Nora smiled, not wishing to interrupt his interesting story. He rarely spoke of his life and she found that she wished to know more about him.
“He lined us up along the front of his big desk and had us drop our breeches. And then he whipped us with a birch rod he’d had my eldest brother—who would become duke in his time—cut from a tree. I was youngest so I was last. By the time my father reached me I wasn’t only terrified, I was sporting an impressive cockstand.” He chuckled. “My father was, naturally, disgusted and beat me hardest. As you can guess from what you know of me, his actions did indeed kill my lust. But that day I learned I enjoyed the infliction of pain if not the receipt of it. For the next fifty odd years I spent my leisure time seeking my other half—that woman who craved punishment as much as I wished to mete it out.” He smiled. “I’ve had many lovers over the years—one of whom I set up in her own house and to whom I remained loyal for seventeen years, until her death. I believe what I felt for her was love—and I hope she felt at least a liking for me. But the truth is that none of my other lovers have satisfied and pleased me as much as you.”
His words sent a flood of warmth through her chest. “Thank you, my lord, that means a great deal to me.” It was the truth; Nora found her relations with Lord Anthony both physically fulfilling and mentally soothing.
“Of course you are lovely and skilled,” he said, being kinder to Nora than she knew she deserved. “But there is just something about you, I don’t know how to describe it—an ineffable quality, a sensuality that goes beyond anything I’ve ever seen or experienced.” he studied her with his piercing gaze, and then shook his head and shrugged. “Whatever it is, it has made me consider offering for you many times.” He smiled. “I can see I have surprised you.”
“You have, my lord.”
“Well, I was on the verge of doing so when I learned from my doctor I am not so well as I might appear—or feel, even.”
Nora set down her glass without looking and it clipped the side of her plate and tipped over, the clear liquid spilling to the thick carpeting. She ignored it, her hand doing the unthinkable and taking Lord Anthony’s slim, elegant fingers.
He smiled and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Now, now. Let’s have none of that. I didn’t tell you to make you sad, I told you so that you will understand when I don’t show up one month. You know the only time I like to see tears.”
Nora smiled at his small jest and brushed a hand against her cheek—yes, she was crying.
“In any case,” he said, releasing her hand and sitting back in his chair. “I wanted to tell you to think carefully about this man and his offer. If the mere thought of it is affecting you so, you should make your decision carefully. There was pain—the wrong type,” he smiled, “when my lover died, but there were also many years of joy.”
Nora nodded, too emotional to speak.
“Now,” he said, getting to his feet, his tone suddenly cool and brisk. “I want you to fetch the heavier of the three floggers for me. I feel like something special tonight.”
Chapter Four
Edward stood up from the card table.
“I say, Edward—don’t leave just yet, you’ve almost lost enough to me tonight to buy that new pair of chestnuts I’ve been eyeballing.”
The rest of the men at the table laughed at Mr. Smith’s taunt.
“I consider it my duty to the equine species to depart now and keep you from ruining yet another soft mouth.”
Everyone roared, even Mr. Smith, who was almost impossible to insult or anger.
“I think Edward has a mouth of his own to ruin.”
All heads swiveled around to Chatham, whom Edward hadn’t heard speak in at least two weeks.
Chatham ignored them as he scraped together the cards to mix them for another hand.
“Is that true, old chap?” Banks asked, his interest piqued—as ever—by any subject even remotely touching sex.
“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” Edward said, slipping into the heavy overcoat the servant held out for him before taking his hat and gloves from another lackey. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, making brief eye contact with three of the remaining five men at the table.
“With bells on,” Mr. Smith muttered, his attention already on his new hand of cards.
Edward strode through the luxurious rooms of the gambling hell, acknowledging greetings as he went. It was after three in the morning but the club, known only as Number 14— for its address—was busier than ever.
The gaming club belonged to the syndicate, although even the manager did not know that. They had learned, long ago, that the best way to ensure honesty among their employees was for them never to know who might be watching.
At the front door the two liveried doormen stomped their heavily booted feet to keep warm, their breaths ghostly in the lamplight.
“Need a cab, Mr. Fanshawe?” one of the men, Ernest, asked, lifting his beefy arm in preparation of calling one of the carriages that was always hovering.
“Not tonight,” he said, tossing him a coin. “I’ll walk.”
“G’night, sir,” both men called behind him.
Edward had nowhere else to be but he simply could not stand sitting at that card table one moment longer. It hadn’t been the fact that he’d lost almost every fucking hand that had driven him crazy, but the way his brain kept re-playing that brief conversation in Tosca’s study two weeks ago.
Two. Bloody. Weeks. And he still couldn’t put it—put her—behind him. Instead, every day he was worse and worse, like a man stricken with a fatal fever. But instead of the chills and a cough, his brain had simply slipped its mooring and sailed beyond his control.
He rubbed his hands together as he strode through the night, but even his fine, fur-lined leather gloves couldn’t keep out the bloody cold. He should have taken a carriage but he needed to burn his restless energy somehow or he would simply go mad.
In the weeks since he’d seen Nora he’d gone to the Bellaire only twice. Neither time had been satisfactory. Oh, he’d had plenty of orgasms, but it seemed simple ejaculation was no longer enough. He needed—craved—something else. Something only Nora could give him. What? Just what the hell was it?
He was not a stupid man nor was he, normally, an oblivious one. He liked to consider the workings of his own mind as well as others. He’d learned to contemplate human behavior at a very young age. First, he’d done so simply to survive the orphanage. But later, as he began to gradually accumulate money and build his business, he’d observed his business opponent’s behavior–rather than their words—to know their mind.
And that is what he considered Nora: his opponent. On the one hand, he knew exactly what she thought—but only about certain things. He knew what aroused her—how she looked when he’d pushed her to the very edge of her endurance, and then greedily consumed her explosive almost unbearable pain and suffering.
Further, he knew she fed off their encounters every bit as much as he did. But beyond that? Did she ever think of him? Did she care to know what was beyond the man who held the whip and doled out the pain that brought them both so much physical satisfaction? Perhaps she enjoyed such intense sexual pleasure with all her clients?
He loathed wondering such things. Furthermore, lately he’d begun to wonder about her with her those faceless, nameless other men, of which he suspected she had many. Did she worship them the way she did him—silently, utterly, and agonizingly? Did she suffer and break as beautifully for some stranger?
He’d seen, more than once, the marks on her white skin—a canvas he’d increasingly come to believe belonged to him, and him alone—and had always found them disturbing.
Oh, he’d been fighting this downward slide since almost their first night.
When he’d taken her the first time he’d given her the same spiel he always gave whores: If you don’t enjoy pain of all kinds, leave now. Don’t speak until you are spoken to—that includes both questions and opinions.
N
ora, more than any other woman he’d ever had, had abided by his rules. In fact, her utter remoteness had increasingly intrigued him—until he’d yearned for her to ask him a question.
He’d been terrified by his reaction to her so he’d forced himself to take her only every fourth time he went to Tosca’s, and then every third time, every second.
Before he’d capitulated to his raging addiction he’d begun to take her only with another woman, reveling in those brief glimpses of humiliation and—dare he hope?—jealousy she let slip while he debased her in front of another. It was his particular amusement to choose only the most beautiful whores—not too difficult as Nora was one of the least attractive women Tosca employed—and then openly admire these women in her presence.
But all too soon even that had paled for him, the presence of a third woman—no matter how willing and gorgeous had become a hindrance to his pleasure.
And then, perhaps four months into their acquaintance, he’d begun to keep her in bed with him after he’d sated himself, a behavior Edward had never engaged in with any other woman.
They never spoke, indeed, they lay in the huge bed without touching. Edward could never sleep with another in his bed, but she could. And when she was asleep he would study her like a hole-and-corner pervert, drinking in her plain, colorless features, which were hardly any different at rest than they were when he was flogging or fucking her. She was so very, very self-contained. And Edward wanted inside—he wanted to know what went on behind her opaque eyes.
Nora’s expressionless face and blank stare would have made it too easy to assume she was stupid. And just when Edward was convinced that perhaps she was—that he’d merely imagined those glimpses of her inner self—the curtain would part and Nora would look out through the gap, but never for longer than a fraction of an instant.
Edward wanted inside; he wanted to smash down her doors, rend the heavy curtains, and invade her. Once inside he would control and dominate her mind every bit as fully as he could already dominate her body.
He’d never believed in the soul, but if it actually existed, Edward wanted to own hers, just as he wanted to own her body.
And once he possessed her? Once he’d made her his creature in every way? Well, then he could send her on her way as he had every other whore he’d known and move on with his bloody life. But if he did not find some release he was worried he would—
The sound of carriage wheels slowing beside him made him look up.
It was Smith’s town carriage and Smith smirking out of the open window. “Get in, Edward.”
Edward hesitated. Although he’d been partners with Smith for close to a decade there was still something about the older man that made him uneasy.
“Come on, get in—the horses are getting cold.” He closed the window with a snap and flung open the door.
Edward sighed and climbed inside. Smith rapped on the roof with the head of his cane and they moved forward.
“You’re so anxious that I’m getting anxious just being around you, Fanshawe.”
Smith sprawled against the soft black leather interior, studying Edward with an intensity that left him feeling even more restless. Smith was a bloody mystery that none of the rest of them ever felt like probing. He was a slender man, his wiry build and shortish stature doing nothing to diminish the air of menace that hovered around him. Unlike the others, Smith wasn’t native to England and every once in a while, especially if he’d been drinking, his accent would slip. He had the sort of nondescript looks that could be from anywhere: his hair was mid brown, his skin a bit olive, his eyes a dark brown, not so different from Edward’s own. But for all that he looked normal and average, there was something dangerous about him.
They never talked about each other behind their backs—at least Edward never did. Their business association was so successful, he believed, in part because they didn’t interfere with one another or befriend each other. They were social, but not bosom beaus.
“What of it?” Edward snapped. “You didn’t need to come along and bother me if I make you so bloody nervous.”
“I know of a place you might like,” Smith said by way of answering, lighting up one of the foul black cigars he liked to smoke. “I think you should take a few hours and come with me—if for no reason other than I lost a wager with the others and now am entrusted with the job of seeing you don’t fling yourself into the river—or commit some other act of drama, given the dramatic mood you’ve been in of late.”
Edward laughed—but even he heard the slightly hysterical tinge. He’d not slept well in days. Even tossing one off had lost its appeal.
“Fine.”
Smith’s eyebrows arched at his easy capitulation and he smiled, the uncharacteristic expression showing off his sharp canine teeth. “Excellent.”
“Aren’t you going to tell your coachman?” Edward asked after a long moment of silence.
Smith grinned. “That’s already taken care of.”
“Oh, that sure of me, were you?”
Smith just looked out the window and they traveled in silence.
Perhaps fifteen minutes later the carriage stopped outside a bathhouse.
“A bathhouse?” Edward asked, his tone telling the man what he thought of that.
“Trust me.”
Edward laughed heartily at that.
The next few hours were a revelation. It tuned out that this wasn’t some bath house that offered perversions, but a bath house where they’d soaked in fragrant hot baths and then lain naked on soft tables while mostly naked women had pummeled and pounded and kneaded every part of their bodies except the parts he usually got handled in such a place. The women were gorgeous and young, their waist-length brown hair swinging free, their small firm breasts jiggling enticingly with every movement. Edward was wondering about how those plump nipples would taste.
“I wouldn’t,” Smith cautioned from the next table. He was laying on his front, his face turned toward Edward.
“What are you? A bloody mind reader?” he demanded. “And why not?”
“Their father owns this place, along with a forge and smithy a few streets away. He makes swords—sharp swords.”
Edward pulled his eyes away from the tempting nipples. “Christ! Then why does he let his daughters parade around naked?”
“But they aren’t nude.” He jerked his chin toward the girl who’d just come around to his side, her back facing Edward while she pounded on Smith’s back.
Like her sister her only clothing was a very slight loin cloth which nominally covered her sex while leaving her buttocks exposed, only a string running up between her full, rounded cheeks. It was an exceptionally erotic but frustrating experience.
By the end of the hour he was both erect and enervated.
Smith sat up on his table, took one look at the tented towel around his waist and snickered before handing each young woman a handful of coins and saying something in a language Edward had never heard before. The two young women cut Edward remarkably shy looks—especially for women who’d just handled naked male strangers—and giggled, leaving them alone.
“What did you say,” Edward asked, not really caring he felt so lethargic.
“I thanked them for a very pleasant few hours.”
Edward snorted. “Liar.”
“Not at all,” Smith opened his towel to display a remarkably large prick for a man of his stature—an erect prick. “They did give me an enjoyable time. But this was mere foreplay.” He covered himself up, his knowing smirk telling Edward that Smith had intended to shock him with his unnerving display.
And it had unnerved him, leaving Edward with an odd snaky sensation in his belly. He’d seen plenty of men naked, but never another man’s erection. His own cock, he realized, was now at full hardness. Surely he hadn’t—
“Come on,” Smith said, turning toward the dressing area. “Let’s go somewhere we can get these taken care of properly.”
Both intrigued and repelled, Edward pushe
d himself up and went to his, thankfully, private dressing room.
He left the building to find Smith’s carriage already outside and waiting.
“Well?” Smith asked after Edward had climbed back inside. “Ready for more adventure?”
Edward gave the other man a long look. Just where was he taking him? He knew nothing about Smith’s sexual preferences. What if the man took him to a bloody molly house? It wasn’t as if Edward was as pure as the driven snow, but he’d always drawn the line at men—not even fucking in the same room back when he’d been a younger man going to cheap bawd houses with his mates, places where having the privacy of four walls had cost extra.
No, he didn’t trust Smith. “I know a place,” he said, rapping on the roof. “Take us to Tosca’s,” he told the driver when the vent slid open.
Smith grinned—the wolfish expression that left everyone in his vicinity feeling uneasy. “Ah, finally going to share your little place with one of us, are you?” Edward blinked and Smith laughed. “Oh yes, we all know about your little side investment.”
Edward bristled at the insinuation in his tone. “What of it? It’s not as if we agreed to engage in every venture together.”
Smith made a soothing noise. “Of course not, Ted. It’s just been amusing to watch you go to such an effort to keep your connection to Tosca’s a secret.”
Edward chewed on that for a moment. Had he wanted to keep it a secret? What was he afraid of? That one of his partners would discover Nora? He cut Smith a sharp look. “I take it you’ve already been there?”
Smith chuckled.
The bastard. But Edward refused to humiliate himself by asking him who he’d seen so they rode the short distance in silence.
The carriage dropped them off at the front door and Edward realized his palms were sweating as he led the way up the steps to the front door. He was bloody pathetic! He would ask for somebody else tonight. There was no way in hell he’d ask for her.
His Harlot (Victorian Decadence Series Book 1) Page 5