Her grandmother was going to be understandably upset at not having been invited.
Edmund shoved the sizable leather dildo into his vest pocket and glanced at the other four men, who continued to blankly stare after Maybelle long after she’d gone. He was seriously contemplating shutting down the school. Immediately. Before these classes got any more out of hand.
Hawksford eyed Edmund. Holding up his dildo he slid his forefinger alongside the length of it and drawled, “Did you enjoy yourself, Rutherford?”
Edmund shifted his jaw and snapped his frame toward the bastard. “I take it you only come for the entertainment.”
Hawksford snorted and shoved his dildo into one of his pockets. “It is entertaining, but I admit that I am not here for that. Hell, I doubt if any of us are here for that.”
Hawksford turned to the rest of the men, who were standing around listening. “Banfield? What are you here for?”
“I am not professing shit to you, Hawksford.” Banfield put up a hand and made his way out through the door.
“Probably a virgin.” Hawksford smirked. “What about you Brayton? What are you here for?”
Brayton blew out a breath and shook his dark head. “I do not know. I really do not know.” He then strode out of the room and disappeared.
Hawksford was making every man scatter one by one. Which is why it didn’t surprise Edmund when Caldwell quickly put up a hand and jogged out of the room right after Brayton.
Hawksford shrugged. “I won’t even bother asking why you’re here, Rutherford. It’s not like anything can help your reputation.” Edmund strode up to Hawksford and tried to remain calm. Crossing his arms over his chest, he growled out, “I am here to see to Miss Maitenon’s safety and ensure a sense of respectability. She deserves better and I have very specific plans that do not include you or this goddamn school.”
Hawksford’s brows rose. “You mean to…?”
Edmund narrowed his gaze and gave him a grudging nod.
Hawksford groaned, then chuckled. He reached out and jabbed Edmund playfully in the arm. “Remember that women of her caliber never play by the rules. Believe me. I should know.” And with that, he walked past and out of the room.
Edmund dropped his arms heavily to his sides and tried not to give in to the sinking reality of what he had gotten himself into. Because the bastard was right. Maybelle was not like other women. And certainly not like the ton.
As he continued to stand in the silence of the classroom, Edmund seriously wondered how things between them would ever become tolerable. For a woman of her upbringing and tastes would get restless.
Oh, but the possibilities. They were endless. With a woman like her, he’d never have a reason to wander. With a woman like her, he’d never want to wander.
Hell. It appeared a new strategy was in order. One that required him to get creative and walk over to her side of the world. That way, she could see what he was capable of and that when it came to the realm of the bedroom, he could damn well care less what was respectable or not. Once he’d shown her that he had no objections to her world, he’d be able to eventually drag her over to where she belonged. With him. And not with a classroom full of other men.
Lesson Thirteen
If you are going to wear your heart on your sleeve do remember not to wear it out in public.—The School of Gallantry
That evening
“Presenting Madame de Maitenon!”
Maybelle smiled and curtsied to Lord Caldwell, who was at the door greeting guests. Caldwell looked very much the part of a gentleman. His evening attire was well fitted to his large frame and his wavy blond hair, which had been so unruly earlier in the day, had been smoothly swept back with tonic.
Maybelle politely held out her gloved hand. “My Lord.”
Caldwell took her hand and tightened his gloved fingers around hers. “You honor me with your presence, Madame.”
Using his hold on her, he drew her close, forcing her to lean toward his muscular body.
“You look exquisite,” he whispered, ardently kissing her hand. He met her gaze. “And if it weren’t for the fact that you were already spoken for, I believe you’d find me a nuisance.”
Maybelle blinked up at Caldwell, retrieved her hand, and stepped away. Seemed Edmund spared no time cozying up to the boys.
Lord Caldwell grinned, then turned away and gave his full attention to the next guest, leaving her to guess as to how much he really knew.
Maybelle shoved the thought away and headed toward the receiving room. She was going to thoroughly trounce Edmund for wagging his tongue with all the details. Trying to remain calm, she mentally perused her surroundings, knowing Edmund was no doubt somewhere in the building.
Although Caldwell’s townhouse wasn’t very well lit, the sparse candlelight lent a sense of intrigue to the surroundings as shadows and light shifted across the dark red walls and wood floors. She paused and noted all of the people gathered in the parlor.
Everyone stood intimately close to one another, not at all adhering to the arm-length distance that governed the Season. Women were eagerly leaning toward men and men were eagerly leaning toward women, all blithely laughing and chatting as if they were in the privacy of their own homes.
None of the men were dressed in the usual black evening formal attire. Shockingly, none of them were wearing jackets. Only trousers, vests, and shirts, which displayed each and every cut of their bodies.
While the women…the women wore traditional evening gowns, but with very daring, Parisian flare. Their curved necklines dipped much lower than what was considered acceptable. So low, in fact, that some emphasized not only the top rounds of their breasts, but in some cases, the hint of nipples.
Maybelle glanced down at her modest lilac lace neckline and quickly looked up again. It would appear she was the only woman in the room who had her breasts covered. Why was it that no matter where she went in London she couldn’t ever seem to fit in?
A very lush, chestnut-haired woman dressed in a shocking black velvet gown that provocatively clung to her sizable breasts and small waist made her way toward Maybelle. A cigar was tucked between her raised bare fingers.
The woman paused, lingering before Maybelle, then drew in a long puff from her cigar. Cocking her head, she set her red painted lips and blew out a tuft of cigar smoke in Maybelle’s direction. Smoke the woman apparently wished to share with her.
Maybelle coughed.
The woman smirked and pointed her half-smoked cigar at Maybelle’s neckline. “Why, if it isn’t Miss Pious. Will you be attending church come morning?”
Miss Pious, indeed. Usually she wouldn’t even dignify answering, but she had the school’s reputation to uphold. Maybelle turned away and adjusted the front of her bodice, trying to maneuver her corset in a way so as to shove her breasts up even more. She hesitated, peering down at what she’d done. Perhaps a bit too much.
Ah, well. She turned back and pointed a gloved finger to the top rounds of her breasts. “Why, I never miss church. After all, every Sunday, all the men dutifully pray to these.”
A slow smile spread across the woman’s lips. She crinkled her nose. “I do believe I like you.”
The woman sidled in closer, wrapped a slender arm around Maybelle’s waist, and yanked Maybelle against her, draping their front sides seductively together.
Maybelle froze, not being able to suddenly breathe, and stared back at the woman, who was now openly admiring her lips and delving in for a kiss.
That is precisely when Hawksford chose to appear. He wrapped his muscled arms around both their shoulders and gathered them toward his wide chest. “Is there adequate space for one more?” he drawled down at each of them, grinning. “I brought my dildo.”
Maybelle scrambled out of both their embraces, smacking his muscled arm hard. She pointed rigidly at Hawksford, warning him, yet couldn’t seem to utter a single word in her defense.
Hawksford
laughed, smacked his bare hands together, then turned and swaggered down the corridor. Clearly pleased that he had for once silenced her.
Why was he even enrolled in the school? The man put the very word cock into cocky. Maybelle drew in a shaky breath and nervously eyed the chestnut-haired woman. “I apologize. Truly. And although you are very beautiful, I confess that I am not one to indulge in…” What was the word?
“No worries, darling. I completely understand. Do remember to keep those men on their knees every Sunday.” The woman winked, placed her cigar between her lips, and sashayed away toward a group of men and women on the other side of the room.
Maybelle blew out the breath she’d been holding. Welcome to the world of the wild and wicked.
“My Lady,” a low, husky voice whispered into her ear from behind. “Already popular with the masses?”
Goose bumps frilled her body as she sucked in a sharp breath. She didn’t have to turn to know it was Edmund. She lifted her chin, but otherwise didn’t move. “Your Grace. I am rather astonished you came.”
Edmund rounded her and then stepped before her, grinning. “Indeed. So am I.”
Edmund paused, cocked his head slightly to one side, and let out a low whistle.
Heat splashed over Maybelle not only at his obvious attempt to disarm her, but at realizing he wasn’t wearing a jacket. Only a shirt, cravat, vest, and trousers and a pair of lacquered boots. His broad shoulders appeared seductively wider and his muscled legs looked longer. A red silk cravat had been casually tucked into his fitted black vest. It was like witnessing him in the privacy of his home. And she rather liked it. A lot.
“Might I say that is quite the cleavage,” he commented, flicking his dark eyes over her breasts. “Do you intend on making this evening difficult for us?”
Maybelle knew by the look on his face that he actually meant it. And strangely, for the first time since their meeting, she genuinely felt comfortable standing before him as a woman.
A part of her reveled in the idea that this man seemed so physically affected by her. She smiled flirtatiously. “Your Grace is far too kind.”
He leaned in and placed a bare forefinger across her lips, startling her. “Call me Edmund,” he whispered, his eyes meeting hers. “You and I have shared more than enough to warrant some familiarity.”
For a moment she could do nothing but correlate that warm finger to when he had spread her on the sofa and touched her very core with it.
“Edmund it is,” she whispered against the warmth of his finger, not being able to move or think.
“Good.” He slowly removed his finger from her lips and stepped back.
Maybelle swallowed and glanced toward the other side of the room, wondering if she should find someone else to pass the evening with. Before she ended up with her skirts up again in some back room.
A yearning heat rose within her. The one she always felt before giving in to him. “Do you intend on following me about all night?”
“Yes. I do.”
He was certainly to the point. “Perhaps you would care to share what it is you’ve been telling Caldwell and the rest of my students about us.”
“Nothing too involved,” he said matter-of-factly. “I was merely hoping to ensure that the evening didn’t turn into a goddamn orgy. Although I didn’t realize it was the women I should be more worried about.”
Maybelle burst into laughter, slapping a hand over her mouth to keep herself from snorting. “You noticed, did you?”
Edmund also laughed and shook his head. “Perhaps I should be the first to inform you as to what we can both expect this evening.”
He cleared his throat and gestured toward their surroundings. “According to Caldwell, there are only three things allowed to occur in this house. Drinking, gambling, and sex. Since you do not come across as the drinking sort, that leaves us with either gambling or sex. I will be more than happy to escort you to whatever activity you are most interested in. Of course both will be done with me and only me.”
Maybelle’s eyes widened as she lowered her hand back to her side. What happened to keeping to respectability? He’d become rather nonchalant about all this.
“Sex is it?” he asked, sounding strangely hopeful.
Her throat tightened. One night with the man was probably about as much as she was going to be able to handle. “I would rather gamble, Your Grace.”
Edmund drew closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Spoken like a duchess. This way.”
Spoken like a duchess, indeed. Is that what he was up to? Maybelle dipped away from his arm, knowing the more she kept her distance the better off she’d be.
Edmund clearly had other plans. He grabbed for her hand, the warmth of his large palm encompassing her own, and led her out of the crowded parlor. Slowly, he led her through the corridor and toward the back of the house.
Though the back of her mind screamed as to whether she should be trusting him, her body didn’t seem to object to his lead.
As their surroundings grew all the more dim, with only a lone candle on the wall sconce burned halfway to its stub, Maybelle noticed three shadows lurking in one of the corners off to the side. Shadows that were jerking feverishly into one another against the wall, thud after thud resounding all around them.
Maybelle’s eyes widened and her heart almost stopped at the realization of what she was seeing. One man stood behind a half-naked woman gripping her shoulders while another man stood in front of her gripping her waist, both of them having their way with her as she writhed with pleasure between them.
Edmund squeezed her hand and hurried her onward, leaving the three shadows to continue their business.
“More,” the woman panted, the thuds against the wall growing louder and more frantic. “Yes. More.”
More? Maybelle quirked a brow and glanced back. For heaven’s sake, how much more did the woman want? Maybelle stumbled as Edmund hurried them on.
He eyed her from over his broad shoulder, his shadowed features hidden by the darkness of the corridor. “Quite the gathering.”
“Yes. Quite.”
They soon reached the end of the corridor. The duke finally paused, released her hand, and threw open a door leading into a walnut-boarded room. “After you.”
Maybelle hesitated, then stepped inside. The room was noisy and very crowded. It had countless three-cornered tables set about wherever there was space. And except for one empty table, all of the dozen or so tables were occupied with both men and women.
All of them held cards. And some of them were dressed and some of them…not. Maybelle tried not to stare at a voluptuous blonde who was down to her chemise, corset, and white silk stockings. Apparently, clothes were being laid for wagers. Although there were coins and paper notes set in the middle of most tables.
Maybelle coughed as thick cigar smoke filled her eyes and nostrils. So this is what it was like to be a man and enjoy a night of debauchery. She didn’t know whether she liked it or not. She coughed again.
Edmund touched her arm. “Perhaps we should find another room. One with less smoke.”
Her eyes watered, but she rapidly blinked to keep her vision focused. “No, no. This will do. However, a drink would be lovely.”
“Are you certain you wish to stay here? Because—”
“Of course I’m certain.”
He nodded and after scanning the room pointed to a corner. “That table there. Once we claim it, I’ll go fetch a drink for you.”
There was certainly no need to drag her this time. Maybelle quickly followed him straight toward the table. Being the refined gentleman he was, he pulled out a wooden chair and gestured toward it. Probably the only man in the room to do so for any of the ladies.
“Thank you.” She sat and arranged her lilac gown.
“I promise to return shortly.” Edmund strode to the other side of the room and disappeared.
A booming laughter from beside her mad
e her glance toward a rowdy group of men and women who apparently had only started their card game.
Maybelle shifted in her seat and found herself wishing that Edmund would return. Before anyone noticed she was sitting alone and thought she needed company. Needless to say, she rather preferred his company over those around her. And she honestly didn’t know if that was something that should be of concern to her.
“Here,” Edmund offered, finally coming around and placing a glass before her. “Apparently, the sherry and port won’t be available until later. My apologies.”
Mistress of Pleasure Page 14