The Viscount's Pleasure House (Irresistible Aristocrats Book 1)

by Suzi Love

  “Before I agree to your terms, my lady, we have another small problem. I don’t know all the details of your own marriage, but I assume that any of the countess’s bedroom antics were … sedate. Uninspired. Under cover of darkness.”

  Chrissie gave a nod of agreement, not sure where this conversation was leading.

  “And I also assume that as Anna has led a sheltered life with her prospective relatives, she has little knowledge of the more sordid side of sexual escapades.”

  Once again, Chrissie nodded, her apprehension rising.

  “Then our main problem will be, my dear, that even if you’re not anticipating an active role in the various entertainments at my house, many of the themed events take place during the day.”

  Chrissie gave him a blank stare.

  The viscount sighed. “Broad daylight, Chrissie. You three ladies will be exposed, day and night, to the perversions around you. You’ll not be able to escape. You’ll not be able to squeeze your pretty little eyes shut and not look.”

  He grinned, a triumphant smug smile that irritated the hell out of her and put her back up. The arrogant viscount thought that by issuing that statement that he’d win, that she’d run away from the idea with her tail between her legs.

  “We’ve no intention of keeping our eyes closed, my lord. That would defeat our purpose.”

  “Ah, but I’m afraid I must insist on at least testing that theory, and your fortitude, before I invite all and sundry to my estate. After all, the rituals may never take place. You may take fright before then and I’d look foolish before my acquaintances.”

  With that ludicrous statement, the viscount’s self-satisfied smile became even more arrogantly pleased with himself. Chrissie frowned. She had no idea where this was leading but she’d no intention of allowing the viscount to win this battle. She may look like the country mouse he’d labeled her last night, but he was about to discover that even country mice could be cunning and devious. Especially when escaping from a stalking cat.

  “Once I give my word on something, I do not renege. Ever. I’ll surrender the information I’ve gathered and in return you shall open your estate, and the Bath House, for a week.”

  “If I agreed to this at all, it wouldn’t be for a full week. Trust me on this, Chrissie. You, and your lady friends wouldn’t survive a week of the house’s excesses. One night, or day, will shock you so much that I predict you’ll be scurrying, like the country mice you are, back to the safety of your hidey holes.”

  Chrissie tapped an impatient foot on the carpeted floor. The man tried her patience, to the extreme. Thankfully, after a week in his presence, they’d never have to meet again. She and the viscount rubbed sparks off each other’s hide at every step. But for now, she’d pretend an equable acquaintance with the annoying man.

  “I agree,” she stated with a guileless smile.

  Justin halted mid pace across the room, stopped with his mouth agape once more. She liked having that effect on the man. Enjoyed ruffling his demeanor.

  “You agree to what? I haven’t told you my terms yet.”

  “You just did. You said we wouldn’t survive for an entire week and I agreed. Three days will be quite sufficient, thank you.”

  His eyes widened in shock. “I haven’t agreed to any days yet, and you very well know it. You’re putting words into my mouth.”

  Chrissie gave her sweetest and most insincere smile. “As you did to me? Perhaps you’d prefer we stayed for four days. To really absorb the atmosphere of your extravagances. Very well. I agree to your suggested extension of days.” His lips twitched. At least the man possessed a good sense of humor. That was one thing in his favor.

  “So, you think to outwit me? Let me assure you, Chrissie, I’ve been playing games of intrigue a lot longer than you. I’ve perfected the arts of confusion and diversion. You deliberately pretended to misunderstand the terms of our agreement. What I was about to say was that, in order to prepare you three ladies, I shall be escorting you to a very special place this evening.”

  Chrissie had a premonition of disaster. Hair on the back of her neck stood to attention. She had a bad feeling about his proposed outing. This man was sneaky and she needed to be on guard or he’d outwit her, despite the air of inconsequence he took pains to present to society.

  No wonder the viscount was successful with investments. The man was shrewd, apart from being ridiculously handsome. Damnation! Why was she noticing the man’s attractions? She knew better than to fall a gentleman’s glib lines.

  “I’ve a very bad feeling about what sort of special place you have in mind. Why do I sense that the most notorious viscount in the whole of London doesn’t intend escorting us somewhere as inconsequential as the opera, or the theatre?”

  “Perhaps because we’re going somewhere a lot more exciting. Somewhere to test your mettle. You’ll wear something flamboyant, perhaps in a vibrant red.”

  “Red?” She gave a small brittle laugh. “Are we going to a bawdy house?”

  “Exactly!”

  “What! No, no. I was jesting.”

  “Ah, but I wasn’t. We shall attend the Sultan’s Palace tonight. You will observe what happens in each of the special rooms, especially the red room.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she spat out in horror.

  “Ah, but the point is, my dear, that I do.”

  Hawkesbury swept into a low, and probably ironic, bow. Before she could recover her thoughts, or her speech, he started toward the door.

  He spoke over his shoulder to her as he walked. “Ten o’clock. Be ready. I’ll call and collect all of you here.”

  After he’d departed, Chrissie sank into a chair, stunned he’d won their small battle after all. Few people vanquished her these days, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry that it should be Justin, the Virile Viscount.

  Perhaps she should scurry back to her country hidey hole after all.

  Chapter Four

  Justin jogged down the steps from Lady Wellsby’s house to the pavement, unable to keep the grin from his face. Reaching the street, he turned, looked up at her house, and laughed out loud. Even if Chrissie’s information proved as useless as other leads he’d followed, the deep ennui weighing him down had already lightened while his mind accepted the challenges ahead with enthusiasm instead of dread. Three unusual women had renewed his interest in the opposite sex and stirred an interest in fucking that he’d thought long dead.

  Two elderly ladies strolled by, arm in arm, their footman trailing behind carrying a bejeweled pug dog. The women stopped and stared at his strange behavior, heads bent close together as they discussed him in over-loud whispers.

  “Ladies.” He doffed his hat and dipped his head to them, hiding his amusement. “Beautiful morning, is it not?” He smiled, pointed upwards. “One can even glimpse the sun.”

  He put his hands to his hips, pushed back the tails of his morning coat, and laughed again, glancing between the ladies, encouraging them to join him on his short trip to insanity. Although how to deal with a gentleman’s public laughter was most likely not covered in a ladies’ book of polite behavior, these two ladies seemed to appreciate his light-hearted mood. In unison, they nodded, smiled, and tittered.

  The one dressed in lavender patted his arm. “It’s not the sun that does it, you know.”

  Her rose-clothed counterpart shook her head and said, “Oh no, indeed no.”

  He raised his brows, threw his arms wide. “Does what exactly?”

  They glanced at each other and giggled like schoolgirls before Miss Lavender said, “Makes young gentlemen act strangely.”

  “It’s love,” Miss Rose said, giving an emphatic nod.

  “L’amour, as the French call it.” Miss Lavender nodded vigorously.

  “Ladies, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I gave up believing in love many years ago.”

  This time it was Miss Rose who patted his arm. “That may have been true before, dear, but you are in love no
w. We know the signs.”

  Two plumed bonnets—one brilliant pink and one eye-straining purple—waved while both ladies studied him as if he was an interesting museum exhibit.

  “So lovely to see a young gentleman so caught up in the excitement of his first days of a new love that he laughs aloud.”

  “And on a street.” Miss Rose clapped her gloved hands. “Wonderful. Simply wonderful.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Miss Lavender said, also clapping, “for brightening our morning.”

  The ladies giggled again, linked arms, and turned away to resume their stroll.

  Justin stayed where he was, feet rooted to the pavement like one of the street-lining oak trees. Ridiculous. If he felt any stirring for the lady he’d just left—and, unless he mistook the twitching of a curtain at her window, the lady who still watched him—lust was first and foremost. Also ridiculous to lust after a woman totally out of his social sphere, and one he’d merely locked horns with the night before.

  He faced the bowed window above him, once again doffed his hat, and dipped a bow, before striding down the path and whistling a tuneless ditty. Nothing unordinary about the fact that he felt light- hearted, light-headed. Nothing extraordinary at all. No, no, no, everything in his life was as it had been a mere day earlier. Except that today he noticed the sun shined a shade brighter, and the colors of the matchmaking ladies’ gowns were shades more brilliant than any he’d seen recently. And Chrissie’s hair shone far more than any ordinary brown.

  He shook his head and cursed under his breath. This was a momentary madness that would be over this evening, as soon as he revealed to the three ladies the sordid underlay of society when he took them to his brothel. True, he remained too much of a gentleman to allow them to witness the most shocking undertakings there, but even a small taste, a brief glimpse through the peep holes would turn them into cowards. He was certain of it.

  Rather, the reaction of Chrissie’s two friends seemed predictable. With her, he admitted to more tumultuous thoughts and feelings as she’d proved her courage in facing up to him last evening. She’d not backed down even though he’d gone out of his way to taunt and torment her.

  He hailed a hackney, threw himself onto the grubby seat, and prepared himself for a tiresome day trudging around the haunts in London a country earl would amuse himself in. This particular gentleman needed a quick insight into the adventures, or misadventures, his wife and her two friends sought in the city.

  Because, in a very short time, with or without Justin’s guidance, these three ladies were set to inveigle themselves in a bundle of trouble. And during his wild last three years he’d held many reputations, yet savior of the innocent hadn’t been amongst them. Despite that, the situation tickled Justin’s rather warped sense of humor and he wondered if his detractors could bring themselves to title him a Good Samaritan. Nevertheless, he owed it to his old acquaintanceship, or perhaps even friendship, with Edward, the husband of the countess, to at least track his movements, locate the man, and discover what he knew of the situation.

  Several hours later, or rather, several frustrating hours and much wear and tear on his boot leather, and his patience, he discovered that the earl resided with a friend in Mayfair on his frequent visits to London. After questioning the butler at that residence, he ascertained Edward and his friend, another peer, habitually took lunch at a club on Regent Street after their bouts of wearing boxing gloves at Gentleman Jackson’s.

  Telling himself that if the earl weren’t within this time he’d give up his quest, Justin stiffened his spine, climbed the steps, and waited admittance. The benefit of his reputation, and perhaps the only benefit of his title of viscount, was instant recognition amongst the clubs, gaming halls, and brothels. Few establishments dared refuse admittance to any viscount, and few wanted to confront the Viscount of Vice.

  The maître de showed him to the room where Edward sat at a table with another gentleman enjoying a lunch of rare roast beef. Glasses of claret sat beside their plates, all indicating a lengthy sojourn. Edward’s posture, slumped in a red leather chair, told the tale of a man who’d drunk more than a glass or two of claret this morning.

  “Edward,” Justin said, standing close to the table and speaking in a low voice. No need to give the over-inquisitive ton more gossip fodder. “You’re a damnably hard man to track down.”

  The earl shoved a lock of hair from his face and looked up, eyes bloodshot, and squinted over the top of his half empty glass.

  “Good Lord. Justin, is that you? Haven’t seen you in a donkey’s age. Heard you inherited. Felicitations and all of that.”

  Edward attempted to straighten his long body and succeeded in sliding lower in his padded chair. “What brings you t’ London? Heard you engaged in some sort of—” Edward waved his hand, scattering drops of blood-red claret over the thick carpet. “A pleasure thingy at your estate. So do you—”

  “Edward!” After wasting nearly a whole day trailing the earl, Justin was in no mood to listen to any drunken wanderings. “I’ve not spent a long tedious morning following you around London in order to discuss my life.” He glanced over at Edward’s companion, whom he vaguely recognized but couldn’t place. “Perhaps we should discuss this in private.”

  Edward waved his hand again, accompanied by another splatter of wine droplets. A footman stepped behind Edward and plucked the fine crystal from his lax fingers before he caused more damage to the expensive floor covering. Justin nodded his gratitude to the footman.

  “Sorry, old man,” Edward said, his words slurred. “This is Percy. Percy’s second son of Duke of … damn. Who the hell is your Pater again, Percy?”

  The other man, who appeared considerably more sober than Edward, struggled to his feet. With agonizing slowness, formal introductions took place until, finally losing patience, Justin clasped Edward’s elbow and drew him to a secluded alcove.

  “Edward, I want to discuss your wife.” Edward stared at him, eyes vacant, no sign of recognition of the word forthcoming. Justin clenched his fists and said, “The countess. You do remember your countess, don’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, course I do. Lovely, lovely woman, my wife. Beautiful baby. Miss them both. Miss them dearly. In the country, you know.” He gave a deep sigh, his eyelids drooping as he drifted into remembrances and he leaned on the wall behind him as his knees buckled a little. “Wish—wish I could be there. With them.” Edward’s eyes were like a cow’s when it hadn’t been milked on time—sad, mournful, pleading. “Miss them.”

  Edward nodded so much his supporting arm on the plush wall slipped and he slumped floor- wards. Justin grabbed his forearm and pushed him, without ceremony, into a nearby chair.

  “If you miss them so much,” Justin said, “why the hell did you abandon them in the country? Why tomcat all over London with young bachelors and get yourself into no end of trouble?”

  Edward put his hands on the arm supports and pushed himself up straighter. “Who said I’m in trouble? Just a bit of fun, don’t you know. Bit of drink. Cards.” He shook his head, moaned, and then grasped it between both hands. “Bloody head hurts. Can’t think why. And anyway, not women for me. Wouldn’t do that. No, no, no. Not right for a married man.”

  His head slumped to one side and his eyes took on the miserable, but resigned, expression of a street urchin not finding a bed to sleep in for the night.

  “No matter how randy a man gets on lonely nights, not right, don’t you think, to chase skirts? When man’s not long married too.”

  “No, you drunk idiot, it isn’t right. Which is why I cannot fathom your intentions, Edward. The only woman you should be bedding at this stage of your marriage is your wife.”

  “Percy says—”

  “Edward, I can well imagine what Percy tells you, but he’s a bachelor. Different rules for an unmarried man.”

  “Says it’s time I stopped mooning over my wife. Go and visit a bawdy house. Going to do it. Going tonight in fact.” Edward started nodding aga
in, looking like an out-of-control hand puppet. “Percy says—”

  “Stop. I don’t want to hear any more of Percy’s words of wisdom.” Justin looked at Edward’s expression, stunned and wounded, and guilt swamped him. Poor Edward’s wit had always lacked something, yet they’d remained friends because Edward’s good nature ensured people loved him, and he made no enemies. So now, unraveling where the marriage had veered off on the wrong track remained Justin’s first and foremost task, albeit not an easy one. Then he’d direct poor susceptible Edward back onto the correct path, reunite him with his loving countess, and dispatch three far too inquisitive ladies back to their safe brocaded and ornamented parlors.

  Justin smiled, the smirk of a smug do-gooder. He was confident that in three whisks of a cat’s tail, his good deed for the week, indeed for the entire year, would be complete. Because as he and the entire world knew, he wasn’t cut out for sainthood.

  “Edward, you were explaining why you left your lovely wife in the country. Without you.”

  “Have you met my wife? She’s a countess, you know. Married me.” “Yes, Edward, I met her. Very recently.”

  “So you’ve been in the country too?”

  “No, I met her here. In London. This very morning.”

  Edward shook his head with vigor, then winced, his hands going up to clasp his head. One end of his shirttails hung over his trousers’ waist, a button was missing from his waistcoat, and his boots would send any good valet into a fit of the vapors. Most likely the fool’s head was in an advanced state of befuddlement in keeping with his advanced state of personal disarray. “No, no, no. Not possible. Wife’s at my house. With her mother. Very determined woman, my mother-in-law. Told me in no uncertain terms to leave my wife alone. So I did.”

  “Ah,” Justin muttered, nodding his head. Finally, the crux of the problem and the person upsetting the foundations of a decent marriage. He raised a questioning brow, yet feared he already knew the answer. “And why exactly did your mother-in-law tell you to leave your wife alone?”