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

by Suzi Love

“I will ensure that no one, woman or man, will touch Edward in an inappropriate way, Gillian.”

  “My dear, I am perfectly able to protect myself from a group of tittering women,” Edward announced.

  Justin exchanged a glance with Bart and Thomas. The three of them knew how demanding these people could become when fueled by lust. Gillian and Edward resembled babes-in-arms amongst these degenerates. He prayed for guidance from above and hoped Bart and Thomas would help keep the other out of trouble. The sights they were about to behold would be shocking enough on their own, but to be enticed into participating in the more raucous activities would send them into a tailspin.

  “Now,” he said, trying one last time to instill some wisdom to the ladies, “when we reach the gardens, you three women take up positions around the perimeter and try to remain out of sight if possible.”

  He groaned at the three over-eager faces before him, then moaned louder when he looked at how much of their three bodies was exposed, despite his efforts. With their breasts straining at the leather of their skimpy vests, they looked lush and edible and worst of all, totally available. Like the most exotic and erotic harem girl any man could envisage. Sucking in a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm his now twittering nerves, Justin stepped into the large cleared area of the Pleasure Gardens. He readied himself to address the attendees and commence the first of what he knew was going to be three days of hell.

  With a deep bow, he approached the cheering crowd and smiled magnificently at them, morphing into the ultimate actor he became on these occasions.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Pleasure House.”

  Chapter Ten

  Viscount Hawkesbury drew a deep breath, raised his arms heavenward, then declared, “I am Prince Zoltan.” He made his announcement with as much drama as Queen Victoria when pronouncing her latest parliamentary bill against prostitution or child labor.

  “My name means leader. I am the eldest son of the Sultan of Karamu. Please enjoy all the pleasures of my harem. Bathe in the heated waters of the Bath House and be anointed with oils carried on my ships from the far ports of the eastern seas. Recline upon pillows woven of the finest silk from the worms of China. Slave women will then be available to massage your bodies until you fall into sleep.

  “By my command, your dreams shall be pleasant ones and your waking hours here will be filled with incredible joys. There is much to be sampled in and each day we will have displays for your viewing pleasure as I know many of you enjoy watching others dallying in the delights of the flesh.

  “There will, of course, be ample opportunity for everyone to participate in the activities. As the sultan’s regent, I remind you of our few simple rules. No one may venture into forbidden areas away from the Pleasure House. No one will use force in any manner to involve either another guest or one of my servants in proposed activities. I’ve brought the most talented concubines to every tent for you to enjoy.” He lifted his arms skyward again. “So please, enjoy my hospitality. Eat, drink, and be merry.”

  He bowed and backed away as a long line of dancing girls wove their way into the first tent where the guests lounged. The air hummed with anticipation and a heady mix of perfumes filled his nostrils as tendrils of smoke rose from the large brass incense burners in each corner. The sandalwood was mixed with minute doses of a drug that had a sedative effect upon the muscles yet none of the addictive properties of opium. He’d no intention of turning people into drug-crazed opium smokers who haunted the dens in London craving their next dose. But the drug relaxed guests and ensured no one over-imbibed on wine and became drunk and abused the courtesans.

  The tent was an enormous expanse of flimsy cotton in a variety of bright colors that draped across poles and covered the entire center of the garden. Around the outside, smaller tents connected with the main one, but curtains could be lowered to ensure privacy in smaller alcoves. Some people preferred more privacy on the first evening, but generally by the third day, all inhibitions were left behind and the garden resembled one giant orgy.

  Justin’s dearest wish was that long before the third day, the three women’s minds and bodies would be so exhausted from the onslaught of sensations they’d have departed. He closed his eyes. The sort of debauchery some of the ton were used to was enough to turn even his hardened stomach, although anyone who came to his estate knew he didn’t tolerate any extreme perversions. Those who followed the more disgusting practices visited low-class brothels in Cheapside or other London slums. He’d tolerate none of it near him.

  Men who’d debase children or destroy young lives were the lowest of the low, and by choice, he’d see them hanged. That caveat included his own father, if he still lived. Not that his father’s form of sensual pleasure counted as extreme in seedy London or in more liberal parts of the continent. And especially not in eastern countries from which Justin’s alter ego Prince Zoltan originated.

  Justin had visited those countries and observed firsthand the practices of men who shared beds with men, performed with animals, or did what English church-going people considered unholy and unnatural practices. Over his years of travel, he’d witnessed sights that caused a man’s eyes to pop from their sockets and had gladly left them behind. He refused to drag the stink of those depravities back to taint his gardens.

  He’d been willing, three years ago, to bend the rules of society in order to make a fast fortune so he could search for his family. Despite stretching himself to those limits, he wasn’t willing to compromise his entire moral belief structure. Nor would he dirty the morals of his friends to that extent, knowing they’d both need to take wives one day in the future.

  Leaning back against one of the strong poles supporting the tent, he closed his eyes and wished for the hundredth time he’d never had such a wild idea as to start this. A soft hand touched his back and made him start in surprise. Chrissie stood in the shadows beside him, a slim figure dressed in the same colored cotton as everyone else. Yet even in the falling dark, every nuance of his being recognized her and knew her scent.

  The smell of lavender filled his nostrils, a welcome relief to the heavy and exotic smells filling the air around them. Cloying perfumes were not something that he enjoyed, especially on his lovers, but he’d immured himself to these scents as he’d immured himself to the sights of naked bodies writhing on his manicured lawns.

  “My lord, I’m deeply sorry to cause you so much distress,” she said in a soft whisper. “I’m afraid my friends and I didn’t think through the consequences when we made this plan. We thought only of our own goals. We failed to consider how difficult this might prove for you. To do this once again when you’d stopped holding galas here.”

  Justin straightened. “Thank you. It means a lot to me that you understand at least why I was so reluctant. The whole idea of the Pleasure House was so I could locate my mother and sisters quickly. Yet here I am, three years later, still clutching at straws. Still trying any road to find where they went.”

  Chrissie nodded. “I know. In four days’ time, I hope I’ll have good news for you. Even while we stand here, I’ve three men investigating different areas where I was told they might be. So far, each time I’ve sent my men out to check, they’ve returned empty-handed, although they’ve narrowed the area down considerably. I know this frustrates you and you probably hate me for doing this to you, holding up your own search, dangling carrots in front of your nose.”

  “Huh. You’re correct there, sweetheart.”

  “I do understand. And I’m trying my best to help. The people who are out looking know me better than they know you. They’re working day and night to assist me.” He sighed, nodded, then peered around the corner of the pole to see where Gillian and Anna had secreted themselves. “Where are the others?”

  “They found a quiet corner to watch, from up there.” She pointed to a raised area slightly behind the tent where they could look down upon the dancers without anyone being able to see them. “Thomas and Edward are with them.
”

  “And Bart? I expect he’s in the tent where he can get the closest view of the belly dancers. He has a fascination with Eastern girls and their costumes and jewelry.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see him. I was more worried about you.” She touched his arm. “You look exhausted.”

  Her concern touched him, touched a place deep inside him that craved a woman’s love and care. Most would never say he didn’t possess a heart, yet that spot in his chest ached. With one hand, he rubbed the area, but it didn’t ease. Chrissie’s hand covered his, held his motionless, halted the nervous circles he’d rubbed so viciously his chest hairs pulled tight and hurt. He removed her hand from his chest, kept it firmly in his, and tugged her behind him around the tent and toward the sloped area rising from the garden.

  “Where,” she gasped, “where are we going?”

  “Don’t you want to watch?”

  He took her quick nod as consent and continued to pull her to the safety of the trees. There was a small stone bench hidden there that he knew from past evenings spent watching proceedings would give a perfect view. The dancers moved backward and forward across the tent in time to the pulsing rhythm of the music being played by the pipes while the bells from their tambourines jangled and sang.

  Justin pulled Chrissie down beside him and snuggled her close to his side, placing his finger over her lips when she tried to object. “Shush,” he cautioned. “Be very quiet. I’m trying to avoid being pulled into participating in the show.”

  “Why are you avoiding it?” she whispered back.

  “Because I hate making a spectacle of myself, and the women always accost me when I dress like this.” He gestured at his costume and grimaced. “The whole Zoltan thing went crazy after Chrystal wrote her book.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Chrissie’s smirking face irritated him more than anything else about this whole evening— and a lot of it had irritated him.

  “You may find it amusing,” he snapped, “but I don’t. I cannot go to the park without having my ride interrupted by some widow pretending to fall off her horse in my path. Young chits stare at me in the street or giggle when I walk past them. If I inadvertently touch any part of them or their clothing, they swoon.”

  Chrissie chuckled but when he glared at her, she attempted to smother her amusement behind her clasped hands.

  He groaned and dropped his head to his knees. “Why bother explaining? You’re yet another reader of the tall tales of Zoltan. You’re probably under the spell of the Sultan’s Palace magic that has spread by word of mouth from woman to woman throughout the land.”

  “My lord, how poetic.”

  “I was being ironic, not poetic.”

  “Perhaps you’d like me to—” He leaned closer to find out what Chrissie was offering to do, but at that moment, his worst nightmare came true as Chrystal burst through the bushes.

  “Justin, my pet, why are you hiding up here?”

  He jumped to his feet and placed his body in front of Chrissie. “Why aren’t you with the dancers?”

  Chrystal pushed him aside and peered around him at Chrissie, who dipped her head and pulled her veil higher over her face. Only her eyes were exposed but those eyes were wide with fright.

  Chrystal pointed an accusing finger at Chrissie and spoke to Justin in an accusing voice. “Why is one of the dancers here with you when everyone else must obey your ridiculous rules? No watchers, only participants. No one is allowed outside of the performance areas. Justin, I don’t understand. If you wished for company … “ She stepped closer and ran her hands over his body. “You only had to ask.”

  Chrystal then spun away to speak to the three people behind her, people Justin had failed to notice. Damn. If he allowed her to dwell on the inconsistencies in his rules, Chrystal and her annoying curiosity would start spreading the story and asking questions.

  He needed to distract her and her followers, and do it quickly. He grasped Chrystal’s elbow and bent to her and produced his most seductive smile as he guided her toward the tent.

  “Amira was nervous about dancing for the first time in front of so many strangers but I’ve assured her she’ll do well.” He turned back to Chrissie but gave no signs of any acquaintance other than master and servant. “Come, Amira, stop twittering and join the other dancers.”

  Chrystal attempted to look back over her shoulder at Chrissie but Justin kept his grip firmly on her arm and forced her to walk away.

  “Amira looks like a succulent morsel, Justin. Is she new?”

  “Ah, yes. New to performing here. She’ll be used to amuse select guests only.”

  Chrystal tittered and pulled sideways to glimpse Chrissie’s features. Chrissie dipped her head. “But, Justin, my sweet, you know as I’m your extra special friend, you’ve never denied me anything before. Especially not here in the gardens.”

  She giggled in an irritating manner and laid her head on Justin’s shoulder, peering up at him through her thickly blackened eyelashes. Looking down, he thought of Chrissie’s unadorned countenance and her lack of face paint, and realized with an inward sigh that it was just one more thing to add to a long list of things he preferred about Lady Wellsby.

  “No matter what has happened here on previous occasions, I make the rules and I expect everyone, including you, Chrystal, to abide by them.”

  Chrystal was oblivious to the edge to temper in his voice and giggled again, raising his level of irritation for all things frivolous of the ton to an even higher level.

  No wonder his distaste for London life increased daily. And little wonder he wanted to locate his family and bring them with him to the country. He longed to retreat here, to his estate, so they could all recover. Hopefully he’d have a chance to wash away the multitude of sins clinging to his skin like mud. Hopefully he could start to cleanse their minds of the wrongs committed to them and cleanse his soul of the sins he’d committed. He looked around him and shuddered. Those wishes may still come true as soon as he could rid himself and his estate of the pests invading it for the next three days.

  “But I do so adore our gatherings,” Chrystal said, her nasal whine grating on his nerves more than ever before. “And our naughty group romps in your luscious gardens. Your tents are so positively perfect for playing our little games of peek a boo. I get such a thrill from discovering a new harem slave hiding behind a mound of pillows. Arthur and I are so thrilled to be here again. We miss the House, and you, so, so much.”

  Justin flinched as she ran her nails up and down his arm in her over familiar and possessive way. Three days. That was all he had to last. Right now, it seemed like a life sentence.

  “And where is your husband, Chrystal?”

  “Ooh, Arthur’s waiting over there,” she waved vaguely in the direction of the larger tents, “for me to bring you back. You know how much he admires seeing you perform. For dear Arthur, the highlight of his visit is your marauding Arabian prince act when you throw off your robes and mount a captured slave girl and then like a stallion in heat you—”

  “Enough!” Justin realized too late the story Chrystal revealed. He’d no intention of re-enacting any of those old Arabian fables tonight, or on any future nights. His days as the arrogant desert ruler Prince Zoltan were finished. And he certainly didn’t need Chrissie being regaled of the erotic fantasies he’d played out before audiences here before.

  Unfortunately, Chrystal wasn’t going to give up her fantasies without a fight. She grasped his arm and pulled him toward the tents and straight into the path of her leering husband. Arthur, true to past form, didn’t hesitate. He reached down and grabbed Justin’s balls in an eye-watering grip.

  “Jesus, Arthur,” Justin shouted as he pulled away, bending over to protect his private parts from the idiot. “What the fuck are you doing?” He heard the gasps from around him and realized many pairs of eyes were trained upon him. Arthur laughed, an over hearty laugh that sent shudders down Justin’s spine.

  “Mer
ely checking if you still have the balls to perform as Zoltan. Been hearing plenty of tales of your lack of prowess with women lately, Winchester. Been worrying me.” Arthur raised his brows in his most lecherous look. “Still, couldn’t resist the chance to see if my prize stallion could still plough a mare or two.”

  He grabbed his wife around the neck and tugged her closer to him, and when she was within easy reach, covered her breasts with his two beefy fists. “And you know how my darling Chrystal treasures your shaft prodding her, eh, Prince Zoltan? A sight to behold it is.” He pulled a roll of notes from a pocket he must’ve sewn into his costume especially for the purpose, the old bastard, and pushed some money toward Justin. “You know me, Hawkesbury. Willing to pay, and to pay well, for the privilege of watching you fuck my wife every way I decree for the next week.”

  The older man laughed, his fat stomach wobbled, and the raucous sound caused Justin’s stomach to knot and heave. Not only was Justin aware that Chrissie could hear every word the old letch spoke, but a few minutes more of listening to Arthur’s sordid description of their previous threesomes, or foursomes, and he would cast up his accounts all over Chrissie’s feet.

  Arthur turned to the waiting crowd and raised his arms as he announced in a booming voice, “Prince Zoltan is about to perform his opening ceremony. As he is our sultan, and ruler of the palace where we seek our pleasure, he chooses the first concubine. Or if he runs true to form, Zoltan may take many concubines before the night is over. He is an inspiration to us all to go forth and procreate.”

  The middle-aged lord nearly fell over while laughing at his own stupid jest. Justin grimaced as he debated with himself at which stage he should intervene. At present, it was far easier to let the lecherous Arthur babble on and make a complete fool of himself before Justin was forced to fix the problem. If only he knew the best way to protect Chrissie.

  Chapter Eleven