‘Man?’
‘Yes! Yet you wear your hair in an upsweep, and look so fetching in your uniform —’
‘We play the roles we’re assigned, until a better one comes along.’
He glanced around, but when his gaze returned to my face, Russell slipped an arm around my waist. ‘You learned during that first spanking that I’m very much a man. But unlike Cleopatra and Cinderella, I consent to wearing maid’s clothing only as a ruse. Appeasing Honore Delacroix is most important, you see.’
He had a pleasing natural voice, smooth and low, now that he wasn’t altering it to appear female. Still, I stepped away from a touch that felt far too familiar — which put me closer to those clothes. Gorgeous gowns and accessories of jewel-toned fabrics told me Chapin’s lady friend — or were there several? — commanded a pretty penny from the Proffit coffers.
‘And I have noticed, Miss Eve, that while you don’t protest those spankings, you don’t participate either,’ he went on, sounding urgent to express several ideas in a short amount of time. ‘Pardon my saying so, but your husband’s far more interested in watching us get our asses whacked than —’
‘Does he know? That you’re not a woman?’ My concern for the maids’ privacy suddenly overrode my discomfort. I could imagine Chapin’s reaction, if he learned the seedy little secrets of the maids Monique had secured on my behalf.
‘I don’t think so.’ Russell lifted my chin, so I had no choice but to look up into his eyes — gentle tawny-green eyes that were strikingly similar to my own. ‘And pardon my saying so, but it’s a crying shame that a splendid woman like you doesn’t get what she needs. From a man, anyway.’
The implications of these last words sent my hand flying towards his face, but Russell was faster than I. The grip around my wrist startled me, even though he was by no means abusing his superior strength. No, he’d taken me by such surprise I was easy to subdue. All I could do was return his steady gaze…wondering what other secrets it hid.
He relaxed then, grinning. ‘All right, so I’ve spied on you. I hope you’ll forgive me, but watching you and Monique last night…and when you frolicked in the fountain, is much more fun than cavorting with Cleo and Cindy. I’m entrusting you with these secrets, hoping you’ll allow me the same sort of trust. I can’t tell you how good it feels to be out from under Honore’s thumb! Thank you for allowing me — all of us — to stay when she came to claim us.’
I swallowed, unsure of what to do next. Russell, however, was lowering his face towards mine, his expression softening. ‘I want to help you, Miss Eve. I’m merely a maid on the lowest rung of the household ladder, but I crave affection, and I think you do too. May I kiss you? I was just a kid when Miss Delacroix took —’
His lips touched mine, tentatively. The attic’s dry, stifling heat enclosed us in a cocoon of forbidden sensations, and while my body went hot, the skin of our lips felt soothing and cool. He was curious rather than possessive. He dipped again, tasting more firmly, slanting his mouth for fuller contact that had to feel even more rewarding to him than to me, a woman ten years his senior.
I pulled away, my eyes still closed with pleasure. ‘Russell, what do you see here? In this little anteroom to the attic?’
He held me against his chest, and then I heard a sudden intake of breath, along with the deep beating of his heart. ‘Dresses. Hat boxes. A — a jewellery chest in the corner.’
I nodded, opening my eyes. ‘This is Mr Proffit’s closet. And since I’ve recently seen him in some rather…compromising situations, I must ask you never to tell the others about this. If I catch one hint that anyone else knows, it’s back to Miss Delacroix you go, young man.’
He cleared his throat, comprehension dawning as he stared at the beautiful gowns. ‘Can’t have such indiscretions getting out during a political campaign.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But what about you, Miss Eve? Are you going to keep this information buttoned up like the dress you’re wearing — which is much too conservative, by the way,’ he added with a grin. ‘A woman with your marvellous skin —’
‘Will handle these matters as she sees fit,’ I cut in firmly. The time was passing faster than I wanted, despite the lift Russell’s remarks had given my spirits. ‘Actually, I wanted to see about any Mardi Gras costumes or decorations I might find for the ball.’
‘You can’t take anything downstairs. Mrs Frike will know you sneaked up here.’
‘True.’ I continued up the wooden stairs, into a large, open room that served as the actual attic. ‘But since we’ve picked the lock and risked discovery with every minute you’re away, we might as well indulge ourselves. It’s better than tearing my hair out, wondering who those beautiful clothes belong to. My God, it’s been going on so long, she keeps a wardrobe here! And right under my nose.’
Curiosity compelled me to open musty trunks, and riffle through boxes of old letters and records. An armoire in the corner caught my eye then, a behemoth of a piece with angel faces and wings carved into its corners and along the front edges. When the tall doors creaked open, we sucked in the dusty sweetness of sachets made many, many years ago. My wildest dreams had come true!
‘They’re beautiful!’ I breathed, fingering the folds of gaudy gowns and exquisite veils. ‘Harem suits, and a medieval queen’s attire, and —’
‘Masks. Hanging here on the side. And wigs.’
My heart was beating so hard I nearly fainted. I could envision myself descending the main stairway on the night of the Mardi Gras ball, arrayed in this finery of a bygone time. Perhaps for a moment I’d even steal the limelight from my husband; could assume my rightful place among the other society wives, as a woman to be recognized. Respected.
Perhaps, if he saw me in a costume that brought back happier childhood times, Chapin would see me in a more desirable light too. What did I have to lose?
‘Help me carry these,’ I said in an urgent whisper. ‘We really must be going, before anyone sees that door is open — or, God forbid, shuts us in!’
Russell held out his arms as I took down a taffeta gown that shimmered from periwinkle to sky blue, with huge sleeves that puffed like iridescent white balloons. I snatched up the petticoats too, and oversized patent leather shoes that matched the dress. Instinct had me grabbing a shepherd’s crook, along with the most striking of the masks: the traditional shiny-white face of Mardi Gras had a beaded headpiece, which attached it to an outrageous blonde wig that resembled a beehive.
We stole down the steps. Russell walked ahead, so I could keep the colourful lengths of fabric from dragging on the dusty floor. I quickly replaced the padlock, while the maid hurried on to my suite.
‘I’d best get back,’ he said, heading out my door as I was entering. Then he glanced around, and gave me a thoroughly rakish kiss. ‘Can’t wait for the party, Miss Eve. Can’t wait to see you decked out in such splendour, like the queen you are.’
It was odd, watching the maid’s bare backside retreat down the hall with his apron flapping on both sides, while its bow bounced saucily above his butt with each step. My fingers went to my lips, reliving the feel of his kiss as though it had led to something more illicit.
And yet, hadn’t I already learned the most intimate secrets about Antoinette? As I quickly hid the costume in the back of my armoire, I wondered where today’s revelations might lead — and what would come of the pact I’d made, with the maid I now knew as Russell.
18 My Best-Laid Plans
‘Ooh-la-la!’ Monique’s eyes filled half her face when she saw the glorious periwinkle sheen of the costume I’d stashed behind my other clothes. I’d let three days go by before showing it to her, so she wouldn’t associate it with Antoinette’s absence — or my own — while the maids had been polishing the ballroom.
‘I found it in the attic,’ I whispered, hoping Mrs Frike wasn’t eavesdropping from the hall. ‘It must’ve belonged to Chapin’s mother. Fanny told me how much he enjoyed those lavish parties, so I’m going to surprise hi
m with it at the ball.’
‘You’ll be the belle, Auntie! The pièce de résistance among ladies who think they’re so superior, non?’ She gave me a speculative look, perhaps gauging the dress’s curves against my own. ‘But I really must see you in our outfit to drive Chapin wild. Today’s the day!’
‘But why now? I’m not sure I’m —’
‘Ready?’ Monique tossed her head, nearly toppling her topknot. ‘We’re ready not to see more strange ladies stealing away at dawn — or cavorting in a courtyard, non? Chapin should know you won’t tolerate his sneaking around. A bad habit for a man soon to be mayor.’
She had instructed the sissy maids to wash windows and launder table linens today, so with Mrs Frike in charge of these activities, Monique wanted to play — to groom her student for the command performance she’d come here to orchestrate.
She fetched the large white box from Madame LaRue’s and opened it on my bed. With a feline grin, she lifted the black lace, delighting in its seductive softness as she unfolded it. ‘Not naked yet?’
Electricity passed between us as she arched her eyebrow. Was she recalling our first rendezvous in the dressmaker’s fitting room, as I was? I set aside those memories, hoping this day would mark another momentous occasion: the seduction of the husband who should’ve been my lover all along. I had to wonder if I’d feel this attraction for Monique, had Chapin come to my bed over these past seven years.
Not that it mattered to my maid: her fires flared at every opportunity, and she didn’t let her conscience prevent her pleasure. Didn’t let everyone else’s moral code affect her needs and desires.
And maybe that was her secret to finding the joy and affection she craved: she assumed her right to take it wherever — and with whomever — she found it. I envied her that. It flew in the face of the good-girl, dutiful-wife image ingrained since my childhood, yet it felt so right.
‘You’re thinking too much,’ she murmured, slipping her warm fingers beneath my dress.
‘Let your body move towards its target, like an arrow going for the mark. Chapin doesn’t stand a chance, non? Who could resist a woman like you, Auntie Eve?’
Who, indeed? I tried not to think about him as Monique peeled away my clothes with much more ardour than befitted a maid.
Rather than caress my bare body, however, she began to dress me — wrapping the film of ebony lace around me before draping the final folds over my shoulder from a deep cowl in the front. With a grin, she arranged the daring fabric so that a black rose clung to each of my bobbing breasts.
‘We’ll find you a clasp,’ she said, leading me to the jewellery box. ‘Elegant, but sturdy…ah, oui. This pearl brooch is perfect, non?’
With agile hands she fastened the clasp at my shoulder. Then she stood back to admire her ingenuity. ‘Stunning,’ she said with a decisive nod. ‘The pearls are pale and flawless, like your skin. And when it comes to seduction, a black dress is a woman’s best friend, eh, cherie?’
As I turned in front of the glass to watch the barely-there lace follow my bared curves, I felt more wanton — more decidedly decadent — than ever in my life. ‘For my hair, I should —’
Monique plucked out my hairpins, tossing them aside with impish abandon. ‘Men want their women’s hair loose,’ she exclaimed. ‘Looking slept-in, like she spent a wild night with him. So he can run his fingers through it…imagine it fanned across his pillow as he mounts her.’
Her talk was having the desired effect, for that woman in the mirror — that auburn-haired hoyden I didn’t know nearly well enough — looked flushed and ready for rampant sex. My eyes were shining and the smile I saw did wonders for my confidence. Not only did the lace’s texture tease at my skin, rasping my nipples into peaks, but it made a subtle sound every time I moved, like satin sheets being rumpled by lovers.
‘It’s awfully early to —’
‘Who says love only happens in the dark?’ Monique ran her fingernails down the centre of my belly to make the lace sing. ‘Mr Chapin’s going to the Club for lunch, so you can catch him early. Have the whole afternoon and all night to be his wicked woman, oui?’
His wicked woman. I’d never done anything even approaching wicked — until I met Monique. Maybe it was a femme fatale Chapin wanted, rather than a mate of such prudent predictability. I let my smile overtake my face.
‘Much better!’ Monique moved behind my shoulder to gaze into the glass. ‘Now touch yourself, Aunt Evil. Starting high — in your hair. Caress every inch of your body.’
I stiffened. But then, my modesty had gotten me nowhere in the last seven years, had it? I placed my palms on my head, noting the way my breasts lifted beneath the filmy lace, making it ripple with my distended nipples.
‘You can do better, ma tante,’ she whispered. ‘Ravage yourself. You want to look and smell and taste like a woman of insatiable ways. A woman no man can resist.’
Insatiable ways. My Lord, did it get any more brazen than that? With a laugh that sounded like a hussy’s, I speared my fingers through my russet waves, tossing my head as though I could shake all my old-fashioned inhibitions from my mind.
Monique’s grin spurred me on, until I was stroking my shoulders and then kneading my breasts. I watched, fascinated, as the ebony roses cast their shadows over my ivory skin. Lower I went, pressing both sides of my rib cage as I stuck out my chest. Grinning lasciviously at the way I bulged and bobbed.
‘Lower,’ my maid whispered, caught up in the bawdy reflection I made. ‘Rub your slit with the fabric, so your perfume clings to it. Part your legs. Watch them flex while you excite yourself. It makes quite a sight, non?’
The breath I’d been holding came out like a desperate pant. My hands obeyed Monique’s command, slithering over the filmy fabric to rub it against my…cunt, for that’s what she would call it. A warm wetness told me I was extremely aroused. Propping one foot on the vanity stool, I continued to ply my folds and watch the effect in the mirror, for even beneath the sheer curtain of lace, I could see my sex lips unfurling like little wings, to reveal the moist, pink tissue beneath them…that little nub thrusting out to receive some attention.
‘Oh, my,’ I moaned, captivated by the sight of my fingers strumming faster, around that place I’d been forbidden to touch since my mother had slapped my hands away.
‘Ah, oui,’ Monique breathed. And when she placed her palms on my hips, massaging in firm, sensual circles, I closed my eyes with the utter sensuality of it.
‘Non, non, non! You watch! Spread your legs and catch that trickle…push yourself over the edge, and see a beautiful rose in bloom, ma tante,’ she rasped.
The inner spirals curling lazily below my belly intensified: I began to gasp and thrust and strain against my fingers. I watched in awe as those secret folds deepened to a dusky blush, right before the spasms overtook me. I was shaking so hard, crying out with my climax, that I’d have lost my balance had Monique not caught me from behind.
I was still catching my breath, gathering the scattered fragments of my mind, when the maid reached around me. Quickly she slipped her hand between the folds of the black lace and up my pussy. Rubbing herself against my backside, she wiggled two fingers deep inside me to create a frothy, wet sound, panting with her own climax as she brought me to another one. Together we convulsed in front of the mirror, watching wide-eyed as we stifled our cries. Juice was dribbling down my thighs, and Monique mopped it up with the filmy black fabric.
‘Now you’re ready to meet your man, cherie,’ she breathed. ‘I’ll have Rémy bring the carriage around.’
* * *
The ride into town from the Garden District was too long, yet too short. Would things go according to Monique’s script? Would my husband come out of the Beau Monde Club, peer into the shadowy carriage, and be unable to resist the wanton woman within? As the passing scenery told me we were near that whitewashed brick building, my blood pumped with a raw edginess. The next few minutes would either be heaven or hell.
As Monique had instructed, my driver pulled up in front of the club’s doors and went inside to speak with the doorman. He, in turn, was to inform Mr Proffit that a carriage awaited him, and hopefully my husband would excuse himself from whomever was bending his ear about cotton prices or his political views.
Facing the carriage door, I bent one knee against the back of the seat and arranged my lace to fall open around my decadently bare legs and feet, so I’d be fully displayed when Chapin looked inside. Never had I felt so boldly improper. I sat back, telling myself this ploy would work…waiting…wondering why Rémy was taking so long.
Had Monique misunderstood my husband’s plans? Had all my heart-pounding preparations been made on the false assumption that he’d want —
The carriage door flew open. I bolted upright when I saw the raven hair, the bourbon skin, and that unmistakably rakish grin. ‘Dewel! You can’t let Chapin find you here!’
‘So there is a house afire.’ He slammed the door behind him, undressing me with eyes that glowed like a demon’s in the dimness. ‘I can smell the smoke, and something much more provocative, clear over here. Good afternoon, Miss Eve.’
Had ever a man been so exasperatingly dense? Or had old Iverson summoned the wrong Proffit? ‘I’m telling you, you can’t stay here! I’ve come to fetch Chapin —’
‘And isn’t this just my lucky day? My God, but you’re gorgeous, darlin’.’
‘— so I can — can —’ I stopped my verbal flailing to scoot to the edge of my seat, knees together, when he sat down across from me.
With utmost arrogance, Dewel relaxed against the leather upholstery. Then he stretched a long leg over to tap my bare toe with his boot.
‘Stop it!’ I snapped. ‘Every woman in this world does not play mouse to your Pied Piper, Mr Proffit! Monique’s been preparing me for this — because you sent her to! Now leave!’
His face lost its wolfish angularity. ‘I see,’ he said quietly. ‘So it’s not only my mistake, thinking you’d prepare yourself for such a rendezvous with me, but also my misfortune to bear some…unfortunate tidings. Chapin’s not here.’
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