The Rake's Proposition

by Bess Greenfield

  “You’ve dreamed of me?”

  She nodded.

  “Shall I show you what I’ve been dreaming of?” he asked in a velvety tone.

  “Yes. Please. Show me.” She sounded so strange, weak and dazed.

  She reached out to him, but he moved from the bed. “Where are you going?”

  She heard him walk into a dark corner of the room, the sound of a drawer opening and closing, and then he returned. “I have something… to prevent pregnancy.”

  She could scarcely comprehend what he meant at first. The rational side of her brain had drifted far, far away. But she grasped his meaning as she watched him rest one knee upon the side of the bed and place a rubber sheath upon his erect penis with a speed and skill that indicated much practice.

  Logically, she knew he was being responsible and considerate to take such a precaution. But at the same time, his practicality and preparedness made her wonder just how many women he’d bedded before, perhaps even in this room. The sheath made his penis look alien and unnatural. “I don’t like it.”

  “Nor do I. You have no idea how much I don’t want to use it, but the consequences of going without… I never have.”

  She didn’t want to become an unwed mother. In fact, the idea of having a baby under any circumstances did not appeal to her at all. Most men probably wouldn’t care what she wanted. She sat on her knees and ran her hands up Leo’s lean, muscular chest. “How extraordinary you are.”

  He gave her a wicked smile as he pushed her back down onto the bed. “Just you wait and see.” Then his mouth slanted across hers. His skillful kisses soon took her mind from the disagreeable sight of the sheath, and she began to move against him. He encouraged her with words that excited her even more. “That’s it, ma douce.”

  She felt his hardness press against her opening, and she wrapped her legs around him in a wordless plea. His fingers raked up through her hair at the back of her scalp as he entered her slowly, allowing her to accommodate him. She moaned as he filled her.

  There was no pain, only electrifying sensation. She reeled with the confusing barrage of fulfillment and mysterious yearning. He watched her closely, adjusting his rhythm according to every nuance of her response.

  Pressure built deep inside. She gripped his hard shoulders as the rising force consumed her. She feared she would soon snap like an overwound violin string. “Maybe you should stop,” she blurted, her voice unnaturally high-pitched.

  “Not yet,” he rasped. He caressed that secret, sensitive place with his fingers as he thrust even deeper inside her. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. You’re safe,” he said in French.

  A fierce spasm overtook her. She shuddered as waves of ecstasy gripped her body again and again. Leo moved faster and harder, pushing her once again toward sensual oblivion.

  He froze suddenly and groaned, his entire body going rigid for several long seconds. In response, her inner muscles clenched and a second tremor, gentler than the first, seized her. She clutched his shoulders in astonishment.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, as they lay side by side.

  “No. Not for a second.” She felt glorious, adored, loved.

  His smile told her she’d only boosted his considerable male confidence, but then he had good reason to be proud of his skill when it came to pleasing a woman. He carefully reversed their positions, rolling so that he was beneath and she could rest her head upon his chest. So this was lovemaking without fear or shame—the answer to the mystery at last.

  * * *

  The heat woke Claudine well after the day had begun. She found herself alone in Leo’s large brass bed. Sunlight streamed through the tall open windows. She looked around the room and found no sign of Leo. The décor surprised her. Furnished with Georgian antiques and draperies and upholsteries in a color scheme of muted shades of gold and green, it seemed formal and impersonal, nothing like the man she’d come to know.

  She got out of his bed and saw a reflection of herself, completely naked, in the carved giltwood pier glass mirror in the corner of the room. Her recollection of the exact reason for her nakedness flashed through her mind. It almost seemed unreal now, like a vivid fantasy. But her slightly sore and overly sensitized body, thrumming with awareness, told her otherwise.

  She didn’t recognize the rosy-cheeked face in the mirror, but then she no longer felt anything like the girl who’d run away from home in fear.

  Perhaps Leo had gone downstairs for breakfast. She would join him and then convince him to come back upstairs. Half appalled, half amused at herself for being such a voluptuary, she went in search of his bathing room to make herself presentable.

  Upon her return, she noticed an envelope upon a silver tray beside a vase of pink gladiolas. Eagerly, she ripped open the seal and pulled out the folded note inside. As she unfolded the stationery, the first thing that caught her attention was the opening address.

  Mon Amour,

  I must visit my offices to see if my company still exists or whether the employees have declared mutiny in my absence. You look so lovely in your sleep I’m loathe to wake you. I shall be thinking about you all day. I haven’t a hope of concentrating on anything else, but I must at least make a show of trying.

  If you go out to explore the city, and I know you will, take Guillory with you. And take the money. Going about Manhattan without something in your pocket would be foolhardy. Besides, you never know what might take your fancy, and you should have anything you want.

  Your Ever Devoted,

  Leo

  The enveloped also contained a twenty-dollar bill. It wounded her pride that he’d left her, but she supposed his concerns were valid. He’d been away for over two weeks. And his choice of the words My Love and Your Ever Devoted more than made up for his absence. She hugged the letter to her chest. Excellent words indeed.

  On the bright side, she now had an entire day free to find Alex, and no explanation would be necessary. She’d have to go alone though. Guillory would surely report her activities to his master, and she wasn’t prepared to answer the questions which would follow.

  She returned to her room and put on a slate blue walking suit with a white blouse and a belt of tiny glass beads. The gnawing sensation in her stomach drove her to seek out a servant, but the ground floor appeared to be deserted. A service staircase led to a spacious, modern kitchen with white walls and a green linoleum floor.

  With her head bent over a book, Nellie sat at a long oak table in the center of the room. Without looking up, the former chambermaid who’d been promoted to lady’s maid, clutched a coffee cup, brought it to her full lips, and drank. “Cold as the Mississippi,” she grumbled.

  Then she noticed Claudine and sprang up, nearly falling backward from the bench she’d been sitting upon. “Oh, I didn’t see you there, miss.”

  Nellie did not seem particularly experienced as any sort of maid, but she was stunning. The obvious conclusion begged to be considered. Maybe Leo had hired the curvaceous doe-eyed brunette due to her physical appeal. Claudine’s disturbing train of thought went one step further. Jealousy almost compelled her to ask the question, “What precisely is the nature of your relationship with the master of the house?”

  But one couldn’t ask such things so instead she said, “It’s so quiet. Where has everyone gone?”

  “Mr. Barnett left early this morning for his offices. He said you needed your rest, and I mustn’t wake you. The new parlor maid is dusting somewhere. Mrs. Watkins has gone to the fishmonger again in search of ingredients for a Japanese recipe, heaven help us. I believe Guillory and Trilling are around, but they tend to go about their tasks quietly so one never knows what they’re up to.

  “Doesn’t one?” Leo’s household was most peculiar.

  “That’s all we have now. Mrs. Drake, the housekeeper, left yesterday.”

  Claudine could guess why. “Because of me?”

  Nellie shrugged. “Nobody liked her anyway. So disapproving and bos
sy and she was only here a month. I’ll see to your breakfast and bring it upstairs to you in the dining room, miss. This is no place for you.”

  Claudine had little reason to believe Nellie cooked any better than she ironed. “Why don’t I make you breakfast? Have you eaten yet?”

  “Oh, no, miss. That wouldn’t be right.”

  “Trust me. I’m an excellent cook.” Perhaps she was exaggerating, but Claudine was reasonably confident about preparing eggs after her secret lessons with Madame Grousse. Unfortunately, this kitchen looked nothing like the one at home except for the black cast-iron stove. The shiny metal equipment lining the marble countertops mystified her.

  “If you insist, miss.” Nellie picked up a coffee pot from the stove and discarded the used beans in a bin under the sink. “At least I can manage coffee.”

  “Then we have a deal.” Claudine went to the larder and found it well stocked. In a little while, she prepared an omelet, far less attractive than anything Madame Grousse would serve but certainly edible.

  Nellie took one bite and her huge brown eyes grew comically wide.

  Claudine grinned with pride. “It’s not that good.”

  “Oh, but it is. It’s best we keep this a secret from Mrs. Watkins. She’s a nice lady, but she’s a terrible cook.”

  “Do you like working here?”

  She leaned across the table and whispered, “Easiest job I’ve ever had.”

  “You’ve had others then? I thought perhaps this was your first. You look so young.”

  A dark look passed across her lovely face. She took her plate and cup to the sink. By the time she returned, her manner was once again perky. “I’ve worked here and there,” she said, washing her cup.

  Claudine knew enough about the hiring of servants to know that “here and there” would not suffice for a character.

  “Some people get ideas about me because of the way I look, but Mr. Barnett leaves me be.”

  Those four words brought a flood of relief. Then Claudine comprehended what the statement revealed: Nellie had likely been harassed in the past. “I’m glad you’ve found a decent employer at last.”

  The maid collected the rest of the dishes from the table and took them to the sink. “Mr. Barnett is more than decent. He’s kind. Not just to me, but to everyone who works here. Sally used to work in a shirt factory. Now she gets paid better with more time off. Trilling had it even worse. He used to be a gas fitter at Grand Central Depot until a gas leak and a lamp set off an explosion. That’s how his face got to be so ugly. He’s lucky to be alive. No one would hire him after the accident, certainly not in his field, because everyone blamed him for what happened. But Mr. Barnett hired him as a butler with no experience at all.”

  This new insight into Leo’s hiring practices made her love him all the more. She couldn’t wait to see him again. Maybe tonight she’d have the courage to tell him why she’d lied to him about who she was.

  Alex would know what she should do. He and Leo had been best friends for years. “Do hansom cabs run along this street?”

  Nellie moved toward the stairs. “I’ll fetch Guillory. He’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

  “Oh, no need.”

  She turned back. “You’re not thinking of going about unescorted, miss. The city can be dangerous enough for a native like me, let alone a fragile lady such as yourself.”

  “Fragile? Whatever gave you that idea?” The very notion renewed Claudine’s determination to accomplish her mission independently. She rose from the bench. “No. I must go alone. If he returns before I do, tell him I’ve gone to the park.”

  “When you will be back?”

  She had no idea how long it would take reach her destination and return. “Four hours from now, at most.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It took several tries to find a cabman familiar with the location of The Wilbraham, but Claudine persisted and eventually triumphed, arriving at Alex’s residence on a quiet street of mostly four-story brownstones at half-past eleven.

  A sense of optimism filled her as she gazed up at the respectable-looking building of pale rose stone with bay windows, a copper roof, and a heavily carved façade. A leaded glass fanlight set off the double door entrance at the top of a short flight of stairs.

  Alex’s apartment, number 24, turned out to be on the sixth floor. The building had no elevator. She resisted the urge to unbutton her confining high collar as she climbed.

  Her effort turned out to be for naught. Number 24 was occupied by an older gentleman who was kind and polite but knew nothing of her cousin. “You might inquire with the concierge downstairs,” he said.

  Claudine tried to keep her disappointment at bay. There was still hope. Alex might have left a forwarding address. She found the concierge in a cramped office to the rear of the vestibule. He summoned the landlord, who lived in the building, at her request.

  The landlord blotted his shiny forehead with a handkerchief as he descended the stairs. He looked as though he’d been sleeping, and he wasn’t pleased to be interrupted. His lips pinched the moment she mentioned Alex’s name. “I remember the fellow. Took off about three months ago.”

  “Took off to where?”

  “How should I know?” he snapped. “It’s not as though he thought to give notice or make arrangements for his possessions.”

  Claudine hesitated to continue her conversation with this rude man, but she had little choice short of abandoning her search. “There must have been some miscommunication. He might have gone on tour. If he left his possessions, he’s obviously coming back.”

  “It isn’t obvious to me. I already sold the finer pieces to cover the rent he owed.”

  That explained the rudeness. People often used abrasiveness to conceal their guilt. “When he returns, I suspect he’ll be very disappointed that you sold his belongings.”

  “Not my problem.” The man turned away and began climbing the stairs.

  Claudine noticed his attire then. His dove gray suit appeared to be of excellent quality, but the trousers were too snug around his thighs, and the jacket was too broad about his narrow shoulders. The suit had obviously been made for someone else. Might it have belonged to Alex? “Is there nothing more you can tell me? Please.”

  He gave an exasperated sigh and turned. “A while back I heard he was working at The Crystal Music Hall on West 28th Street off Broadway.”

  “A music hall. No, that couldn’t be. He’s a virtuoso.”

  “Then I guess it’s not true. Either way, I have work to do.”

  Claudine mumbled a thank-you and quickly vacated the building. With no other leads to follow, she hailed another cab, lifted her skirts to climb inside, and gripped the worn leather bench as the horses jolted into traffic. Maybe Alex’s career was not flourishing as well as she’d thought, or maybe The Crystal Music Hall would turn out to be a finer venue than she anticipated.

  They passed through a commercial neighborhood filled with tall buildings of five and six stories. The plate glass windows of fine ladies’ shops displayed gowns and hats. Gentlemen in frock coats and top hats strutted along the sidewalks with their walking sticks while working class men in derbies passed by more discreetly. Newspaper boys hawked competing dailies.

  As they continued to move westward, the window displays grew less appealing, and there were fewer walking sticks and frock coats to be found. The cab came to a stop before a five-story brick and stone structure with arched windows, pilasters, and a vaguely mansard-style roof with circular windows at the top. “This is it,” came a gruff voice from above.

  Indeed, the enormous lacquered sign above the double doors verified that fact in ugly block letters. A gloomy-looking brick residential building bordered one side of the music hall. Striped awnings in various stages of decay sheltered some of its many windows. On the other, a corset shop presented garishly colored, shiny undergarments on dress forms like a social gathering of half-naked headless women.

  Claudine’s stom
ach knotted. The driver moved on as soon as he was paid. Used cigars and broken glass littered the sidewalk. A streetcar screeched in the distance.

  Pulling open one of the heavy scuffed oak doors, she entered a lobby with gaudy brass floor lamps, chipped red linoleum floor squares, and oak paneled walls. Directly ahead stood three pairs of wrought iron doors inset with stained glass, all closed.

  Sadly, this was just the sort of place Alex would find intriguing. He’d always been drawn to low places and the most inappropriate women imaginable though he’d managed to conceal his activities from everyone in the family except her.

  “Show doesn’t start ‘till noon, but you can wait. For twenty-five cents, you can stay all day.” A man with closely set dark eyes and a small, downturned mouth was peering at her from behind a grated half-screen to her right.

  It occurred to her to ask why anyone would wish to stay all day, but she thought better of it. “I’m not here for a show. I’m looking for a musician.”

  The man folded his arms. “You wanna see a magician, you buy a ticket for the show.”

  She pressed her nose up to the grate so she could be better understood. “Musician,” she enunciated. “I’m not here for the entertainment. I’d like to speak with the manager. It will only take a moment or two, I promise.”

  He looked her over, cocking his black eyebrows at an inquisitive angle. “What are you? A dancer? I could put in a good word for you…”

  She sighed, her energy and optimism fading fast. “Would you? That would be so kind. May I see him now?”

  “Surely. Just remember who helped you out. Okay, dolly?”

  “Certainly.”

  He pointed to the iron and stained glass doors. “He’s in there. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

  She nodded her appreciation and stepped inside a vast wood paneled room as unobtrusively as possible and stood in the shadow of the balcony. The room looked more like a dining hall than a theater. Instead of rows of chairs facing forward, there were long dining tables with chairs positioned on either side. The place smelled of macassar oil, bratwurst, and beer.