Innocence and Carnality

by J. Alan Veerkamp

  I saw this as a personal triumph. Perhaps I could be part of more than Delaga House. I might be able to survive outside its walls should the opportunity arise.

  The steps back to the carriage were far less oppressive than I expected. “Do you think the doctor will give me a good report?”

  “If he knows what’s good for him, he will.”

  “It will be true regardless. He won’t have to compromise his professional ethics. Such as they are.”

  “I’ll check in with him later this week to be sure.”

  I stifled a chuckle. If only I could be present for the return visit.

  “Even though I didn’t need saving, I wouldn’t have found out Rother’s part without you. And it was important for me to know it.”

  “You mean you needed to know Rother still doesn’t trust you.”

  “I already knew that. It was important to know how little he trusts me.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “The same as before. Find a way to make peace with my husband. If we’re at war, I’ll never have the chance to walk along the street again in the fresh air.”

  Blythe’s grunt was almost a whisper. “It’s not right.”

  “It is what it is.”

  A pair of birds chased back and forth between the lines of buildings, taunting me. I followed their path, jealous of their wings, until Blythe’s hand on my shoulder brought me to earth.

  “Wherever you want to go, I’ll take you. Just ask.”

  And in that instant of pure honesty, the quickening returned, the same as when we locked eyes upon each other.

  “Thank you.”

  The next moment we were back to normal. I wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

  Several more blocks passed under our shoes with minimal conversation. This time it was Blythe who broke the quiet.

  “I gotta admit, you were pretty fierce with the doc back there. We’ll make a pirate out of you yet.” He bumped my shoulder with a playful pride, managing to not bowl me over.

  I laughed out loud. “I couldn’t have made him speak up without your help.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “I think you take a little too much enjoyment of playing the thug. I’m glad Dr. Perrin didn’t guess my bluff about you putting out his eyes.”

  Blythe snorted. “Who said it was a bluff?”

  “I’m going to pretend you’re just saying that to unnerve me.” I wasn’t convinced he was joking.

  “If it helps you sleep at night, princess.”

  I nearly rolled my eyes. At times, the man’s audacity knew no limits.

  “Ugh. To think I’m beginning to find your lurid suggestions almost appealing right now.”

  “See? Told ya you liked me.”

  Chapter 16

  “I MEANT to ask you earlier, how’s the music box coming along?”

  It was difficult not to groan out loud at Rother’s question, given my frustration. My mother would have thrown herself into the nearest settee in a dramatic swoon and produced her favorite fan. All the while not touching her back to the cushions. Marisolian men didn’t stoop to such histrionics, so I’m told.

  Instead, I merely exhaled. “Awful. I’m tempted to dismantle every gear just to punish the contraption. It looks like everything is in place, but it refuses to behave.”

  “How ironic.” The smile on his suave face was audible.

  I didn’t rise to his barb. “I’m sure I’m missing something obvious. I know I can repair it. I’ll just need more time.”

  “Take all the time you need. The clients will survive in the meantime.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You have more aptitude for the thing than anyone else here, and if you do the work, I don’t have to spend any money in the process. We both win.”

  I appreciated Rother’s lack of pressure over the music box as much as his consideration to encourage my hobby. While he might not have shared in my interest, my ability to tinker made the days easier. Life in the house was improving.

  The doctor’s health report had arrived by post the week before, and Rother’s mood elevated. Another layer of tension in the house defused. I didn’t ask for special favors or press the limits of his trust. Leaving him content over the slow evolution of our relationship was more worthwhile. Years as a penniless urchin had forged Rother into a patient man.

  Attired in Marisolian couture, arms linked, Rother and I sauntered through the salon, surrounded by a growing population of Delaga House customers. As his polite manner increased each day, his touch made me cringe less, making the game easier to play.

  I covered his hand with mine. “Do we have any special guests this evening we need to accommodate?”

  “Our whole industry is an exercise in accommodation.”

  I found Rother’s point of view oversimplified, but it was how Delaga House appeared on the surface. Request a service, pay a fee, receive a service. The most basic business model. The nuances of what occurred underneath were what made it unique… and unsavory. Keeping the whole exchange in elementary terms dampened my ever-fading revulsion. The more involved I became, the less it repulsed me. Tainted, perhaps?

  “Then where will we be starting tonight?” I cast my gaze over the thickening crowd. Staff members circulated, offering refreshments and light conversation. The first stages of courtship negotiations were underway.

  “Patience. We don’t rush over to every dignitary. It smacks of desperation. We keep ourselves available yet aloof.”

  “And if there’s someone important we need to speak with?”

  Rother reached over to smooth my lapel and open my collar wider. Cooler air kissed my exposed burn. I forced myself not to react at his satisfaction.

  “We work our way to them. Gradually. And without being obvious.”

  I listened in to the overlapping conversations surrounding us. “It’s odd how careful everyone is here. In spite of the fact they all walk through the doors for the same thing, they talk amongst themselves about anything and everything but that very thing.”

  “True. But accepting your desires and voicing them are not the same thing. Some need a nudge, no matter how self-aware. You should understand that.”

  “I do.”

  I found Rother’s role as my educator compelling, and I was eager to learn in spite of his ever-present domineering tone. It galled me to have him as the voice of experience. When I stood with Rother before, I was little more than window dressing, smiling and nodding at the proper moment. This time, however, I planned to watch more closely.

  The choreography was instant. Alexandra, as the primary hostess, greeted and directed customers to the appropriate area, whether it be the salon or gaming room. Waitstaff drifted through the milling crowd, providing refreshments and keeping everyone content. Dressed provocatively, the prostitutes made idle chat, some more aggressively than others. They brokered requests and connected them with the staff member best suited to fulfill them. Meanwhile, Rother and I stood over them all, interacting with only the best sort of client. The royalty amongst the sinners.

  The camaraderie amongst the men waiting their turn at carnality surprised me. They chatted, told tall tales, and greeted one another like long-lost friends. No one skulked in the corner trying to hide their deviance. All comers were here for the same thing, even if the requests varied from the romantic storybook to one of Alexandra’s more severe encounters. It pleased me to hear those interactions were less common. They may not have discussed the particulars, but there was no pretense. Delaga House was its own secret fraternity.

  Despite its unsavory elements, this was true business. Far more complex than cultivating secret assignations. The relationship between procurer, whore, and solicitor held many subtle levels and stretched beyond the house’s confines. It was more than providing fantasy and placing coin in Rother’s pockets. Those soliciting his services didn’t ignore him once their needs were satisfied. In my moral outrage, I’d dismissed the whole interaction as triv
ial and been relegated to the position of nobleman whore without realizing. And here I thought being Rother’s husband elevated me to the status of procurer. It showed how little a good name mattered in the hierarchy. Being born of noble stock had no bearing in Marisol or Delaga House.

  Rother signaled a server, who brought glasses of wine for each of us. Each watered-down drink gave the illusion of social brotherhood while maintaining our clarity for negotiation. A clever practice.

  I tipped my glass, saluting Dr. Perrin, whom I’d spotted, head bowed, speaking to Alexandra. No question where his perversions lay. Returning my silent greeting with a faint nod, he focused intently on the house mistress. I found no need to interrupt.

  A rumbling timbre drifted over the din. I shouldn’t have noticed given the ambient conversations, but the sound drew me. I couldn’t hear the specifics, but given the subtle threat of his posture, I guessed Blythe was giving a warning to the paling gentleman to his right. At his size, my bodyguard shouldn’t have been able to sift through the crowd so easily, unless they were creating a path. Which made sense because I wouldn’t cross the man if I were a customer. Blythe looked quite dapper with his leather vest snugged tight over his barreled chest. The crisp linen shirt framed his shoulders and fastened at his wrists with bronze cufflinks. Thinking back, even with the informal dress code at Delaga House during the off-hours, I’d never seen him without long sleeves, not even when I’d walked in on him and Harston. The matching cap gave him a stylish yet dangerous touch.

  I almost tripped when Rother’s tug on my arm changed our direction. My focus whirled back to him. How long had he been talking?

  “Knowledge is the key to advantage. The more you know about your client’s needs, the better suited you are to serve them. And if necessary, provide the tools to allow them to return the favor. All business functions under this premise.”

  I couldn’t tell if Rother was being condescending or if I was too sensitive, so I catered to his authority and played along. “How much should I know?”

  “As much as is useful. A sharp memory is golden.” Making a show of sipping his diluted beverage, Rother nodded to an older gentleman dressed in a well-made suit, engaged in conversation with another customer. His confident stance marked him as a man of importance. “Do you remember that man in the gray suit?”

  “Not offhand. Should I?”

  “I suppose the context is important. The last time you saw him he was eating a lollipop, wearing a diaper.”

  The viewing hall. This was the man roleplaying as a toddler being diddled by a physician. I hadn’t been able to look at a piece of candy in the same way since.

  “Now that you’ve dredged up that image, I’ll never stop seeing him like that. I’ll need a lobotomy to strike that memory from my head.”

  “No. It’s important to know. Officially, he’s Chief Magistrate Zachary Saux, and as I told you before, his position leaves him needing a release from the weight of his duties. His husband would not understand. He is a staunch moralist against all physical pleasure who tried to have Delaga House closed down a number of years ago.”

  “If this is all legal, how could he?”

  “He claimed the staff were all slaves and we were using drugs and drink to defraud our customers.”

  I resisted the urge to close my collar where my own mark could be seen. “Was there any truth to it?”

  Rother cocked his head and his answer was edged in steel. “No.”

  “I’m not trying to offend you, but if you want me to understand the importance of the story, I need more than the surface notes. What happened?”

  I wasn’t sure if Rother accepted my reason, but he relaxed and continued.

  “When Saux investigated, I enticed him to sample our wares. It wasn’t an easy task.”

  “You exploited him.”

  Rother’s head dipped close to whisper along my head. “I guided him. I could sense how deep his needs ran. The turmoil he craved to release. Once he’d bitten the fruit, his deviances revealed themselves, little by little. No one else would ever give him such freedom. He struck down the criminal charges and protects us from further prosecution.”

  His breath along my ear drew a shudder out of me. “And knowing his darkest secret conscripts him to you.”

  “Yes. Just like the man he’s speaking with.”

  “And who is he?” Saux’s rotund chatting partner was clad in a tailored navy suit. I could see the quality was well above the necessity for this gathering. The primped, mustached man was trying hard to impress.

  “That’s Gabriel Marquis, my solicitor. Where the Chief Magistrate provides us legal protections, Gabriel tends to my legal affairs.”

  “What does that entail?”

  “Licenses, permits, property holdings, drawing contracts, things of that nature. Surely your father employed a similar man.”

  “You forget, my family business instructions ended with a chastity belt. If he did, it was only to keep from dirtying his own hands.”

  “Then you already understand what solicitors are for.”

  I tried to see the man how Rother would. I watched him, adding any little action to the ledger in my head. While speaking with Magistrate Saux—who I mused must not have any clue to Marquis’s proclivities—his gaze drifted over me. A hint of wildness underscored his disturbing glance, testing my safety. I was never happier to have Rother at my side, but made a mental note of Blythe’s location. Just in case. Moments later, another staff member caught his eye. A pretty young man my husband swore was of legal age. I questioned it daily. The lust Marquis projected on the boy made me uneasy, even more so when the realization struck me.

  “He likes them young, doesn’t he?”

  Rother grunted. “Sadly, yes. I only provide the scenario, not actual adolescents. Even I have limits.”

  “But you don’t refuse his money.”

  “A transaction is easier to stomach. I would rather see him here than with the real thing. It’s a safe outlet for his impulses.”

  “How can you possibly know that will work?” The idea appalled me, and I barely held my voice calm as Marquis turned his view to me once again.

  Rother glared at his solicitor, forcing the man to avert his eyes. “He has a great deal to lose. Gabriel made a promise, knowing if I find out he breaks it, I’ll send him to the Chief Magistrate myself. And I always find out, because no one will keep that kind of secret. His type doesn’t fare well in prison. Even before they hang.”

  Yet Rother still provided the service, fantasy though it was. The same scenario. The same relationship. Procurer. Whore. Solicitor.

  Solicitor.

  I tasted the word, its foul tang a bitter medicine. Solicitor. Gears of thought began spinning together in lovely synchronicity powered by syllables. An epiphany of sorts. Rother was a better instructor than I gave him credit, and he didn’t know it. Inspiration. I could move myself out of the whore’s seat if I planned it correctly. The concept wasn’t whole. The mercurial details needed to be devised, but possibilities existed now.

  I kept my Deilian facade intact while my insides swelled with newfound hope. Rother didn’t need to know of my simmering excitement. The first tiny steps toward crafting a key for my gilded cage were within sight.

  “Teach me more,” I said.

  ANOTHER HOUR passed as we surveyed the flock. It no longer mattered what salacious activities they wanted, only the subtle parlay to accomplish the goal. Similar to the games Deilian nobles played, there was less artifice while losing none of the intrigue. I would prove to be a quick study.

  Every word from Rother gained in value. I hung on each sentence, weighing its significance, and locked away the worthy ones inside the safe of my thoughts. The more attentive I became, the more forthcoming his sharing, as I stroked his mad ego.

  “Lord Delaga! How good to see you.”

  The energy of our interchange cooled as we were approached by a man who reminded me of Rother. His well-chosen clothes accentu
ated his tall and fit physique. Cold blue eyes and roughhewn features sat framed by a tight crop of dark hair and the deliberate field of growth covering his jaw. Where I could argue Blythe’s faults as somewhat endearing, his were not. I wasn’t pleased to see Vivian on his arm, and Rother’s demeanor shifted. It was so minute, I almost missed it.

  “Mr. Avaston. How kind of you to join us.” I’d spent enough time scrutinizing my husband to recognize his host facade was in full effect. There wasn’t a hint of true personality beneath it. Only the people closest to him might see through the illusion.

  Rother hated this man.

  “Quite the healthy business you have tonight.” Avaston tipped back his tumbler, swilling back a gulp of dark amber liquor.

  “I’m just happy everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.” Rother nodded to Vivian. “Yourself included.”

  Avaston brushed a knuckle along Vivian’s cheek. “Viv’s always been my favorite of your girls. Thanks for keeping her schedule open.”

  Vivian giggled at the attention, but otherwise kept quiet.

  “For you, always.”

  Taking one step to the side, Avaston gestured to the man standing beside him. “This is my new assistant, David.”

  Rother saluted the newcomer with his wineglass. With his smaller stature and duplicate style, he was a stunted twin of Mr. Avaston. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, David. This is my husband, Nathan.”

  “A new assistant? What happened to the old one?” I gave a soft laugh, hoping it would be charming.

  Avaston gave me a knowing smile. “Well, after Mr. Lorings was banned from your House, I couldn’t really keep him. How would that look?”