I wondered at the Swan’s story of my Belgian lover, although I instantly conceived a picture of an older, distinguished fellow, a man of merit and exquisite taste—not to mention a very arousing accent!—who had sadly wasted away from something not too painful or disgusting while I bravely kept up his spirits with my charm and beauty. Stefan, I named him. Stefan Von Dolken, of the Brussels Von Dolkens, of course. I actually felt a moment of real sadness at his loss. Such a lovely man. We’d had such wonderful times together, Stefan and I … and the king, of course.
I wondered if the Swan would call me in at once, but she did not. She told Robert that she would speak to me on his behalf and they spent the next ten minutes sipping tea and discussing the upcoming ball at the home of Lady Montrose and reminiscing over last year’s event, which had apparently been memorable for the failed performance of a singing donkey. Or perhaps the donkey did sing, but not very well. It was very difficult to tell from my perch in the hunting blind!
The moment Robert took his leave, I sprang from my hiding place and bolted to the parlor like a child on Christmas morning. “I want him!”
The Swan smiled. “Yes, I rather thought you would. If he were a few years older I daresay I would fight you for him myself.”
I narrowed my eyes at her and snarled playfully. “Hands off.” Then I broke my fierce pose to spin wildly about the room. “He is perfect! I adore him!”
“You know…” The Swan examined the rim of her teacup carefully. “You could probably convince him to court you legitimately. He will marry eventually and you would be an acceptable match, with a bit of judicious sponsorship by a lady of Society.”
I stopped spinning and wrinkled my nose. “Marriage? Ew.”
My giddiness past, I flung myself down onto the chair Robert had just vacated. It was large and I am small, so my feet dangled ever so slightly. I swung them. “I mean to say, I like him and I find him very attractive, but if I wanted marriage to a rich, handsome man then I might as well simply wed Lord Ashford.”
“Hmm.” The Swan was being inscrutable.
I hate inscrutable.
I sat up very straight so that she would take me more seriously. “I want my freedom. I like Robert very much for someone I haven’t officially met but why would I trade being his lover for being his bride?”
“Oh, I can think of several thousand reasons,” the Swan mused. “Thousands and thousands.”
I placed my hands on the arms of the chair and leaned back as regally as a queen. “I intend to relieve him of some of those thousands, of course. And then send him off to wed some sweet little creature who dreams of nothing more than running his household and bearing his children.”
“What do you dream of, Ophelia?” The Swan put her teacup on the tray. “If you had the wealth and the freedom to do anything you wish, what would it be?”
I gazed at the fresco of naked cherubs gracing the ceiling of the parlor. “My father was a scholar, my mother a firebrand. I am neither of those things. There is only one thing I like. I love to read. I cannot think of anything I should like better than a lifetime of the freedom to read whenever I wish.”
The Swan laughed. “I don’t think that quite qualifies as a life’s work.” She poured me a cup of tea and refilled her own. Smiling, she raised her cup high. “Nevertheless, let us toast your future as a very well-read woman.”
We clinked china and sipped to the rosy days ahead for me. I had a house and I’d chosen a lover. I was ready.
However, when I uttered as much to the Swan, she shook her head. “Oh no, sweet Ophelia. You are far from prepared to manage a man on your own.” Her expression became very solemn. “Before you can take a lover as the experienced courtesan late from Belgium, you have something else to learn.”
Her gravity was alarming. I felt a catch in my throat as I leaned forward, enthralled. “What?” I whispered. “What must I learn?”
Setting down her cup, she folded her hands before her. “Before you may take your place in your lover’s bed, you must be introduced to…”
I waited, my breath caught in my throat.
“… the Seven Sins of the Courtesan.”
Seven
I ran through the rain from the door of the hired hack to the front door of the Swan’s house with the hood of my borrowed cloak concealing my face. It was nearly eleven o’clock at night and my relatives thought me safely in my bed, dreaming of my wedding day less than a fortnight away. Instead, I had crept out of the house wearing Sylla’s gown and cloak while she curled up in my bed, trying to look properly plump should anyone check on me.
Meeting me at the door, the Swan greeted me with a quick hug and a steaming mug of spiced wine. Then she knelt before me and removed my sodden shoes. Taking my hand, she led me to her chamber and helped me out of my gown and underthings. She left me standing naked and quivering with nerves, gulping at the warmth of the wine. She returned a moment later with something draped over her slender arm. She took the wine from my chill-numbed hands.
“This is just the thing,” the Swan said with satisfaction. “Lift your arms.”
I obeyed without protest, for the night had already taken on a sheen of the unreal. When the silken garment slithered cool and slippery down over skin already in a heightened state due to my nerves, my entire body shivered convulsively.
My hair was let down and brushed with soothing hands. Gentle fingers tied the bow of the gown behind my neck. “There.” The Swan turned me toward the standing mirror. “You look exquisite.”
What I looked like was more than naked.
How a person could look more naked than naked was a mystery, yet somehow the sheerness of the silk, the way my nipples showed through the fabric, dark and rosy, the way the shadow of my pubis beckoned like a dark invitation …
“I look like a sin waiting to happen.”
The Swan laughed. “Indeed you are.”
I tried to swallow but my throat was too dry. I had thought and planned and longed for this night, yet my hands shook as I reached for the cup of wine. However, after only a sip, it was taken away again.
“Ophelia, if you do not wish to feel, then go back to your little world and marry your suitor.” The Swan gazed at me with a single arched brow.
I wanted to feel.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I wish to feel everything, good and bad.”
The Swan smiled and placed the wine back on the dressing table. “I daresay it will all be good tonight. The gentleman in question is quite accomplished.”
“But who is he? What is his name? Where is he from?”
“He is a friend, someone I have known for years. He is a skilled and careful lover.” The Swan shook a finger teasingly. “And I have already told you that those are no longer the rules. A man’s name and social standing mean nothing. You are not on a husband-hunt any longer. From now on you will choose your lovers based on your heart and your mind, not on Society’s expectations.”
A man from the Swan’s world. A skillful lover. I had not thought about it, but if wealthy men required courtesans then perhaps wealthy women were no different. I still had a great deal to learn.
“So is this is a test, of sorts? Am I to take this man into my bed whether I like him or not?”
“This is not a test.” The Swan shook her head. “We give ourselves for love, for friendship, for mindless passion—but always, always at our own will.”
She stroked my hair back from my brow with gentle fingers as she went on. “The gifts, the jewels, the houses and servants—these are not payment. These are necessities, so that we might devote ourselves entirely to the happiness of our chosen lover, plagued by no distracting worries.”
Her voice was lilting and sweet, calming to my raw nerves. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the soothing hands at my brow. “My mother used to do that when I could not sleep,” I said.
The Swan gave my hair a playful tug. “Do I look like someone’s mother?” She placed both hands on my che
eks and gazed into my eyes. “Have you entirely healed from your visit to the midwife last week?”
I nodded even as I blushed, thinking of the day I had had my hymen opened. The Swan had called it “the Blossoming,” and had assured me that it would not hurt much and it hadn’t, much. “Far less than it would if we let a lover manage it,” she’d told me tartly. “Trust me on that one.”
Now, stepping back, she tapped a finger on her chin as she surveyed my appearance. “Yes, you’ll do.”
I turned to the mirror and tried to assess myself without bias. With the sheer gown draped over me like a Grecian toga and my hair falling free and curling black over my bare shoulders, I looked decadent and shameless and just a bit … delicious.
I had often longed for slender grace and elegant height, like the Swan’s, yet for the first time I realized that being short and plump and curvaceous might have fresh advantages. My full bosom and my round buttocks gleamed through the sheer silk like the bountiful flesh of a pagan goddess.
“I look—”
“You look like every man’s dream come to life,” the Swan said without envy. “What I could have done with breasts like yours!”
The Swan leaned forward over my shoulder and smiled at me in the mirror. “The gentleman is waiting, pet.”
She took my hand and led me down the hall. At the end, there was a door. The brass latch gleamed in the light of the Swan’s candle. I stared at it until the shimmer of the metal smeared and ran in my burning vision.
A man is in there. A stranger who wishes to do wicked things to me.
I was nervous and terrified—but there was no denying the telltale heat of excitement flaring between my thighs. I was a healthy young animal, after all. It was time for desire to burn within me.
The fact that the man was a stranger excited me more than I dared admit except in the darkest corner of my thoughts. To give myself so ran contrary to every rule of propriety I had ever learned. It was a wicked, wanton act, a blatant and shameless act.
It was an undeniable act of free will.
“Go in,” the Swan whispered. “He awaits you.”
I watched as my own trembling hand reached for the gleaming blur of the door latch. My fingers were so numb with fear that the metal did not even seem chill to the touch. I heard the latch click.
No. Wait. I’m not ready—
The door swung open before me.
* * *
The chamber glowed with candlelight. I was vaguely aware that the room was furnished in the same sumptuous fashion as the rest of the Swan’s elegant house, but that was only a faint thought registering in my mind.
All I could see was him.
The man stood in the center of the room. He turned toward me and for a moment I thought a shadow obscured his features. Then a thrill of alarm ran through me as I realized he wore a mask over the upper part of his face. Only gleaming dark eyes showed through the holes in the black silk. It made him more than a simple stranger. It made him a mysterious, disturbing apparition. It made him unreal.
It made him no one.
I swallowed as a rush of hot blood flooded my body. He was no man. He was any man. I wanted this, I realized. I wanted the anonymity. This night, this lesson, would not be a marriage, nor even a love affair. It would be a secret encounter between strangers, two people who would remain strangers. This was about simple pleasure, pleasure without consequence or meaning beyond the moment.
Oh, I was wicked to want such a thing! And I did want it. I was overwhelmed with the desire to reach out and touch this amazing apparition, this tall, well-built stranger in the mask who would teach me everything I longed to know. I slowly crossed the room to stand before him.
He loomed over me as I neared. Finally, I was close enough to touch him. Gazing up into his shadowed, hidden face as he tilted his head down to gaze back, I could see his thick dark hair and square jaw.
And his mouth. My eyes locked onto that mouth. His lips were perfect, neither too full nor too thin. With nothing else visible, his mouth took on a significance that I’d never realized. Now it was obvious to me that a fine mouth on a man was imperative.
Without thinking, I ran the tip of my tongue over my own lips.
The corner of that fine mouth quirked upward.
“Hello,” he said. His voice was low and husky, hardly more than a whisper, yet deep enough to send a tremor through parts of my body I wasn’t accustomed to thinking about. I wanted to speak but my tongue wouldn’t obey. My throat was so dry that swallowing was out of the question. I was terrified.
And aroused. I could feel the throbbing of my nethers even past the pounding of my pulse. If I wanted to, I could turn and flee at this moment, before we had so much as greeted each other.
I stayed.
It was more than the need to learn to be the most brilliant courtesan who had ever lived—I was ever enterprising—for I already had a contract negotiated with Robert through the Swan. I did not need to prove my abilities to anyone.
“You are very quiet.” The man came closer to me.
I managed to choke out something idiotic. “Yes, sir.”
He stopped before me, so close that I had to tilt my chin up to see his face.
Heaven help me, the mask excited me more. I had wanted something anonymous, something wicked and deliciously sinful. I very much feared I had found it.
“Well, my silent lady, I must tell you that I don’t approve. I wish you to speak.”
To say what? My mind scrambled. “Yes, sir.” Goodness, watch me wax brilliant.
He brought one hand up to take my chin between his finger and thumb. I jerked slightly when he touched me, for the warmth of his skin was like fire on mine. He gazed down at me for a long moment.
“Say ‘cock.’”
If he had asked me a fortnight ago, I would have answered without the slightest embarrassment, for to me it simply meant “cockerel” or “rooster.” No longer. The Swan had told me that men used it to describe their male parts.
His touch roughened ever so slightly, giving my head a tiny admonishing shake. “We will not make it through the first Sin tonight if you cannot say such a simple word.”
I swallowed dry. “C-cock.”
“Try it again.”
I firmed my shivering belly. “Cock.” I was pleased that it came out so confidently.
“Cunte.”
I only blinked at him in confusion. I had never heard the word. He smiled. His lips were perfect. I couldn’t take my eyes off them.
“I have a cock. You have a cunte. Say ‘cunte.’”
Oh. It was a word for my nethers. A very naughty word, I knew without being told. The twist of his lips gave that away. He wanted to hear me say dirty words.
At last a flare of my customary audacity warmed my shaking innards. I met his gaze, licked my lips and used the Swan’s trick of dropping my tone. “Cunte,” I said. I practically moaned it.
Now he was the one gazing at my mouth. I was very pleased until he upped the ante.
“Say ‘fuck.’”
Oh heavens. Now he was being truly obscene. I took a breath, determined. “F—” I took another breath. “Fu—”
He grunted a short laugh. “Before the night is over, you will say ‘Fuck my cunte with your cock.’ You will say it over and over again. In fact, you will scream it out loud.”
Oh damn. My knees buckled a little, I confess, but I firmed them with nothing but the power of my will and met his gaze. “Then perhaps you had best stop wasting the night, sir, because that might take a while.”
His answer was to slide his hand around the back of my neck and tug at the bow tied there. I gasped as the chiffon nightdress slithered off me like a fall of water. I was entirely naked, gleaming and pale before his clothed darkness. I quickly pulled my hair forward to let it flow over my breasts and then clasped my hands before my nethers. My cunte.
He did not move or speak for a long moment, but only gazed at me through the eyes of the mask. In
scrutable.
I hate inscrutable.
However, my total vulnerability left me too unsure and unnerved to be saucy any longer. I was full of horse apples. I was not brave, or daring, or any of the things I’d imagined when I’d concocted this outrageous plan. I was a girl, an almost virgin, too terrified to do anything but stand there while he violated me with his eyes.
The moment stretched on and on. The suspense became too much for me. I am not a patient person. I shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. I twisted my hands in the way that so frustrated my aunt. I fidgeted.
He folded his arms and watched me.
Finally I could take no more. “What are you looking at?”
“When you fidget, your breasts jiggle most enticingly. I was merely enjoying the show.”
I looked down to realize with horror that my restlessness had caused the curtain of my dark hair to part over my breasts, displaying them quite thoroughly.
“I especially like the way your nipples thrust forward so impudently.” His voice had changed, going from husky whisper to male growl. “They are very pink. They will redden somewhat when I suck them.”
Oh. I wanted him to suck them. I wanted him to suck them hard, to pull them into his hot mouth and tug at them until I screamed his name.
I didn’t know his name.
“‘Sir’ will do for now,” he said when I asked. “The Swan told me that your name is Ophelia.”
“Yes.” Don’t think about nipple-sucking. I can’t help it. Don’t. It was too late, however. I felt a rush of dampness between my thighs. I cleared my throat. “Sir—”
“Yes, Ophelia?” He came close enough to brush my hair back over my shoulders, although he never took his eyes off my rigid nipples. His hands hovered just over my breasts, so that I felt the heat of his palms radiating against my chilled skin. So far he had not touched me other than my chin.
I wanted him to. “Sir, w—will you not remove your clothing as well?”
His eyes rose to meet mine. “In a hurry to beg for my cock, Ophelia?”
His eyes were dark as night. Onyx eyes, like an Egyptian god.
A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man Page 8