“Indeed. Wolf is aware of the development and has shared with me, considering all the information I had divulged about Flint when I was seeking a solution to the problem with my son-in-law, Wallthorpe. It relieved me to know there was not a more nefarious motivation behind Mr. Lucifer’s interest.” Julia smiled at her sister. “I’ve become quite fond of Lord Flintshire.”
Ros smiled. “As have I. Perhaps my slip is not so bad as I had thought if he has shared with Wolf. But that still leaves me questioning Lucifer as a possible lover.”
“Do you know of another man who would be willing to risk their good health to aid you in this? One who Flint might not beat to death in the moment and one he would believe? Certainly, none of the Lustful Lords would be so bold as to dabble with a woman one of the others had claimed. And with so many of them married off, it simply isn’t believable,” Madame pointed out. “But Lucifer would be someone he has enough doubts about, that he would believe it if he saw you in a questionable moment. And yet, with their new-found relation, I do not believe he would kill him without some discussion. He is the only man who might suffice and live to tell the tale.”
“I imagine if I explain the situation to him, he might aid me in this endeavor. But, once Flint discovers us, how do I turn that to his need for pain? How do I make him see me as his lover, a wife, and someone who is able to deliver the pain he needs?”
“When he snatches you from Lucifer’s arms, I promise it shan’t be difficult to get him to listen to you. Should I prove to be wrong on that front, we shall have a set of footmen wrestle him to the dungeon where you shall simply show him that you are more than capable of giving him what he needs,” Madame de Pompadour said rather confidently.
Ros considered her options. She could simply sit down and try to discuss the topic with him, as Julia suggested, or she could go with the plan hatched by the rest of her council. “I fear you may be right, Marie, but I should like to attempt the conversation with him one last time.”
Julia nodded. “I believe he will listen to reason. But, should he not, at least, you will have tried the most straightforward path first. If he leaves you no other choice, I shall support your little subterfuge in the name of love.”
Julia’s support bolstered Ros’s confidence in her plan. She would speak with him that night and see if he might listen to reason.
“Excellent. Be sure to send around a note once the issue is either settled or the determination is made that action is required. I shall stand at the ready.” Madame rose gracefully. “With that, I shall bid you all adieu.”
Mrs. Johnson wheeled in the tea cart just a Madame departed, prompting the rest of Ros’s guests to grin conspiratorially as they waited for the privacy to resume their chatter.
~
Ros sat in her front parlor, watching Flint flip through the book he’d brought along with him that evening. They had taken to behaving much like an old married couple as they sat quietly in her parlor, she with her knitting needles, and he with some book or stack of correspondence to review. Eventually, they would retire upstairs together where Flint would make staid, unfulfilling love to her.
It was enough to drive a woman mad.
“Flint?” Ros kept working her needles as she waited for him to respond.
He looked up from his book. “Yes, Ros?”
She set her needles aside. “I wish to raise a delicate issue that is of some concern for me.”
He, too, set his distraction aside. “What is upsetting you?”
His obvious concern spurred her on. Surely, this time he would be open to the discussion. “Well, it has come to my attention that something has changed between us…” she hesitated, her nerves besting her for a moment, “…in the bedroom.”
“Oh?” His brows rose—both of them.
Her cheeks heated as she dredged up the words. “You see, I am quite certain that you have needs that are going unmet as things currently stand.”
He looked surprised. “I have no idea what you mean! I am quite content with how things are between us when we make love. I have no needs—as you put it—that require being met. I love being with you. Being inside you. You are enough to make me happy for the remainder of my days.”
Ros sighed. She knew this was a distinct possibility. It was time to use plain speech. “Flint, I know why you sought out those dockside fights. Without the pain that fighting brought you, your level of arousal has been less. Making love as we have is not enough to satisfy your preferences since you’ve ceased fighting. I want you to know I am prepared to meet all of your needs.” She hesitated, giving him a moment to absorb what she had said. “I have been taking lessons—”
“Cease this conversation at once.” Two patches of red appeared high on his cheeks. “As I said, I have no needs that are not being met. I do not know what link you have imagined between my fighting ways and our intimate moments, but you are wrong.” Flint looked uncomfortable and bordered on being angry.
Ros got up and crossed to where he sat on the settee. “But I know how to give you what you desire. I’ve taken lessons so that I may safely deliver the pain you need—”
“Rosalind, do you love me?” he asked, his tone gruff.
“Of course, Flint. You know how I feel about you. But I need you to trust me with all of you. The light and the dark within you because I have the same elements within me. And I need you to love me anyway.” Fear that he would push her away coursed through her veins as she watched the wary man.
“Then please, leave this concern you have behind. I do love you, and I have no need for anything beyond the normal bounds of what we share. The fighting is over, I promise you I shall not put you in such danger ever again.”
She sighed, but pressed on, desperate for him to hear her message. “I’ve learned to wield a whip, and I enjoy it immensely. I want to give you—”
“Enough!” Flint stood. His body thrummed with tension as he stared down at her. “I believe I should go. I don’t know what has gotten into you, but this is too much.”
And then he fled her home as though a pack of hell hounds nipped at his heels, leaving his book behind. Ros sat alone, contending with an overwhelming sense of defeat. How could their conversation have gone so badly? Tears slipped down her face as she grappled with what she knew needed to happen next. She must show him that she was capable of meeting his needs. It was the only answer because she refused to give him up.
A week slipped by, during which Flint assiduously avoided her. She allowed the behavior to stand since it played into her plans. The time apart would serve to strengthen the desire that bubbled between them so that when the time came, he would be unable to deny the truth. And with each passing day, she knew she would literally have to tie the man up and show him that she could provide what he needed. With time to consider her friends’ loosely plotted plan, she could see a few necessary changes were required. Her first stop was to discuss her altered plan with Madame de Pompadour so that she could prepare to take the appropriate action. Then, she needed to meet with Lucifer to strike a sort of devil’s bargain. She just hoped it wouldn’t cost her the very thing she hoped to win. Fortunately, she would soon know how it all turned out.
Chapter 26
Flint, Linc, and Arthur sat in Flint’s billiards room. Linc was in the process of soundly trouncing Arthur at the game.
“Bloody hell! That’s another three points,” Arthur complained loudly.
Flint sat morosely, sipping a whiskey, mostly ignoring the pair. He had spent the last six days coming to terms with the truth of Ros’s words. She was correct. He could not continue to deny the part of him that needed pain to enhance his arousal. Without it, he was only half a man. Half a lover.
But how could he thrust that burden on to one as gentle as Ros? Or worse, ask her to stand by as someone else gave him what he needed? Certainly, she was the one who raised the issue, but could that mean she was prepared for what he required? How could she truly understand what it was she would have to
do to fill his needs? Yet, he knew at the very depths of his soul that he needed her as much as he needed pain. He needed her love, her laughter, her companionship as he grew old. Under no circumstances could he imagine his life without her in it. Once again, he was back to the only answer he could come up with. He would have to learn to live without the pain because living as half a man was better than living without all of Ros.
And so the vicious circle continued until Arthur intruded on his mental solitude.
“Flint, would you please get off your arse and give this man the trouncing he deserves?”
Flint ignored his friend’s plea, still mired in his mental gyrations.
Linc grinned. “Leave him be, Arthur. He’s muddling through whatever obstacle he imagines lies between him and Ros.”
“I wouldn’t call it imagined.” Flint raised his glass to his lips and drank.
Arthur stopped and peered at him. “No, I wouldn’t say it was imagined either. Regardless of it taking physical form or not, an obstacle is an obstacle. Until you talk it out with someone, it may always seem immovable.”
Flint grunted. There was no chance he would willingly discuss his sexual predilections with anyone else. He barely understood his own needs; how could he explain it sufficiently for anyone else to comprehend?
“Where the bloody hell are you hiding, Flint?” A newly familiar voice boomed down the hall and into the open door of the billiards room. Flint didn’t bother to respond, since the clomp of feet indicated he was already headed in the correct direction. A moment later, he was proved right when his newest visitor appeared.
“Lucifer!” Linc greeted Flint’s half-brother jovially.
“Hello. You all seem to be having a jolly time.” Lucifer hesitated as he spotted Flint sitting in the corner. “There you are, brother-mine.”
Flint looked up for a moment before waving toward his friends. “The joviality is all over there. You’d do well to keep to that side of the room.”
Lucifer ignored his guidance and sat down next to him. “Oh, I don’t think you would want me to do that. I come bearing news for you.”
“News? I can’t imagine what news I might wish to hear.”
“How about this news? Your very own Ros is even now entering The Market for a night of sin and debauchery.” Lucifer used such a grave tone that Flint found it impossible to laugh at his poorly chosen jest.
“I am not amused. Not that any such jocularity would have its desired effect tonight.” Flint took another swallow from his glass and savored the burn of the liquor.
“Who suggested I was making light of such a serious subject? I come to you in earnest. Ros is at The Market, and I cannot imagine any good shall come of it. We should go and… and… save her from herself.” Lucifer looked worried.
More than worried, truthfully.
Flint stirred from his emotional morass. “What the devil do you mean, Ros is at The Market?”
Lucifer cursed soundly. “Have you listened to a bloody word I’ve said? Ros is at The Market. I strongly suggest you attend to her immediately before she gets herself into trouble.”
Shaking off his confusion and the fog he’d allowed to shroud his last few days, Flint stood as he set his drink down and strode toward the door of the game room with Lucifer close on his heels. “How did you come by this knowledge of her whereabouts?”
Lucifer shrugged as they pounded down the stairs and out the front door. “I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
Flint grunted as he hailed a cab. He was grateful that Lucifer had come to him with the news, but it still seemed strange that he would have been informed. Though, he supposed that since his brother trafficked in information, it made sense that someone would sell him this bit about Ros. Yet something about the idea that Ros was at The Market seemed strange. Certainly, she had been there once to see him, but how would she have gained entrance a second time? Julia wouldn’t give her sister an entry coin. Would she? Everything about this seemed off, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was going on.
A quarter of an hour later, Flint strode through the main salon of The Market in search of a particular redhead. Everywhere he looked, he found blondes and brunettes of varying shades, but no one with red hair. Trailed by Lucifer, he circled the main floor of the establishment, moving through the front salon, the card room, and the foyer, which seemed busier than London Bridge at mid-day.
Frustrated, Flint turned toward the grand staircase of the house. Lucifer caught up with him. “Where are you going?”
Confused by the question, since he thought it was perfectly obvious, he stopped. “I’m going upstairs to look for Ros, where else would I be going?”
Lucifer sputtered. “You can’t just go upstairs and start opening doors looking for a woman.”
Flint hesitated. “Well, no, I was thinking to look at the Hall of Mirrors.”
“Oh,” Lucifer hesitated. “I suppose that does make sense, although you could more quickly eliminate the public spaces on the lower floor.”
He looked at his brother. Was he steering him in a particular direction? No, surely not. But now, he was curious, so he turned and headed down the stairs he had intended to ascend. Heading down, he stepped into the long wide hall the provided access to the two public rooms where a fair amount of sexual activity was permitted. One side held a room designed much like the upstairs salon, but it was dotted with little nooks that offered a minimal amount of privacy for those who only wanted a semblance of such.
The other side was the dungeon. That was where many of the member sadists and masochists came together. Flint was all too familiar with the typical inhabitants of that room since he sometimes had found himself bound to the wall or a cross for the express purpose of receiving the pain he required. It was not a choice he made often because he found such a public display of his more deviant needs disquieting. Fighting in the back alleys of London’s wharf did not carry the same stigma of deviance that being chained to a wall and whipped did, though he found the latter far more satisfying.
Of course, once he found Ros, none of it would matter. He would whisk her from The Market and then discover what had driven her to visit it when he was not there. And she knew he would not be there since he had ceased visiting while they had been engaged. The question of why pounded through his head as he wended his way through the salon side of the lower floor. After ten minutes of peering at one couple after another in varying degrees of intimacy, he was both aroused and more concerned that he had yet to find Ros. Doubt seized his heart. Was she upstairs in a private room? No. Not his Ros. Whatever had brought her to The Market, there would be a worthy explanation. He was sure of it.
“Flint!” Lucifer called to him. “In here.”
Flint stopped in the wide hallway and stared at where Lucifer had disappeared into the dungeon. Surely, she was not in there! She couldn’t possibly be in the dungeon. The Ros he knew and loved would never be found in such a place. Would she?
Chapter 27
Sweat trickled down her spine, tickling its way over every knob and dip until it found the crevice where her cheeks met. Her arm wasn’t tired yet; after all, she’d only been lashing the man currently chained to the wall for ten minutes. After hours of practice, she had more resilience than that.
No, the sweat was a product of her nerves.
Waiting for Flint to appear in the dungeon of The Market was excruciating. All-day she’d waffled between going through with her plan and calling it off. Doubts had assailed her. What if he was angry that she’d hidden her lessons from him? What if he was jealous of the man she was currently whipping? What if he was appalled that she’d learned such a skill? What if he simply rejected her offer? Would any man truly want his fiancé—let alone his wife—to do such a thing to him?
Her gut churned, but she remained focused on the man who needed her for the moment. With his pants still on at her request, he stood waiting in anticipation for the next fall of her lash. When she let loose with the le
ather and struck flesh, he moaned—loudly.
Caroline, his house companion for the night, stood at the ready. As soon as he’d had enough to get him worked up, she would swoop in and take care of his sexual needs. Ros was simply filling in for Mistress Lash. The dungeon was abnormally quiet, allowing Ros to hear the rattle of the man’s chains, the creak of her leather pants, and the snap of the whip as it landed on his back. Normally, there would be a chorus of moans as men and women were pleasurably tortured. But tonight, in order to assure everyone’s safety, Flint would find her here with as few witnesses as required.
“Oh, God, Mistress. Don’t stop!” The man cried after she’d paused for a few moments.
Prompted to return to her previously steady rhythm, she lifted the lash once more. And again. Soon, she pushed all her worries from her mind and concentrated on the fall of her lash.
“Flint!” Lucifer’s voice broke through her trance-like state. “In here.”
The moment of truth had arrived, but she focused on her arm movement. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt the man who had trusted her because she was distracted.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Lucifer, I told you she can’t possibly be in here.” Flint strode into the room.
Ros knew her mask obscured her face, but she’d left her hair to tumble in a cascade of curls over her shoulders. There was no possible way for Flint to mistake her for Mistress Lash or any other woman.
“What the bloody hell?” Confusion colored Flint’s normally confident tones.
“Uuunnhh!” The man chained to the wall cried as his knees gave out.
Caroline raised her hand. “Enough. He’s had enough.”
Ros pulled in her whip, coiling it in her hand. Caroline and a footman released the man and helped him walk from the room. But before he passed her by, he insisted on stopping. “Thank you, Mistress R. Thank you.”
His Not-So-Sweet Marchioness Page 20