by Suzi Love
Between the firelight and the distraction of a room full of half- naked women last night, Chrissie had noticed only that Hawkesbury’s dark coloring of blue-black hair and midnight eyes gave him the same sultry look as that brazen gypsy dancer. Even in the light of a new day, the image of him sucking on that hussy’s toes irritated her. His looks would send an eighty-year- old spinster head over heels. Blast the man.
“You’re correct, Lady Wellsby. I discovered your location and title. It may take a little longer, perhaps the entire day,” he said as he flashed his disarming smile, “to uncover all your secrets. Therefore, it’d be easier if you divulged your plans freely to me, rather than have m y underlings scurrying around seeking information.”
Despite herself, Chrissie chuckled while her friends openly laughed. He’d already charmed them out of their country reserve. Shrewd, manipulative, absurdly handsome—damn! How did that thought creep in?
“I find myself intrigued by the three of you. Perhaps if you explain the drastic circumstances forcing you to approach me, I may offer some alternatives.”
“But we want you—you’re the best tutor in the sensual arts in England.”
Under his darkly tanned cheeks, he flushed, appearing embarrassed. “Ladies, you labor under a misconception. When I opened the Pleasure Houses, I needed capital for my shipping ventures. I supplied everything. Venue. Entertainers. Footmen. But recently, I retired my title as the city’s notorious lover. For several reasons, I’ve not participated in any actual … ah—”
“Orgies?” Anna added with a child-like smile. “We know how you earned your well-deserved title as the Virile Viscount.”
“No need for false modesty about your abilities,” Gillian said. “We’ve asked women who’ve been entertained at your rituals, in your baths. They sing your praises.”
“No, no, ladies. The depravity of some of the peers who participate in the ceremonies on my estate would be far too shocking for ladies of your sensibilities.”
Chrissie smiled at him. “That’s why we’re employing you. England’s most notorious, most experienced lover can introduce us to every erotic and exotic art. Teach us everything. Ensure that nothing will frighten us in the future.”
His eyes widened, and for a second he looked almost … terrified. Then he smirked.
“Ah, but before I’d agree to take my prick out of retirement and open the Pleasure House, or to perform my God of Sex ritual, I’d require a solemn promise from Lady Wellsby. Chrissie would need to agree to portray the sacrificial virgin I traditionally fuck on the altar.”
Chrissie coughed, choked, spluttered, and then stared, stunned. She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. The wretched viscount had bested her after all, drawn her in with that single erotic image. She imagined him as her Sultan and herself as his slave, or one of those ladies he’d spoken of, her skirts tossed over her head as the Virile Viscount shared everything with her—lust, sex, and pleasure.
“My lord, last night I was a nuisance you couldn’t be rid of fast enough. Yet today we’re friends. Why such a sudden change of heart?”
“I find myself intrigued by the three of you. I can’t fit you into the normal roles of women who’ve approached me over the years with various propositions.”
“Is it so hard to believe we may simply be asking for your help, Justin?” Gillian asked.
“Yes,” Anna said, sharing a shy and secretive smile. “We have it on good authority that you’re the very best at what you do.”
“And what is it you think I do so well?” Justin asked.
“Apart from providing a place for men, and women, to act out their fantasies, you teach the arts of seduction to inept gentlemen who need instruction in the bedchamber,” Chrissie said.
“Or, in our case,” Gillian said, “for women who need instruction on how to please a man in the bedroom.”
“Although we spend a good part of the year at our country estates, we’ve friends in London,”
Anna said. “We know women who’ve been to your baths. To your various rooms.”
“The ladies who’ve visited the baths did so in disguise. Some however, don’t care. It’s part of the excitement to unveil their faces in the dance of the seven veils.”
“We’ve read of the things that happen in a harem,” Anna said.
“So that we’d be well prepared for anything we saw,” Gillian added in an excited rush, her face flushing red.
Justin shook his head. “I don’t think you’ve any understanding of the sort of depravity some people are capable of when under the influence of drink.”
Chrissie looked at her two friends and said, “Perhaps if I explained your situations to Justin alone, it may prove less … ah …embarrassing … for both of you.” Anna and Gillian both stood to take their leave. “Justin, I need to do this,” Gillian implored him. “Please, let me come to the baths.”
“I’ve also good reasons for needing the experience,” Anna said, as she too departed.
Chrissie saw her friends to the door and then returned to take a seat across from Justin. He lounged on the sofa, his posture one of ease with one long booted leg crossed at the knee over the other. She’d have to be dead not to notice how the position tightened his breeches over his thighs so they clung to his muscled form like a wet leather glove. A frisson of sensual interest shivered down her spine as she surveyed him. What would it be like to have a man, a real man like the viscount in your bed?
Her late husband had been an inept and selfish lover, something she’d only understood later when she’d discovered that many women found pleasure, rather than embarrassment and pain in their marital bed. And that lower class women, maids and whores alike, romped with men not only for coin but for the enjoyment they gained from it.
The first time she’d inadvertently happened across a footman ploughing a maid in the stable, she’d mistaken the cause of the girl’s moans and had been on the point of rushing to her aid. Then the girl had called out, “Oh yes, Dickey, like that. Do that again.” Feeling like an eavesdropper but unable to contain her curiosity, she’d listened around the corner until a stirring of arousal had prompted her to peek. The pair had been so engrossed in each other, swimming in their own lust, they wouldn’t have noticed her unless she’d dropped a bucket of water on their heads.
Several times after that, she’d wandered, quite deliberately, into darkened spots where she knew lovers met, in the hope of catching more couples in randy embraces. Somehow, enjoying a little of the overflow of their desires eased the distress in her own love life. Even when her husband was alive, he’d thought a quick coupling once a week after he rolled in drunk from a night with his cronies constituted lovemaking. Later, when she knew he reserved any emotion or passion for a woman other than her, she’d been past caring. Her regret concerned never seeing her belly swell with his child, not his visits to the local widow when he was drunk.
She rarely saw her husband sober in the evenings, and knowing his distaste for coupling in daylight, she imagined the widow fared no better than she did. A quick grope under the sheets, port fumes breathed into her face, and the sound of his pig-like grunts had been all she’d received for Geoffrey. Then came the snores after he’d collapsed in an undignified heap across the bed.
Chrissie drew a deep breath before looking the viscount in the eye. It took great fortitude to stare at a face as heaven sent as his and not do what countless of other women had obviously done over the years— swoon at his feet.
“I suppose I should begin by telling you why it is so important that we all go to your house. Why we all want to learn from what we see there. And why we need to do it immediately.”
He waved an elegant hand in a cream glove that looked so soft as to be made of butter. The viscount may have needed money three years ago, but his wealth now was reported to be one of the largest in the country. He could afford the best of everything.
She’d need a very convincing argument if she were to coerce him into o
pening the Pleasure House. But the future happiness of her two friends depended upon it. And hers too, she supposed, though there would be other avenues available to her later. Marriage was definitely not on her agenda any time soon.
Chrissie drew a deep breath before beginning. “Gillian thought her marriage was indeed very happy. But since her baby was born ten months ago, Edward has been spending a lot more time in London, coming home less. You need to understand that Gillian’s mother is—oh, dear, how do I state this without sounding rude—the woman can be quite critical and stifling. She sheltered Gillian before her marriage, yet to my mind, it was more to the benefit of the older lady than the younger one.”
“Ah, I see. Quite a common story. A mother who insists a daughter stays close at all times so she herself has someone to dote on her. Not the other way about.”
“Exactly. And at present, she insists on spending long stretches of time with Gillian and pretending she does so to assist Gillian with the baby.”
“But you don’t think that is what happens?”
“Gillian’s mother is far more concerned with living in the comfort of Edward’s large house than anything to do with her new grandson. She convinced Gillian that it wasn’t good for a husband to commence his attentions in the bedroom too soon after the baby is born.”
The viscount studied her with his shrewd and intent gaze. “But once again you think that Gillian’s mother has ulterior motives.”
“I’m positive she does. She’d be happier if another baby didn’t arrive for quite a long time. She enjoys playing lady of the manor so she deliberately keeps poor Edward from Gillian’s bed. The unfortunate consequence has been that Gillian worries about Edward turning elsewhere for that sort of comfort, as many gentlemen do. Perhaps he has already.”
“Gillian thinks her husband has taken a mistress?”
She nodded. “Yes. She confronted Edward when he was at home two weeks ago. He vehemently denied such a notion. But a week ago, he left again.”
“So what does Gillian want from me? Surely she doesn’t imagine taking a lover herself would solve those sort of problems in her marriage.”
“No, no. Not that. Gillian loves Edward with all her heart. She believes …” She broke off with a long sigh.
“Yes?” he encouraged. “She believes what?”
“Gillian has convinced herself, perhaps mistakenly … I simply do not know enough about these things myself to counsel her. I’m out of my depth.”
When she stopped speaking, he raised one dark eyebrow in question as if he was used to gaining all he needed from that one aristocratic and arrogant action. Evidently the man expected to have everything he desired fall into his lap. And it most likely did. He ignored her little put-upon huff and continued his silent wait for more explanation.
“Gillian believes that by visiting your Pleasure House and observing the happenings there, learning how gentlemen find their pleasure with courtesans, she’ll entice Edward back into their marital bed. If he’s happy at home, she hopes he’ll not stray again. She blames herself and her self-esteem has suffered a terrible blow.”
“And Anna? Does she also imagine she can watch but not participate?”
“None of us plan on becoming part of an orgy, but we’d like to observe what happens. When Anna was seventeen, she was left homeless and penniless by the death of her parents. Neighbors arranged her betrothal to their son in the army as a way of securing Anna’s future, but they had only one night together before he left with his regiment. He is now returning. Unfortunately, we’ve heard a rumor that he has been … courting the daughter of the commander … while he was posted on the continent. Anna is nineteen but she’s been sheltered all her life and knows nothing of life outside our area. She believes that under your tutelage she can learn how to please the captain and hold his attention during their marriage.”
“I feel for Anna and Gillian. I really do. But I doubt their problems can be solved with a short visit to my estate. Besides, you haven’t explained what you hope to gain by going there.”
“Nothing. I’m doing this to help my friends. We agreed I was best positioned to secure your cooperation and arrange our days away from home as I have a house in London. Their families only know Gillian and Anna are accompanying me on a long overdue visit to the estate where I was raised.”
“And that estate is close to mine?”
“Somewhat.”
“Oh no, Chrissie. Before I make a decision about holding another event at the Pleasure House, I need total honesty. So far, you’ve not convinced me that you can help me locate my mother and sisters. Others have sworn they have proof of their whereabouts, but their evidence sent me down the wrong road. Time and again. How do I know your story won’t also be a false start?”
“Your mother may not still be alive, Justin, I have to be honest about that. The last information I investigated was several months old before it reached me and when I searched, your family had already moved on. At that stage, your mother was ill.”
Justin flinched. She knew her news upset him.
“Local people said she suffered from a persistent cough. Most likely caused by too many months in the damp accommodation they’d leased. Perhaps it’s consumption. I don’t know. I couldn’t confirm it one way or another.”
After searching for his family for three long years, Justin had obviously considered the possibility that he’d locate his family too late to save them. Disease and illness were a major part of daily life and poverty and starvation wore people down faster than anything.
“Justin, as there’s no way of knowing your mother ‘s present condition, I can make no promises. But I do know your two sisters enjoyed good health when they lived in that village. They shifted when one of your sisters found employment in another village as a teacher. Unfortunately, the area named by my investigators consists of several schools spread over a large area, making it a slow process to discover which ones had hired teachers in the past year. But I’ve been promised news by next week. News that sounds very promising.”
“So you’re going to use this information to blackmail me into opening the Bath House?”
Chrissie threw back her head and laughed. “That is rich coming from you. I’ve heard that you’ve resorted to blackmail in your search for your family, my lord. Yet you balk at me hinting at it now.”
“Touché, Chrissie. Very well. We’ll talk terms. I’m desperate to find my family, especially if my mother is sick, and I’ll do anything to locate them. I’d like to find my mother and bring her home before she … before anything happens to her. I’m rich enough now that my sisters need never work again. I want to give them the life they should have lived if not for my father. He drove them out of their house. Forced them to take to the streets.”
He turned to face the landscape on her wall but she’d already glimpsed the raw agony etched on his face. This man suffered. Suffered a deep and lasting cut to his heart. Even if she had no other motives for this quest, Chrissie would have been moved by his plight. That had always been her problem, according to her late husband. She gave herself, all of herself, to others. Geoffrey had complained constantly that she’d not enough time and energy left over for him and his needs.
At least, that had been the excuse he’d flouted, but by then she’d been past caring. There’d been too many months of excuses and too many times she’d forgiven his drunken state as he reeled into bed in the pre-dawn hours reeking of ale. And occasionally of the cheap perfume the widow used.
The ale she’d railed against, berating Geoffrey for wasting his life sleeping off the effects of his drinking and habitually leaving his estate for her to manage. Why had she also not railed against the infidelity he’d blamed on her? In the end, he’d not bothered to conceal his visits to the widow. Perhaps she’d stopped caring long before he passed.
She may have spent a lot of her time in the country after her marriage, but before that, when she was younger, she’d attended the grandest balls in Lon
don. She’d had her season. But her family’s financial constraints had meant that she’d been pressured into accepting a proposal from the eligible Lord Wellsby at too young an age.
As fate had decreed it, her husband had been gifted with a wonderful estate, despite not being born as heir to the title and all the trappings that went with it. That had gone to his elder brother. But their great aunt had always held a fondness for Geoffrey, and his fake flattery, and after the earl inherited vast wealth in his own right, their aunt ensured Geoffrey would be comfortably set up for life by bequeathing him her own smaller, yet significant estates.
Upon Geoffrey’s death, Chrissie had become independently wealthy. No one, least of all his disreputable brother, could touch her inheritance. Not only did Geoffrey’s aunt appreciate his form of flattery, she also congratulated Geoffrey for having enough good sense to recognize that Chrissie made a far better estate manager than he did.
Great-aunt Imelda had seen to the legalities before her death in the event that Geoffrey ran true to family form and tried to squander the money. She’d informed Chrissie over tea one afternoon that in the event of Geoffrey’s untimely death, Chrissie mustn’t fret. Her future was assured. And she’d been correct. Chrissie was comfortably situated, more than comfortably.
So now, when the viscount asked why she’d chosen to aid her friends this way, Chrissie found it difficult to give him a suitable reason. She’d money enough to buy any sexual thrills she desired. She didn’t need the Pleasure House in the same way her two friends did. She shook herself free of her mind’s useless wanderings. Too much time had been spent revisiting her failed marriage and mulling over the wasted years of her life. Now was the time to move forward. To make more of her remaining years.
“Viscount … Justin …” He turned back to meet her gaze, his features once again schooled to reflect his customary reserve, and his self-control. “We can help each other and then move on, having gained all we need for our mutual satisfactions.”