In the photograph, Lia sat on a green velvet divan with her friends clustered around her.
“Thick as thieves,” August said. “Same setting? The Pearl?”
“We were out shopping, stopped by the hotel, had the clerk take our photo there. You know, since my great-grandfather used to practically run the place. We were just being silly.” Silly, silly, silly...
She could tell August was about to ask another question, but he was interrupted by Gogo sliding his enormous length out from under her bed and immediately scampering to him. Gogo whimpered to be petted.
“Lia...there’s a horse in your room,” August said as he gazed down.
“Gogo,” Lia chided. “Get back in your bed. You’ll get hair on Mr. Bowman’s suit.”
“Gogo?” August repeated. “Is he a club dancer?”
“Gogo, short for Argos,” Lia said.
August laughed softly and squatted on his haunches to meet Gogo face-to-face.
“Poor lad, named for the most loyal hound in Greek mythology and your mistress calls you Gogo.”
“When I was little, Mum had a cat named for the painter Toulouse-Lautrec. She called him Tou-Tou. Women, right? No respect for the dignity of men and other beasts.”
August only smiled and kept petting Gogo. She liked that, that he was nice to her dog. But she didn’t like liking it.
“Gogo, go-go to your bed now,” Lia said. Gogo hesitated before obeying. She was also impressed that Gogo had warmed to August so quickly. He tended to hide from strangers, especially men, and August was certainly one strange man.
“You wanted to see the kylix, right?” she asked.
“Please,” August said.
Lia returned to her bed and passed him the wooden box.
She watched as he opened it, watched as his lips parted when he looked down at the kylix nestled in the packing straw. His eyes widened as he stared at it without touching. Gray eyes, gray like a mercurial sky that couldn’t decide if it wanted to break into sunlight or let loose a storm. She really needed to stop staring at his eyes.
“Gods...” he said with a long breath. “May I?” He nodded at the kylix.
“Go ahead.”
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and, with it, carefully eased the kylix from the box, lifting it as if it were a newborn baby sparrow.
“This, Lia, is not an ordinary kylix.”
“It’s 2,500 years old. Is there such a thing as an ordinary kylix?”
“Yes,” he said. “I have dozens of them in my flat. You can buy them at auctions for a few hundred. But this is different. This...is something special.”
“Why so?” she asked, studying the kylix as he turned it in his large hands.
“It’s the Rose Kylix.” August pointed at the three-petal rose motif painted on the lip of the kylix.
“It has a name?”
“A name, a legend and a secret. Your father has his story wrong. The cup wasn’t used in Aphrodite’s temple. It was used in worship by the Cult of Eros.”
“Is it as old as Daddy thought?”
“A great deal older, in fact. Do you know this myth?” He pointed at the woman painted inside the kylix bowl and the rose that grew from her chest.
“Girl. Rose. Aphrodite?”
“Not quite,” August said. “Although she is part of the story. It begins with Chloris, goddess of flowers. She was walking through the verdant spring woods she called home when she happened to stumble across the body of a nymph lying dead on the forest floor. She wept for the beautiful creature and determined to raise her again to life. As she was the goddess of flowers, she transformed the fallen nymph into a flower. She called upon the other gods to bless her new creation. Apollo shone down on the flower with the healing rays of the sun. Dionysus granted it an intoxicating scent. The three Graces blessed it with beauty and splendor and charm. Aphrodite named it Rose in honor of her son—Eros. Rose. E-ros.”
“I didn’t know the Greek gods played word games,” Lia said, enchanted by the story and even more enchanted by her handsome storyteller.
“The gods play any and all games they wish to—word games, beauty contests, bets and dares,” August said. “Immortality gets boring otherwise.” He pointed at the image in the center of the bowl. “You see this painting...the young nymph lying dead on the ground. And from her body blooms a rose. From death, new life. It’s fitting that the new flower was named after Eros, the son of Aphrodite and Ares. The goddess of love and the god of war. Beautiful petals. Vicious thorns. That was Eros. Beautiful and lovely. And very, very dangerous. Like this cup.”
“Dangerous?” Lia stepped back from him, from the cup. “What do you mean? Is it poisoned or something?” She knew old paints and old glazes could make people quite ill.
“In a way, yes,” August said. “Though it’s not what you think. The cup was glazed with the same ‘poison’ that tipped the arrows of Eros. If you drink from this cup you will have extraordinarily heightened sexual experiences.”
“So there’s traces of aphrodisiac or something in it?” she asked.
“No, Lia, you don’t understand.” He shook his head. “I mean, the Rose Kylix is literally the cup of Eros. If you drink from it, you will experience your erotic fantasies. You will enter them, live them.”
“That’s insane,” she said. “The gods weren’t real.”
“You break my heart to say that. Of course they were real. And this cup was a gift from Aphrodite to her son Eros. Until she took it back.”
“Why?”
“His worshippers were having more fun than hers because of it,” he said. “She’s got a jealous streak wide as the Mediterranean Sea.”
“How do you know all this?” she demanded.
He yanked his shirt out of his trousers.
“Stop undressing right now,” Lia said, shocked and yet not displeased.
“Look.” He lifted his shirt and pulled the waist of his trousers down two inches. On his lower stomach, right above the left hip, he had a tattoo. A tattoo of a rose identical to the three-petal rose tattoo motif on the kylix, done in thick red lines.
“What is that?” Lia asked, staring at the artwork. She felt an overpowering urge to touch it.
With her tongue.
He playfully bowed to her.
“Augustine Bowman, prostitute in the Temple of Eros, at your service, my lady.”
“You’re telling me,” Lia said, “that you’re a prostitute.”
He smiled at her. “I told you we had a lot in common.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lia said, standing up straighter.
August took his phone out of his trouser pocket, and from its leather case he pulled a small pink business card with the words The Young Ladies’ Gardening & Tennis Club of Wingthorn Hall printed on the front. On the back was a phone number in black, next to a rose and tennis racquet logo.
“Just a moment,” he said. “Have to make a call. Trying to schedule a tennis match.”
He sent the call.
On the fireplace mantel, Lia’s phone buzzed like an angry bee.
“Your friend Georgy likes me,” August said. “She asked if I played tennis and then she winked at me. I said I was game for a game. She gave me this card. Odd that it rings to your phone. Then again, maybe you really love tennis and gardening.”
“What’s wrong with tennis? Or gardening?” Lia asked.
August rang off. “No one home,” he said. Her phone immediately ceased buzzing. “Guess you’re out playing tennis. Let’s try again.”
He dialed. Lia’s phone buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed. If Lia had a gun, she’d use it to shoot her phone.
August rang off once more.
Her phone stopped buzzing.
“One more time,” August s
aid. “She must be out gardening...” He dialed again. Lia’s phone buzzed again.
“Fine. Fine. You can stop now,” Lia said. August slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“Forget it,” he said. “I’ve never played tennis in my life.”
“The Young Ladies’ Gardening & Tennis Club of Wingthorn Hall isn’t a gardening or tennis club.”
“You don’t say.”
“I happen to manage the ‘appointments’ and the money of some friends of mine who are in the business of pleasure,” Lia explained. “That’s all. That’s why her number rings to me. If you want to see her, you come through me first.”
“You know it’s illegal,” he said. “Not being an escort. That’s legal. I would know. But you...running an escort service is considered pandering and that is a crime in this country, you wicked tart.”
“I know the law,” Lia said. “Two of our best customers are barristers.”
“Tell me something. Why does a wealthy peer’s daughter need to have her own escort service? Your parents are filthy rich.”
“My parents have an open marriage. My grandfather had the largest vintage porn collection in Europe. My grandmother collected the lingerie of famous courtesans. My great-grandfather slept with hundreds of prostitutes in his life. He even died in the bed of his teenage mistress—exactly how he wanted to leave the world. The Godwicks have been playful deviants for centuries. You could call sex the family business if you want.” There was more to the story—much more—but she wasn’t about to give August more of her secrets than she had to. “Why do you do it?” she asked him.
“I love making love,” he said. “Friends, Romans, countrymen. All of them. Line them up and lay them out. That’s me.”
“Got a tart card?” she asked.
“Do you wish to hire me? My week is fairly open,” he said.
“You make a lot of money at it?”
He tilted his head to the side, raised his hands slightly, gave her a look that said, Really?
“Right. Stupid question,” she said. Lia walked over to the mantel. She turned Aphrodite back around. “So let me guess, you’re blackmailing me?”
“I would never blackmail you. It would be an utter betrayal of who I am and what we do,” he said.
She didn’t miss the pointed “we” in his statement.
“I’m attempting to get your attention, Lia. I need you to take me very seriously.”
If she hadn’t been taking him seriously before, she certainly was now.
“All right, you have my attention.”
“Good. I promise, I don’t like being the bad guy, Lia. And I hate being serious. I’d much rather we take our clothes off and jump into bed than have a serious talk. Sometimes it can’t be avoided, however. This is one of those unfortunate times.”
Lia ignored the comment about bed and jumping and her. At least, she tried to ignore it.
“Now...” August continued, “whether you like it or not, you need to either sell me the Rose Kylix or put it into my safekeeping.”
“Daddy was right about you. I should have listened.”
“Your father knows nothing about me, I promise,” August said. “If he knew what I knew, he never would have given that kylix to you. It is an extremely dangerous artifact. It can’t simply be left sitting around your rooms, waiting for someone to get pissed and drink a toast out of it for laughs and end up in an asylum because Zeus showed up in their bedroom five minutes later in the form of a giant swan with a raging stiffie.”
“That’s a vivid image.” Lia could not believe for one second that he was telling her the truth. A god’s magical wine cup? That was plain nonsense.
“Whatever you want to believe,” he said, “the fact is, that cup rightly belongs to Eros and those who serve in the Temple of Eros.” He pointed at himself.
“There is no Temple of Eros. It’s 2019, not...19.”
“How can you say that? You have a shrine to Aphrodite.” He gestured at her mantel while staring at her.
She sighed. “Fair point. But my shrine is just for fun.”
“So is mine,” he said. “Sacred fun.”
Lia turned away from him. This was madness. Absolute insanity.
“Lia, I need you to believe me,” he said. “The Rose Kylix can be very dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. And you don’t.”
“You want me to give you the cup.”
“Sell it to me. Name your price.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, absolutely not. My father gave that to me for my graduation. He’d be heartbroken if I sold it.”
“I’ll trade you one of mine for it. I have kylikes galore.”
“Then you don’t need mine. Now...are you going to go tell on me or not?” she demanded.
“Never. On my honor.”
“Do you have any honor?”
“Somewhere...” He patted his pockets. “Left it at home. Probably next to my stack of tart cards.”
“I don’t like you,” she said.
“Yes, you do.”
“Fine, but I’ve never had good judgment when it comes to men.”
He held out his hand to her and she looked at it. Then she put her hand in his. He turned it palm up and stroked the lines of her life. It tickled deliciously, his rougher male fingertips against her soft tender skin.
“Tell me a sexual fantasy you have,” he said.
“What?” She laughed, too shocked to slap him.
“I want to prove to you that I’m telling the truth about the cup.”
“Did you not just say it was extremely dangerous?”
“Not if I’m with you,” he said. “I know how to use it. I know all its secrets.”
“Oh, of course. Makes perfect sense.”
If he’d detected her sarcasm, he didn’t let on.
“I want to prove myself to you. Let me, please.”
“That’s a little personal.”
“Would you like to know one of mine?” he asked, then went on before she could tell him no. “It’s 1780, and I’m a much-used and abused cabin boy on a passenger ship heading to France, and the exquisite teenage daughter of an indebted courtesan is being sent off to marry an ogre three times her age. When she sees poor me, she takes pity on me and buys me from my wicked captain and makes me her own personal—”
“No. Stop. Do not continue.”
“I was just getting to the good part. Don’t you want to hear the good part?” August looked positively crushed he wouldn’t get to tell her the good part.
“No,” she said, though a small part of her did want to hear the good part.
“Tell me yours, Lia.” He smiled. “Just a little hint.”
He caressed the lines on her palm again. She didn’t realize how sensual that could feel, how intimate, like he was caressing her whole life with one fingertip...
“You’re serious about this?” she asked.
“As serious as I will ever be about anything in my life. If you’re willing to drink from the cup with me, you will have an experience that you will never forget. All you must do is tell me what you want, and I can give it to you. I can give you your ultimate fantasy without even leaving this room.”
“This is mad,” she said. “Insane. Absolutely barmy.”
“One sip,” he said. “That’s all. And if I’m wrong or I’m lying, the worst that will have happened is that you will have drunk dusty wine from an ancient kylix. And if I’m telling the truth, we can negotiate for the return of the cup. Surely that’s a reasonable offer?”
“One sip?” she asked.
“One sip,” he said.
Lia raised her hands. “All right. You’ve made me curious. And I’m up for anything that’ll keep me away from the party.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But I want you
to enjoy it. So...fantasy?”
She didn’t have to think for a long time before she had an answer.
“My first time was not wonderful.” Classic English understatement.
August’s eyes widened. She shook her head.
“Not that,” she said. “I wasn’t raped, wasn’t drunk, wasn’t violated. I was in love with him. It was just...bad. Sometimes I imagine a much better first time. With anyone but him. Not really a fantasy. More like a wish.”
“Your friend David downstairs?” he asked.
She said nothing, did nothing. He nodded. Message received.
“You know who had a wonderful time losing her virginity?” August asked.
“Who?”
August pointed at her tapestry. “Andromeda.”
“Did she?”
“Perseus was quite a lover. No surprise, as he was Zeus’s son by a mortal mother.”
“Lucky Andromeda.”
“Would you like to be her? Just for a night?”
“You can do that?” Lia asked.
“The Rose Kylix can do that.”
Something about the way he looked at her... Lia almost believed he was telling the truth. And what if he was? What then?
“We won’t be...you know...” she asked.
“Having sex? No. Not in our bodies, anyway.”
“Oh, well, as long as we’re not in our bodies.” She rolled her eyes.
“Wine?” August suggested.
“I’ll get it,” Lia said. She didn’t want him drugging it. If she was going to drink, she would be in charge of the pour.
On her way from the bedroom she paused and turned around.
“Do you think I should wash it first? The kylix?”
“What are you going to do?” August asked. “Put it through the dishwasher? It’s one sip.”
She sighed and fetched a new bottle of wine and opened it. He held out the kylix.
“How much?” she asked.
“Just a splash.”
She poured enough for two swallows into the kylix. She set the bottle aside and waited. She expected August to make a joke, say “bottoms up” or something, but he didn’t.
The Rose Page 4