Enraptured (A Private Collection)

by Fresina, Jayne

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2011 Jayne Fresina

  ISBN: 978-1-926950-53-2

  Cover Artist: LF Designs

  Editor: Kimberly Bowman

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To FF

  ENRAPTURED

  A Private Collection

  Jayne Fresina

  Copyright © 2011

  Chapter One

  April 1888

  “Yes, that’s all very nice.” She solemnly surveyed the half-naked young man in her front parlor. “Now, could you please drop your drawers?” It was uttered so politely she might have been asking him to pass the salt, but she saw no reason to forget her manners, despite the circumstances.

  Aware of the elderly housekeeper’s eyes watching her doubtfully, she kept her expression bland, her gaze unblinking. If she was going to get through this and prove she could manage the place despite her inexperience, she would need to overcome both her own trepidations and Mrs. Draycott’s. And why shouldn’t she manage? After all, her mother had apparently run this male bordello with great success, so why shouldn’t she?

  Of course, her mother had an advantage when she set this house up to keep the boredom of retirement at bay. For Louisa Deveraux was once the most notorious courtesan in London. Louisa’s daughter, on the other hand, was a virginal governess.

  A moment later the young man complied with her request to drop his drawers, standing before her in all his bare-cheeked glory. A stark contrast to the very proper mahogany and over-stuffed chintz furnishings.

  Until two months ago, Christina Deveraux had never seen a naked man. Since February she’d seen seven. It still amazed her that they should all be so different, and there was always a brief period of startled adjustment while she tried to remember what to say next. Again she felt the housekeeper watching her, ready to step in and take over at the first sign of panic. But Christina remained strong. She refused to run screaming from the room, covering her eyes and calling for smelling-salts as any proper young lady should, and as the housekeeper clearly wanted her to. Instead, she was tempted to laugh. A naked man really was quite a comical sight to behold.

  She strolled around him, hands clasped behind her back, measuring the potential out loud. “Adequately proportioned. Nine inches at least, wouldn’t you say, Mrs. Draycott?” She glanced over at the housekeeper who stood stiffly by the door like Anubis guarding a pharaoh’s tomb.

  “If you say so, Miss Christina.” The poor woman wasn’t yet accustomed to calling her Miss Deveraux. In her mind, as she’d protested recently, Christina was still the same little girl who, not so long ago, played on the nursery floor, parading her dolls up and down while eating her favorite tea-time treat of buttered crumpets. Mrs. Draycott didn’t like change. She’d worked twenty years for Christina’s mother, been at her bedside when Christina was born.

  “Your mother never wanted this for you,” she’d complained when Christina, soon after her mother’s funeral, announced plans to keep the house open and run it herself. “She wanted you to find a husband and lead a proper life. Why else do you think she sent you away to those fine schools and ladies academies?”

  Well clearly, thought Christina, she was sent away to prevent her discovering the truth about the goings-on inside the house on Arundel Square. An education was probably an added attraction, but not the primary reason. It was simply expedient for her, an inquisitive child, to be out of the way as much as possible.

  In the end, the secret was out. Her mother’s illness came quickly. And when Christina arrived home before she was expected, there had been no time to hide the evidence. Now, she’d inherited her mother’s sinful fortune, the house, and dear Mrs. Draycott, who still insisted on acting as if she needed a nanny.

  The new developments were an adjustment for them both, but Christina thought she was handling it better than Mrs. Draycott. The housekeeper observed her with wary, but worried, silver eyes, her stern, square face framed by grey hair, parted in the middle and tightly drawn back into a severe knot. There were no frills about Mrs. Draycott. She was solid as a large, craggy rock and just as immovable. The poor dear would expire on the spot if she realized that when her young mistress interviewed these men for a place in the house, she also secretly considered them for her own initiation into the pleasures of the flesh. Although she’d long since decided never to marry, preferring the freedom of running her own life and making her own decisions, Christina didn’t want to remain in sexual ignorance, especially when it was her business now to know all the ins and outs. So she intended to choose one of these men to provide her first experience. Unfortunately, she had yet to find one that intrigued her enough, but there must be one somewhere that she could look at without choking back her laughter.

  Hiding another smile, Christina looked away from Mrs. Draycott and continued her assessment. “Firm buttocks. Muscular stature, good skin and teeth. Hair could benefit from a wash and brush, but that’s nothing a half hour in the bath can’t cure. Let me see your fingernails. Hmm. Please get those jagged edges filed down and scrub them with a brush every evening from now on. Yes,” she pronounced finally, “you’ll do. Providing the doctor gives you a complete bill of health. When can you start?”

  “As soon as possible, madam.” The young man gave her a wink. “Would you like to give me a ride around the paddock, just to try me out yourself?”

  She heard the housekeeper’s sharp, indignant exhale, but Christina spoke first. “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. I can see what you’re capable of.” Having spent the last two months learning the ropes, mostly from her mother’s diaries and very occasionally from Mrs. Draycott’s reluctant explanations, she now knew how to handle bold suggestions that once would have made her blush.

  The young man flexed his muscles. “Sure now? I’d like to show you what I can do.”

  Obviously you would, she mused, watching his manhood rise proud as a flagstaff. Pushing ten inches now. He was a cocky brat, and she’d have to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t get above himself. The other men wouldn’t take well to a brazen young upstart trying to steal away their established clientele, and this one was just full of himself enough to push his luck. But some of her regular customers would enjoy a bold, young buck on the auction block. She’d rein him in a little, but not too much. Give him his head, until he overstepped his boundaries. He’d soon learn. The others would keep him in check with a few nips to the withers if he got out of line. This one was a fine addition to her stable.

  See, she thought proudly, I’m learning already. Her training as a governess came in handy. Managing a house full of men wasn’t that different to keeping order in a house full of squabbling children. She tossed a broad smile at Mrs. Draycott, who pursed her lips another half inch tighter.

  Christina sat at her mother’s desk to write the young man’s details and dimensions in a small, leather-bound notebook. “While you’re here, your name is John. You will never discuss your private life with the clientele or the other men here. If you’re ever asked to do something you have no taste for, you may refuse— politely —and refer the customer back to me. Out of your earnings you will pay a small rent to cover your room, laund
ry services, and meals. No women or other men are to be brought into this house by you. No outsiders are ever welcome. I will provide you with one set of evening clothes when you begin, but you are responsible for any future repairs or replacement deemed necessary. I expect you to be clean, groomed, and well-mannered at all times. There are books on the shelf, as you see, and newspapers there on the table. Make use of them so you have something to talk about with your clients, should they desire conversation. You will never speak of your work here to anyone outside this house. Any questions?”

  He was still naked before her, trying to absorb her instructions. “How much of it do you take, then?”

  She blotted her ink and smiled faintly. “I don’t take anything beyond payment for your room and board. The rest of your earnings you’ll keep.” Again she heard Mrs. Draycott gasp irritably, but she stood, closing her book with a snap. “This house is under new management and I’ll be running things a little differently,” she said, for the housekeeper’s benefit, as well as his.

  The young man frowned. “Then what’s in it for you?”

  She walked around the desk. “This is my charitable donation to the women’s cause.” Christina didn’t need any more money. Her mother had left her quite enough, and too much of it, in her opinion, could only lead to trouble.

  Mrs. Draycott swept out in a huff, and as Christina passed the young man, she casually ran her fingers over his manhood and patted it gently. “You are my gift to the long-suffering ladies of this town. Treat them well, won’t you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re younger than I expected. A lot younger. I wager you’re younger than me.”

  “Am I?”

  “You’re a looker too.”

  She walked to the door, her black silk gown whispering across the carpet. “I’m flattered.”

  “Sure you don’t want a quick gallop?” He grinned. “I’ll take you over a few fences. Give you a thrill.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt you would.” She gave him another approving glance from head to toe. “But I’d rather you saved it all for the customers. We’re having a charity auction at the end of the week, so I want you in prime condition for my high bidders. Wouldn’t want you getting saddle sore before then.” She smiled and winked at him just as he had earlier to her. “Now, you and I have a fitting with Monsieur Alberet. Pull up your trousers; there’s a good boy. The chimney sweep is due in a few minutes and this is a respectable house.”

  * * * *

  Harry Blackwood stared at his father’s solicitor, shriveling the little man with his menacing, dark-eyed, unblinking gaze. “Dead? Are you sure? I came all the damned way to London to find the wretched woman. You might have let me know sooner.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwood, but by the time I ascertained the lady was deceased, you were already on your way here, and I had no way of contacting you.”

  Frustrated, Harry drew a hand through his black hair, tangling his fingers in the deceptively angelic curl. “Now what am I supposed to do with that painting?” He glowered at the calico wrapped package leaning by the solicitor’s desk. It had been his father’s last wish that all three nudes in his private collection be returned, in person, to the models who once posed for them.

  Again the solicitor apologized for circumstances that weren’t his fault. “Miss Louisa Deveraux only died a few months ago, so I doubt your father would have known. He hadn’t been in contact with the lady for some years. It’s all most unfortunate.”

  Grey lines of rain streaked the window behind his head, adding to the general sense of depression in the dark, book-lined room.

  “That’s that then, isn’t it?” Harry leapt to his feet. “May as well go back home. I do have a mill to run, and I’ve wasted enough time on this fool’s errand as it is.”

  He strode to the door, but the solicitor called out nervously, stopping him before he walked out. “What about the painting, Mr. Blackwood? I can’t keep it here.” The solicitor flushed. “My wife certainly won’t have it in the house.”

  Harry looked over at the wrapped parcel again and felt his pulse slow, his temper ease. The nude blonde had been his traveling companion for the last few days, and he did feel a cad dropping her there, abandoning her like that. He was accustomed to having her at his side already. Beautiful women were his worst weakness. Always had been. He liked looking at her, at the high curve of her bottom, the graceful length of her spine, the smooth arch of her shoulder, and the sad blue eyes staring back over it. Would those eyes fill with tears if he left her behind? Perhaps he’d keep her. He wouldn’t want her to cry.

  Mind swiftly made up, he returned across the carpet, feigning reluctance, and picked her up. “Fine. I’ll take her.”

  The solicitor dabbed his brow with a crumpled handkerchief, relieved the burden of custody didn’t fall to him. In the midst of that grim morning, Harry suddenly became darkly amused. He supposed a scandalous nude portrait would take some explaining, even to the most understanding of wives. Good thing Harry didn’t have a wife to question his taste in art.

  As most people would say, it was a good thing Harry didn’t have a wife. Full stop.

  Swinging the painting under his arm, he marched out. If he hurried he could catch the noon train from King’s Cross. He’d be back home by nightfall. He only hoped his naked blond could stand the cold travel north. He’d wrap her up well to make sure. Couldn’t have her lovely little posterior getting chilled.

  * * * *

  She walked along the street quickly, her gaze on the pavement, her mind miles away. The young man chattered away at her side, not noticing her inattention. Christina let him talk, hoping he got it out of his system before they arrived at Monsieur Alberet’s establishment. It was a pity his new clothes wouldn’t be ready for tonight. She could have taken him with her to the Duchess of Berwick’s ball. Everyone would want to know who he was, and those few privileged ladies in on her secret would be tapping at her door in Arundel Square at the first opportunity. Very good advertisement for her house and promotion for the charity auction at the end of the week. But his evening clothes wouldn’t be ready in time, so she’d have to take someone else as her escort. She hadn’t yet decided who. He had to be just right, because the ball tonight was to be the most important moment of her life.

  For the first time in nineteen years, she would meet her father face to face. Christina had never known his identity, until recently perusing her mother’s informative diaries. Now she knew the truth; that he’d turned his back on Louisa when she was pregnant. He’d refused to accept responsibility and wanted nothing to do with his daughter, never acknowledged her existence or asked anything about her welfare.

  Tonight at the ball, when he saw Christina for the first time, she’d be out of her mourning clothes and wearing a gown almost identical to one her mother once wore. He would remember his former lover, the infamous Louisa Deveraux, and then he would recognize the bastard daughter he’d turned his back on for nineteen years.

  His grace, the Duke of Berwick, was in for a shock.

  * * * *

  The carriage rumbled along, splashing through puddles, leather harness creaking, hooves clopping against the cobbles. Harry stared out at the dull day, taking only shallow breaths of the rusty, damp air. He never liked London. Couldn’t wait to get out of it. Northern towns were different. They had a sense of purpose, the people striving together with a united will to survive and flourish. In London, it always seemed as if each person was out for themselves, greedy and grasping, looking for instant gratification, something for nothing. Londoners were wilting pansies compared to the stout, hard-working, no-nonsense northerners he’d come to love.

  He caught his scowling reflection in the window glass and realized he was looking rather grubby. When he left home to attend his father’s funeral, he forgot to pack his razor or shaving brush, and there’d been no time this morning to get an appointment with the barber. Consequently he was a scruffy sight. He recalled an old childhood fantasy, one i
n which he was a ruthless pirate captain sailing the high seas, stealing treasure, selling captives as slaves, and generally creating havoc. He hadn’t thought of that in years, but today it came to him out of the blue, made him smile. He certainly looked the part today.

  According to his father, one of their ancestors had been hanged for piracy. His father liked to tell the odd, unsavory tale, true or not, and Harry had always lapped them up.

  His eyes casually scanned the street, out of habit, looking for a pretty face to cheer his spirits further. A flare of white gold caught his eye.

  Lovely blonde.

  Very lovely.

  A stunner.

  Wait just a minute.

  He turned his head to look at her as the carriage passed.

  It couldn’t be, could it?

  She raised her eyes and he saw the blue, clear and strong— a bright summer’s sky suddenly blooming on a wet spring morning.

  His heart almost stopped. She turned to enter a shop, apparently taking his last breath with her. Dear God in Heaven. It was Louisa Deveraux. In which case, Harry Blackwood had just seen a ghost.

  Chapter Two

  She sat on a Hepplewhite chair, her hands gathered in her lap, nodding occasionally, rarely smiling. The man with her did most of the talking, but she was evidently in charge of the fitting. The tailor fluttered around her with all the obsequiousness of the serpent around Eve.