by Lauren Smith
Madame Chanson, a curvaceous woman in her late forties emerged from a nearby room with a woman Lucien recognized. Evangeline Mirabeau, the Duke of Essex’s former mistress. Her eyes fixed on him, and he knew she recognized him as well. She gave him a cool nod. After her indirect help against a threat to Godric a few months ago, he had found a new, albeit limited appreciation for the French woman.
“My lord, you’ve returned! I had feared you would not, given that Lady Society has deemed you smitten and leaving your ways behind you. It gladdens my heart to see you return.” Her voice was low and rich, a sultry voice that reminded him of his nights here. Her pale blond hair and gray eyes, which always seemed half-closed, made her appear as though she’d just woken up from a night of devilish bed sport.
“Madame Chanson, it is a pleasure to see you again. Do not believe everything you read. Lady Society is often wrong.” He smiled at her and she winked. She had no trouble recognizing him with the mask on, his height and the rare color of his hair was a giveaway to those that knew him.
“You are in trouble with me, my lord.” She teased him with an affection born of years of friendship. “I do not like that you have been absent so long.”
“Perhaps later you might exact your punishment on me.” He gave her his most rakish grin, one that made even the experienced Madame blush.
“Perhaps I shall,” she replied. Madame Chanson never slept with the customers who came to her house, but she’d made an exception for Lucien. She’d all but begged him on more than one occasion, and he’d happily obliged.
Once a rake, always a rake.
“I heard that my brother has engaged a room this evening?”
“Oh yes, of course. Shall I escort you to his chamber?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Lucien followed her down the corridor towards one of the finer rooms, one that had a terrace where a person could open the French windows to the gardens below. Lawrence must have paid a great deal for the privilege. Madame Chanson rapped lightly on the door.
At the sound of Lawrence’s muffled reply to enter, she opened the door. Lawrence was seated on a loveseat feeding grapes to a buxom young woman. Both were wearing masks.
“Brother,” Lawrence said.
“Brother,” Lucien replied in amusement.
The young woman straightened in Lawrence’s arms. “My lord.” The young woman greeted him with sly smile.
Lawrence chuckled. “Feel free to join us.” He cupped the woman’s right breast with a smile and she gasped in mock shock. “There are plenty of grapes.”
Lucien turned to Madame Chanson. “Do you have anyone new who might interest me?”
She hesitated a moment. “Why yes…a young lady came here tonight, not half an hour earlier. A Lady of Quality, one might say. I offered her the services of my best men, but she wished for me to arrange a rendezvous with a man of equal social status. I told her there were several such gentlemen visiting the house, and if I could arrange it, she would spend the night with one of them. I did not mention names, but I did hint that you would be arriving soon. She seemed greatly interested when I described you. I know I should not have presumed to offer your company to her, my lord…”
Intriguing. It wasn’t unheard of for married women to seek out pleasures when their own marriage beds grew cold. He had little interest in a jaded woman tonight. A young lady of quality though…one who was new to the atmosphere of the Garden was certainly of interest to him. “An innocent?”
Madame Chanson nodded. “I believe so. She hides it well, but I see the innocence in her eyes. I know such women aren’t to your usual taste…”
Ordinarily the Madame would have been right. Innocent women had never been of interest before, and there was always the risk of them reading too much into their first encounter. But the masks meant this woman knew what she was seeking, and that put his mind at ease. He wanted someone soft and sweet, someone who reminded him of what he was denied. He could close his eyes and see Horatia, feel her body beneath his…
“I’m feeling adventurous, Madame. Please send her to me. Do not tell her my name.”
“Of course.” Madame Chanson curtseyed and swept out the door in a swish of purple silk.
Lawrence had resumed feeding grapes to his companion. Lucien removed his coat and waistcoat, flinging them over the nearest chair before reaching for the decanter of brandy on a side table. He had no problem being in the same room with his younger brother while the man seduced his current plaything. Lucien was even open to sharing, but tonight he needed a drink and his own woman. There was nothing more relaxing than to have a woman to hold and kiss when one’s frustrations had been out of control. Unlike others, Lucien didn’t take out his temper with boxing or drinking. He preferred a good woman and a sturdy bed. He often felt the world would be a better place if more men agreed.
There was a knock on the door.
“Enter.”
When it opened, Lucien almost dropped his brandy. The young woman in the doorway wore a silver mask, but even at this distance he recognized her.
Horatia.
He’d spent too many nights picturing her seduction to forget even one inch of her form. He was relieved his mask concealed his identity.
What on earth was the silly creature doing here? It was full of wolves who’d pounce on her, just like he wanted to…
Madame Chanson’s words came back to him. The young lady was interested in him when he’d been described to her. Had she come here, looking for a man like him to satisfy her own frustrated desires? Or had she been even more clever and discovered he was coming here tonight? Lucien found himself grinning. No matter her reasons, Lucien was going to show her just how foolish she was. He would make her regret this decision, and he would enjoy embarrassing her in the process.
Her evening gown of shimmering white silk had an over dress of silver netting. The bodice, cut low in a wide U, was made in a gauzy georgette that was pleated and tucked. The gown had short sleeves of the same fabric that seemed to increase the effect of her décolleté. The skirt, a silk in the same color, began just under her breasts. Though slightly pleated it skimmed her figure as she moved. In short, she was an utter vision and his body responded. She turned when the door shut behind her, startled, displaying the low neckline on the back of her gown.
“Please, come in,” he purred, coming to her and taking her by the arm.
She gazed up at him, and he saw the flicker of recognition in her brown eyes beneath her silver mask. She knew it was him. Lucien glanced over at his brother who was far too occupied with his own woman to recognize Lucien’s prey.
“I believe I may have been directed to the wrong room,” she said, her chest rising and falling as she attempted to pull free of his hold.
Lucien tugged her up against the length of his body. “Nonsense, my little dove. Come, sit with me.” Lucien pulled her onto his lap in the nearest chair. She all but squeaked in terror.
This shall be so much fun. He pulled her tight to his body, letting her feel every inch of his body that touched hers. She was rigid in his arms, but he’d soon change that.
“Frightened?” he asked in a low whisper only she could hear.
To his surprise, she gave a jerky little nod. “A little.”
He couldn’t resist smiling. “Sometimes a little fear with someone you trust can be a good thing.”
Before she could argue, he tipped her chin up with one finger, exposing her neck with his touch. She swallowed hard, and he could see the pulse beating in her throat just as he bent his head and covered her neck with slow, soft kisses.
Horatia could barely breathe, let alone think. No doubt because her plan had worked and yet completely backfired at the same time. An hour ago, she had located the mysterious Midnight Garden. It cost her a pretty penny to pay one of Lucien’s footman to tell her where the Garden was and learn t
hat he would be there this evening. She’d arrived by hackney and paid Madame Chanson to secure her place as Lucien’s chosen lady for the evening. She’d had to explain to Madame Chanson that her desire was only to spend the evening with Lucien. The Midnight Garden’s owner had eyed her shrewdly and assured her that she would be with Lucien this night and no other. That had given Horatia some sense of calm.
She’d had the foresight not to give away her identity to the Madame, but she had not thought beyond that. Having no experience, Horatia was quite unprepared for Lucien’s maddeningly quick seduction. She found herself on Lucien’s lap, mere feet from his brother Lawrence, who she easily recognized despite his mask, as he entertained another woman.
“Why so tense, my dove?” Lucien’s large hands massaged her shoulders, pleasure emanating from the force of his fingers rubbing her tight muscles. Horatia felt the heavy temptation to relax into that touch, to melt into him. It would be so simple to surrender. It was what she wanted after all.
“Are you scaring her, Lucien?” Lawrence teased between mouthfuls of grapes.
“Perhaps I am.” Lucien cupped Horatia’s chin, keeping her gaze level with his. “Are you still frightened?”
Despite the seriousness of his question there was a lift in the corners of his mouth that told Horatia he was barely containing his laughter.
“I am not used to having an audience, my lord,” she managed to say, casting a nervous glance in Lawrence’s direction. A treacherous blush rose in her face, only half-hidden by her silver mask.
Lawrence sat up a little straighter before leaning in their direction. “Tell me, brother, how on earth do you manage to bed the most naively charming women? She blushes like a bride!” He lost interest in his own woman and pushed her away when she leaned against him possessively.
Lucien’s fingers slid down Horatia’s back and dug into her hips, holding her still over his lap as he studied her.
“Would you prefer my brother to me? I daresay he would take you if you find me too frightening.” Lucien’s voice was like melted chocolate and just as sinful. Horatia looked between the two men, so alike in their black clothes, masks and dark red hair.
“I would prefer you, and you alone, my lord,” Horatia said. She saw the gleam of triumph in his eyes and wanted to slap him for his presumption.
Lucien clamped a firm hand around the back of her neck and urged her forward to meet his lips. He rewarded her with a deep thrust of his tongue, playing with hers in a sensual, suggestive rhythm that had her panting for breath when his lips moved to her neck and down towards her collarbone.
“Do you have another room, brother? Or must I convince you to take a turn in the gardens with your lady?” Lucien seemed to have no qualms about turning his younger brother out.
Lawrence inclined his head to the right towards a gilded door. “There’s a bedchamber through that door.”
Without looking at his brother, Lucien continued to explore the sloping indentations of Horatia’s neck and collarbone with his lips and tongue. “Then take your woman and go there.”
With a sigh Lawrence got to his feet and tugged his companion up to follow.
“Leave the grapes,” Lucien added as Lawrence reached for the plate of fruit, leaving him to complain about whose money had paid for the room in the first place.
Horatia shifted restlessly as he returned to torturing her with his mouth. Her hands settled on his broad shoulders as she watched Lawrence and his woman leave the room and shut the door behind them.
“Now, shall we get comfortable?” Lucien slid her off his lap, leaving her in the chair while he stood before her, legs braced apart as he removed his shirt and tossed it aside. When his hands fell to the fastenings of his breeches, Horatia’s heart leapt into her throat. He smiled and reached out to hold her chin, tilting her head back to look up at him again.
“There’s that charming blush. I find it lovely, but I wonder…do you blush from modesty or inexperience? Surely you suffer from neither of these, in your line of work?”
How dare he? Lucien knew full well her story was that she’d asked for someone of equal social status and here he was accusing her of… Horatia shot to her feet, unfortunately bringing herself closer to him than was wise. Any response she might have made was silenced by Lucien’s mouth on hers. He caught her wrists, twisted them behind her body to hold them captive against the small of her back. He freed one hand to smooth down the silver netting of her gown over the swell of her bottom and then pulled her sharply against him.
“Feel how much I want you?” he murmured against her.
The better question, Horatia decided, was how could she not feel him? The bulge of him against her pelvis made her body respond with a sharp ache between her legs. Lucien released her and moved over to the loveseat his brother had vacated. He lifted up the plate of grapes and sat.
“Join me,” he said, patting the empty space next to him.
“But,” she began. She was regretting her brazen plan more with each passing minute. Surely there was a more rational way to get him to come around to liking her. Then again, perhaps not.
“Now.” His command was not sharp, but did promise punishment if she refused him.
She darted onto the love seat, smoothing her gown with fidgeting hands. The gown’s bodice clung to her breasts, making it harder to breathe. She’d had it made a few years ago, before her figure had filled out. It was the only dress she knew Lucien had never seen on her. Horatia had never been so aware of her body as she was now. The bodice clutched her breasts, her nipples rubbed against the fabric and the juncture between her thighs felt damp and tingly. He scowled at the obvious distance between them.
“Closer,” he growled.
She shuffled over.
He didn’t seem satisfied however until she’d come so close that her left hip was pressed snugly against his right. He wound an arm about her waist, jerking her even closer before releasing her. The warmth of his bare skin was impossibly delicious against the thin silk of her gown. The muscles of his bare chest were sharp and angular, carved and beautiful, like corded ropes of steel bound by a soft layer of skin.
“Do you like what you see?” Lucien teased.
Horatia was not sure if it was safe to answer that. Her gaze wandered over his body, imagining how it would feel to be in his arms again. She licked her lips, noticing his eyes fix on her tongue. He took a grape from the plate and slipped it into his mouth, then held up a second piece to hers. Horatia just blinked, unnerved by such an intimacy as being fed by him.
“Open for me,” he coaxed.
His voice made her insides burn. It held an entirely different meaning than offering her mouth up to take a grape.
He had no idea who she was, and he was seducing her like a normal woman, not someone he avoided. She would risk her virtue if only to let Lucien rob her of her sanity with his passion. Foolish as her actions were, her need for him was far greater.
She took the grape from his fingers with her lips, moaning at the sweet flavor. But she barely had time to swallow before Lucien leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. The kiss began sweet, soft, teasing, but the sugary taste went straight to her head. A little noise of pleasure escaped her.
The plate of grapes toppled to the floor. Lucien gripped her hips and tugged her down to lie beneath him on the settee. With one expert hand, he rucked up her skirts and pushed her knees apart so he could slide into the welcoming cradle of her thighs. One of his palms stroked the outside of her leg, playing with the ribbons on her stocking. He deepened the kiss, covering her body with his and grinding his hips against hers in a slow rhythm. His tongue met with no resistance when it slipped between her lips. He tasted like an intoxicating glass of sherry on an empty stomach. But the couch was far too narrow for what their melding bodies needed.
Horatia laughed as Lucien tried to get his body better situat
ed and almost fell off. He grinned and pressed himself down hard against her, once more trying to assert dominance over her. This time his one knee did slip off, causing him to roll to the ground.
“Blast it! We need a bed,” he growled.
He ripped himself away from her then tugged her up onto her feet. The moment her body was free of his weight, some semblance of sanity returned, and Horatia fought his dominating grip on her body.
“Don’t fly off yet, little dove.” He purred like a cat luring a plump sparrow too close to the ground. “I’ve not had enough of your taste.”
Horatia stumbled back but was saved by Lucien’s firm grip on her wrist as he dragged her to the nearby bed.
“Lie down,” he said, pointing.
Horatia balked, her feet tripping beneath her as she stepped back. “What?”
Lucien’s response was to take her and put her there himself. She was still reeling from the shock of him tossing her onto the bed when he pulled out several long strips of red silk from his pocket. He caught her right hand and quickly anchored it to the bedpost. Horatia struggled to free herself but it wouldn’t budge. Lucien tugged her other wrist towards the far bedpost and secured it as well.
Horatia had only enough slack in her bonds to strain a few inches off the bed. Panic set in, her breathing rapid and shallow. What was he planning? Should she tell him who she was? He would surely stop if he knew, and then she’d be safe. Unloved, but safe. It was almost as if he could read her thoughts as he laid his palm on her cheek and turned her face towards him.
“Do you trust me?” His eyes were dark and his voice rough, but in that moment she was spellbound. “I need your complete trust. I will bring you only pleasure, no pain.” His face held passion but beneath that was nothing but a desperate need for her to trust him. And she did.