Devon leaned in toward her and lowered his voice. “You belong in the East Wing.”
“You can make such a statement while professing to know me little?”
“I have known enough women in my lifetime and have cultivated an ability to sense which ones are the more adventurous sort.”
She gave him a dubious look, aware of Rockwell’s unhappy gaze upon them.
“You shall see that I am right when we are in the East Wing.”
“Are you so certain of wining, Lord Devon?”
“I am certain I have not wanted anything more at the moment.”
His stare bored into her, disconcerting her greatly, and she suggested they not keep Rockwell and Lady Isabella waiting too much longer.
“Time to even the score,” Devon said upon sitting.
They executed exactly that and tied the score with four points per partnership. As the dealer in the next hand, Deana turned over a six of hearts for the trump card. Her heartbeat quickened. Hearts were not her favorite suit. For no rhyme or reason, she never had much luck with hearts. By this time, she was having second thoughts about whether or not she would do well with losing.
Rockwell took the first two tricks, then Lord Devon, followed by Isabella. Deana looked at Rockwell, who, as ever, was fairly expressionless when playing cards. She recalled how calm he had been during that fateful hand at vingt-et-un when he possessed an ace and queen to best her king and ten.
Rockwell won the next trick, and Deana could not stop her heart from thumping. She wanted another glass of port but had no wish to muddle her head. Eight tricks remained, and Devon took three of them in a row. Deana wondered if he had been overly modest in downplaying his abilities at cards.
Deana won a trick, then Rockwell, then Isabella.
“I say! This is the most exciting round of whist!” Devon said.
“What would you claim if you win?” Isabella asked of Rockwell, her gaze inviting as she peered over her cards at him.
Rockwell only smiled as he won the next trick. Two tricks remained, but Deana had a sinking feeling. Given the cards that she had already observed and the two remaining in her hand—a paltry two of clubs and four of diamonds—unless Rockwell had two trumps remaining, their chances did not look well.
Devon won the next trick. Deana saw the muscle along Rockwell’s jaw tighten. The final suit was diamonds. Isabella had no match. Rockwell had no match.
And Lord Devon had a jack of hearts.
* * * * *
They were headed to the East Wing.
With a silent curse, Halsten watched as a smile spread from ear to ear upon Lord Devon’s face. Halsten had nothing against taking Miss Herwood there. On the contrary, he would have liked nothing less. But she had not been long at Chateau Follet. And he would have wanted her there on his own terms.
“Well played,” Devon complimented Miss Herwood. “Do not be disheartened Miss Sherwood. As you say, there is the element of luck. It is not always about your skills.”
He finished off his glass of wine. “Now then, shall we begin the night properly?”
Halsten had studied Isabella throughout the game. She had shown none of the hesitancy or reserve from the afternoon. He wondered at her change. He looked next to Miss Herwood, who did not seem as confident as she was earlier. He had allowed her a glass of port to calm her nerves and contemplated another glass for her. He would ensure her safety, but she may well need the additional support.
He should not have placed her in such a position. The enticement to name the prize should they have won was too much. He knew exactly what he would have asked for: Lord Devon was to leave Chateau Follet at daybreak.
“I have the perfect room in mind,” Devon said and practically skipped out of the drawing room and into the hallway.
Rockwell clenched his jaw but followed the man with Miss Herwood on his arm.
“Have you explained to Lady Isabella what she may expect in the East Wing?” he asked of Devon.
“She has seen for herself,” Devon replied.
“You are quite droll, Halsten,” Isabella said, glancing back at him, “but I am hardly your sister Lucille.”
They were in the East Wing, and the art soon reflected the darker nature of the activities there. Whereas the West Wing was adorned with nudes or paintings of a man and a woman in various positions of copulation, the same nudes held whips and chains in the East Wing, and paintings of couples were often engaged in ménage-a-trois. One such painting featured a woman penetrated by two men with disproportionately large members. Rockwell noticed Miss Herwood’s eyes widening at a woman tied to a rack. She turned red and tightened her grip upon his arm.
“The images may seem frightful at first,” he said to her, “but there are many women who enjoy the wicked and taboo.”
She seemed to believe him, but he could not tell if she were comforted by the fact.
“I had this room specially reserved,” Devon announced as he paused in front of a set of gilded double-doors.
He pushed one of the doors opened, bowed and swept his arm. “Ladies first.”
Isabella entered and gasped. Miss Herwood followed and paused briefly in her tracks.
Unlike the ornate set of doors that led to it, the chamber was sparse and austere. No silk wallpaper or golden candelabras adorned the walls, no carpeting or rugs to cover the cold dull floor. The only furnishing comprised two beds on either side of the room, facing each other. The head and foot boards were made of wrought iron more appropriate for a dungeon cell. Upon them dangled chain shackles. Only plain white sheets of suspect cleanliness covered the mattresses. Along the back wall hung instruments of both pain and pleasure A fire had been started in the stone hearth, casting eerie shadows throughout the room.
“Are you sure you’ve the right room?” Isabella asked.
“Undoubtedly,” Devon murmured as he appraised the room, the glow of lust already lighting his face.
Halsten eyed Miss Herwood. She shifted her feet and bit her lower lip.
“Now then, the first order of business: I think the ladies have far too much attire upon them!” Devon declared.
“The first order of business in the East Wing is always to establish a safety word,” Rockwell corrected, his patience tested already.
“Ah, yes. How about ‘cease and desist?’”
“A single word would be easier to remember, and it is customary that the word differ from any cries they may utter in the normal course of activities.”
Devon rolled his eyes. “It can be Humpty Dumpty for all I care.”
“A single word.”
Halsten wanted to wring the man’s neck. It was proving to be a long night already.
“Scotland,” Isabella suggested. “I am to travel there with my aunt and uncle later this year.”
“Are the ladies agreed?”
Miss Herwood nodded.
“Then let us proceed!” Devon said. He staked a claim upon his side of the room and pulled Isabella to him.
“But,” Isabella protested as Devon reached for the pins on her frock. “Is there no curtain? After all, they can see.”
“Precisely the point, my dear. It will heighten the experience, I assure you. And is supremely naughty.”
Halsten frowned. Devon was the last person he wanted to share a room in the East Wing with.
Miss Herwood walked carefully to the other side of the room. She looked around her. Was she seeking a means of escape or a place to hide? Seeing none, she seemed to steel herself. Devon had Isabella’s gown undone and was moving to the skirts.
“Remember you can speak the safety word at any time,” Halsten reminded Miss Herwood. “I will ensure its proper execution.”
She nodded and slipped out of her shoes. “I trust your lordship.”
He inhaled sharply. The statement meant more to him than he expected. He undid the pins of her dress. He waited, but she said nothing. Across the room, Isabella giggled as Devon tossed her garments away with flour
ish.
Slowly, Halsten slid the garment from Miss Herwood’s shoulders. She kept her eyes downcast. He untied her petticoat next. It fell to the floor, leaving her in her chemise, stays, stockings and garters. Against the light of the fire, he could see the silhouette of her legs and the darkness of her garter through the thin chemise. Having engaged in a ménage-a-trois both in India and Chateau Follet, he was no stranger to sharing a woman. But he had no desire to share Miss Herwood—with anyone, let alone Lord Devon. Looking across the room, he found Devon eyeing Miss Herwood. Halsten would have done almost anything to bring pleasure to Miss Herwood, but at the moment he wanted nothing more than for her to utter the safety word and put an end to their situation.
Isabella, in similar state of undress, glanced over to them. A small smile graced her colored lips, perhaps from espying that her own garments were visibly superior in quality or that her form had more classic feminine lines that that of Miss Herwood. Isabella’s stays supported pert alabaster breasts, and her chemise fell over youthful narrow hips. Seeing Halsten’s gaze, Devon smirked and ran both hands down Isabella’s pale, bare arms.
Halsten returned his attention to Miss Herwood. Devon could believe whatever he wished, Halsten knew he had the better woman. He waited until Devon began unlacing Isabella’s stays before doing the same. Miss Herwood trembled slightly as he pulled at the ribbons.
“Do you require the safety word?” he whispered into her ear.
She shook her head.
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
With a deep breath, he removed her stays. Any moment now she would be completely naked. Naked before that damnable Devon.
But despite his loathing of their predicament, the ability of her beautiful body to arouse Halsten persevered. His groin tightened.
Isabella cried out and giggled as Devon, aroused and impatient, stripped her shift away in awkward haste.
“A feast for the eyes, eh, Rockwell?” Devon declared.
Isabella attempted some modesty and covered her bosom with her arms, but Devon tore her arms away. Her shapely breasts, vaguely marked on the sides by the boning of the stays, stood at smart attention. Her rosy areolas constricted as her nipples hardened.
“Your turn, Rockwell.”
Miss Herwood stiffened and he wondered if perhaps his own discomfort was contagious. Perhaps she would fare better if he took a different approach and helped put her more at ease through arousal. He might be able to teach Devon, through demonstration, how better to handle a woman, how to attend to her pleasure.
Halsten slid the shift down her shoulders and planted a soft kiss on her left shoulder. He ran a hand across her collarbone, then gripped the back of her neck, and tried to massage away the tension. Her head dropped lower, and he could feel her tightness loosen a little. Gently he pulled the shift down her breasts, exposing large brown areolas, down her ribs, and past her belly till it fell down her legs to the floor.
Devon drank in the sight. “Are we not two of the luckiest chaps?”
Halsten shot him a look to indicate he had no desire to converse with the man.
Devon reached both hands around Isabella and tweaked her nipples. Isabella squealed.
Halsten held each of Miss Herwood’s breasts in his hands and planted a reverential kiss upon one, then the other. He ran his thumbs over the nipples. They peaked in response to his touch.
“These are quite a lovely sight,” he murmured. “Finer than a Titian or a Reuben.”
He lifted one breast and tugged on the nipple with his mouth. He sensed her breathing become uneven. Her pupils had dilated, and the whites of her eyes had a shimmer.
Good. She was adjusting.
He pulled her naked body to him and took her mouth. One hand slid to cup her buttocks. She felt divine even through his clothes. From the corner of his gaze, he saw Devon do the same with Isabella. But instead of a choreographed dance of the lips and tongue, Devon mauled Isabella’s mouth, smearing her rouge and causing the flesh about her mouth to flush as if she had a rash.
Halsten pushed his fingers through Miss Herwood’s hair and manipulated her head to taste her mouth from different angles. He had wondered how aroused he could be while occupying a room with a man he detested, but he could easily be consumed by Miss Herwood, his awareness of Devon repressed by his own growing ardor.
“Let us free them of their final constraints,” Devon said.
Garters were untied and stockings joined the other garments on the floor. Devon walked around Isabella.
“Should you men not accompany us?” Isabella asked. “It is hardly fair that we are stripped to the buff and you not shed a single article of clothing.”
Devon slapped her across the face. Isabella looked shocked, and Miss Herwood, who had hitherto avoided looking toward the other side of the room, glanced over sharply. Halsten clenched a first.
“I did not give you permission to speak.”
A contrite Isabella looked down at her feet.
“Your safety word can be used at any moment,” Halsten told her, earning a glare from Devon.
“Have you reviewed with her the rules you intend to employ?” Halsten asked Devon through clenched teeth.
Devon waved a hand dismissively. “She shall learn in due time. The element of surprise will aid in their retention of the rules.”
Devon looked over at Miss Herwood, who quickly glanced away. Her reaction incited the man to walk over to her. He circled her like a vulture over a carcass. Halsten felt every muscle in his body tense. If the varlet touched her in the slightest, he would cuff the man.
“Lovely,” Devon smirked before returning to his side of the room. He pinched at Isabella’s nipples. “I think these require adornment.”
He went over to a drawer and retrieved a pair of small clamps with weights dangling by small metal chains.
“Has she worn them before?” Halsten interrupted. “If not, she should not start with the weighted clamps.”
Both the women had eyes wide.
“Are you their nanny?” Devon returned.
“Do you remember the safety word?” Halsten demanded of the women.
They both nodded.
“Are you proposing that you and Miss Sherwood beg off on our arrangement? I would presume Miss Sherwood to be of possessed of too much honor to renege. And you as well, Rockwell.”
With a silent oath, Halsten grabbed Miss Herwood from behind, pressed her to him, and reached for her clitoris. To apply the nipple clamps so soon to a novice without arousing them first was cruel. He rubbed her between the legs. It took longer as Miss Herwood was not completely at ease still with the lack of privacy, but she eventually began to pant softly and squirm against him. Devon watched with amusement. Halsten weighed the prospect of drawing pistols at dawn with the man, but his responsibility to Lucy stayed him. He could not leave her without a guardian.
“Since you have done such a fine job stimulating her, I think the lovely Miss Sherwood should be the first to try these,” Devon said, offering the pair of clamps to Halsten.
Seeing Miss Herwood balk, Halsten said to Devon, “I think not.”
“Wouldn’t want your ladybird to miss out on the fun,” Devon replied.
“Pray mind your own guest,” Halsten said through clenched teeth. “Miss Sherwood is mine.”
With a frown, Devon moved back to Isabella. He affixed a clamp to her nipple. She screamed and choked back a sob. Halsten noted her eyes watering. But she appeared determined to bear it. Devon applied the other clamp and stepped back to admire the result.
“Stand straight, my dear,” Devon told Isabella.
Isabella bit down on her lower lip and attempted to do as he bid.
“The clamps should not stay overlong,” Halsten recommended. “They require proper training.”
“And ought be applied often to encourage the growth of their nipples.”
Devon poked at one of the weights to make it sway.
“Ah, ah, a
h,” worried Isabella.
“Imagine how they would swing if we applied a flogger at the same time!”
Ignoring Devon, Halsten cupped Miss Herwood’s chin and kissed her to distract her.
“My God, you are lovely,” he murmured against her lips.
His hand went between her legs to fondle her there, and he was relieved to feel her wetness coating his fingers.
“Take these off, please,” Isabella begged. “Please!”
“Enjoy them a while longer,” Devon replied.
“Let us proceed with another amusement,” Halsten suggested.
“Quite right,” Devon acquiesced. He removed the nipple clamps to Isabella’s immense relief. “Now on your knees, my lovely wenches!”
Chapter Fifteen
THANK HEAVEN, DEANA THOUGHT to herself when Devon removed the clamps from Isabella. Her poor nipples would probably be tender for some time, and Deana shuddered in sympathy. She was grateful to be with Lord Rockwell and not with Lord Devon.
“On your knees!” Devon reiterated.
Lady Isabella and Deana exchanged glances before complying. For the first time, Deana felt kindred to her ladyship.
Devon situated his pelvis before Lady Isabella and rubbed his crotch. “I think it time we receive a little tending to.”
He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled out his hardened desire. Isabella gaped at the length of the curved erection.
“Open your mouth.”
“Are you wanting me to—” she began until he slapped her once more.
“You will take my rod into your mouth. I vow you will find no meat more delicious.”
She opened her mouth a little. He shoved himself into the opening. She recoiled, but he had his hand at the back of her head. She gagged and flayed.
“The trick is to relax,” Rockwell said.
After struggling with the awkward intrusion into her mouth, Isabella managed to calm her reflexes. Devon pulled her head to and fro so that her mouth moved up and down his shaft. Occasionally she appeared to choke when he pushed himself too far into her mouth.
“Is there a reason for your hesitation?” Devon asked Rockwell with a pointed look at the baron’s crotch.
An Improper Proposition (A Steamy Regency Romance) Page 14
