Revealing Ruby (Novella)

by Lavinia Kent

  Revealing Ruby is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2015 by Lavinia Kent

  Excerpt from Bound by Bliss by Lavinia Kent copyright © 2015 by Lavinia Kent

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN 9780804181006

  Cover design: Caroline Teagle

  Cover photograph: © iStock

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Bound by Bliss by Lavinia Kent. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  www.readloveswept.com

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  By Lavinia Kent

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Bound by Bliss

  Chapter One

  Her feet ached. The dainty-heeled slippers might be fashionable, but even though she’d worn them only to walk about the house Ruby knew she had the beginnings of blisters on her stinging toes. Placing her cup of tea down, she eased herself onto the chaise longue and slid her feet from the shoes. Deep purple satin with tiny red heels, they really were quite pretty—but definitely not designed for walking. She kicked them beneath the chaise, wishing that they’d vanish. Unfortunately she had only about another two hours before her patrons began to arrive and then appearance became all.

  Reaching up, she scratched her head beneath the heavy curls of the red wig. Even now, hours before she could expect to be seen, she kept it firmly in place. Madame Rouge must always be perfect. Nobody could ever know the truth about her. And if that meant shoes that pinched her toes and wigs that scratched her scalp then she would wear them and smile.

  But not now—now was for her. A cup of tea. A romantic novel. A comfortable seat. And two hours that were all her own. It was these few minutes each day that reminded her life was good. And she needed that today. All morning she’d felt unsettled, wanting, needy—not at all like herself. Leaning back, she pulled her feet up and hid them under her skirts. The room was warm with the mid-June air, but even so her feet were cold. Her feet were always cold.

  Picking up her tea, she blew across the top and then took a sip. One of her favorite things about summer was that the tea stayed hot. In January her tea was cold by the time she took her third sip and she hated cold tea.

  It was perfect. This whole afternoon was going to be perfect.

  Placing her porcelain cup back on its saucer, and picking up her spectacles, she admired the beautiful hand-painted roses that adorned the cup. Maybe she should take up painting. It might be relaxing—not that she needed relaxation in general, but at this moment she could use some settling. And she’d always appreciated beauty and fine things. How wonderful it would be to create them.

  One more sip and then she’d take up her book. She tended to forget her tea once she started reading and a fine cup of tea was not to be squandered. Mmmm, that was good. Maybe she’d ring the maid and ask for some biscuits—no, that would be too indulgent. She’d just ordered a new evening gown and the tight fit was most unforgiving. It was far easier not to add the pounds than to take them off.

  Picking up her book, she reclined back, wiggling her toes with pleasure.

  “I want to talk with Madame Rouge. Now,” a loud masculine voice stated. With a sudden thrust the door to the front hall burst open and a man entered, a very large, very angry man.

  “I tried to stop him, Madame,” a far more timid voice stated as her porter followed behind.

  Blast. Mr. Simms was well able to deal with the gentleman callers who filled her house at night, gentlemen who expected their coats and hats taken, and their titles used correctly. Billy, her top footman—and a former pugilist—was supposed to deal with any rougher problems, but Billy wouldn’t be here until nine. She normally had no need of his services during the day.

  Rising quickly from her seat, slipping her spectacles behind a cushion, she moved toward the men.

  “Madame Rouge, I am most dissatisfied and I want recompense,” the large gentleman demanded. And, well, he wasn’t so much large, as tall and…

  “It is fine, Mr. Simms. I will deal with Mr….” Ruby turned to focus on the man. She had a great memory for names. It was necessity in her business. Only…she couldn’t even think about names as she looked up at cold black eyes and stern features.

  It was him, the man with the dragon. The man who’d left her feeling so unsettled and wanting. Her eyes swept down his body.

  She could only hope that color was not rising to her cheeks. A madame was not supposed to blush, not at anything. But it was harder than she’d imagined to look a near stranger in the face calmly when last night you’d been staring at the dragon tattoo that swept down his belly and wrapped about his cock, a restless dragon that twitched and pounced with his every movement. And it had been a mighty fine cock too, large in proportion to his body—and given that he must stand close to six foot five that was saying quite something.

  And the rest of him had been quite something too, large, muscled, glistening with sweat, body straining with desire. She swallowed as the image of him replayed in her mind.

  Normally she only glanced through the peepholes for a moment to be sure that all was as it should be, that her girls were safe. It was a strict policy of the house that voyeurism was not allowed—unless a patron requested to be watched.

  Last night, however, she’d failed at her own rules. One glance at that muscular ass and thrusting thighs, and she’d needed to see the front, and once she’d seen the front…

  “It’s Captain, actually, Captain Price.” He spoke with the drawn-out syllables of an American.

  She forced her eyes back to his face and pushed her memories away. “Captain Price, do forgive me,” Ruby answered. “I know that we spoke briefly last evening, but I am afraid I’ve been rather occupied.”

  His eyes shot to her book and cup of tea. A look of disdain passed across his stern face. “Yes, I can see that you have been quite busy.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving.” Even if they were not in this case, although she had been quite busy all morning. It was the day of the month when the local midwife checked all her girls and it was most exhausting making sure that nobody skipped their appointment, then dealing with any complications that occurred. She had more than earned time with her novel.

  Captain Price stepped back and let his gaze roam over her. She knew what he saw, bright crimson hair, pale face with overly large blue eyes, bosom pushed to extreme heights—his eyes lingered there, waist held tighter than normal fashion dictated, round hips in red satin and those blasted bare toes. “Sometimes,” he said, “I think what you see is exactly what you get.”

  Was that meant as a compliment or an insult? Or both? With an Englishman she would have known exactly what his tone meant; with this American it was hard to be sure. His eyes certainly betrayed no pleasure in her appearance, altho
ugh there had been that slight pause at her bosom. But there was always a slight pause at her bosom.

  Pursing her lips, while being sure that the full lower one pouted prettily, Ruby took her own step back and returned his perusal. Dark hair swept back and tied in a short tail—it was slightly outdated, but probably suited his seagoing life. His sharp jaw was clean shaven, although she was uncertain that he’d made use of a razor that morning. He was stubbled more like a man late in the evening. The eyes were startling, so dark they looked like pieces of coal stuck upon his face, shining with an iridescence of color she had never before seen. His features were strong, and slightly coarse, but not unattractive. Allowing her tongue to dart out and dampen her lower lip, she let her gaze drop lower. The linen of his shirt and neck cloth were fine, but not the finest. His coat was well cut, hinting at the extreme breadth of the shoulders beneath. The buttons were brass and heavy. They had cost a pretty penny. His breeches were not as fine. They were the clothing of a man who worked hard and needed garments that would hold up to his labors. The boots were of the finest quality, but hard used. He’d clearly changed shirt and coat to come see her, but not bothered with the lower half.

  At least that’s what her ever-working brain told her. Another part of her, and she didn’t know if it was heart, or body, or soul, could only stare and wonder at his magnificence. He was more than any single man should be, both in size and comeliness—and that was in his clothing. A hint of a smile would not have gone amiss, but that was the only fault she could find anywhere, and she’d seen enough last night to know. Lean hips above well-muscled thighs, the broad chest of a man used to hard labor, the perfect masculine scattering of hair, tight buttocks with those indents she so loved, and speaking of indents, it was hard to do better than the sharply defined lines that ran from hip to cock. What woman was not entranced by those…love lines? Did they actually have a name? She’d never heard of one and she’d heard everything.

  Allowing herself one last glance at the bulge in his breeches, imagining the bright green dragon that spanned his pelvis, she raised her gaze and met his full on.

  “And what do I get with you, Captain Price?” She let her shoulders fall forward so that her bosom rose even higher above the tight bodice. Men were simple creatures, easily distracted from their arguments.

  As expected, his eyes dropped to her breasts and lingered. She’d be lucky if he gazed up at her eyes again before leaving. Many men did not.

  “I am afraid that you get exactly what you see with me, as well, Madame Rouge. I may not be pretty, but I say my piece and mean it. Which gets us to the reason I have come.” He surprised her by lifting his gaze back to her face, not a flicker of emotion showing.

  “Please call me Ruby. All of my regular patrons do.” Ruby smiled, moving her eyes from his face to his shoulders and then lower. “No, not pretty, but quite interesting.” She landed again on the bulge in his breeches, letting him discern her interest—and, oh yes, he was definitely discerning it. His face might not betray emotion, but some things could not be hidden.

  Hiding her grin, she moved back to the chaise, reclining upon it in a fashion she’d copied from the late Empress Josephine. She gestured for him to take a comfortable seat across from her, a heavy chair, designed for a man’s weight.

  He moved as if to follow her direction and then stopped. “Do not distract me from my task. I paid the girl and she did not come. I will not be cheated.”

  “I am afraid that you have me at a loss. I am quite sure that you found your satisfaction last night, received your full money’s worth.” Having watched the man in action she was more than sure. He had been more than happy with what had happened in her upstairs room. She might not have spent so long watching if he hadn’t been quite so satisfied, quite so many times. “And as for whether or not the girl came, I believe that is your responsibility and not something that I can take responsibility for. If you had some complaint the time to address it was last evening.”

  “It’s not last night I am complaining about, it’s this morning. I paid the wench to be at the Dawn’s Light before midday and she did not arrive. I want the girl or my money.” He walked near and glowered down at her.

  Oh dear, that did complicate things. Ruby pursed her lips and looked up at him calmly, refusing to let her concerns show on her face. His posture was clearly meant to intimidate, but she’d long ago given up letting men hold any power over her. “I am afraid, Captain, that if you paid the girl and not me I can have little more to do in the matter. I will speak to the girl—Tilly, I believe—but on my own account. My girls are not allowed to work outside of this house. It is one of the few rules that I have. I have great concern for their safety.”

  “And your purse,” he added, his eyes cold.

  “Think what you will. Now would you care for some refreshment before you leave? I was about to send for something sweet. My cook does make the most delicious pastries and biscuits. I often find that a little refreshment can improve one’s mood immensely.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my mood,” the captain said with a glower.

  Granted, he had looked about as grim when she’d spoken to him last night. The man evidently did not know how to smile, not even when he…No, those thoughts were inappropriate at the moment.

  “Well, I am hungry.” She called for the maid and asked for a full tray of pastries. She’d yet to see a man turn down a cherry-and-cream tart.

  He just stood there and glared.

  She leaned back and surveyed him again. She’d always enjoyed a fine physique.

  She let out a slight, and very calculated, sigh. “Please take a seat. I do understand that you are upset and I will, just this once, speak to Tilly about returning your money. She should not have taken it.”

  “Bloody hell,” he exclaimed, but did sit down in the chair across from her. “I don’t want my money, I just want a whore to come with me to the Dawn’s Light.”

  “One would think you were English the way you curse. Even the accent is right,” she said, trying to distract.

  “Let’s just say some of my first years aboard ship were spent serving at His Majesty’s pleasure. And I still want a whore to come with me.”

  “I am afraid that is not going to happen.” She picked up her tea and took a sip, looking away from his hard gaze. It was rude to drink before more refreshment was brought, but at the moment she did not give a damn. “As I have said my girls do not work outside this house. I am sure that any need you have can be accommodated here. We are quite versatile. Except for the most extreme, we cater to all needs. And, I do not like my girls called ‘whores.’ I do not deny the truth of the term, but do not care for it.” She’d like to have added that they only did what they needed to survive, but men didn’t like to be reminded of that fact. They all liked to pretend that the girls did what they did because they enjoyed it. She couldn’t blame her clients for the conceit, but she wished she didn’t have to pander to it.

  “I am a man of simple tastes. I am happy with a good fuck or two,” he stated flatly.

  Or three or four, she thought. She’d never seen a man with such stamina as Captain Price had demonstrated the night before. And she had to stop thinking about that. She should not have lingered and watched as long as she had. The peepholes were only to ensure her girls’ safety. Nothing more. “Then why do you need a girl to accompany you to your ship? I assume the Dawn’s Light is your ship.” She did hope he didn’t have some type of naval or water fetish. She could probably accommodate him, but…

  “It’s not me I am asking for. It’s my first mate.” Did she detect a hint of warmth in his voice?

  “And he cannot come here? I can promise you we do not turn clients away without great cause.” Perhaps the mate was a man of color or some deformity. Either way, he would be welcome here.

  “He cannot come. The wh— girl must come to him.”

  “That is not possible.”

  The maid tapped on the door and then carried
in the large tray of scrumptious treats. Cherry tarts glistened with cream. Ginger biscuits rose in a great heap. Frosted sponge cakes held court in their multicolored icing. This was not going to be good for her waist. She’d probably only have to eat one to get the man started, but even one was more than she’d planned on.

  She held up a hand delaying the maid’s departure. “Would you like some tea? I can have the maid bring you a mug if you’d prefer it to a cup. I know some gentlemen don’t care for my china. Or perhaps something stronger?”

  His eyes fell to her dainty painted cup and then moved to his large, work-roughened hands. She thought he was about to refuse, but then he shrugged. “I’d appreciate tea—strong and black. And yes, a mug if it’s not any bother.”

  Ruby nodded to the maid. It was a wonder how refreshment could add civilization to any meeting.

  The maid returned quickly with the mug, and rising to her feet Ruby went to pour his cup herself. Personal catering was always a step in the right direction. “No sugar?”

  “Three spoonfuls.” He did not sound pleased by the admission.

  “Giving in to temptation?” She tried to lighten the mood.

  “No.” He was not amused.

  “Then why did you come here?” The words came out before she could stop them.

  “A man who’s been at sea for months simply has things that must be done.” No. He was not happy with this discussion—not that he seemed happy with anything.

  Sea for months—that might explain the stamina.

  “I do believe I understand.” She came over and brought him his cup, bending at the waist, letting her bodice gape.

  Hot, sweet tea. A few good pastries. A healthy glimpse of bosom. He’d be agreeing with her in no time.

  He did not turn his eyes away, took full advantage of the view she offered, but still he showed no pleasure. He took his tea and swallowed, rapidly downing the hot liquid. “Do you always treat your clients this way?”