With a look of satisfied anticipation, he gathered up the cards and shuffled them together. “Shall I deal this hand?”
From the other side of the wall, Tom watched the game with growing fury.
His mystery girl of yesterday claimed she was an innocent? Hah—he wanted to spit at her dainty feet.
No innocent miss would be sitting down at a card table playing ecarte for her clothes and letting Sir Richard Eddington undress her, one button at a time. Or smiling in the rascal’s face as he did so.
He ground his teeth together. Sir Richard Eddington was a rake of the first order. He had a fashionable wife and a nursery full of babies waiting at home for him, not to mention at least one pretty young house maid who was expecting his child as well.
By God, if she was determined to act the whore, she could do better than Sir Richard.
If she wanted to act the whore, she could do so with him.
The card game continued with Sarah losing every hand. She was not the only woman to be doing so. While some of the gentlemen had lost their top hats and their jackets, and a particularly unlucky one had already discarded both his shoes, most of them were still fully dressed. The women, however, were unfastening bodices and shedding stockings and slippers at a great rate. Polly had already completely discarded her bodice and corset and was now giggling in her shift and petticoats.
At length Sarah had only one button left to her bodice—and not so much as a pair of twos in her hand.
One glance at her face and Sir Richard pushed two chips into the center.
She looked despairingly at her cards and tossed them facedown onto the table.
He grinned widely as he leaned over the table to unfasten the last button. “I have won another forfeit, I fear. Your bodice is mine, now.”
All of Polly’s warnings had not been sufficient to prepare her for this moment. Slowly she pushed her bodice first off one shoulder and then off the other.
Sir Richard’s tongue snaked out to lick his lips.
She clasped her bodice to her chest, unwilling to let it fall.
“Excuse me, sir?”
Sarah looked up, startled, straight into the eyes of Tom Wilde. She clutched her bodice tighter to her chest with fingers that shook slightly.
Sir Richard frowned at the interruption but did not take his gaze off her chest. “What do you want?” His voice was harsh.
“You are Sir Richard Eddington?”
“What do you want?” he repeated.
“There’s a messenger outside asking for Sir Richard Eddington. As I was coming inside anyway, I volunteered to fetch you.”
That brought his attention away from Sarah’s chest. He looked straight at Tom. “A messenger? For me? Did he say what he wanted?”
Tom coughed. “He said something about you being needed in the House for a vote. I told him I would pass the message on.”
Sir Richard swore under his breath and rose from his chair with alacrity. “Excuse me,” he said to Sarah. “I am needed elsewhere.” Without further fuss, he clapped his hat on his head and waddled self-importantly out of the room.
Tom sat down in the chair that Sir Richard had just vacated. “Now, where were we?” he asked, a glint of wickedness in his eye. “Ah, yes, I remember, you were just about to take your bodice off.” He waved his hand in the air. “Please continue.”
Sarah was rooted to the spot. Her face burned worse than the hottest horse radish mustard. “What are you doing here?”
“As your partner, Sir Richard Eddington, the right honorable Member of Parliament for Stoke-on-Trent, seems to be needed elsewhere, I am playing the part of a gentleman and taking his place.”
“You should not be here,” she hissed at him.
One eyebrow rose in a query. “Why ever not?”
“You have not been invited.”
His laughter rang out through the room. “My dear girl, anyone with money in his pocket can get himself invited to Mrs. Erskine’s entertainments. I have money in my pocket, therefore I consider myself duly invited. Now, about that bodice.”
She clenched it even more tightly to her chest. “I cannot take it off in front of you.”
“Why not?” His voice was hard. “Is it not enough that I have paid Mrs. Erskine? Do you want me to pay you, too?”
Tears filled her eyes at the sneer in his tone. “You…you are not a stranger to me. I have met you. I know your name. I cannot show you my breasts.”
He took up the pack of cards and shuffled them with a practiced hand. “You only fuck strangers for money? Is that it?”
Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. “You are shaming me. Do not do this to me.”
He dealt the cards onto the table and took up his hand. “Come, take your cards. If you win this hand I will let you put your bodice back on again.”
His kindness was more than she had expected. She looked up at him through her tears. “You will?”
“I promise.”
Slowly she let her bodice drop, taking heart from Tom’s apparent indifference to her seminakedness. He did not stare at her greedily as Sir Richard had done, but kept his gaze on his cards.
Her eyes widened in delight as she picked up her own hand. A pair of tens. This was the best hand she had had yet.
Hastily she discarded her remaining card and picked up another. To her disbelief, another ten stared back at her.
With growing excitement she pushed a chip into the middle of the table.
Tom watched her with hooded eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Sarah. Sarah Chesham.”
“You disappoint me, Sarah.”
Miffed at his tone, she raised her head from her cards. “Why?”
“You are so cautious, so afraid.” He pushed a stack of his own chips into the center alongside her lonely one. “You do not have the courage of your convictions but play timidly, for small stakes, when you could be bold and win everything at a single stroke.”
She stared at the pile in the middle of the table. If she were to lose, she would be nigh on naked. “I do not care to win except to get my bodice back,” she said with a pout. “I have no wish to rob you of your clothes.”
“You do not wish to strip me naked?”
She pursed her lips. “No.” His question brought all sorts of naughty images unbidden to her mind. The thought of seeing Sir Richard’s naked rolls of flesh made her shudder, but Tom Wilde was a much better figure of a man. He was lean and wiry where Sir Richard was grossly fat, and his whiskers were dark and neatly trimmed, far removed from the bushy auburn monstrosities that Sir Richard wore.
Ignoring the throbbing in her pussy, she clamped her legs together to stop them trembling at the thought of Tom standing before her with no clothes on. She was a respectable woman still, despite her dodgy profession, and she needed to remember that.
His mouth quirked into a smile at her denial. “You are a liar as well as a coward.”
She was not a liar. She did not want to see his bare chest, his strong legs, or to see his member spring up at her touch. She did not want to see him as naked as the men in those naughty stereoscope pictures, or to have him do unspeakable things to her as they were doing to each other in the pictures. Or if she did harbor a secret desire, it was only out of curiosity, not lust. “You are no gentleman to say that to me.”
“Even though it is true?”
She glared at him and pushed an even larger handful of chips into the middle of the table. “It is not true. Match that if you dare.”
He counted out a stack of chips to match hers and pushed them in. “Done. Now show me your hand.”
Triumphantly she laid her cards face up on the table. “Three tens. Now start undressing. We shall see how well you like being stripped naked in company.”
He laid his own cards facedown on the table. “I think not.”
A trio of jacks. She looked at them in disbelief. Fate was playing a cruel joke on her.
He reached out to the pile of chips a
nd began to count them, slowly and deliberately. “Come here,” he instructed her. “Around to my side of the table. I want to claim my forfeit.”
Her gaze was glued to that pile of chips. No wonder her father had disapproved of gambling so strongly. It only led to ruin and damnation. If only she had not let Tom goad her by calling her a coward and a liar. Now she would have to undress for him until she was as naked as the day she was born. Her whole body felt hot and flushed at the thought. “You will claim them all?”
“Every last one.”
3
“You are not a gentleman,” she complained, though her pussy was already beginning to drip in anticipation. If she had to lose her clothes, she would far rather lose them to Tom than to Sir Richard the gross. Sir Richard disgusted her, but Tom? She could not quite put her feelings for Tom into words. “You are a scoundrel.”
“I’m a scoundrel,” he agreed complacently. “I’m a cad and a rotter and a no-good wastrel, but I have also just won a game of cards and I am about to undress you one garment at a time and I will enjoy every minute of it.”
“I’m glad that one of us will enjoy it,” she muttered under her breath as she rose from her chair and came to stand beside him. She could not bear to let him suspect that she was half looking forward to having his hands on her, undressing her bit by bit. His opinion of her was low enough already. Such evidence of her wantonness would shock him further.
“Tut, tut. Mrs. Erskine will have you thrown out on your ear if she hears you. Surely she pays you to be pleasant and polite and to smile at me, not to grumble like an old fishwife.”
She poked her tongue out at him. “I’m here, aren’t I? Waiting obediently for you to undress me.” Goose bumps formed on her bare arms as she spoke. The prospect of having him as her master and having to obey every naughty command he gave her was strangely enticing.
His green eyes were calculating as he looked her up and down. “I like obedience in a woman. Take off your slippers.”
She held out her hand. “Two chips.” Nobody, especially not Tom, was going to cheat her.
Not until he passed her the chips did she slide her embroidered slippers awkwardly off her feet.
“That was easy now, wasn’t it,” he remarked, amused at her discomfiture. “Now, come closer and let me unfasten your skirt.”
He put his arms around her waist, drawing her in to stand between his thighs, and reached behind her to unhook her skirt. Her skin prickled at his nearness and she suddenly found it hard to breathe.
“You are very practiced at undressing women,” she muttered at him to hide her embarrassment, as he unfastened her hooks with ease and pushed her outer skirt over her hips to pool at her feet on the floor.
Though she was not cold, she shivered as she stood there in front of him, dressed only in her petticoats, her arms crossed over her nearly naked breasts to protect her modesty. Being a naughty woman was more difficult than she had expected. The lessons of a lifetime could not be overcome in one short evening.
All pretense he had made of indifference was gone and he was gazing at her as if he wanted to eat her up. She did not know where to look. He made her feel both eminently desirable and horrifyingly debauched at the same time.
“Silk stockings with red clocks embroidered on them?” His voice was still hard and sarcastic, but his face was flushed as he reached up and loosened his necktie. “How quaint. Put your foot up on my knee and let me see them closer.”
It was good to know that she had some small amount of power over him. She put her stockinged foot up on his knee, her skirts lifting with the movement.
His hands lingered over her ankle. “Very nice. Now take them off.”
Timorously she reached inside her petticoats to unbuckle the garter holding up her stocking, but Tom stopped her with one hand on her arm. “On second thought, I will take them off for you.”
Was he offering to put his hands up her skirts? That would never do. She pushed him away. “I don’t need any help. I can take them off for myself.”
“But I want to do it for you. And I have won the forfeit, have I not?” Reaching under her petticoats, he ran his hands up her leg to the top of her stocking. “You owe me.”
“Get your hands out from under my skirts,” she hissed, slapping at his hand on her leg and wriggling around to get away from him. “It is not proper.”
Oblivious to her protests, he unfastened her buckle, removed her garter, and slowly rolled her stocking down her leg and over her foot. “You are not meant to be proper. Give me your other leg.”
Sarah looked around for someone to protest to, but no one was paying them any attention. All the others were either crowing over their cards, or one half of the couple was undressing the other with much laughter and giggling.
“Come on. I’m waiting.”
Modesty had no value here—indeed, it would ruin her. She had to get over her fears if she wanted to stay. Mrs. Erskine would not take kindly to her first customer complaining over her unwillingness to play the game with him. Reluctantly she took her bare leg off Tom’s lap and put her other leg on his knee.
He reached under her petticoats to the top of her other stocking, caressing the bare skin of her thigh with his fingertips. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Her leg was shaking under his feather-light touch. “No.” He was touching her where no man but her husband ought to touch her. She ought not to be enjoying the feel of his fingers on her leg.
“You are lying again. You really must try to stop. Lying is a nasty habit.”
She shivered as he continued to caress her gently. “I am not lying.”
“Your neck is all red and flushed. Your leg is trembling under my hands. And if I were to reach my hand just a little higher, I would find your pussy as wet as any man could wish it. As wet as it was when you were looking at those naughty pictures in the salon yesterday.”
How did he know that her pussy was dripping into her drawers? She clamped her thighs together, trapping his wrist between them so he could not roam higher. “Don’t touch me there.”
“Relax.” He unbuckled the garter on her second stocking, unrolled it, and cast it aside. “I am only claiming my forfeit as I am entitled.” His pile of chips was dwindling rapidly, and he eyed it with disfavor, suddenly losing his patience. “I never knew a tart had so many damned underclothes. Come, take off those petticoats of yours.”
Her petticoats were fastened with distressingly few hooks and tapes. One by one she let them fall at her feet until she was standing in front of him wearing nothing but corset, chemise, and drawers.
A murmur of appreciation escaped him. “Turn around for me. I want to see you from every side.”
Obediently she turned in a circle for him, her body burning under the heat of his gaze.
“Now your corset.”
Her eyes fixed on his beseechingly. “Do you have no pity?”
“Not a whit,” he replied cheerfully. “Take it off.”
One by one he handed over his chips as she unhooked every last busk on her corset.
With shaking hands she cast her corset aside. Her breasts swung freely under her fine linen chemise, the dark outline of her nipples clear beneath the thin fabric. Her nipples were peaked into tight buds at the unaccustomed sensation of freedom, and the unsettling knowledge that his gaze was fixed on them. Her seminakedness was decadence itself—instead of being ashamed, her wickedness excited and inflamed her senses.
One chip was left on the table. He picked it up, tossed it into the air, and caught it again with an air of utter unconcern. “Take off your shift.”
And allow the entire room to see her naked breasts? That was taking decadence too far. She crossed her hands over her chest, wanting to obey him but unwilling to violate her modesty to such an extent. “I cannot do that.”
He was inexorable. “You lost the hand. You owe me a debt, and I want to see your breasts.”
“Will you not take another forfeit?”
/>
Her words piqued his interest. “What are you offering?”
She looked wildly around the room for inspiration, her gaze finding only half-naked couples in unchaste embraces. “A kiss?” she offered in desperation. There could be no great harm in a kiss. It was better than showing off her naked breasts to a room full of gentlemen, and to Tom in particular. One kiss did not make her a whore.
“Sit on my knee and give me a kiss and we will have a deal.”
She had not kissed any man before—she had never had a follower to ask her to kiss him, or to steal kisses from her on the sly in a dark corner. The prospect of kissing Tom frightened her a little, but not as much as exposing her naked breasts in mixed company did.
Her heart beating fast in her chest, she perched herself on the edge of his knee and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek. “Now give me the chip,” she demanded, hopping off his knee again. “I have paid the last of my forfeits.”
“That was no kiss.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him so she was sitting on his lap, her head resting against his shoulder and her breasts jammed against his chest.
She gasped half in horror and half in pleasure as her drawers gaped open, plastering her naked pussy tantalizingly against his rock-hard member. Only the thin cloth layer of his trousers separated her bare skin from his. Her brain felt thick and heavy, as if it were covered in a thick London fog—all her sensations were bound up in her pussy, hot and tingling at the nearness of his member.
She moved tentatively against him and was rewarded with a quiver of pleasure that shot right through her body. Did all women experience this delight when a man kissed and fondled them? Was this wondrous feeling why women gave themselves over so willingly to be whores? No wonder Polly danced around with a smile on her face if she was made to feel like this every evening.
He bent his head to hers, kissing her roughly on the lips, forcing her to open her mouth under his onslaught. With one hand he held her tightly against him, while the other crept under her chemise to fondle her naked breasts.
Parlor Games Page 11