by Bryn Colvin
“No,” he said, amazed even as he heard the words pass his lips.
“Mister Akenfield, I am not a man to be trifled with, I am sure you understand that,” Kemel said, his voice deadly cold.
“I understand that and apologize for having wasted your time, but I find there are things my conscience will not allow me to do.”
“I could ruin you very easily and without my money you will be a bankrupt inside the year. How will that delicate conscience of yours like to be in a debtors’ prison? You will lose everything.”
Jasper turned and walked away, half expecting that he would be stopped before he escaped from the house, but no one obstructed his way. Standing in the street, he felt light-headed. Kemel had been right; his debts were bearing down upon him and, when the truth of it came out, he would be ruined, and not only financially.
Such a scandal would end his political career and his social one. There would be no more Lotte, no more elegant parties and fine indulgences. He wondered if he could face such an existence. After a lifetime dedicated to the stimulating of his senses, Jasper was startled to find he had some sort of moral backbone and that he was not without moral scruples.
As he made the journey home, Jasper resolved to give up his rooms at the club, and see if he could rent out his town house in Bath. He still had some assets that could be exploited, but nothing that would actually account for his debts. He supposed he could always ask his mother for money, but that rankled with him considerably; she was an old woman and a shock of that proportion might finish the old girl off.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The way in which Jenny’s face was illuminated by a smile filled his heart to brimming and confirmed in Jasper’s mind all that he meant to do.
“How was your business trip?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Educational, my dear, but how are you?”
“Weary.”
He stroked her hair, touched again by this sweet and beautiful young woman who had so transformed his life.
“I am afraid that I have work to do.”
He set about writing–tendering his resignation from politics–knowing that the impending scandal would be best faced privately, and setting about trying to improve his desperate condition. He had painstakingly written half a dozen letters arranging his affairs when he remembered a missive he had entirely forgotten to write in the midst of everything else that had happened.
“Dear Amelia,” he began.
“Please forgive my not coming to see you, but my personal circumstances do not permit it. I had received some startling intelligence regarding our mutual friend Caroline Terrington, and while I doubt the truth of it, I feel you should know there is a rumour that she has been seen working in a house of ill repute…”
* * * *
There had been precious little post for days but Amelia recognized Sir Jasper’s hand as soon as she saw the envelope. She sighed and opened it carelessly; she had never much liked the man and the thought of even having to write to him irritated her. The communication she read was startling in the extreme and she went over it several times, at first unable to believe the report.
“Freddy!” she called excitedly, as she gathered up her skirts and ran along the hallway, eager to share this news.
Frederica was sitting in the sun parlour, pouring over a large tome. The sound of Amelia’s voice startled her and she rose, fearing that something was wrong. The letter was pressed into her hands and she read it quickly.
“Do you think it might be true?” she asked.
“We can but hope. We should see at once.”
“But it is barely mid-day, surely such an establishment would not open so early?”
“I am not sure that they ever close but surely a little money should ease our way. Come, dress yourself.”
Despite her initial reservations, Amelia had become increasingly fond of male attire. It caused her to feel both free and powerful, unfettered by the bonds that limited the lives of other women. With trousers and short hair, she could enter any place and command a degree of respect. Appearing to be a very young fellow had its disadvantages, but still gave her more scope than she would ever have enjoyed as a woman. To venture forth in full daylight when anyone might see her was exciting indeed.
“Everyone will see us if we go out now, and they will see if we bring her back.”
“True enough.”
“I think we cannot disguise this venture, we may as well take O’Shea and Caroline’s coach–at least we will be able to leave quickly and a man might be useful, you never know.”
Amelia supposed that if they needed to carry their friend or fend off any rough business that the Irishman might have his uses. As Freddy departed to change her costume, Amelia sought out the surly footman.
O’Shea eyed Amelia with no pretence at circumspection. He had to admit that the wench had fine legs and turned out very nicely in trousers, but he could not imagine he would ever get to liking that sort of thing himself.
“Can you drive the coach, O’Shea?”
Since Caroline’s departure, and the general collapse of the household, they had largely abandoned all social conventions and niceties.
“I can try.”
“Good. We have had news of a possible sighting of Caroline.”
The footman shook off his sullen air and became attentive.
“Where?”
“In a brothel. We may be going to need your help.”
“Anything,” he said, “whatever you need.”
She nodded, a knowing smile on her face.
* * * *
As he waited for the women to ready themselves, Brendan tried not to think how Caroline might have found her way into such an establishment. There were stories aplenty about young women who were forced or coerced into opening their legs for money–often all but sold into it by poverty stricken families–but this could hardly have happened to a wealthy woman like his beloved mistress. He thought there must be some mistake, but it was vital to check. Clues to her whereabouts had been scarce indeed. He was anxious to be going, and waiting chafed his nerves.
The door was closed and the narrow street was almost empty save for a few vagrant children. Amelia rapped on the door and glanced back at her two companions. They seemed such an unlikely trio. A year ago she could not have imagined that she would find herself outside a brothel with an Irish servant and a noblewoman in man’s attire. A panel in the door slid open, revealing only a pair of eyes and a shock of unkempt hair.
“What you after?”
Amelia held up a bright guinea and made sure the man could see it.
“Can we come in?” she asked.
The money worked its usual magic and soon the door was creaking open to allow them access to the dimly lit bar. The place stank of stale beer and vomit.
“Looking for a bit of recreation are we?” the landlord asked. He sounded like a man on the brink of exhaustion and his face was marked with sleeplessness.
“We are looking for a red haired woman.”
“You’ve come to the right place, then. I’ve got a real madam upstairs, if you gentlemen would care to follow me. Were you boys looking to share or shall I wake up the other girls?”
“We can share,” Amelia replied calmly. She had grown used to this sort of talk.
“She’s a handful mind you, wouldn’t wonder if she wore all three of you out. When she’s not sleeping, she’s wild for it.”
“That is just the sort of thing we were looking for,” Amelia replied, trying to mask her nerves.
The room he opened had only an empty bed in it.
“She does this sometimes. She won’t have gone far.”
He opened other doors, revealing a number of sleeping girls, until they were presented with the vision of a beautifully rounded bottom raised provocatively towards the door. There appeared to be two women on the bed, each busy applying her tongue to the other. The landlord shot Amelia an apologetic look.
&nb
sp; “We can watch,” Amelia said, “you need not stay.”
The two women on the bed seemed unaware that they had company. Amelia watched hungrily; she had never seen other women pleasing each other and the sight of these two so rapt in mutual indulgence aroused her. She shot a glance at Freddy and saw that her lover was equally captivated by the scene. There was something in the air, a strange, musky perfume that made her long to strip off her own clothes and join that glorious tangle of limbs. With a series of muffled groans and squeals the women finished with each other, the beautiful curved posterior grinding into the face of the girl below her, making the three watchers tremble with sympathetic enjoyment.
Even though they had come searching for her, the vision of Caroline, naked and with another woman’s juices trickling from her chin was a startling one indeed. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright.
“Two pretty girls dressed as boys and a man with a good firm cock. Come to me, all of you, lie with me and pay your debt to pleasure.”
The voice was almost hers but the spirit behind it seemed utterly unlike the shy and gentle woman they had known. Furthermore, there was nothing to suggest that she recognized any of them.
“Caroline, your friends are here, it is Amelia.”
Caroline turned fully, cupping her breasts in her hands and spreading her legs to give them a good look at her dripping cunt.
“Worship me with your tongues,” Caroline commanded.
It was as though she had cast some spell over them that none had the will to resist. They advanced together, governed by a force of lust that robbed them of all reason and self-control. As though following some previously choreographed design, Amelia and Frederica knelt to either side of Caroline, each bringing their mouths to the nipple she proffered them. Brendan sank down on his knees, finding his place between Caroline’s open thighs and plunging his tongue deep into her dripping slit.
Caroline reached out her hands to touch the women who flanked her, rubbing at them through the clothes they wore. Even with the layers of fabric to inhibit sensation, her touch was powerful and they were soon caught up in erotic ecstasy.
Brendan gave himself utterly to tonguing the woman he loved, lapping up her rich juices and working his fingers deep into her body. He had dreamed about giving her pleasure for longer than he dared admit: had fantasized about fucking her, licking her, holding her and hearing her moan with delight. He had wanted to take that shy and proper Englishwoman and make her beg to feel his cock in her. He could hardly make any sense of having found her in this sordid place, opening her thighs for all and sundry. He wanted her–his cock ached with hardness, his body hungered for full knowledge of her flesh. He licked and lapped, relishing the shudders of her orgasm and the fresh flow of fluid into his mouth.
Curiously, the more she came, the more clearly he found he could think, as though each orgasm was peeling a layer of smoke from his mind. The woman looked a good deal like Caroline, from the pair of small moles on her exquisite neck, to the unusual colour of her hair and the beauty of her eyes, however, the woman did not seem to think or act like the Caroline he knew, and she had not recognized any of them. Something was deeply wrong, and although his body was rigid with lust, some part of his heart resisted what was happening. He lifted his head and looked up into her face. Her eyes were cold, her attention focused on pleasuring the two women who suckled her breasts. He kept stimulating her with his fingers, realizing that, much as he had done, Amelia, and Frederica had lost all control of themselves.
“Amelia! Frederica! Get a grip of yourselves.”
His voice rang out through the room, cutting through the heady mists of untamed desire. Frederica surfaced first, her eyes opening and her expression thoughtful even while she kept the succulent nipple in her mouth. Following Brendan’s lead, she exchanged fingers for lips.
“She is goddess inspired,” Frederica murmured, her tone almost reverential.
“What do we do?” Brendan asked.
“As far as I can see, she craves sexual satisfaction, we will only be able to take her from this place if we can keep her happy.”
Amelia surfaced then, her eyes brilliant.
“We are going to have to work together on this one.”
Brendan moved closer to Caroline and she wrapped her legs round his back. He returned his tongue to her tender clitoris and cupped her buttocks in his hands. Strong though he was it was hard to stand with her weight upon his shoulders. Her head was close to the low ceiling and he had already realized there would be no getting her out of the door like this. He just hoped the two women with him would have the sense to see what was required. At the door he dropped her down into Amelia’s waiting arms and, between them, they managed to kiss and fondle her down the stairs and out to the waiting carriage.
Brendan drove like a man possessed, trying his best not to think about what would be happening in the carriage. He knew he had to concentrate on getting Caroline safely home and then he could worry about what on earth had happened to her and how they were going to get her back to her senses.
* * * *
“What’s happening, Brendan?” Sophie asked.
“She’s not well,” Brendan offered lamely. He knew he smelled of her juices, that his hands and lips were drenched with them, and he had been awake half the night keeping Caroline quiet while Frederica and Amelia tried to find some way to shatter her dangerous enchantment.
“She sounded very well to me, I know the difference between groaning from pain and from pleasure.”
Brendan shook his head.
“Tell me,” the girl persisted.
“She’s half mad,” he confessed wearily. ”All she wants is pleasure, at least she’s sleeping now.”
“And you’re looking after her needs, and I expect Amelia will be too, won’t she? And that Freddy.”
Brendan nodded. He had spent hours keeping Caroline satisfied, and he was exhausted both mentally and physically. His body ached to make love to her but his heart resisted taking her body when her mind was so obviously absent.
“I could help,” Sophie offered.
“You?”
Sophie ran her tongue over her lips suggestively.
“I know what to do. I’ll ask Myles. He can help too. We can take it in turns.”
“Bless you,” he said, and staggered in the direction of his own bed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The fire was nothing but glowing coals. Jasper had been burning old letters, which made for a nice little blaze, but he was loath to start on books or furniture when those could still be sold.
“What time is it?” Jenny asked.
“A little after eight.”
Autumn was well and truly upon them and the nights were drawing in.
“I always wonder,” she said, “when it comes to the night, if I’ll see another morning.”
“Of course you will, and the sun will shine on that little window and make the room warm for you,” he replied, with far more joviality than he felt. Each morning he lay beside her, listening for her shallow breathing and fearing to hear nothing.
She smiled indulgently.
“You have been so kind to me, dear Jasper, but I know I do not have long to live. There are things that you must do for me.”
She pulled a small sheaf of letters from beneath her shawl.
“One for my parents back home, so they know what became of me, a few others for friends, and one for yourself, my love. When I am gone, will you post these for me, and read the one I’ve written for you? It’s a will of sorts, how I want to be buried. If I had anything to leave, I would leave it to you, but I had to sell everything you gave me.”
“That does not matter now.”
“I should never have left you,” she said.
He shushed her, but she paid him no heed. They had never spoken about her flight with Waterburn, nor had he told her of the artist’s unpleasant demise.
“I must say these things while I still can. I want to
go with a clear conscience, please, let me…” her sentence ended in a shuddering cough that left fresh flecks of blood on her stained handkerchief.
Jasper stroked her shoulders, feeling how thin she had become. She turned her gaze towards him, her eyes seeming larger than ever in her gaunt face. She already looked like the ghost of her former self.
“I was never a whore,” she said, “more, what is the word? More a courtesan. When I first came to London, I went on the stage. I’ve always had a good face and a good voice. You aren’t the first rich man to pay court to me. You knew you weren’t my first lover. I’ve made ends meet by letting other men pay my way. You were the best catch I made, and I thought you’d set me up as your mistress in some fine little flat and I’d have a good, easy life. Doors would open for me.”
She stopped, and he could see how tired even this was making her. He wanted to implore her to rest, but knew how much she needed to speak, as though she was making some final confession.
“It was just business.”
Her words cut deeply into Jasper’s heart. He had never really supposed that she could love him; he had understood that he was paying for her services, but even so, it was a difficult thing to hear from her lips.
“Then you had Gabriel paint me. He seemed so romantic, so passionate. I thought that was what love should be, all fire and fury. He made me feel like a goddess. And he was such a handsome man. I loved him. We ran away together and I lived with him for a little while. It was only then I found I was ill. He was poor, he was no good with money, I couldn’t work, and I could see how he was less in love with me every day. He was afraid of illness, of death. I couldn’t bear to watch it all crumbling around me, so I left him.”
Jasper had long considered Waterburn to be a repulsive worm who had met a justly deserved end. Hearing Jenny’s words, his anger towards the dead artist was almost more than he could contain.
“Then you found me. You didn’t ask, you weren’t angry, you just took me in and cared for me. I’ve been too ill to be your lover, but still you’ve cared for me. I’ve drained your money, and caused your butler to leave you. I’ve brought you scandal, ruined your career.”