House of Sin

by Lacy Danes

  He gritted his teeth against the searing pain and slightly narrowed his eyes, but refused to show any weakness. He continued to hold his hands open as the red line rose on his skin. The cane cracked down once more, making a red X on his palm.

  “Again, and this time, the backs.” Lord Gregor smiled deviously at him, his eyes deepening with an emotion Adam didn’t understand. Hatred? Pleasure? Maybe even pain turned in the depths of those obsidian eyes.

  Adam flipped his hands knuckles up.

  The cane rose back into the dusk sky, then, as if a bolt of lightning slicing the grey, it cracked down on the bones of his knuckles.

  Damn. Shit. Bloody hell. He locked his jaw to hold back the stream of blasphemous words ready to bust from his mouth. His head spun and his stomach sickeningly pitched. He concentrated on Lord Gregor’s empty eyes.

  “Do not ever spoil the pleasure for others, Adam. You are a servant of this house. Only I or my sons can have that pleasure.” And they had spoilt the pleasure for others. Several times. It was what he feared most for Miss Grey.

  “Yes, my lord.” His voice held no hint of the pain that throbbed in his hands.

  Christon clapped him on the back. “Well done.”

  “Agreed.” Devlin nodded. “I would have been cussing like a dock whore.”

  Lord Gregor simply turned away toward the house.

  “Sir, Lord Norting shall arrive soon,” Devlin called to Lord Gregor’s back.

  Lord Gregor continued on his path. “If we have a new servant, then Doctor Benson is here. I have something to discuss with him.” Lord Gregor disappeared into the main parlor doors.

  “I couldn’t care less if anyone greets Lord Norting or his daughter,” Christon grumbled. “I refuse to be made a milk sop simply because he tells me to. This visit won’t sway me.” Christon turned and walked in the opposite direction of his father, leaving Devlin and Adam standing in the middle of the lawn gawking after him.

  “Why is Christon so upset?” Adam watched as he walked out into the fields heading toward the lake.

  “Marriage. Father told him he would be betrothed by the week’s end.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “The girl Father picked is strictly for appearance. She has good blood and even better estates…I mean manners, of course.” Devlin winked, then laughed. “Christon likes his women naughty.”

  “Indeed, he does.” Sibila had been his favorite until recent months. The image of Miss Grey crying in his arms came back to him. A low groan crawled up his throat as an ache pressed in on his chest. Damn Sibila. Damn this house. Miss Grey needed to leave.

  “Not all of us are as debauched as the others, Adam.”

  Adam nodded, barely hearing his brother’s words. “I have work to finish.” He turned toward the carriage house and strode across the lawn, his hands throbbing.

  Christon would wed and nothing would truly change here. Nothing had changed here in the years he had been in service. One small woman would not alter Portage Place and what Lord Gregor had carved. Adam would be damned if he allowed Miss Grey to befall him. He would save her from the hurt and relentless anguish Portage Place caused women of her sweet nature.

  Chapter Five

  The savory smell of duck, thick-crust bread and pudding hung so heavy in the air Emily could taste them. She slid out her tongue and traced her upper lip, gathering the essence that lingered there. Her stomach growled, and she rubbed her fingertips against the carved handle of the large serving tray, waiting for Miss Wicking to fill it for the night’s feast. A shiver raced her spine—her fingers wrapped around carvings of nude females.

  To her left, the pots bubbled.

  To her right, sweet cakes cooled.

  Miss Wicking had prepared a feast for the master and his guests. Emily’s tray held sliced roast duck cooked to a golden brown. She inhaled and the scent of the sweet, sticky currants and wine, combined with duck, flooded her mouth with hunger. Delicious. She bit her lower lip. If only she were not holding little carvings of nakedness as she stood there. She could almost pretend this was normal and hope some of this night’s meal would be left for the servants to taste after the dinner was through.

  She rolled her eyes. Other things awaited her after dinner. Things like the tray she held, or worse, the anything Mr. Waterton had spoken of. Adam was right. She was a lamb amongst wolves here, but she was gaining experience, and so far he and Sibila had been the only ones to show her anything considered scandalous.

  “One more touch, dear Emily. The feast must be as visually seductive as it tastes.” Miss Wicking’s short, pudgy fingers garnished the tray with sweet candied orange slices.

  Emily had not an inkling that she would be serving dinner when she took this post. Then again, she had not known most of what she had experienced today. Serving food required discipline, and she had a terrible habit of watching people. She couldn’t help it. People fascinated her.

  Leave. Adam’s harsh tone from the hall still rang in her ears.

  She closed her eyes. Fortitude, Emily. She would remain close to Adam. She wanted to know more about him, but until she had a chance to speak to him further, she would remain strong. Concentrating on her chores and doing what she was told was the only way to stop her mind from wandering to the longings those in this house supposedly had.

  “Very good, dear. Head up the stairs to the dining hall and follow Mr. Waterton’s directions to the letter. You shall make a splendid presentation for my duck.” Miss Wicking’s ruddy cheeks plumped as she smiled then winked.

  Emily bobbed her head and then turned, carrying the heavily laden tray. She traversed the servant’s hall and turned into the stair, which twisted narrowly up to the second and third floors.

  Adam stood on the landing, staring down at her. The candlelight from a nearby wall sconce played shadows across his face. Her heart flipped and she sucked in a breath. He certainly was handsome. Upon sighting her, he frowned.

  He had no cause to be cross with her. She stepped up onto the first of the narrow wood steps, and the tray tilted. The fragrant duck slid to one side.

  Adam bounded down the flight of steps and reached to grasp the tray.

  Attention, Emily. She lifted her spine. You do not need his help, no matter how handsome he is. Show him you can survive here so he will not keep trying to send you away.

  Besides, he had assisted her enough today and, even though she had enjoyed her wanton unraveling in the hall—my goodness, she still could not believe she’d done that—he would only continue to fray at her will. “I can manage just fine,” she said in a curt tone. Her brows pulled tight.

  Adam pulled his hands back and stepped aside to let her pass. “Very well. I need to speak, Miss Grey.”

  She stepped past him, but remained silent. Gently, she tipped the tray to the opposite side to even out the duck, and with sure footing ascended the stairs to the main level of the home.

  He continued up the stairs directly behind her. His heat was so intense and close to her back, her thoughts flooded with the remembered sensations of him pressed to her against the glass as his hands trailed her sides. Her heart sped, and she swallowed hard. Do not think of such. She tried to rid the memory from her mind.

  “I told you earlier that others would not wait for your permission to diddle you.” His breath licked the hairs behind her ear. Oh good Lord. She held in a tremble. “I told the master and his sons that you are not to be touched.”

  Her eyes widened. He did what? Would that work? Could he simply tell them such and they listened?

  H-he’d just told the master she was untouchable. Mr. Waterton’s words…do anything…splintered as a broken glass in her ears. Oh no! He was daft. She would lose her post.

  Emily stopped mid-step and turned slowly toward him. She gripped the carved nude handles as if her life depended on it. The nerve he had to jeopardize her post here! “Pardon?” Sweat dampened her brow. She would be removed from her post before she had any experience, a reference to
go by, or money in her pocket. She would be removed before she got to know Adam. She would become worse than what she was here. She would become a beggar or an unfortunate. Her stomach dropped, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “You had no right.”

  “Miss Grey, you don’t belong here. I know what Portage Place is like. You have the three days I granted you before someone demands for your services in the carnal way several times a day. I gave you time to see what this house is truly like…without having to lose your dream on someone else’s demand.”

  He’d gained her time. She tilted her head to the side, and her shoulders softened. It was a nice gesture. More than nice. He showed her he cared about her and wanted to protect her. Her heart fluttered, and her lips curved into a soft smile. They both knew she worked for Lord Gregor, not for Adam.

  If the master wanted her, she truly could not stop him, no matter what Adam told them. She stared up into Adam’s calm blue eyes and that worry swirled there in their depths. Still, his gesture showed him kind. She inhaled deeply and continued up the stairs, holding the tray. He’d gained her his protection. She bit her lip. She wanted to know Adam even more. “Adam, what did you tell the master?” She reached the top of the stairs.

  Adam held open the door into the butler’s pantry. Quiet shuffles and mumbles rolled out of the small space as servants scurried about following Mr. Waterton’s constantly moving hands. The sound of the evening’s dinner festivities rushed down the small galley and over them. Men laughed and chatted loudly. Dinnerware clinked and clattered. Yet little sound came from the activities going on within the butler’s space.

  “I did nothing to endanger your post,” Adam’s rich voice whispered as she passed him and pressed into the narrow corridor.

  “Miss Grey! The platter. I am waiting!” Mr. Waterton’s flat, hushed tone chided from down the narrow room.

  “Pardon, sir.” Emily entered the room without answering Adam.

  Sibila entered from the dining room, a fresh blush on her cheeks and a ceramic pot in her hands.

  “Miss Grey!” Mr. Waterton frowned, and Emily rushed forward. “Stand to the left of each person and, using this serving fork, place one piece of duck on each plate. If they request a second piece, please provide it. Do not speak unless spoken directly to. Do you understand, Miss Grey?”

  “Yes, sir.” Emily bobbed her head to Mr. Waterton and stepped into the dining hall with a quick glance over her shoulder.

  Adam still stood in the doorway, watching her. He smiled at her with concern in his eyes. She pushed the image from her mind. She needed to be on her best behavior. Pleasing Mr. Waterton was what mattered at this moment.

  She stepped farther into the deep blue dining room as if stepping back into an older, more animalistic time. The room was dark, with iron chandeliers and red wax candles. Her feet trod slowly on the pale grey-and-red carpet. The pattern brought forth the image of men and women feasting on wild boar, the red juices spilling to a cave floor. She headed toward the long, bulky, immense wood table. Only half the table was set, and only one woman was present.

  Emily headed to Lord Gregor, who sat at the head of the half-deserted table. Do not stare at anyone, Emily. Do not speak. Simply serve. And serve well. She turned to stand next to him and caught a glimpse of the wall that had been to her back. Her eyes widened. A scandalous painting stretched the entire length of the room. Men and women engaged in all positions of the act were displayed larger than life before her. Emily held in a gasp. Who could eat with that on the wall? Catch your wit, Emily, the master is watching.

  She stood next to Lord Gregor, fully aware it was the first time she had glimpsed the notorious rogue. She wanted to stare at him. To see what such a scandalous man looked like. Instead, she focused on the delicate floral pattern of the china placing in front of him. Such a stark contrast to the man, the wall and the platter she held.

  He reached across the plate, and his hand covered the surface as he picked it up. He raised it into the air. “I agree, gal.”

  Her gaze jumped to his face. Had he read her thoughts?

  He frowned with ice in his eyes. “The wrong plate has been placed before me.” He threw the plate across the room. The delicate floral china hit the naughty wall, shattering into tiny pieces.

  She flinched, and sweat pooled beneath her cap. What should she do? Run for a new plate? Run from the house? No. Stay and show fortitude, for this was her reality and she needed to make the best of it.

  A new plate appeared calmly over his shoulder from Mr. Waterton. Emily swallowed hard and nodded to Mr. Waterton, who nodded his approval back at her.

  Lord Gregor said not another word and turned his attention back to his guests.

  She carefully lifted one piece of duck and placed it over the etching of a nude woman in the center of the plain white plate. There, now everything matched. She hesitated a moment to see if he asked for more duck or anything else, then moved to the place setting to the left of him.

  From the corner of her eye, she glanced back, catching the square jaw of Lord Gregor. His lustful, heavy-lidded eyes met hers. He sniffed the air and mouthed, “Your cunt”, then licked his lip.

  A chill raced along Emily’s skin, and she bristled, but forced herself to lower her gaze. Had she imagined that? She could not imagine him touching her in any of the ways that Adam had. No matter how refined his education or fat his pocketbook, he simply was not attractive to her.

  She turned her gaze to the gentleman seated next to Lord Gregor and let out a small breath. With silvering hair the color of wolf fur, this man appeared older than Lord Gregor and pleasantly subdued. She glanced at his face. His downturned lips and puffy eyes made him appear as if he were a dwarf who had toiled his youth away in search of gold he never found. What are you doing, Emily? Lower your eyes. This task was proving difficult for her, simply because she wanted to stare.

  “I am sure you will agree the shipments coming in from the east are decreasing in quality—” He closed his eyes and moaned.

  How odd. She stepped around him and, as she lifted a piece of duck from her tray, he shifted slightly in his seat and groaned deeply. Seated under the table in front of this man was a dog licking his crotch. Her eyes widened and her hand trembled as she placed a piece of duck on his plate. Monstrous. You saw nothing. Nothing. Move on to the next plate.

  “One more, girl,” he said with thin pouty lips as his hand reached under the table and stroked his dog.

  The hairs on her neck stood, and she placed another piece of the fragrant duck onto his placing. “Not for me. For my dog.” She glanced down to see that a plate was set on the carpet to the side of his chair.

  There was something deeply wrong with a man who allowed a dog to do that. Even more wrong to allow it at the dinner table.

  She placed a piece of duck on the dog’s plate and moved quickly on. Glancing beneath the table at the next man’s legs, she checked to see if he too had hidden pleasures going on while he talked and ate. No one resided at his feet, but his hand rested peacefully upon the flap to his trousers.

  She placed a piece upon his plate, then moved to the only woman seated at the table. A woman about her age with black hair pinned so severely back from her face it stretched her eyes thin. The eldest son, Christon, would marry this woman. Don’t stare at her, Emily… But she couldn’t stop. Dressed in a striking, deep candy pink dress, she simply was out of place sitting here in this house. The woman turned in her direction and stared up at her with eyes so black she swore they were devoid of all emotion.

  Emily’s arm swayed as she set the duck on her placing. Was she serving the devil herself? It wouldn’t surprise her here in this home, and why couldn’t the devil be a woman?

  The lady reached out and grasped Emily’s wrist with icicles. Emily flinched. “You are new here and they have given me that dreadful other maid. I wish you to attend me.”

  Emily’s eyes widened, and she bobbed her head. Did she refer to Sibila? She must. Sibila and she were t
he only housemaids. That would teach her to stare at any person here. She scooted around the back of the woman’s chair. In doing so, she caught a glimpse of the scandalous painting once more. The woman focused back on her place setting and did not look up at anyone.

  With her tray half-empty, she continued half-seeing down the opposite side of the table as she served the remaining dinner guests.

  Over the next hour, she and three other servants served and cleared five courses, which consisted of the small pieces of duck in orange currant sauce, pork cutlets done with lemon, wine and leek, mutton haunch, orange jelly with cheesecakes and a soufflé of rice. They were now to serve sweets.

  Adam reappeared in the small serving room along with several other female servants whom Emily had never seen before. Each one of them was beautiful in her own way. It appeared not only were the servants here checked for their health, but that they were required to be visually appealing in some manner. Dessert for the eyes as the sweets went down. Dessert for more than eyes, she guessed.

  They would serve a sugar cake decorated with small swirls of candied lemon rind and a fruit ice. Tea and port would also be offered.

  “You will each take your silver tray,” Mr. Waterton instructed. “On it you will find the desserts you will be serving, along with a long piece of black cloth. Enter the room in the order you are now and stand behind one of the dinner guests. Adam, please serve Miss Button.”

  Emily’s brows pulled tight. That severe woman was Miss Button? Miss Button brought forth images of fuzzy rabbits and fancy embroidery. Neither of which were what that woman represented.

  Sibila stood beside Emily with only a half-smile. She turned toward Emily, her eyes glimmering with the anguish of tears. “Switch places with me, Emily.”

  Emily glanced down the small room to Mr. Waterton, then back at Sibila.

  Sibila’s gaze moved along the men in the dining room, and her voice dropped to a whimpered mumble. “Enough threatening my heart.” She rolled her eyes, shook her head and stared at Adam. “Will you?” Her tone returned to normal as if she had quietly confessed nothing at all.