by M. J. Lowell
But I put them on and they looked so…right. I squared my shoulders. Maybe I was done being the girl who lost things. Little Girl Lost. I turned to the mirror, trying for the assured smile of a sophisticated woman whose lover would give her rubies. I practiced greeting Rhys in a low, sultry voice, but I only made myself laugh.
From downstairs I heard the sound of a clock striking the half hour. I touched up my makeup, added a brush of gloss to my lips, tucked my hair under the red wig, and tied the mask around my eyes. I paused for one last glance at my reflection. I felt like a sultan’s concubine, but in the mirror I looked like a queen.
I was ready, and I couldn’t wait to see Rhys, but I still had fifteen minutes before the driver was due. I might as well explore the house a bit.
I wandered down the hallway. Behind door after door I found attractive but impersonal guestrooms. It was what I imagined an especially expensive boutique hotel would look like. Only the room at the end of the hall had a different feel to it.
The hand of a decorator was obvious here, too, but in a different, more whimsical way, as though the brief had been to create the perfect room for a young boy. The walls were covered in a blue-and-white striped fabric, and somebody must have scoured countless antique shops for the row of vintage gyroscopes that dotted one shelf and the sets of leather-bound books of classic adventure tales, from Treasure Island to The Four Feathers. I pulled one out at random – The Jungle Book – and opened to the title page. It was inscribed in a careful script: “For Rhys. Never forget who made you what you are, little brother. J.”
A gift from Joff? I looked around me with new interest. Maybe this wasn’t the product of a decorator’s fevered imagination. Maybe Rhys had wanted to create the room he’d never had as a child. He couldn’t change his past, but he could reclaim it.
A plain white dresser stood between the two windows, its surface bare except for a framed photo of a group of men, all wearing matching white singlets with blue piping. They were standing in front of a boathouse with a peaked roof, and a sign right below pronounced it the “Home of the Kings County Rowdies.”
In the second row, I spotted Rhys with his arm around a slightly taller, slightly blonder version of himself that I recognized as Joff. While both were smiling, only Joff seemed relaxed, carefree. Rhys looked...not tense, exactly, but on guard, alert.
I wondered if that was the story of their relationship, Joff the free spirit and Rhys—
Free in different ways.
Instead of a mirror above the dresser, six badges had been framed in glass. They reminded me of Boy Scout badges, but each had BRIDEWELL stitched on it and the badges weren’t for scouting skills. One was for Tidiness, and another was for Punctuality. The others were for Industry, Willpower, Courtesy, and, oddly, Pastry-making.
An image of Rhys baking brought a smile to my lips.
I turned to leave when I spied one more photo, in a small oval frame on the bedside table. The faded image showed a woman, staring at the camera with a skeptical, almost challenging expression. I’d seen that look before, on Rhys’s face. It must be his mother, I thought. A man’s hand rested on her arm, but whoever it belonged to had been cropped from the photo. Rhys’s father, cropped out of his life as well?
The doorbell rang then, echoing through the empty house and making me jump. The driver to take me to the party. I headed for the door, but stopped to take one last look, my eyes landing on the photo of Rhys and Joff. A thought tickled the very back of my memory.
I closed the door and hurried downstairs in a rustle of crimson silk.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The driver silently ushered me into a black limousine, and he remained just as silent during the twenty minutes it took to arrive at our destination. The house was also at the end of an impossibly long private drive, but in contrast to the clean modern lines of Rhys’s house, this one looked like a French chateau, complete with turrets and a steeply sloping slate roof. Light blazed from every window, but it had a dancing, flickering quality, and I realized it must come from hundreds of candles.
A masked servant in a red Nehru jacket and fez helped me out of the limousine and led me through the front door and into an octagonal foyer. A lacquered table held an enormous bouquet of exotic blossoms that filled the air with a sweet, spicy scent, and candles in gilded sconces illuminated double doors set in four of the walls, all closed. A hum of conversation sounded from behind the doors, but the space was empty save for Rhys.
He looked up as I stepped across the threshold, and when he saw me a wide grin spread across his face. There was an eagerness in his expression, as if he’d been especially looking forward to my arrival. My heart gave an answering leap.
He was wearing a fitted gold tunic with a cloak of the same deep red as my dress, both elaborately embroidered in gold thread, and as he moved toward me the candlelight glinted on his hair and costume. He looked like a dashing courtier from a Renaissance painting: privileged, powerful, and incredibly sexy.
“You clean up well,” I said, grasping for the sophisticated air I’d tried out in front of the mirror, the low, sultry voice.
It was as though my words shattered the moment, extinguishing the pleased eagerness completely.
“Don’t speak like that to me,” said Rhys. The ice in his tone sent a chill through me. All the closeness, the intimacy I’d felt with him on the yacht vanished. His reserve was back, putting me in my place.
This really was still a game to him, I realized. We may have broken a few rules but to him we remained no more than players.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, hoping the mask concealed the hot tears welling at the corners of my eyes.
He took a deep breath, seemed to steady himself. “No apologies are necessary. It’s just that I prefer to be the one paying the compliments.”
I knew he meant to reassure me, but I was shaken, even as he took my chin in his hand, tilting my head up so that I was looking into his eyes. “You look sublime,” he said. He inhaled deeply and his smile returned. “My God, Tuesday, you smell like sex. You’re ready for tonight, aren’t you?”
I blushed. It was as if he could read my mind, knew how I’d felt as I was studying my image in the mirror.
He’d been holding a red-and-black mask that matched mine, and now he put it on. “Do you trust me? Will you put yourself and your pleasure entirely in my hands?”
There was something about his solemnity and the almost formal quality of the question that made this moment feel ceremonial. As though we were embarking on much more of an adventure than stepping into a masked ball.
“Yes,” I told him, trying to forget the sting of his earlier words. I’d touched a nerve somehow, but he’d quickly moved on, and I resolved that I would, too.
The cobalt of his eyes seemed to grow even more intense from behind the mask. “Then you will have a very special evening,” he said. He moved to open one of the double doors but paused before turning the handle. “Everything that happens here tonight is subject to the same rules as our sessions. That means you may not discuss it with anyone else. Do you understand?”
My pulse quickened, but I also felt a flutter of fear. What was behind the doors? What was I about to see? Part of me was screaming that I should leave now, while I could. My voice sounded as if it came from a distance. “Yes,” I said again.
Rhys pushed the door open, and a wave of music and laughter and conversation swept us into a grand ballroom. Three enormous chandeliers dripping with crystal filled the long oval room with shimmering golden light. On the ceiling, frescoed cupids and nymphs peered down from banks of blue and pink clouds, as though entertained by the antics of the mortals gathered below.
Some guests reclined on buttercup silk settees, while others stood mingling in small groups. There must have been a hundred people there, all extravagantly costumed and masked, and while some of the costumes were more contemporary than ours, everyone was dressed in red. The effect was visually arresting, dramatic. And so
mehow risqué, suggestive.
“Who are these people?” I asked Rhys.
“Voyagers,” was his cryptic reply.
Whoever they were, Rhys seemed to know them all. Every few steps he stopped to exchange greetings and introduce me, sharing only first names or, in the case of an Italian count, a title. No last names were given, but I thought I recognized a famous actress behind a red jester’s mask and a senator in a diamond-patterned harlequin suit. There was a fizzy feeling in the air, pent-up anticipation, like the froth waiting to burst from a corked champagne bottle.
The guests Rhys introduced me to were charming, seeming to go out of their way to make me feel welcome. A woman dressed in a tiger’s mask reached out to caress my cheek. “Ah, this is the one you told us about,” she said to Rhys. “Exquisite.” I felt a rush of pure happiness – not at the compliment, but because Rhys had told his friends about me.
“Beatrice is the mistress of the Masque,” he told me, stopping a passing waiter to take two small glasses of pale opalescent liquor from his tray. “You’ve won her approval.” He handed me one of the glasses and raised his in a toast. “To you. You’re going to be quite a success tonight.”
“Thank you,” I said, flushing with pride even as I wondered what that meant. I took a tentative sip. The drink was sweet and sharp at once, like a tart black licorice. “What is this?”
“Absinthe,” he told me.
“Absinthe? But— isn’t it supposed to drive people mad?”
Rhys smiled and shook his head. “That rot was spread by the winemakers, who wanted people to drink wine. What absinthe really does is relax you while amplifying the senses.” He drained the rest of his drink, unconcerned.
I took another sip, and then another. I felt the effect almost immediately, a warmth radiating out across my chest, the milky patterns of the drink in the glass taking on a strange beauty.
Rhys reached out a finger to the ruby necklace. “I should have known even the most flawless rubies would pale in comparison to you,” he said thoughtfully. He bent his head and touched his lips to the hollow of my throat, just above the necklace.
My senses were definitely heightened. His words echoed in my head, and the feel of his lips made my heart gallop. The other people, the ballroom, it all vanished. There was only the two of us.
A gong sounded, bringing us back to the present. A hush fell over the room as a short man I hadn’t seen before walked to the center of the room. He was wearing a crimson tuxedo and a mask shaped like a donkey’s head.
“Welcome friends, old and new,” he cried, opening his arms wide. “I trust you’ve all had time to circulate. I now invite you to choose your partners. The fifth annual Masque Rouge has commenced.”
The room came immediately back to life, with everyone talking and laughing. People began to trickle out through the myriad doors ringing the ballroom. Rhys took my elbow and led me through one of them, then up a wide marble staircase. He turned left at the top and opened the first door we came to, motioning me inside.
It was a bedroom with deep purple walls, a dark wood floor, and a gleaming four-poster bed piled with a mountain of silky silver bedding. Opposite the bed, a fire blazed in a stone hearth, providing the only light. A chaise covered in the same silver fabric as the bed stood between two curtained windows. A screen made of three mirrors faced it from the other side of the bed.
“What is this?” I asked Rhys.
“Playtime,” Rhys said, his lips curving up in a smile. “And since you said you would put your pleasure in my hands, I took the liberty of selecting playmates for you.”
Playmates, my mind repeated and I felt the first hot curls of desire corkscrew through me.
There was a knock on the door and Rhys called, “Enter.”
A man and a woman came in. The man I remembered as Lorenzo, the count I’d been introduced to earlier, but the woman was a stranger. She was blond, wearing a mask of red lace that covered her eyes and a brilliant red gown that hugged every curve of a luscious body. She was exactly Rhys’s type. I felt instantly insecure, inadequate. Had Rhys brought a playmate for himself as well?
Rhys said, “This is Eva. Eva, this is your mistress.”
The woman stepped forward, clasped her hands together, bowed her head to me and said, “I am here for your pleasure.”
The image of the photo over Rhys’s bed flashed through my mind. I looked up at Rhys questioningly.
“I didn’t expect you to be so shy,” he said.
Of course he didn’t, not after all of my vague references to multiple partners, men and women. I swallowed and said, “I’m just surprised. This is so much more…elaborate than anything I’m used to.”
Rhys considered this. “Why don’t we begin watching Eva and Lorenzo? I know you enjoy watching.”
He led me to the chaise and seated me on his lap. Eva turned her back to Lorenzo, and he began to unhook the trail of small buttons that went from the nape of her neck down her back. As I watched her body revealed, inch by inch, I was stunned to feel my nipples become hard points, chafing against the fabric of my clothing. As though reading my mind, Rhys dipped his fingers over the top of my dress and began lightly flicking them through the lace of the corset. I shivered and turned to look up at him. He smiled down at me. For a moment I thought he’d kiss me, and I realized how desperately I wanted that, but he only tipped his head toward Eva and Lorenzo and said, “Watch.”
I turned in time to see Eva’s gown fall in a puddle at her feet. She stood before us completely naked. She was taller than I was and her skin glowed caramel in the light of the fire. Her body was beautiful, supple and inviting, and she moved with an easy, unselfconscious grace I knew I’d never be able to duplicate while naked in front of a room full of strangers. “She’s a very talented artist, a sculptor.” Rhys said. He leaned close to whisper in my ear, “She’s exceptionally good with her hands. That’s why I chose her for you.” I felt a hot spark of jealousy. He knew her, he’d been with her before.
But he’s here with you now, I told myself. He arranged this for you.
Wearing only the lace of her mask, Eva stepped out of her gown and turned to face Lorenzo, who was still dressed. She led him to the center of the fur rug, lowered herself to her knees, and undid the fly of his red breeches. His cock was already stiff as she took it in her mouth. He gave a groan of pleasure and I felt a tremor inside of me, as though I could feel what he felt. My fingers gripped Rhys’s hard thigh as Lorenzo began moving his hips against Eva’s mouth, his hands twined in her hair. His groans grew louder, more insistent. My body felt taut and alert.
“Stop,” Rhys said suddenly. He was like a concert conductor, bringing in different parts of the orchestra in turn.
“Now, sweet one, it’s time for you to be undressed,” he told me, lifting me and setting me on my feet.
He crooked a finger and Eva came to stand before me. My heart pounded as her deft fingers unhooked my gown. For a split second, a voice in my head told me to hold onto the gown, cling to it, stay safe. Then Eva’s eyes met mine and she smiled, and it was as though she was instilling her own confidence in me. She lifted my gown over my head and dropped it on the chaise. “You’re gorgeous,” she said, running her fingers down my breasts. “A masterpiece. I would love to sculpt you.”
“Thank you,” I told her. I’d never been naked with a woman like this before. I felt unaccountably nervous but also excited. “You— your body is beautiful.”
She took one of my hands and used it to cup her breast. “Much softer than a man’s body, isn’t it?”
It was. She felt like silk. My thumb tentatively flicked her peachy pink nipple and her lips parted. “If you suck on it, you can make me come,” she told me, huskily.
I’d never thought of touching a woman that way, never wanted to, but now I wanted to know what it would be like. I bent and lightly licked her nipple.
“Oh,” she said, pressing toward me. “You’re teasing me.”
The powe
r I had from such a small gesture thrilled me. I l let my tongue linger on her nipple a little longer, then moved my mouth away and blew. She gasped and, spurred on by her pleasure, I took the nipple between my lips and sucked on it.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” Rhys’s voice whispered in my ear. He was standing behind me and I felt his fingers sliding into the groove between my buttocks. “Look at what you’re doing to her,” he said, and his voice sent ripples through me. My tongue moved back and forth over the nipple in my mouth and I was rewarded with a long, low moan from Eva.
“You’re going to make her come,” Rhys said, and I felt a slick, cool finger teasing my backside. “Make her come, and I’ll give you a reward.”
His finger pressed the tender puckered place, reminding me of the stinging soaring pleasure he’d coaxed out of it. The thought of what my reward could be made my body hum.
I sucked Eva’s nipple harder, teasing with my teeth. She moaned again, then said, “Yes, oh God yes,” and clutched my head to her. As her body trembled, Rhys’s finger slid into my ass. It tightened around him, instinctively, and he laughed.
Eva pulled my mouth from her nipple to her mouth and kissed me. Her lips were pillowy soft, completely unlike a man’s, and when her tongue teased mine open I felt a rush of warmth between my legs. As though sensing it, she slid her hand down and began rubbing my clit. Her touch was soft but sure.
She pulled away to look at me, searching for signs of my pleasure. “Girls know things boys don’t,” she whispered, and her fingers went straight to the sweet, tender spot on the side. She alternated the intensity of her fingering, firm and then light, touching me in a way no man ever had, driving me wild.
Rhys was still behind me, sliding his finger in and out, in and out, between my buttocks and the dual sensation was speeding me toward a climax.
“Is she ready?” Rhys asked. Eva nodded, and it was only then that I realized his voice had come from off to the side.
Then who was behind me, touching me?