Joss and The Countess (The Seducers Book 2)

by S. M. LaViolette

  But not his time.

  In fact, he’d left The White House far more agitated than when he’d arrived.

  Melissa had looked worn to a nub, nothing like her usual, vibrant self.

  The change in the beautiful young madam’s appearance from the last time they’d seen each other—a mere week earlier—had been shocking.

  She’d seen Joss’s worried expression and had given him a jaunty smile. Or she’d tried to.

  “It’s just this cold weather wearing on me. Don’t you remember how it was with me when I was a nipper—how much I hated winter?”

  Yes, he remembered. Melissa Griffin—who’d had a different name back then—had lived only a few buildings down from Joss’s father’s shop.

  She’d been so pretty with her dark auburn hair and green eyes that Joss had been sweet on her, teasing her mercilessly even though she’d been a few years older than him.

  Everyone knew her mother struggled to support them both by taking in washing. But, with the self-absorption of youth, Joss hadn’t realized things were rough—that Melissa had become thinner and played less often—until one day he’d come home from the day school where their mother insisted on sending them, and discovered that Mel was gone.

  Not long afterward his own Ma ran off, and he’d faced more pressing problems than the disappearance of a neighbor girl.

  It wasn’t until years later that he learned what happened to her.

  Joss had been working at his father’s shop when Mel came to see him. He’d been up front rather than in back—which is where he usually spent his days—while his Da recuperated from a foot butcher who’d cut off his bunions with less finesse than his father used to trim a roast.

  Joss hadn’t recognized Melissa at first, mistaking her for a rich toff with her glossy, well-fed appearance and expensive clothes.

  From that day forward she’d enticed, seduced, and ensorcelled him, not that he’d offered up any resistance. On the contrary, he fell for her like a bird shot from the sky.

  She’d told him upfront that she worked in a brothel.

  Joss—the romantic, idealistic, and deeply infatuated fool that he’d been—developed grand visions of marrying her and taking her away from the ugliness of her past.

  He’d behaved like a mooncalf, believing he was courting her when, all along, it had been Melissa courting him.

  “You want me to work in a whorehouse for women?” He must have repeated that six times the day she brought up the subject.

  After she’d finally convinced him that she wasn’t jesting, Joss had become stuck in a second rut.

  “I’m too bloody ugly, Melissa!”

  “You’ve got something, Joss. And Mrs. Hensleigh agrees.”

  Venetia Hensleigh was the owner of The White House, but was planning her retirement from the business.

  “You’re not handsome, that’s for sure. It’s something about you.” Mel had grinned. “I think it’s the fact that you like women—really like them, want to see them happy, to give them pleasure.” She’d given him a smile so incendiary it had almost set his hair on fire. “I’ve imagined being with you on more than one occasion.”

  Back then he’d still been innocent enough to blush.

  “But—” he began, his thoughts too confused to speak.

  “Yes?” she prodded.

  They’d been at The White House when she’d told him, in her spacious quarters. In addition to having his nerves jangled by her proposal, he’d also been jangled by her.

  She’d greeted him wearing a lace negligee that showed him exactly what he’d spent weeks imagining.

  “Wouldn’t it bother you knowing I was with other women?” he’d finally managed to spit out.

  “It’s just a service—no different than any other service the people of our class offer, Joss. It just pays better. Please tell me you’re not planning to entertain ridiculous, childish emotions like jealousy?”

  Well. What could his seventeen-year-old self say to that?

  If she could conduct their relationship with such sophistication, why couldn’t he?

  It hadn’t been until after he’d accepted her offer and entered the rarified confines of The White House that he’d understood that she wasn’t going to be his lover at all; she was going to be his teacher.

  “I do love you, Joss, you were one of the few bright spots in my life back then. I’ll never forget you protecting me and bringing me food. But the truth is, I prefer women, Joss.”

  He’d goggled.

  She’d laughed. “Come now, you’re a man grown, certainly that doesn’t surprise you?”

  He was too ashamed to tell her that while he’d known about men liking men, the fact that some women liked women, had surprised him.

  Joss shook his head as he recalled his naïve younger self. It had taken time, but he’d eventually gotten over his boyish infatuation and he and Melissa had become close friends—even after he’d quit working for her.

  Still, as close as they were, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her about his affair with Alicia. He knew she would see past his words to what he was hiding: that he’d fallen deeply, hopelessly in love.

  He did tell her about Annie on his last visit.

  “Don’t you know better than to tangle with a young girl, Joss?” She’d looked disgusted.

  Joss hadn’t pointed out that Annie was not much younger than him. Although in experience, he was centuries older.

  “I know, I know. If I could go back—” He’d shrugged. “But there’s no use wishing for that. Besides, I’m not sure she’d have taken no for an answer.” Joss thought of the hateful glares she’d shot his way. “She’s a woman scorned, Mel, and I can’t help feeling that she’s plotting something against me.”

  That had made her snort, which had kicked off a bout of coughing.

  “Serves you right, you shrew,” he’d mocked. But Joss had not liked either the look or sound of her coughing. Not that she’d pay any attention to anything he said. But when she’d needed, a few minutes later, to run behind her screen and cast up her accounts he’d been unable to hold his words back any longer.

  “You need a doctor, Mel.”

  “I’ll not quack myself, Joss. So save your breath to cool your porridge,” she’d warned.

  Not that she had stinted any of her breath—no she would not be deterred from a path once she’d started down it. “And don’t try to change the subject. A girl like Annie has one thing in mind, and its nothing more nefarious than marriage.”

  He’d laughed. “Listen to you with the big words.”

  She’d pursed her lips, but he could see she was pleased. She’d not gone to school when they’d been young—her mother putting her out to sell fruit or other trifles when she was barely eight, but now that she was well-off, she paid a tutor and could read.

  “Anyhow,” she’d continued. “Just stay away from that girl.” Her eyes had gone shrewd then. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

  But Joss had stood firm against her prying.

  The last thing he’d wanted to do was admit the mortifying truth: that he’d fallen in love with the woman who employed him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As usual, Joss was reading when the knock came.

  ​He glanced at his watch and saw what he already knew: it was well past midnight. He’d given up on her coming and had stopped dressing in the fancy clothing she’d bought for her and waiting.

  ​Instead, he did what a real groom would do and stripped from his work clothing, taken a chilly sponge bath, and slipped on the fancy banyan Belle had sewn him for Christmas and the slippers his sister-in-law Susan had made for him, feeling quite like a king.

  He stared unseeingly at the book in his hand. This had to be Annie, who’d left him alone since leaving here three nights ago, crying. He considered pretending to be asleep when there was another knock, sharper this time.

  He sighed, stood, went to the door, and yanked it open.
>
  “Joss.”

  He stared.

  “Please. May I come in?”

  He stepped to the side and closed the door, turning and leaning against it, watching as she took off her disguise.

  “I didn’t wake you, I hope?”

  Joss just looked at her. Her eyes flickered away from his and stopped on the small table beside his chair. “No, of course I didn’t wake you. You were reading?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it?”

  “A novel.”

  She winced at his sharp tone, but persevered. “Oh? Which one?”

  “It’s one of the books I had planned to read with Lady Elizabeth. She gave me a copy, even though we won’t be discussing it.”

  “You saw her?” she asked shrilly.

  Joss’s eyes narrowed. “No. She sent Hiram with it. He saw her, my lady.”

  She flushed and turned away from him, her expression either angry or hurt. Joss hoped she was hurt.

  He sighed, disgusted by his petty behavior. “Was there something you were looking for, my lady?”

  “Please, don’t call me that.”

  Joss raised his eyebrows, but she wasn’t looking at him, she was looking at her hands.

  “I’ve come because I no longer need you for—for what I originally hired you for.”

  Her words were worse than a kick to the gut. But he would be damned if he showed her that.

  Instead he said, “I’d discerned as much.”

  The tops of her sharp cheekbones flooded with color at his dismissive tone. “I’m sorry, I should have told you much sooner instead of leaving things . . . hanging.”

  Joss decided it was actually worse than a kick in the gut. It was the most frustrating, powerless, and belittling sensation he’d ever experienced.

  All the power over what they’d had—if they’d had anything—was in her hands. He’d always known that intellectually. Now, he knew it viscerally.

  “I don’t need you here, but I still wish to employ you.” Her tongue darted out nervously to moisten her lip. “But not to work here,” she repeated.

  Joss tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Oh?”

  He didn’t think he’d ever seen her become so flushed before—except when they been in bed together.

  “I—” She looked dizzy, as if she might faint.

  “Would you like to sit, my lady.”

  She went to the chair in his tiny sitting area and slumped into it. Joss stood across from her, hands behind his back, and waited, just like the obedient servant he was.

  She finally said, “I know where you worked for almost four years.”

  He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He must be one of the stupidest men in Britain.

  Joss sighed. “Her Grace of Beckingdon,” he said.

  Her jaw dropped. “What?”

  Joss closed his eyes and covered them with his hand. Oh God.

  “You . . . you know the Duchess of Beckingdon?”

  Joss ignored her question. “Who told you about me, my lady?” He could see she wished to argue, but her jaw tightened and she looked down at her hands, twisting them uselessly in her lap.

  “Who,” he demanded. He needed to know.

  If people were talking—selling secrets at The White House—Melissa would need to know.

  She flinched at his harsh tone. “I don’t know. I received a message—an anonymous message.”

  Joss frowned. “Who would do such a thing?”

  She refused to meet his eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Joss inhaled deeply, held it, and then exhaled slowly. “Very well, I shall pack my things and be gone tonight.”

  She leapt to her feet and clutched his sleeve. “No! Don’t, please.”

  Joss jerked his arm away from her, furious. “What do you want from me? An apology? Fine, I am sorry I was a whore years before you met me. Will that suffice, my lady? Or perhaps you want—”

  “I don’t want an apology.”

  “Then what the devil do you want from me?” It was the first time he’d raised his voice in her presence.

  “I can’t have you here. But I—I can offer you a different job.”

  He hadn’t thought he could feel any sicker. His mouth curved into a smile and he knew it was not pleasant. “Tell me about this new job.”

  She opened her mouth and the words tumbled out. “I can pay for a place for you to live—a place where we can meet secretly. I can even find you a position with somebody else, if you like. I-I know lots of people. Or I can simply pay you what I have been and you don’t need to work. We don’t need to stop seeing each other. It just can’t be here.”

  Joss didn’t know what was more depressing: that she would make such an offer, or that he would—even for a heartbeat—consider accepting it.

  ∞∞∞

  Alicia had consumed three glasses of wine with dinner.

  ​At the time, she’d felt confident and fearless. That had all changed the moment she saw him.

  She blinked away the moisture that kept gathering in her eyes and forced herself to look up into his face: his rugged, almost homely face, which she treasured more than almost any other.

  The truth had hit her the moment she knew she would have to let go of him: she enjoyed his company—both in and out of bed. She loved him. The only person she enjoyed and loved more was Elizabeth.

  He rocked back on his heels at her scandalous offer, his lids dropping so low she could hardly see his eyes.

  The silence grew, along with her misery and mortification. She got to her feet, but then could not move. Her brain encouraged her, strongly, to head for the door. To run. But her body, coursing with memories of their nights together, of their intoxicating, maddening pleasure, refused to obey.

  “Don’t you have anything to say?” she demanded when it seemed he would not speak.

  “I’m wondering what it is, specifically, you wish to pay me for.” He fixed her with a stare that chilled her.

  “What do you mean?”

  One corner of his mouth pulled up. “Do you think everything that is done in a whorehouse is the same?” She flinched at the word whorehouse and his smile grew. “You don’t like that word: whorehouse.” It was not a question. “But yet you want to buy a whore.”

  “Joss, I—”

  “If you want to hire me, there will need to be a contract and you will need to be specific, to lay out the terms, my lady.”

  “I will?” It was barely a whisper, but she was past caring. Her legs were so weak she slid back down into her chair.

  He nodded slowly, the menace back in his dark eyes the way it had been that first night in her carriage—a sensual menace. “It is a business negotiation—it is how things are done. You tell me what you expect from me and I tell you how much you will have to pay me to get it.”

  The voice in her head was screaming warnings.

  But Alicia ignored it. She licked her dry lips and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Li-like what?”

  He raised his eyes. “You wish me to describe the kinds of services women—ladies—have employed me to do in the past?”

  She wanted to deny it. To yell, No! No, I don’t! I can’t even bear to think of you with another woman! But her head nodded, as if it were fascinated by the amount of pain it could inflict on her heart—her soul.

  His smile filled with loathing—for her? For him? For what they’d had?

  “You like listening to me speak of such titillating things. The rude, rough words I might use.” He cocked his head at her, the sly, cruel expression on his face one that she’d never thought to see. “I wonder if I shouldn’t start charging you now.” He chuckled, and it was a mocking, ugly sound. “Don’t worry, I’ll throw this part in for free.”

  Her chest was rising and falling fast. Her face, she knew, would be glowing red; morbid curiosity kept her riveted to her seat.

  He fingered his chin thoughtfully. “So many women have come to me with so many need
s, where should I start?”

  Churning black jealousy threatened to choke her. She’d done this: she’d asked him. She could tell him to stop.

  His mouth twisted. “Still, they did tend to fall into certain . . . categories. There were those women who wanted to become my sexual slave—who wanted me to be their master.” His nostrils flared and his smile grew until she saw teeth. “But I probably don’t need to explain much about that to you. They did whatever I commanded and I used them however I pleased.” He closed his eyes, as if at some memory, the look so sensual it gutted her.

  As jealous as his admission left her, one shocking detail rose above the rest. “Other women have paid you for that?”

  He nodded slowly. “Oh yes, many women. Sophisticated, sensual women who knew exactly what they wanted. Women who gave me as much pleasure as I gave them.” He hesitated. “But you were different.”

  Alicia’s heart leapt at his admission, as if he’d lifted a five-hundred-pound weight on her chest. “Oh?” she asked, hope blooming inside her.

  His harsh features shifted into a gently amused, patronizing, smile. “Yes. You were so needy and lost.” He paused, his eyes glinting. “Such a charming novice, that I’ve serviced you for free.”

  Alicia stared, his words echoing inside her over and over.

  He grinned. “But I digress—you wanted to know the full range of services I offer. While some ladies want me to master them, some want me to be their . . . slave.” His smile grew and it was not a nice smile. He leaned down and put his hands on the arms of her chair. Alicia sat back, but he just kept coming closer.

  “That means I will do whatever you command me to do. You will own me, body and soul, to use however you please. Perhaps you would like to experience that arrangement for a while?”

  She gaped up at him, speechless with hurt and humiliation. And want.

  Whatever he saw on her face made him scowl and step back away until he was leaning against the doorway to his pugilism room, his posture insouciant, his expression watchful.

  He crossed his arms. “I don’t even need to fuck you.” She flinched and he smiled. “I can just hold you, stroke you, and murmur how beautiful you are. How much I adore and love you, couldn’t live without you. Share the details of my life—listen to your inner most secrets as if I find them fascinating. Not much different than what we’ve been doing, actually.” He gave a dismissive shrug.