Goodness, is this what men really loved to do—watch two women pleasure each other? Is this what Tristan liked? Judging by the fact that one of the male patrons directly opposite Minerva had unfastened the fall front of his breeches and had begun to stroke his own stiffening member, it would seem so.
Her cheeks aflame, Minerva didn’t know where to look. Part of her wanted to watch the milkmaids’ performance—they were currently sprawled on the divan and the blonde maid had buried her face in the dark-haired prostitute’s quim.
Minerva couldn’t even imagine what was happening ‘down there’ but the brunette seemed to like it; as she rocked her hips and twisted her fingers into her lover’s blonde tresses, deep moans and pants spilled from her parted lips.
Had Minerva taken up the despicable Delilah on her offer, is this what she and the courtesan would have done?
Minerva jumped when Gaston stepped forward to replenish her wine. Had she really gulped down a whole glass already? She mustn’t drink too much. It wouldn’t do to get foxed in such an establishment. No matter what happened, she needed to keep her wits about her.
As the brunette maid suddenly arched her back and cried out in ecstasy, someone else entered the scene—a handsome man with dark blond hair and a roguish smile. Dressed in the typical riding clothes of a ton gentleman—black top hat, buckskin breeches, riding boots, a white linen shirt, and a scarlet wool coat—he prowled across the room. In his gloved hand he carried a riding crop, which he tapped against one muscular thigh.
Minerva’s eyes widened in amazement as he flexed the crop between his gloved hands and focused on the naked maids cavorting on the couch. Were the three of them really going to have sexual congress together? But how would that even work?
Her breath quickening, Minerva watched in horrified fascination as the rakish rider approached the divan, scowling and shaking his finger, making a show of berating the dairymaids for their debauched behavior. The women gasped in mock horror and sat up, bare breasts jiggling as the rider flipped out his coattails and claimed one end of the divan. Stretching his long legs out in front of him, he tossed away his hat then crooked a finger and beckoned the blonde maid over.
She crawled to him, breasts swaying, then quite willingly lay across his thighs, her head down and her round bottom pointing in the air.
Oh, my Lord, was the rider going to spank the maid? It seemed he was. After pulling off one glove with his teeth, he gave a resounding thwack to her bottom; a dark pink imprint of his hand bloomed to life upon the creamy globe. Six more sharp smacks followed in rapid succession. The sound of the man’s palm making contact with bare flesh was shocking against the counterpoint of the sweet, dreamy nocturne.
The blonde maid jerked and squealed when the last, hardest smack landed, but then she moaned in pleasure when her female companion kissed her lower back. Gently parting the blonde’s reddened buttock cheeks, the brunette stroked her friend’s most private parts, then offered her dew-slick fingers to the rider. The rider grinned his approval then sucked the woman’s fingertips into his wide mouth, laving and licking them with relish.
Minerva gasped at the blatant wickedness of the act. How could he—how could they all do such outrageous, depraved things? And in front of so many others?
When the rider began to spank the blonde maid again with renewed vigor, Minerva squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch. This was not what she was expecting. It was... it was almost too much. If this was what Tristan enjoyed—having sexual intercourse with more than one woman at a time, and spanking, perhaps even whipping his bed mates—she wasn’t sure if she could participate.
The spanking stopped and when Minerva dared to crack one eye open, it was to discover the blonde maid was now kissing the rider as he fondled her breasts. At the same time, the brunette maid was kneeling on the rug between the man’s knees and she was—oh, my God—she was sucking and licking his enormous member.
How ..? How could she do that?
Never in her wildest dreams had Minerva entertained such lewd fancies. Even more shocking was the fact her own body was humming with intense arousal. She might want to deny she was excited, but the deep ache in her own lower belly and the moisture blooming between her thighs put paid to the notion she was in any way repulsed by the action taking place before her.
Dare she do that to Tristan? Work his manhood with her fist and her mouth?
The idea made her own mouth water. The brunette suddenly adjusted her position and Minerva couldn’t quite see what she was doing. But she had to know. She wanted to learn how to do that, pleasure a man’s cock. The rider was no longer kissing the blonde maid; his head was thrown back, his jaw was clenched and he was groaning, thrusting his hips. Clutching the brunette’s head.
Her throat tight with forbidden longing, Minerva leaned forward to twitch the black curtain aside to get a better look at what was happening... and that’s when she felt Gaston’s large hand on her shoulder, jerking her back into the chair.
“What in the devil’s name are you playing at, Minerva?” he growled in a low voice.
Minerva gasped and tried to pull away but the footman’s grip was too strong. “How dare you?” she hissed up at him. “And how do you know my na—?”
Minerva’s mouth fell open as her eyes locked with an unmistakable deep blue gaze.
“Tristan,” she whispered as breathless horror gripped her. He might be wearing a mask and a powdered peruke to hide his black hair, but she’d know those eyes anywhere. “What? What are you doing here?”
“Stopping you from making the worst mistake of your life.” Tristan’s tone was harsh, his expression thunderous. Gripping her by the arms, he hauled her to her feet. “It’s time to go, Minerva.”
Chapter 5
“It’s time to go, Minerva.”
Minerva struggled against him, but Tristan simply tightened his hold as he tugged her toward the door. There was no way in hell he was going to let her expose herself to the scrutiny of all the sexually aroused libertines watching the Earl of Preston romping with his dairymaid-cum-prostitutes. If they suspected for one single second that ‘Monsieur Persephone’ was a woman—
“Tristan, stop.” At the door, Minerva launched a kick at his shin with her booted foot, but he simply picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She might be tall and curvaceous, but she was no match for him strength-wise.
As he strode down the hallway, then up the stairs heading toward Pimpernel House’s side entrance, she twisted and flailed, her fists striking his lower back. But it wasn’t until he nearly dropped her that he gave her rump a quick, light slap. A warning. “Stop struggling, or you’ll fall.”
She immediately stilled. “Please put me down,” she begged. “I’ll come with you willingly. I’d much rather walk.”
They’d reached the exit and the guard on duty gave Tristan a wink as he unbolted and opened the door onto a dimly lit, narrow alleyway.
“Very well,” Tristan stepped outside into the freezing drizzle and the door slammed shut behind them. Bending his knees, he set Minerva gently on her feet.
She opened her mouth, probably to berate him, but he didn’t give her the chance. Pushing her against the brick wall, he claimed her mouth in a wild, ravaging kiss. It was a punishing kiss that spoke of his hunger. And his anger. How dare she put herself in danger by visiting such a hotbed of illicit activity? It was more than reckless and foolish. It was insane.
And beneath all that pulsating emotion was a sense of desperation. He kissed Minerva as though this was his last night on earth and he’d never have this chance again.
Which might very well be the case because it seemed he wasn’t the only one who was angry.
Minerva pushed at him and pummeled his chest with closed fists, but as he gripped her clubbed hair at the nape and deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue into the tart wet warmth of her mouth, she gradually melted into him, kissing him back with an ardency that astonished him. The grind of her hips against his erect
ion—an erection he’d been struggling to contain from the moment he’d seen her delectable arse encased in a pair of figure-hugging pantaloons—almost had him spending in his silk breeches.
When he had to break the kiss to come up for air, they were both panting.
“Why... why did you do that?” Minerva demanded, her chest heaving beneath her superfine tailcoat. As a result of his depredations, her cravat had come loose and her auburn hair tumbled about her shoulders in the exact way he’d always imagined it would if he bedded her.
“Because... ” Tristan tugged off his periwig and mask and tossed them into the gutter. They’d been driving him mad for the last hour. “Because seeing you aroused by the ‘performance’ was arousing me too. And I thought a kiss might dissipate some of the tension between us.”
He’d been wrong. Nothing short of a quick hard fuck up against the wall would cure him of the raging cockstand he sported right at this moment. But he couldn’t do that to Minerva. Treat her like some cheap street doxy.
“No.” Minerva shook her head. In the pale wash of light cast by a gas lamp above the door, her dark eyes glittered like obsidian. “I don’t mean the kiss. Why are you here? Why did you follow me? Spy on me? Pretend to be Gaston the footman? How did you even know I was here?”
Tristan didn’t flinch away from her ire-filled gaze. “Madame Heloise sent word to me... about your plan. To gather information about my sexual preferences.”
“Oh, God. How embarrassing.” Clearly distressed the madam had betrayed her confidence, Minerva’s throat worked as she swallowed. “She promised me I could count on her discretion.”
Tristan’s heart clenched. “She’s a friend. And she thought I might like to be here to look out for you. Men with lust rampaging through their veins can be dangerous beasts.”
Minerva pushed her hips against his groin. “So it would seem.”
Tristan winced. “I’m sorry about forcing that kiss on you, but I’m not sorry I came here tonight.”
She sighed heavily, her breath misting in the frigid air between them. “It’s all right, Tristan. I enjoyed the kiss...” Lifting her chin, she continued, “But what I don’t enjoy is being spied on and treated like... like a fool. A silly, weak woman. I can look after myself.”
Tristan snorted. “Anyone could see through your disguise in a heartbeat. What do you think those dissolute rogues in there,” he gestured at the door, “would have done if they’d noticed you were a woman?”
Minerva planted her hands on her hips. “Well, now we’ll never know.”
“No we won’t, thank God.” The rain had turned to sleet and a chill wind was whipping down the alley. They needed to leave. “Come.” Tristan grasped her arm. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s get you home. Where’s your carriage?”
“I took a hackney.”
“On your own and dressed like that? Good God, Minerva.” Tristan shook his head in exasperation. “You’ll be the death of me.”
Thankfully she didn’t resist as he led her toward Brydges Street. At the corner, he gave a low whistle and within moments, his town coach drew up alongside them. Hopefully the coals inside the traveling brazier and the heated bricks on the floor had been keeping the interior sufficiently warm.
After his footman let down the steps, Minerva climbed into the carriage without a fuss and Tristan took the seat opposite her.
“I don’t see why you’re so put out,” she said as they moved off. “We might be friends but—”
“But what?”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I know you’re angry at me for interfering. However, despite what Heloise told me, I can’t help but think this rash escapade is perhaps your way of rebelling against David’s infidelity.”
“Don’t presume to know the reasons for my actions,” she fired back.
Tristan softened his tone. “Then tell me. Why did you really come here?”
Minerva sighed. “This rash escapade as you put it,” she gestured at her gentleman’s attire, “yes, it is about David to some degree. But it’s also about you... and about me.”
“So, did Heloise Bertrand speak the truth? About the purpose of your visit?” He was burning to know why Minerva had taken a sudden interest in his sexual tastes.
Minerva’s gaze dropped away from his, and in the dim light, Tristan fancied she blushed to the roots of her hair. “Yes,” she whispered. “I wanted to find out what... what you—and other rakehells just like you—actually enjoy when it comes to sexual congress. Because... because I really have no idea. My knowledge about bed sport is sadly lacking. Actually, it’s almost nonexistent.”
Tristan frowned. “I don’t understand. Didn’t you and David—? You were married for five years.”
A bitter laugh escaped Minerva. “And for five years, David came to my room and claimed his husbandly rights in the most mundane way imaginable. In the dark, with me on my back, in my nightgown. Apparently he didn’t wish to subject me, his precious lady wife, to anything too indecorous or dirty. No, he saved all the indecorous fucking—and all the fun—for Delilah Lacey. Whereas I... ” she choked back a sob. “He never once took care of my needs as a woman. Indeed, I think he found the idea that his wife might have needs completely abhorrent.”
Sweet Jesus Christ. “I don’t... “ Tristan scrubbed a hand down his face. “Minerva, I had no idea. Honestly I didn’t.” Anger surged in a white-hot wave. How could his friend have neglected his wife like that? Beautiful, passionate Minerva. He’d long suspected David had a priggish streak, but he hadn’t realized it had manifested in such a perverse way. “David was a bloody fool. Actually, I’d even go so far as to say he was a cruel, selfish, heartless prick. And if I’d known—”
“I don’t want a display of indignant outrage or your pity, Tristan. I want...” Minerva released a shaky exhale then directed her gaze at the London streets passing by the carriage window. Her next words were so soft he almost missed them. “I’d rather not say.”
“Well, I wish you would.” Tristan scooted forward, his knees bumping Minerva’s. “You can correct me if I’m mistaken, but it seems to me you want to learn more about bed sport.”
“Yes.” Minerva met his gaze directly. The set of her soot-smudged jaw was defiant. The light of a street lamp caught the glimmer of unshed tears in her luminous eyes. “But not only that. I want to take a lover. I want to experience real passion. I want to be fulfilled. Is... is that so wrong? Am I unnatural and depraved to want such things?”
Tristan had never been ashamed of who he was or what he wanted. And he didn’t want Minerva to feel that way either. “Of course not,” he said gruffly. “I take it...” He trailed off, considering what he wanted to say next. For such a long time he’d lusted after Minerva but he’d always held himself in check. She’d been his friend’s wife. Then she’d been in mourning. She was his sister’s friend. And last but not least, becoming lovers might risk their own friendship. Especially if he took things too far, too fast.
If he showed her what he was truly like...
Yes, there were so many reasons why they shouldn’t go down this path, but right now, with desire coursing through his veins, Tristan couldn’t bring himself to voice a single one. “I take it...” His chest tight with longing, he inhaled deeply and started again. “Do you want me to teach you, to show you how things should be between a man and a woman?” He could at least give her that. He wanted to give her that very, very much.
The question hung in the small space between them, charging the air with heart stopping expectation. As the moment stretched, Tristan became acutely aware of Minerva’s rapid breathing above the clatter of the carriage and other sounds filling the London night: the rumble of a passing mail-coach; the shout of a man; a peal of laughter spilling from a nearby tavern. The wild gallop of his own heart.
“Minerva?” he prompted, searching her shadowed face for a clue as to what she was thinking. God, what if he’d misinterpreted everything and had got it
all horribly wrong?
But then she licked her lips and said in a husky whisper, “Yes. Yes I do want you to show me,” and Tristan began to breath freely again.
“I will do my best,” he said with a slow smile. He’d never been so sincere in his life.
And for the first time that evening, Minerva smiled back. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
Sweet Lord above, Tristan had more or less agreed to become her lover.
Minerva couldn’t quite believe it. Before she could think through all of the implications and ask how this might work, Tristan was lifting the front carriage window blind and rapping on the glass to gain the attention of his driver.
Minerva’s mouth dropped open as he issued the man with directions to drive around Town until told otherwise.
“I’m confused.”
Tristan cocked a dark eyebrow as he removed his white silk gloves. “How so?”
“But... but I thought you were taking me home.”
“All in good time.”
Minerva’s heart rate kicked up a notch. “What have you got planned?”
“I thought I’d begin teaching you, right here, right now.” Tristan loosened his simple cravat. “If you’re game that is. And not too cold.”
“No, I’m comfortable enough.” Indeed, Minerva’s cheeks felt hot, almost feverish as she watched the strong column of Tristan’s throat appear. Excitement fizzed through her blood like champagne.
Tristan grinned, his teeth a flash of white in the dim interior. “Wonderful.”
Goodness gracious. Tristan was well-nigh irresistible when he decided to employ his rakish charm. Minerva shifted restlessly on her seat as desire warred with uncertainty. What would he ask her to do? And would she be up to the task? She was about to ask him what he had in mind, but he spoke first.
“The first thing you should know, Minerva—and you probably learned something about this at Pimpernel House—is that sport of the sexual kind doesn’t always have to take place in a bed.” He made an expansive gesture with one hand. “For instance, you’re about to have a lesson in carriage sport.”
My Lady of Misrule: Wicked Winter Nights, Book One Page 5
