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

by Suzi Love

“Ah, but my wish is to explore them in seclusion on your estate. Not in one of London’s most notorious brothels.”

  “The Sultan’s Palace may be notorious, but it is also one of the safest in all of London for those of the higher echelons. Great care is taken to ensure that the staff is discreet and never reveal anything they hear or see. The palace is kept clean and free from disease, or at least as much as the owners are able.”

  At Anna’s blank look, he added, “The French Pox. Syphilis. Gonorrhea.”

  Anna’s eyes widened and she gave a little gasp, but held her tongue.

  He turned back to Chrissie and frowned. “And how would a country mouse know which city brothels are the most notorious anyway?”

  She gave an indifferent shrug. “I’ve spent far too many hours sitting outside either houses of ill repute or the houses of not quite respectable females, waiting to escort the drunken men in my family back home, to not understand about reputations. People talk. Gossip spreads. Men especially like to gossip about this house and that. Where they have visited and with whom they spent time. That is, after they’d finished spending all our money on card games, painted faced women and watered down drinks.”

  Justin bristled. “My drinks are—” He sucked in a breath.

  She stared at him. “What were you going to say?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head. “Let us move along before someone discovers us here. Ladies, I must insist you wear your masks from now on. All the clients expect uttermost discretion, and pay dearly for it, especially in the lower halls. When we reach some of the more exclusive upper levels, or should I say if you still want to climb that far—”

  “Which we will,” Chrissie said, a decided snap to her voice as she tugged her mask into place.

  Even through the cut-out eye slits in the feathered mask, Justin could see the spark in her eyes, the flash of defiance she seemed determined to cling to. It mattered little though, as he was equally determined she would not progress past the lower floors tonight. The word tonight lingered in his mind. What was he thinking? Surely he wasn’t mad enough to consider bringing her back again another night, without her two companions, so the two of them alone could sample the delights of one, or several, of his themed rooms. Which would suit her best?

  After her quiet country existence, she’d undoubtedly relish the temptations of the Oriental room. And he’d enjoy demonstrating the many positions of the Kama Sutra, and the uses of his silver balls. He’d especially enjoy inserting the balls high up into Chrissie’s soft, wet crevice and watching her experience the joy of her first climax with the magic balls inside her. He sucked in a breath.

  Hell. His muscles were hard knots, his cock a pulsating baton. Stupid, stupid idea to imagine such things—and here, no less. Truly, he must be losing his sanity. He shook his head, turned back to the ladies, waved them down the first hidden corridor, and grappled for control of his wandering wits.

  At the far end of the corridor, he arranged the three eager participants so they could see through the small peepholes spaced at discreet intervals along the dark wall. The men arranged themselves as guards between them.

  Anna stepped up first to put her eye to the hole, curiosity of the young overcoming any modesty she might be suffering. Justin waited, tensed, for the inevitable. Hoping she was shocked, yet also hoping she decided to stay and witness the scene.

  Stupid, he told himself yet again. All this was planned to force them to retreat with their tails between their legs, not linger and become excited, aroused, and stir the men’s blood by association. Dammit. It would take so little to stir his blood tonight, as every few seconds his gaze drifted back to Chrissie. Back to the red dress hugging her curves and swirling with every step she took, her unconscious grace denoting her as an aristocrat as surely as his ownership of a brothel denoted him as a man of low worth. He closed his eyes, shut out the sight of her rounded woman’s figure dressed as a courtesan. Another stupid mistake on his part. He’d imagined by dressing them in red, clothing them as whores, he and the other men would be able to think of them in that way. Treat them that way tonight—roughly, coarsely, and with brutal honesty.

  Huh! So much for that plan. Even dressed in red and wearing fancy plumed masks, quality shone through. No one could ever mistake these three for anything but blue-blooded ladies, born and bred in good families, forever conscious of their stations in life, despite the squalid surroundings they’d agreed to immerse themselves in this evening.

  Anna screeched as she took a hurried step back from the peep hole. Not a full-throated scream, more a choked gasp of noise that echoed her shock well enough. Ah, yes. Definitely shocked by the sights within the room but Justin needed her shocked enough to turn tail and run, taking her friends with her. Thomas stepped behind Anna, rubbed his hands up and down her bare arms above her long red gloves. The gloves would have been purchased by Chrissie and her friends ordered to wear them in an act of defiance against Justin and his order that they don red gowns, a harlot’s color.

  In their silent battle, Chrissie was proving a formidable foe and he already doubted his ability to best her tonight. Seldom did he misjudge an adversary, yet he feared he’d vastly underestimated Chrissie’s intelligence, and her stubbornness. He’d predicted her reactions and behavior based on his perceptions of pampered town ladies who hadn’t a brain in their heads.

  Justin’s head reeled as he raced to plot another strategy, a plan to keep him ahead of Chrissie. He watched poor besotted Thomas lean around to face Anna, place his finger to her lips to indicate she should remain quiet. With great care, Thomas placed Anna’s hand on his coat sleeve and folded his fingers over hers. Anna nodded up at Thomas, her pale blue eyes gleaming in the dim light. Her expression was one of pure trust, faith that Thomas would take care of her.

  Justin glanced across at Chrissie and caught her watching her friend with the same bemused expression he was certain covered his own face. He nodded at her. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  ***

  Chrissie agreed with the viscount’s assessment of the situation. She too felt a sense of amazement that her friend suddenly found comfort from a stranger. Although, she had to admit Thomas’s face glowed with friendship, harmlessness, and a quaint innocence that made one trust him. His physique was round and pleasant and constant—jolly, even— exactly the sort of man Chrissie believed Anna should marry. Not a fibbing soldier of fortune who’d dally with the daughter of his colonel while abroad at the same time he was betrothed to a girl in England.

  She dragged her gaze from her friend and turned back to the peephole, placing her eye over the hole and finding a comfortable position to stand and lean on the wall. At first glance, this room looked pleasant enough, unremarkable actually. She leaned closer to the wall and peered around the perimeter.

  Decorated like the anteroom of a palace, fountains played in the center while marble benches flanked the colorfully draped walls. Men lounged on the benches, sipping their wine from brightly colored goblets while girls sashayed past them in a dazzling array of Arabian costumes. The girls wore sheer veils caught across their lower faces and as they walked, tiny bells tinkled around their ankles and wrists. Breasts were encased in meager swaths of silk, designed to accentuate their jiggling and bouncing as the dancers swayed their hips in movements she didn’t recognize.

  This dance was not performed in Almack’s, nor in any of the elite salons of the ton. The movements were exotic, erotic, meant to draw the eyes to each swinging body part.

  In one corner, a group of women with their faces covered and wearing long flowing Eastern clothing concealed their identities from the other men in the room. They giggled, chatted in high-pitched tones, sounded nervous and excited. Lined up beside them were a dozen strappingly built serving men with most of their bronzed bodies exposed to view. Leather vests ended inches above the flowing pants they wore low on their hips, as they offered the women platters of food and flasks of drinks.

  As the ladies watched f
rom outside, enthralled, the sounds of the dance increased. Drummers beat a rhythm on leather tightly pulled over drum bases and, by increasing the pace, whipped the dancers into a frenzied prance around the room’s edge. Bare bellies thrust forward in tempting array close to the faces of the watching men.

  To Chrissie’s eyes, some of the men appeared to actually salivate with hunger. Then, to her stunned amazement, several of the ladies from the darker corner leaped to their feet and joined the dancers. Lack of expertise was no drawback, as their enthusiasm made up for all they lacked. When the drummers finally concluded with a crashing crescendo of noise, the line of serving girls wended their way to the men and slid onto the laps of the waiting men. With hoots of laughter and ribald yells of encouragement to acquaintances seated around the room, the men showed no shyness. Hands appeared like tentacles from a dozen octopuses, squeezed breasts, ran hands up and down over bare flesh. Strings at the waists of their loose harem pants were loosened, although by some magic feat, the harem girls managed to keep their lower garments more or less in place.

  As Chrissie watched, the men pulled the girls down to kiss them, thoroughly, wetly, often two men taking turns to kiss a single girl who undulated back and forth between them. To her mind, the scene resembled an oceanic fantasy she’d read about—mermaids swimming through a waving sea of seaweed and encountering eager sailors whose hands continued to rove unchecked over every part of the dancers’ bodies.

  Often, their hands removed articles of clothing as they went, so in a short space of time, most girls were half-naked and squealing with delight. Then, some sort of arrangement had obviously been concluded with the madam who stood, arms folded, at the back door to the room. One by one, the men slid the girls they’d selected off their laps, or threw them bodily over their shoulder if they were sober enough, and strong enough, to carry them. They charged up the stairs, calling instructions to friends, teasing their conquests.

  For several minutes, the scene became chaotic. Noise, people running, moving, jumping. The girls seemed as eager to go upstairs as the men. They giggled and chattered to their friends as they went, acted like children at playtime allowed to select a favorite toy. More women were escorted to their corners on the arms of the burly serving men, and they in turn slid onto the laps of the remaining men.

  Everything was arranged with such precision, the whole interaction between male and female accomplished so seamlessly, Chrissie couldn’t help but be impressed with the organization. All this was accomplished with a minimum of fuss and, she presumed, a maximum of expense for those paying. This was a high cost establishment, well run, well controlled, and more than likely, highly profitable.

  She turned to look at Justin, gave him another accessing glance as the reality of it registered. He hovered at her elbow, not peering through a hole as they were, but watching her the entire time.

  “Don’t you want to look too, my lord?”

  He shrugged. “No need. I’ve seen it all before.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. I assume you employ some of these same girls, and men, for your Pleasure House.”

  “I used to borrow some from the owner here, yes, when my Pleasure House was operating.”

  “Ah, I see. The invisible owner.”

  “Yes, unfortunately, he is unable to join us here tonight.”

  She stared at him. “I think, my lord, the owner is already with us tonight.”

  He blinked several times, but she gave him credit, he retained his gambler’s blank face as he said, “Think what you may, madam, it makes little difference now, as the owner is selling anyway. Next week there will be a completely unknown person operating this wretched whorehou—” He stopped, coughed into his hand.

  She gave him a small smile, waved her hand between them. “Oh, please. Go on. Do not spare my sensibilities now. Last night you teased me for being unused to coarse language. For blushing at your use of rude words. Why bother sparing my blushes now?” She pointed down the hallway toward a noisy sounding anteroom. “Or here.”

  He laughed, short, derisive. “I’m not sure why here, of all places, I find myself wanting to preserve your modesty. Bizarre, aren’t I?”

  She titles her head to one side, considered. “No, on the contrary, I think it makes you appear more real, more gentlemanly.”

  “Oh, there you are wrong. The last thing I can be accused of is being a gentleman. If I was, I would never have lost my family in the first place.”

  She put a hand on his arm and he flinched but didn’t withdraw. “My understanding is if you hadn’t left for the continent when you did, your father would have killed you.” Under her hand, his arm muscles bunched and tightened like steel ropes. “Then you wouldn’t be alive now, and able to seek your mother and sisters to try to bring them home. No, you did the right thing, the only thing you could do back then.”

  “How could you know that? Perhaps if I’d stayed they’d be here, living in the house in London, instead of running and hiding God knows where, across all of England.”

  “I’m sure you know that isn’t true. If they’d stayed, if you’d stayed, your father would have murdered all of you. Believe me, I know only too well the atrocities drunken men are capable of committing when under the influence of drink.” She patted his tense arm and waited for it to relax. “And I know you did the correct thing, because you are a man of honor.”

  “Look around you. You’re assumptions are correct, you know.” He leaned closer. “I do own this brothel, this high class whorehouse. At least, for another week I own it. I’ve bedded half the women in London. I’ve provided entertainments for men who follow the dress and acts of Lavenderism, for nymphomaniacs, and catered to more types of fetishes than there are pages in a book written about them. And do you know why I do it, these seedy chores?” He leaned in close to her face, his breath coming fast and furious upon her cheek. She shook her head, perversely sorry when he shifted back an inch and she no longer felt the hot puffs of his lungs as he panted out his anger. “I did it all for money. Pure, unadulterated greed.”

  “No, that money was not to satisfy some primitive urges of greed. The money was to buy you more time, more detectives, to seek your family. Every goal you’d had, all that you’ve achieved for the past three years, has been for a noble cause.”

  “Jesus!” He ran his fingers through his hair, standing it on end, yet the rakish air it gave him only made her want to reach out and hug him even more, to soothe his ruffled hair, his rumpled temper, his angry soul. “What does it take to convince you, I’m not a noble person. I’m not even a nice person. You shouldn’t be near me, you or your innocent friends.”

  “I told you, we’re not as innocent as you think.”

  His face thrust close to hers again, displaying his frustration, his raw fury, yet she knew she was safe with him. Knew instinctively he’d never harm her, no matter how much he disparaged his own.

  “Compared to me, to my world, brown mouse,” he said, breathing hard as if he’d run a mile, “to the sins I’ve seen written across the face of thousands of so-called good people, you’re babes in the woods begging for a wolf to gobble you up.”

  She sighed. “I think, Justin, you provoke me deliberately still, as you did last evening, but I will tell you once more: I’m not a mouse and I’m not retreating. So, back to our previous conversation, when you open for us next week, I imagine you’ll take some of the staff from here to … to … “

  “To service you? Ah,” he said, a smile—or was it a smirk—spreading across his face. “Did you perhaps view someone you liked, my lady?”

  “No, no, no.” She swallowed and took a step backwards. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t notice anyone in particular.”

  There was enough light from the wall sconces to notice his raised brows, his wide grin. Irritating man, thinking he could throw this back at her when she managed to touch a raw spot on his emotions.

  “Mouse, did you know your nose twitches when you tell a white lie?”


  Her hand flew to her nose.

  “What?”

  “The adorable flush on your face gives you away also. Obviously you’re fibbing.” He leaned over, put his eye to the hole next to him.

  “Ah!” He chuckled, and she spun around to check if any of their group had overheard. Thankfully, they were all engrossed on the antics inside the room, not outside it. “I see you’re appreciating the assets of our most popular male entertainer.”

  She huffed, a show of nonchalance she failed to carry off. “I already said I didn’t take particular notice of anyone.”

  Justin laughed. “Liar! The man you’re staring at with such a keen eye is named Matthew Large, and yes, I can assure you, he’s as big between his legs as he is everywhere else. Plus, his main asset to me as a performer is that he possesses the stamina of six randy stallions. The giggling group of friends in the corner will be kept happy all night.”

  She swallowed again, cursing her suddenly dry throat. “All … all of them?”

  Justin winked. “Oh, yes. All of them. Matthew is large by name, and gigantic by appendage. Perhaps you’d enjoy being included in their group?”

  Her eyes widened to the size of tea saucers. “Certainly not. I—we are only here to observe how your girls are trained to keep the men happy.”

  “Ah, but women must also be kept happy or else they too seek their entertainments in places like this. In disguise, under cover of darkness, and at enormous expense when that should be the role of a doting husband. Did your husband make you happy in your bed, Lady Wellsby? Or did you have a society marriage? A cold bed for you, and many warm beds for him.”

  She tried to back away another step but he’d her blocked in against the wall. “No. Unfortunately, no. Far from it. If my husband visited here, he may have learned the tricks the girls knew, although he most assuredly never carried them home with him. Never shared any of his superior knowledge with me.”

  “You sound bitter, and for that, I’m sorry. In my humble opinion, men who do nothing to please their wives are loathsome, self-centered creatures. They’ll throw away their money having girls entertain them, cater to their every desire, yet they care not a whit for bringing any of that joy into the lives of the women who care for them every day in their own houses.”