one awaiting him to use her body at his discretion. He was relieved that she had arrived at her appointed time for he had no desire to strike her for being late. Indeed, he felt his nerves on edge, fearing that she
would falter and commit him to use his crop or the lash upon her. He had never felt such unease. And yet the darker part of him was curious. Curious to know how she would react to the crop and how she would enjoy it.
“Hold out your wrists,” he instructed her, noticing that she obeyed promptly, her arms presented at chest level, straight and strong. Not like the last beauty who had offered her arms meekly.
He wound a rope around Harrietta’s wrists and flung one end of the rope over a hook overhead, securing her arms above her. From another hook, he created a cradle with the rope and slid her left leg through the noose. Casting the final rope to a hook on the wall, he wrapped the rope around her left ankle to secure her leg in place and prevent it from moving. He stood back to assess his handiwork. He could see the curiosity writ upon her face, but she held her questions in check.
“The asymmetry of your position,” he explained, “keeps you from feeling too comfortable. If you are good, you may merit a more relaxing and symmetrical bondage.”
In his early years, he had always bound a submissive symmetrically and one of them had actually fallen asleep in the ropes.
“Your discomfort will sharpen your awareness,” he continued. “You will begin to feel parts of your body you had never much noticed before. Tell me, when you are with a man, which parts of your body do you wish him to touch?”
After a pause, she replied, “If I bear him affection, the cheek first—my lord.”
“And if you have no affection?”
“Then I should not desire him to touch me at all, my lord.”
“What of a man you have a carnal desire but no affection for?”
He could see that her brow furrowed beneath her mask. “I do not think that were possible, my lord. Perhaps for the male sex.”
“A limiting philosophy.”
“It is less philosophy and more physiology.”
Vale raised an eyebrow.
“My lord,” she added hastily.
“Ma petite, your presence here belies your belief.”
She gave him a challenging look.
“Do you bear me affection?” he asked plainly.
“No, my lord.”
“And yet you will spend for me—you have already.”
“I did pleasure myself, my lord.”
Vale smiled. Save for the first time he had lain with a woman—a serving wench in a roadside inn decades ago—he had never failed to make a woman spend. He walked up to her and stroked her cheek with the knuckle of his forefinger.
“If I desired it, you would spend and spend willingly, ma petite,” he told her softly.
Her chest rose with her quickened breath, but a corner of her mouth curled derisively. “Indeed, my lord?”
“Indeed. But you have yet to earn the right to spend tonight.” He stepped away. “What follows the cheek?”
“A kiss on the lips. A hand to the breast. Then the...the part between my legs...my lord.”
“You move too fast, ma petite. Allow him to savor each part before you allow him another.”
Using the end of his crop, he circled one breast. “There is much that can be done here. The flesh can be fondled, aye, but do you not feel an intensity of sensation collected here?”
He touched her nipple with his crop and watched as it hardened beautifully for him. “These are incredible points of arousal. And stimulation by hand is but one means. Have you ever had your breasts kissed? Bitten? Suckled?”
Her voice quivered. “No, my lord.”
“Then you are in for a pleasant discovery.”
“Will you, my lord?”
Her question stunned him. Surely he had not heard correctly?
“Will you k-kiss my breast?”
Vale narrowed his eyes at her, stared at a breast with its pretty pink nub pointed at him. He felt his mouth water at the thought of taking her areola between his lips. His blood was stirring in his loins. He felt flustered. Bloody hell, this was not how it was supposed to proceed.
Chapter Eight
HARRIETTA FELT THREE sharp blows to her buttocks. She gasped. Had she asked a wrong question? He had never mentioned a rule against asking questions.
“What the devil!” she exclaimed, though the blows had not been overly harsh.
“Failure to address me properly,” he informed. “Do you wish three more?”
“No, my lord,” she answered but with an indignant flush. Inside, she wondered that she had allowed a man to take his riding crop to her as if she were an errant pup.
He did not leave her time to dwell and ran the crop along the inside of her arm. “Did your lovers not caress your arms? Trace their tongues along your throat? Admire your belly?”
Everywhere he spoke of, he preceded with the lingering of his crop until she shivered, feeling as if he had awakened every nerve that he touched. Her lifted leg began to ache, but even that did nothing to diminish the arousal of the rest of her body.
Then his crop reached her mons, and a groan escaped her lips. He swirled the crop in her patch of hair, then slid it between her legs.
If I desired it, you would spend and spend willingly.
The crop grazed the bottom of her clit, teasing it, increasing the aggravation. He slid the crop to the thigh of her lifted leg, tapping it.
“This,” he said, his voice filled with such sensuality that she felt like melting, “is a wondrous part of the body. So close to the pinnacle of pleasure. So sensitive. So aware.”
He flicked the crop against the inside of her thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but in an instant her lower body stood at attention. She became conscious of the faint pulsing in her quim.
“Imagine the mixture of pain and pleasure,” he said, “when the crop strikes you here while my hand pleasures your womanhood? Will you heed the pain more than the pleasure or will the pain intensify the pleasure?”
She pondered the question, unsure of the answer, but what she did know is that she wanted to find out. And to find out with him, this masked man. He was standing close enough for her to smell his scent. She wondered if he could see her little hair follicles standing on end at his nearness. He probably knew full well his effect on women.
“I should like to know the answer, my lord,” she said.
“I do not think you ready, ma petite.”
Suppressing a pout, she lifted her chin. “How can I be ready, my lord?”
“There is much to learn.”
“I am quite an adept student, my lord.”
“An adept student is a patient student.”
He stepped away from her, depriving her of his nearness. She liked having his body inches from hers.The air between them seemed to give off sparks like flint striking against tinder.
She took a chance. “I would be patient, my lord, if I had confidence that my instructor was capable of the lessons that needed to be taught.”
He whirled around. “Are you questioning my ability?”
“Aside from tying me up, you have demonstrated no specific skill—my lord. I have experienced neither pain nor pleasure from you. I take it pain is not that difficult to administer, but if the end is pleasure, why should I squander my efforts with someone who could not provide what I seek? My lord?”
His eyes blinked in disbelief, then his mouth curled sardonically to one side. “You think I could not bring you pleasure?”
“I know you not,” Harrietta responded matter-of-fact.
His smile broadened and he went to stand behind her. He reached a hand around her right hip and stroked the inside of her thigh, sliding his fingers and thumb along its smoothness.
“Ah, soft as a dove’s breast,” he murmured.
She felt her heart palpitating faster. What was it about this man that could rouse her in such a manner? Though she knew nothing of the man, she felt safe with him. He possessed a quality that was comforting, like a familiar friend. And, of course, a quality that stirred the most naughty thoughts and warmed her loins.
As he continued to caress the
length of her thigh, he said, “The journey to what the Greek term orgasmos is more important than the end.”
“But without the climax, there is no fulfillment, my lord.”
“What is your favorite food?”
“My lord?”
“What do you enjoy eating?”
“Plum pudding, my lord,” she answered, though she felt an impatience building within her. She wanted him to touch more of her.
“You would not savor the first bite even if you could not finish it?”
As she considered his question, he moved his hand over her mons and fondled her clit with his forefinger. The digit, thicker than her own, felt marvelous against that nub of flesh.
“Did you enjoy that, ma petite?”
“Yes,” Harrietta replied breathlessly. “My lord.”
He moved his hand aside. “Do not rush, ma petite. Remember the feeling. Exalt in it.”
When he returned his hand, her clit pulsed to meet his finger. He pressed against her, gently swirled her clit. Her head fell back as she gave her body over to the stimulation, the delicious stroking, the desirable ache building in her abdomen. His hand ventured up from her mons, past her belly button, past her stomach with the fluttering softness of a butterfly’s wing. Then he cupped her breasts with both hands, weighing each orb as if his hands were scales.
“Charming,” he said, a breath from her ear. If she turned her head quickly enough, might she find her mouth on his?
His thumbs grazed one nipple, then the other, sparking the connection between the tips of her breasts and her quim. Harrietta whimpered quietly, wanting his hand at her clit once more.
“Do you doubt my ability now, ma petite?”
“’Tis too soon to render a verdict, my lord,” she persisted, though her mind screamed for him to take her up to the pinnacle.
“If I put a hand to your quim, tell me that I would not find you wet with desire.”