He smiled. Slowly. Sensually. Intently. And that predator’s gleam entered his gaze once again. “There is a way to prove the validity of my methods.”
“I do not have time to observe your lessons, Mr. Maxwell. I have a business of my own to run.”
“You misunderstand, madam. I’d like to demonstrate my methods. Allow me to seduce you.”
As a thrill of delicate flames licked along the nerves of her body, Callista eyed him carefully and offered a short, indelicate laugh. “I am not susceptible to seduction, Mr. Maxwell, no matter how well practiced the techniques. I’ve seen behind the veil. It’s where I spend all my time.”
“I’ve promised to surprise you, madam.” His voice was warm and textured. Though he didn’t smile, Callista detected something anticipatory in his eyes. “Give me the chance.”
“I won’t go to bed with you.”
But then he did smile. A quiet curve of firm, sensual lips. “No. Not tonight anyway.” He replaced his spectacles and rose to his feet and stepped in front of her before offering his hand. “There is no need to rush.”
For the first time since stepping into her rival’s lair, she felt a frisson of alarm. She tilted her head to give him an assessing look, sliding her gaze up his trim form to his face, which was once again in shadow. Unable to read his expression, she lowered her attention to his hand. He possessed a wide palm and elegant fingers.
A shiver coursed through her. He thought to seduce her. And though the attempt would prove a failure despite her intense attraction to the man, she was admittedly very curious to see how he’d go about such a task. She wanted information about Maxwell’s. It seemed he was willing to give it her. That it was in the form of a futile demonstration shouldn’t matter.
After setting her brandy on the table beside her, she ignored his hand as she stood and smoothed her hands down the bodice of her black gown. “I shall give you until the end of the year.”
“That’s in twelve days.”
Callista shrugged and moved to step past him. “If you doubt your methods…”
“I’ve no doubts.” The weight of promise in his voice brought her to a stop. Their gazes met at an intimate distance.
“You’re rather sure of yourself.” The husky tone of her voice could not be fully disguised.
“With good reason.”
Callista narrowed her gaze to disguise the effect his words had on her. “If you fail to prove anything beyond your own hubris, you will close your doors and leave London.”
It was bold move.
“Agreed,” he replied easily. “Are you available tomorrow evening?”
“Evenings are difficult for me,” she replied as she slipped past him with a swish of her black skirts and started across the room to the door. It was time for her to leave before she started to regret coming in the first place. Or he thought to demand something in return if he should happen to succeed. Not that it would have mattered what boon he demanded since she had no doubt he would fail quite fantastically.
“I’ll arrange something,” he replied, undaunted by her evasion.
Callista lifted her hand in a wave over her shoulder. “You do that, Mr. Maxwell. I’ll see myself out.”
Chapter 3
Erik was still as he watched the dynamic woman walk away. The regal tilt of her head and purposeful stride contrasted in a fascinating way with the deeply sensual movement of her hips.
Once she stepped out of sight, he released a slow breath and leaned back against the edge of his desk.
His body was drawn taut. From head to toe, he felt primed and ready for action. The woman had worked him over with barely any effort. Though he was relatively certain she hadn’t detected his fierce, consuming attraction, he was just as confident that if she ever did turn an eye toward him with the intention of seduction, he’d be in serious trouble.
When he’d first arrived in London, he’d learned a great deal about the woman behind the success of Pendragon’s Pleasure House. It had only been a matter of time before he’d expected her to arrive at his club.
Madam Pendragon had proven to be the most captivating female Erik had ever encountered. With the ethereal beauty of a seraph and the commanding presence of a sorceress, Pendragon would undoubtedly prove to be a force unlike any he’d ever come up against.
Anticipation rushed through him.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked forward to something so intensely. His offer to seduce her had been impulsive but he had no desire to take it back, despite its many risks. One of the first things he told his clients was that they needed to be certain of their motivation and desired outcome. Seduction—as he taught it—was a serious endeavor. The effects of which had the potential to affect not only the seduced but also inevitably the seducer.
It had been a long time since he’d taken a lover. Once he’d begun to help men in realizing the full scope of pleasure and enjoyment to be found in their marriages, he’d found casual affairs unsatisfying.
But he’d never encountered a woman he wanted so intensely upon one brief meeting as he did Madam Pendragon. Everything about her attracted him. Her regal confidence, her sensual form, the shrewd gleam in her gaze, and the subtle twist of disdain in her smile.
Erik paced around his desk to stare down into the fire. He imagined stripping away her calculating aloofness and brash arrogance just as he’d remove the many layers of her fine clothing. What might be revealed beneath the black brocade and bewitching authority? Would he find a hot and fiery core within her cold ambition? Or was she made of steel throughout?
Twelve days to convince the bold woman she belonged in his bed. He’d have to be careful. His mouth curved as a thrill of anticipation coursed through his blood. He was up to the challenge.
When Erik sent the invitation to Madam Pendragon’s attention at her business address in the very early hours of the morning, he hadn’t expected a prompt response and hadn’t gotten one. The answer he eventually received just a few hours ago, however, gave him a breath of insight into the woman’s nature.
His message had requested her company for a late lunch at a location of her choice. Erik graciously offered to come for her in his carriage at an hour best suited to her full schedule.
Her reply was brief. An address. A time. And the assurance that she could manage her own way to the restaurant.
It was another challenge. He’d have to be resourceful—which he always was—and he’d have to be exceedingly quick.
The most popular oyster bar in Covent Garden was not typically open for business at such an early hour, but the owner had agreed to make an exception for a healthy fee. Despite the very late notice, the restaurant was staffed to accommodate their two guests with the manager agreeing to take care of them personally.
Erik arrived early to ensure all was in readiness, then sat at a table with a view of the door and waited.
The woman arrived promptly at the appointed hour, entering the establishment with bold confidence. The restaurant’s manager rushed forward to greet her at the door as Erik rose to his feet. Across the small restaurant, he watched as she released the fastenings of her black velvet pelisse to reveal the scarlet gown beneath. The manager draped her pelisse over his arm as he gestured toward their table. She murmured something to the man and he backed away. As she approached Erik, he noted how her stunning gown molded to her figure, accentuating the deep, luscious curves while the stiff bodice lovingly cupped and lifted her full breasts, creating a lush setting for three ropes of black pearls. She wore no hat or veil today and her fair hair was piled atop her head in loose curls. As she neared, he could see that the cold December air had brought pink to her cheeks and a glitter to her green eyes.
“Madam,” he greeted with a bow of his head, “I am enchanted.”
Red lips curved into a tempered smirk. “Of course you are.”
He smiled at the jaded tone in her voice and thought he might have seen a responding twitch in her lips.
Once they were both seated at the small wooden table, the manager appeared at their table to ask if they’d like to start their meal with champagne or some other refreshment.
Pendragon replied first, offering a half smile as she noted her choice. “I’d like a stout, please.”
“Of course, madam,” the manager said before glancing to Erik in inquiry.
“The same.”
“Right away, sir.”
Neither spoke as they waited for the drinks, choosing instead to openly assess each other.
The previous day in his club, Erik had sensed this woman’s intuitive nature. Her sparkling gaze had a way of making the observed feel vulnerable and exposed. It was no different today. Though it did not bother him at all to fall under her intent perusal, it was clear she could unsettle a man with no more than a fleeting glance if she chose.
He appreciated that.
He admired the severity and tenacity it took for a woman to gain the kind of wealth and power this one had in a world so dominated and desecrated by men. But he also knew such endless ambition and resolve often required a person to sacrifice—or at the very least, carefully conceal—their softer elements.
After their stouts were brought out and the manager retreated once again, Erik raised his glass in a toast. “To the next twelve days.”
She lifted her glass in a graceful salute. “Eleven, Mr. Maxwell.”
He smiled. “The day is not over yet.”
“True,” she acquiesced, “but I hardly think you’ll have me splayed across this table before we finish lunch.”
She accented the statement by brushing her hand across the table. She wore red gloves today. Satin, reaching up to her elbows. Erik immediately envisioned her wearing nothing but the gloves, her lush body draped in sultry abandon across the bare wood surface of their table as he stepped between her parting thighs.
The woman’s gaze narrowed. A knowing smirk twisted her reddened lips. “I can see you are now imagining exactly that, though I struggle to believe you are the type of man to indulge in even a little bit of daytime debauchery.”
He lowered his chin to reply in a tone of dark confession. “You know better than to judge a man by his outward presentation, madam.”
She searched his gaze for a long moment before replying in a heavy murmur, “I do indeed.”
Their conversation was briefly paused as a wide tray of chilled oysters was brought to the table.
As his dinner companion removed her gloves by tugging at each of her fingertips before sliding the satin free, Erik was surprised by what was revealed. A tattoo of a black winged dragon graced the pale skin of her inner arm. The serpent’s tail encircled her wrist like a permanent bracelet while the creature stared out with green eyes as sharp and penetrating as the lady’s own gaze.
He glanced up to see she had noticed his intent perusal. Rather than feign disinterest, he reached his hand across the table and tilted his head in question. “May I?”
A fine blonde eyebrow arched and he got the impression most people did not openly comment on the tattoo. Without a word, she extended her hand toward him.
Her hand fit perfectly in the cradle of his. Pressing his thumb to the soft center of her palm, he slowly drew her hand closer so he could study the intricate detailing in the creature’s scales and wings and its noble expression of disdain. The artwork was stunning. Though it was a decidedly European depiction of the mythical beast, Erik hadn’t seen a tattoo of such quality since his years in Asia. Unable to stop himself, he lifted his other hand to trace the design with his fingertip. From the dragon’s angular head, along the curving coil of its powerful body, following the elegant lines of its tail around the delicate bones of the lady’s wrist to the spiked, arrow-point tip.
A flawless depiction of grace, power, violence, and sensuality.
Though he perused the tattoo intently, he did not miss the subtle rise of gooseflesh on her skin in reaction to his light touch, nor did he miss the way her fingers curled involuntarily toward her palm when his fingertip reached the delicate skin of her wrist. When he shifted his hold to continue the soft caress along the individual lines of her palm, he was immeasurably pleased that she did not pull away.
“Why the dragon?” he asked as he lifted his gaze back to hers.
The green of her eyes had darkened during his exploration and her eyelids had grown slightly heavy, shielding the secrets of her thoughts. Heat swirled instantly through his blood in response. It amazed him how swiftly and intensely his lust was triggered by this woman.
“Dragons guard their treasures fiercely and indiscriminately,” she replied. “Any fool who’d covet the dragon’s possessions can expect a fiery death.”
Erik gave a short nod. “You chose the symbol as a warning.”
Her hand tensed briefly in his. “That’s correct.”
“How many men have you been forced to light aflame?”
Her lips twitched as she gave a graceful shrug of her bare shoulders. The gesture was both dismissive and suggestive at the same time. “I’ve lost count.”
He had no doubt of that. “Fools,” he murmured thickly.
“Every single one,” she agreed in voice of subtle steel. Her green eyes stared intently into his for a long, silent moment before she withdrew her hand from his. He knew better than to try to hold her.
The oysters were the best he’d enjoyed since arriving in England while the stout proved to be a perfect pairing. They ordered a second round as the remnants of their meal was cleared from the table.
Erik relaxed in his chair as his body embraced the languid aftermath of a good meal. In contrast, his mind remained fiercely alert and focused on the enigmatic woman across from him. He’d known from the onset that seducing the celebrated madam would not be easy. He didn’t want easy.
He wanted her. Plain and simple. From the moment he’d watched her approach him in his office the previous day. The undeniable strength of purpose she possessed and the dynamic, sensual, almost ruthless confidence she embodied made his blood simmer and his cock stand. But more than the lust she inspired, it was the way she ignited his mind that attracted him most intensely.
In her presence, he had to be vigilant and shrewd. He could not rest on a superior intellect to retain an upper hand as he so often did. He enjoyed the way she challenged him with her jaded disbelief and brash arrogance. She was formidable. No doubt.
But he was no fumbling lad.
“Have you always lived in London?” he asked.
With a knowing smile, she eased back in her chair. “Have we reached the point in our meal where we disclose our heartbreaking backstories?”
“I want nothing you aren’t willing to give.”
She arched a brow at that but didn’t refute him. “My story is no different than many others. Born and raised in the rookery until my morally destitute drunk of a father tried to sell me for a bottle of gin. I preferred to make my own way, instead. As many girls do, I quickly went from the gin shop to the bawdy house. It wasn’t long before I decided how much control I was willing to allow a pimp, which turned out to be not a damn bit.” Erik smiled at that and she smiled back. “I fought hard to get free and claim the right to protect myself and run my business by my own rules.”
“Not an easy feat.”
“Nothing worth keeping comes easily,” she noted coolly.
Though he would have agreed with her, he made no reply.
“And you?” she asked with a tilted smirk. “What is your story?”
Erik leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. “I was born into an acting troupe that traveled all across Europe and parts of Asia. Such a childhood instilled a wanderlust in my soul that continued throughout my life. I was not very old when I started attracting amorous attention. Once I realized the benefits to be found in certain arrangements with my admirers, I left the troupe and fashioned myself as a bit of a Lothario.”
He looked down at his hands. “Those years of hedonism provided material
wealth beyond any I ever had before. It also gave me a range and depth of experience that proved far more valuable.” Lifting his gaze without raising his chin, he met the shielded gaze of the woman across from him as a smile tugged at his mouth. “It turns out that when gentlemen of fine pedigree and sophistication direct their passion and creativity toward their mistresses, it leaves their wives…rather hungry.”
Pendragon’s brows lifted. “I’m sure you were quite happy to satiate those poor ladies.”
“Neglect of a woman’s desires is one of the greatest wastes of human existence. I provided pleasure and an opportunity for these women to release inhibition and explore what satisfied them. It was a worthy practice until I began to notice what was missing in the interactions between myself and my paramours.”
“What was that?” Though the woman was practiced in feigning a subtle disinterest, Erik detected the light of curiosity in her gaze.
“Intimacy,” he replied simple. “True intimacy that can only be developed over time with someone you trust. A partner in life as well as in the bedroom. The kind of intimacy that grows between two people who are committed to each other. In hearing of how unhappy my lovers were in their marriages, I began to understand how the pleasure found in truly passionate, deeply intimate lovemaking is essential to such unions.”
“Such a noble perspective.” Her lovely features tightened with a smile of superiority. “But unrealistic. Men will always seek out new flesh to plunder.”
“Not men who truly love their wives.”
“Love,” she scoffed. “No matter how enamored they might be on their wedding day, men always grow bored with their pious, perfect mates. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t have a business.”
Erik nodded. “It is true. For some. But I am not talking of those men. My focus is on the gentlemen who have a true desire to cultivate such a relationship with the woman they have taken as life mate.”
Giving up her relaxed posture, the madam leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table in a posture that matched his own. Her green eyes flashed. “Tell me, Mr. Maxwell, are you also married?”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 120