Innocence and Carnality

by J. Alan Veerkamp

  The stranger’s feet dangled a few inches above the floor, his heels rattling the food stock on the shelves. Gasping for air, he made a futile effort to dislodge Blythe’s enormous hand gripping his throat.

  “What the hell do you think you’re up to?”

  The rugged lines in Blythe’s face were etched deep, and his skin flushed red. He was incensed. His muscles bulged, so tense and swollen with rage, I feared his garments might burst the seams. Surely Blythe’s size alone could intimidate the strongest man, and as livid as he was, I worried the man in his grasp would wet himself involuntarily. Even so, he struggled to maintain his dignity as he was held aloft and helpless.

  The stranger hissed through the discomfort. “Get your hands off me. I’m not doing nothing wrong. I was told I could have any of them I wanted.”

  If it was possible, Blythe’s anger swelled beyond its previous state. He shook the hapless idiot, shouting in his face as he pointed at me with his free hand. “He is not one of the whores!”

  The burning ache along my cheek lost its importance as I absorbed his meaning. Vivian chatting with wealthy businessmen. Male employees being the best friends of the clients. Let’s you and me head upstairs where I can give you a proper rogering. My initial assessment of Rother’s holdings was far broader and far worse than I imagined.

  “How would I know?”

  Blythe snarled in the man’s face. “You ask, you stupid shit.”

  “Let go of me.”

  Blythe lowered his voice, his face so close, each harsh syllable brushed the stranger’s skin, making him wince. “Shut it before I remove your balls with my bare hands and let him kick the shit out of your skull.”

  Each growling word held a promise of violence. It frightened me, yet bolstered my confidence to have such a man defending me. I hadn’t expected such a show of loyalty from Blythe. My first impression of him held few positive details. Perhaps I was beginning to evolve after all.

  It all balanced on a thin edge. The stranger fixated on Blythe, who looked moments away from committing a murder. I had to remind myself to breathe.

  One of the waiters appeared in the doorway and stopped. His eyes grew wide as he took in the scene before him. Blythe wasted no time getting his full attention.

  “Go get Alexandra! Now!” Blythe’s bark snapped like a whip.

  The waiter startled and dashed off with an anxious nod. Blythe had yet to release the stranger. I had no idea what would happen next.

  I didn’t move during the short wait for Alexandra’s arrival. Her dress clung to every curve, all black leather, buckled and strapped together. The skirt front was split open, revealing legs covered in more leather following the same fetish theme. Vibrant tresses spilled to her shoulders, framing her face, and makeup accented her features into something fierce and exotic.

  I wasn’t fool enough to ask about the riding crop in her fist.

  Alexandra gave the stranger one quick scowl as Blythe lowered him to the floor. Placing a hand over the customer’s face, she slammed his head against the shelf as she slipped past to kneel before me. He snarled and swore at her, but if she cared, it didn’t show.

  “Are you all right?” She inspected my cheek with a maternal touch, her manner at odds with her severe garb. Too stunned with current events, I only nodded.

  With a graceful move, Alexandra rose, a feral tension coursing through her limbs as she faced the stranger.

  “Mr. Lorings, we have staff specifically suited for this kind of encounter. It’s a shame you’re far too stupid to follow a simple set of rules. To keep Blythe—or myself, for that matter—from murdering you this evening, I will be escorting you from the building. You will not be returning. Ever.”

  “I’m here with Mr. Avaston—”

  “Do you honestly think I don’t know that?”

  “He’s doing business with Lord Rother. He won’t take kindly with you roughing me up.”

  “Your presence was a courtesy for Mr. Avaston. Given this scene, I’d say their business deal is likely to be over.”

  “I didn’t know he wasn’t interested. He never said nothing.”

  Alexandra grabbed his jaw and shoved his head back again. Her fingernails dug into his skin, giving him a taste of her unhappiness. “Perhaps he was too busy trying not to have the living hell beat out of him.”

  “That’s not fair. Avaston’s not going to like this.”

  A sinister grin curled her lips. “Very well. If you insist on staying, we can arrange something more appropriate.” She slapped the tip of her crop against his cheek. “Perhaps a session with me would be in order.”

  Mr. Lorings paled.

  “Or better yet, I can take you to Lord Delaga and have you explain why you chose his newlywed husband as your companion for the evening. I’m sure he’d be delighted to hear your side of the story.”

  A sick sheen appeared across his face. “I… I’ll go.”

  “I thought so. Come with me to the front door, Mr. Lorings, and be polite. I’d hate to cripple you like a dog in front of all your peers.” Placing a hand at Mr. Lorings’s collar, she pulled him from the pantry, pausing to speak to Blythe. “Take Nathan back upstairs and stay with him until Rother arrives. I’ll have him check in shortly.”

  As Alexandra disappeared, Blythe’s shadow loomed over me. He reached out with one of his enormous hands, and I couldn’t help picturing how it had restrained Mr. Lorings by the throat. His fingers brushed my arm and I shrugged him off as I found my feet. I struggled to hold on to the threads of my dignity, such as it was. I’d been manhandled enough for one night.

  “I can walk on my own, thank you.”

  Blythe shrugged and led me through the kitchen to the back stairs. His presence unnerved me. He didn’t touch me, but he didn’t allow much space between us, keeping me within the pull of his unwavering gravity. I was still shaken, yet I refused to acknowledge it. However, no matter how much Blythe chafed me at times, I couldn’t be so rude as not to acknowledge his aid.

  “Thank you.” Why saying so proved difficult, I couldn’t say.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “Nothing that won’t heal.” I sighed as we walked, taking in the rustic splendor of the decor. “I suppose the fantasy would have had to come to an end soon.”

  “How do you mean?”

  I gave a derisive scoff. “Please. After finally escaping my father, I’m a newly married Deilian lord living in an underground vice den. It’s only a matter of time before the authorities find out and everyone lands in prison.”

  The scandal alone would ruin me forever. Perhaps my father had planned it. His final vengeance for a loss of honor.

  “The constables don’t care about Delaga House.”

  I stopped and faced Blythe, aghast at his ignorance. “I hate to remind you, you uneducated oaf, that after the plague the Monarch outlawed all immoral acts that would drive people away from home and family. That includes gambling, and… inappropriate liaisons for money.”

  The scar on Blythe’s face twisted into a deeper snarl than usual. “You just sit in your own little world, don’t you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Deilia’s history doesn’t mean a damn in Marisol. The Deilian plague didn’t happen here. None of it matters to us. Your Monarch is a little bitch. He can’t do shit here.”

  I winced at his crude language, but it couldn’t dull my curiosity. “What do you mean?”

  Blythe’s annoyance pitched into a growl. “Well… my uneducated ass knows none of this is illegal in Marisol. You should maybe study up a bit before you start bitching.”

  My face heated like I’d been slapped, dwarfing the burn of Mr. Lorings’s efforts. If he’d used his hand, I doubted it would have stung more, in spite of his strength. Worse, he was right and I didn’t know how to handle that. Blythe continued up the stairs and I followed, stunned by the reversal in our roles. Neither of us said a word until we arrived in the hallway.

  “Holy shit. What happen
ed?”

  Oh. Yes. In all the chaos, I’d forgotten the bedroom door was lying in the corridor. I raised my chin, refusing to be embarrassed.

  “I didn’t appreciate being locked in my room.”

  Blythe burst out laughing. “I hope Rother lets me stay and watch when he gets back. I’d give my left nut for admission.”

  I couldn’t be sure if his coarseness or his anticipation of Rother’s reaction rubbed me worse. “Don’t be so droll.”

  Blythe stepped inside the bedroom and found the dismantled lock on the table. He spent far too much time for my liking assessing each screw and gear. His deadpan reply did nothing to reassure me.

  “Let me give you a bit of advice. There’s a vein on Rother’s left temple that stands out and throbs when he’s really pissed. You might want to keep an eye out for it.”

  Chapter 8

  “WHAT THE hell?”

  Rother stood in the hall, starring at the disconnected door. His face was stoic, revealing little, yet every ounce of his natural fluidity was gone, his stance rigid and tense. In the time we’d been together, I had never seen him this way. He was furious.

  Stepping into the room, Rother snapped, his words quick and clipped. “I’d like a private word with my husband.”

  Blythe snorted. “Or at least as private as it gets with the door off its hinges.”

  The glare Rother threw his way made the enormous bodyguard snap to attention, schooling his features.

  “Right, boss.”

  Rother turned away, eyeing the lock innards as Blythe stepped out into the hallway. He paused for a second and met my eye, smirking while tapping a giant finger to his left temple. Then he was gone, leaving me with my husband.

  Striding into my personal space, Rother grabbed my chin, turning my head to peer at the growing bruise along my cheek. I jerked out of his hand.

  “Please, I’ve been manhandled enough for one evening.”

  “Are you injured?”

  “No, thanks to Blythe’s timely intervention.”

  As open to the world as the bedroom currently was, I felt safer here in its newly gained familiarity. My hands no longer shook, but unease filled me as I recalled the incident in the pantry. One could only guess the direction it could have taken without Blythe’s arrival. The thought made me shudder. If Rother was relieved I’d come out of it relatively unscathed, he gave no sign. His jaw was set tight as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I can’t tell if you’re angrier at me, or Mr. Lorings’s trespass.”

  “I can’t either.”

  His response left me vexed and… disappointed. My husband’s concern over my well-being wasn’t enough to overpower his annoyance over my breaking a rule. It wounded me. Shouldn’t I be more of a priority? Or was this more Marisolian culture nonsense I would need to accept?

  “What took you so long? I’ve been out of the room for quite some time.”

  “One, I wasn’t expecting to need to look out for you. Two, I was dealing with Mr. Lorings’s boss, Mr. Avaston. I came as soon as Alexandra found me.”

  I challenged his annoyance with a level of sarcasm that would make my mother proud. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I shouldn’t have had to.”

  “I’m so sorry to have interrupted your precious meeting. I can see how important they are to you.”

  “I had no intention of dealing with Avaston, but I was trying to end the discussion with less drama. I can’t believe you couldn’t follow a simple instruction.” He motioned to the splayed-out lock mechanism parts. “Or did this.”

  “You shouldn’t have locked me in the room without my permission.”

  Rother brushed his knuckle along the tender spot on my cheek, making me hiss. “And look what happened when you let yourself free.”

  “You should have told me about your business practices.”

  “Yes, because once you found out, you handled it so well.”

  “I would have been better prepared—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Nathan. You’ve lived your whole life sequestered in a cage of Deilian morality. For all your intellect, the differences in Marisolian life are enough to have you off your center. I didn’t explain because you weren’t ready to know.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “For fuck’s sake, you can’t even call it what it is. Business practices. You cringe at the words. Brothel. Casino. As if the sound could physically do you harm.”

  I hated that I did exactly as he said at each vulgar word. “That’s not fair.”

  “It’s the truth. I’m sorry you don’t like hearing it.”

  And I didn’t like it. It stung my ego worse than my bruised cheek. Even so, it hardly seemed fair to leave me in the dark and expect me to be a doting spouse who did what he was told. Our marriage was rushed, but whatever gave him the idea I would be so passive?

  Rother stepped over to the side table along the wall and poured himself a drink from the brass and crystals decanters. He rubbed his temple, sighing as he took a stiff draught.

  “You are my husband. Your protocol skills will be a great asset once you learn how to acclimate.”

  “You make me sound like an employee.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “My employees do as they’re told.”

  I was tempted to note how as his husband, I had more intimate knowledge of him than his employees, but given the nature of his business, I didn’t need to be proven wrong there either. “I’ll remember that.”

  My vigor began to flee. The entire evening, filled with too many harsh events, left my motor unwound. I began to pace in a slow circle as I tried to collect my thoughts.

  I pushed down my hostile tone, assuming I’d get better answers if I adopted a calmer voice. “Can you explain this to me?”

  “Which part?”

  My shoulders gave up, and my body followed. I slumped down to sit on the edge of the bed. I could learn to accept the gambling, as distasteful as I found the practice. But the other half of his vice den….

  “The—” I took a deep breath. “—brothel.” My face had to be crimson. The idea left me so offended, and saying it out loud was an effort. But if Rother would ever take me seriously, I needed to learn to get past my reservations.

  “What requires explanation?”

  I shook my head, disbelieving he didn’t understand me. “Of all professions….” I rubbed my face, trying to not shout out how horrific I found all of this. “You’re far from penniless. How could your fortune be embroiled in all this?”

  Rother downed the last of his drink and faced me with a cocked brow. “How could it be embroiled? Nathan, I’m assuming, to protect your fragile sensibilities, you’re failing to realize the obvious. My entire fortune is based on all this.”

  “How in the world could that happen?” As soon as the words left my lips, I knew I’d offended Rother as greatly as his profession had offended me. His visage darkened and he edged toward the door.

  I had to stop him. This evening’s ordeal was a mixture of ignorance and shocking discovery. Whether I was prepared or not, I couldn’t go on in the dark.

  “If you expect me to adapt and accept my new life, you’ll have to start explaining things so I can learn and understand. If I’ve made mistakes, it’s only because no one has told me anything.”

  Rother paused, and I decided to use a different tactic no matter how conflicted were my feelings. I sweetened my voice as best I knew how.

  “Rother, please….”

  With an audible exhale, he deflated. He turned to face me, his gaze elsewhere. I could see his silent discussion as he debated what he might share. I didn’t say a word. I wanted—no, needed—to hear something, to comprehend. All of this was so far outside my experience. The air in my lungs stalled until he began to speak.

  “By the time I was ten years old, I was orphaned and living on the streets. When you’re hungry and have no money, you’d be surprised how inventive you can be. Thievery never sat well with me, and I was too
young and dirty to work in a shop, even if I’d have been willing. Some of the other street rats explained prostitution to me. How it was done, how much money could be made in a short time. I was hungry and penniless. It didn’t take long to decide.

  “My first client was a Deilian lord who took a fancy to me. He was clumsy and reeked of opiates. I suppose I should be thankful his excitement made the whole experience a short one. But as unpleasant as it was, I learned desire can override even the staunchest moral code if it’s tempting enough.”

  Rother walked back to the side table and poured himself a fresh drink. Closing his eyes, he downed it in one swallow.

  “It didn’t take long to find older men with questionable tastes who would pay well to keep their secrets.”

  The new images his revelation conjured in my head were awful, but I couldn’t stay quiet. “Weren’t you worried for your safety?”

  “In the early days, I let an evening get out of control and was beaten half to death. I acquired a pistol afterwards. It evened out the odds.” Opening his eyes, Rother sighed and set his glass down. “It wasn’t the safest existence, but before long, I met Mrs. Marple, a local madam who took me under her wing and into her home, along with a number of others. We earned our keep and learned our trade. I lived there for several years. I met Alexandra in the house. We didn’t get along very well. Neither one of us liked the competition. One night, I heard her screaming for help. Her client was beating the living hell out of her. Shot the man dead without thinking twice. Mrs. Marple evicted me at once. Alexandra left with me and she’s been by my side ever since.”

  “That’s awful. I can’t imagine what it would take for any man to get the best of Alexandra.”

  Rother’s brow arched. “It never happened again.”

  “Is that how you met Blythe?”

  My husband shook his head. “No. Blythe has been many things and may appreciate the whores’ skills, but he has never been one of them.”

  If it was possible, I was more stunned now than when Mr. Lorings attacked me. My mouth opened and closed without saying a word. But really, what could I say? I’d asked for the whole ugly picture and now I feared it might stain me. And what had such an existence done to my husband? How does anyone live such a life and come out of it whole?