by Amy Sandas
She didn’t exactly think she would shock him with her crude choice of words, but she certainly didn’t expect the reaction she got.
It started with a slow, almost gentle widening of his lips—as though he’d just been offered a favored sweet and was imagining how he’d savor it—followed by a glitter of unnamed intention in his eyes. “You are quite right, madam. And also very wrong.”
Chapter Two
Callista eased back into her chair and ran her hand along the waist of her corseted bodice, past the curve of her hip, before smoothing out the drape of her skirts over her crossed legs. Arching a brow, she gave a little sigh. “When it comes to the nature of my business, I am never wrong.”
His sharp, glittering gaze never left hers despite the temptation she offered in her lounging figure. Even so...whatever he was thinking caused a spark of heat to flare brightly in his eyes.
Callista saw it. She felt it. Like a bolt of white fire angling straight through her center, she felt it.
Still holding her gaze, he straightened in his seat and put his spectacles back on.
Callista honestly couldn’t decide if he was more unsettling with them or without. The man was indescribably handsome. Virile. Unexpected.
“I would never question your expertise, madam. However, I do believe it is time to address the true purpose of your visit.”
“And what do you perceive the true nature of my visit to be?” she asked disdainfully.
He lowered his chin. “You are a clearly a woman of discernment. One who appreciates knowledge and discretion in equal measure. You have come to me for answers. And as I said earlier...I shall endeavor to satisfy you.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “But first, would you like a drink?”
Anticipation sparked inside Callista. It was an interesting tack he’d taken. But she possessed an agile mind and unwavering resolve. “Brandy,” she answered with an easy smile.
He opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew from it a bottle of fine French brandy and two snifters. After pouring two fingers into each glass, he rose to his feet and started around the wide desk. As he neared her position in the chair, she finally saw that his eyes were a very pale gray. Nearly silver. Despite his controlled manner, there was a predator’s gleam in their depths.
Reaching her side, he extended one of the snifters. “If you would indulge me, madam, it would be my pleasure to explain.”
A thrill went through her at his low-spoken words, but she hesitated. Stupidly. This was exactly why she’d come here. To get a sense of what he offered that had inspired such loyalty in his patrons. To learn the secret to how he’d formed a base of understated power and undeniable success in such a short time. She needed to know what she was up against.
Yet, as she looked up at his towering form—taller and broader than she’d realized—and noted the way he cradled the glass of brandy in his large palm, she got the oddest sense he was offering something she wasn’t ready to accept.
Just take the blasted drink before he thinks you’re daft. Or worse—afraid.
Affecting a tone of boredom, she accepted the brandy. “Do not expect me to be impressed, Mr. Maxwell.”
He nodded in acknowledgement as he lifted his glass to swirl it in the firelight. “I am aware of your great accomplishments, Madam Pendragon. A gentleman cannot step foot in London without hearing tales of a woman of insurmountable grace and influence. A woman capable of bringing the most powerful men in Britain to their knees—and having them beg for more.” Silver eyes caught hers in a quick snare. “A woman of indescribable beauty and fierce ambition. To achieve such success, one would have to possess extensive experience and infinite intuition. I’ve no doubt you can claim both in abundance. But I might just surprise you.”
Callista hid the distrust his words aroused with a graceful shrug. No man offered such pretty compliments without expecting something in return. Yet somehow, when he spoke in such a way, it felt more like a restating of fact than flattery. She had to admit...Erik Maxwell possessed a great deal of charm within his restrained manner.
Crossing in front of her, he took a seat in the chair beside her.
Watching at him from beneath the sweep of her lashes, she couldn’t help noting his patrician profile and athletic manner of movement—economical, relaxed yet dignified. He was a man who knew himself and trusted what his body was capable of. No doubt, he committed to a regular exercise regimen to maintain a superior degree of strength, endurance, and vitality.
That or he frequently enjoyed other, more pleasurable ways to promote a healthy physique.
To keep herself from wondering exactly how physically energetic a lover Erik Maxwell might be, she shifted in her seat, leaning toward him. The new position created deep, sensuous curves in her figure as she lifted her brandy. “By all means, Mr. Maxwell, surprise me.”
He removed his spectacles again, this time resting them atop his thigh—his solid, hard-muscled thigh. He looked a little older without the glass shielding the darker shadows of experience in his eyes. She was also able to detect the gleam of self-awareness in their depths and spied the fine lines fanning out from the corners. The evidence of age in his features supported his calm air of casual arrogance while avoiding any suggestion of world-weariness often seen in older men.
“Your devotion to discretion and the security of your patrons’ personal business is well-known. It is for this reason alone that I am willing to tell you the truth, yet before we go further in this discussion, I must have your assurance that you will not speak of what I tell you to anyone else.”
“Is it so scandalous?” she asked dismissively.
He tilted his head, and though amusement hovered around his mouth, his answer was given in all seriousness. “Some might consider it an unforgivable transgression. Either way, it involves a delicate and personal issue my clients wish to keep private. The true nature of what happens within the walls of Maxwell’s cannot become common knowledge.”
She was intrigued despite herself. “You have my assurance.”
“Although you were correct in saying my business is fucking”—his lips formed the word in a way that made her low body tighten—“my club is not a brothel.”
Callista arched her brows. “Of course it is, Mr. Maxwell. You provide sexual services for a fee. There is no way around it and no shame in admitting it.”
Silver eyes found hers. “It is not my intention to cast shame on the profession, madam. When managed well and safely, brothels offer valuable amenities to our societies by providing a welcome space for people to explore their desires and proclivities without fear of censure or risk to their person.”
Callista was only slightly impressed. “Then why deny the association?”
“I do not deny it. In fact, I encourage it as it distracts from the truth. But Maxwell’s does not deal in the business of pleasure for pleasure’s sake.” He lowered his chin. “Men do not come to me seeking such indulgences. They come to me for desperately needed guidance and instruction.”
It was not what she’d expected. “Instruction?”
“Essentially, among other related services, I tutor gentlemen in how to seduce and make love to their wives.”
Disbelief rolled through her at his words and her eyes widened as she stared back at him. She couldn’t possibly have heard him right. “Surely, you jest.”
“Not even a little.”
“Mr. Maxwell, I have been involved in this trade for many years, most of which have been spent exclusively catering to men of high society. Men of that breed in particular are notorious for seeking their pleasure outside of the marriage bed for a very clear reason. Their wives are purchased through dowries and business arrangements to provide proper, well-pedigreed wombs for breeding. The ladies serve a strict and limited purpose. Mistresses and bawdy houses serve another.” Callista shook her head with firm conviction. “No gentleman wishes to seduce his wife.”
Dark brows lifted as he gestured with his brandy snifter. “My succes
s suggests otherwise. There are, indeed, gentlemen who wish to enjoy the full gamut of pleasures—domestic, intimate, and sexual—with the woman they’ve taken as life mate.”
“Then why bother with seduction? A husband’s rights dictate that his wife must submit to his lustful needs.” Skepticism made her voice harsh. “She has no choice in the matter.”
“That is exactly the issue Maxwell’s rectifies.” The expression of the man beside her was earnest and thoughtful as he continued, “So many of these men grew to manhood with obscene amounts of wealth and prestige. They’ve easily obtained everything they wanted in their lives. Mistresses were not earned or won; they were beckoned with a ringed pinky finger. Lovers and friends flocked and fawned by the dozen. These men have always known well how to be pleasured, but only a rare few know how to go about pleasuring another with true emotion and generosity. And then there is the ridiculous notion that has pervaded humanity for too long—that a wife does not need or desire the same sort of attention in the bedroom that a mistress demands.”
Callista waved a hand in dismissal. “The number of men who do not know how to properly pleasure their bed partner is not under debate. What I will never believe is that a man would go through the trouble of directing such efforts toward his wife.”
“When a man’s heart is involved, he will go to great lengths to achieve his goals.”
Sitting back in her chair, Callista smirked. “Now I know it’s a con. Men don’t have hearts.”
He did not immediately refute her bold claim but sat looking at her with a steady focus. Then he lifted his glass for a long sip. “Again, madam, I must disagree. Though many men may disregard the value of a loving, satisfied wife...some do not.” He smiled. “I offer my services to those rare gentlemen.”
“For an exorbitant fee.”
“For a fair and reasonable fee when marital bliss is the reward.”
“Bliss,” she scoffed. “And what of these wives? What if they have no desire to deepen their relationships with their husbands?”
The light in his eyes darkened for a moment. “Coercion and manipulation are the antithesis of what I impart. Seduction is about connection. It is about knowledge and consideration and shared passion.”
Meeting his intent gaze, she gave a slow shake of her head. “You speak of things that simply cannot be taught.”
“Tell that to the countless men who have been enjoying more fulfilling marriages by becoming more generous, loving, sexually satisfying mates.”
She laughed. “You can claim that all you’d like. But you cannot prove it.”
He smiled. Slowly. Sensually. Intently. And that predator’s gleam entered his gaze once again. “There is a way to prove the validity of my methods.”
“I do not have time to observe your lessons, Mr. Maxwell. I have a business of my own to run.”
“You misunderstand, madam. I’d like to demonstrate my methods. Allow me to seduce you.”
As a thrill of delicate flames licked along the nerves of her body, Callista eyed him carefully and offered a short, indelicate laugh. “I am not susceptible to seduction, Mr. Maxwell, no matter how well practiced the techniques. I’ve seen behind the veil. It’s where I spend all my time.”
“I’ve promised to surprise you, madam.” His voice was warm and textured. Though he didn’t smile, Callista detected something anticipatory in his eyes. “Give me the chance.”
“I won’t go to bed with you.”
But then he did smile. A quiet curve of firm, sensual lips. “No. Not tonight anyway.” He replaced his spectacles and rose to his feet and stepped in front of her before offering his hand. “There is no need to rush.”
For the first time since stepping into her rival’s lair, she felt a frisson of alarm. She tilted her head to give him an assessing look, sliding her gaze up his trim form to his face, which was once again in shadow. Unable to read his expression, she lowered her attention to his hand. He possessed a wide palm and elegant fingers.
A shiver coursed through her. He thought to seduce her. And though the attempt would prove a failure despite her intense attraction to the man, she was admittedly very curious to see how he’d go about such a task. She wanted information about Maxwell’s. It seemed he was willing to give it her. That it was in the form of a futile demonstration shouldn’t matter.
After setting her brandy on the table beside her, she ignored his hand as she stood and smoothed her hands down the bodice of her black gown. “I shall give you until the end of the year.”
“That’s in twelve days.”
Callista shrugged and moved to step past him. “If you doubt your methods...”
“I’ve no doubts.” The weight of promise in his voice brought her to a stop. Their gazes met at an intimate distance.
“You’re rather sure of yourself.” The husky tone of her voice could not be fully disguised.
“With good reason.”
Callista narrowed her gaze to disguise the effect his words had on her. “If you fail to prove anything beyond your own hubris, you will close your doors and leave London.”
It was bold move.
“Agreed,” he replied easily. “Are you available tomorrow evening?”
“Evenings are difficult for me,” she replied as she slipped past him with a swish of her black skirts and started across the room to the door. It was time for her to leave before she started to regret coming in the first place. Or he thought to demand something in return if he should happen to succeed. Not that it would have mattered what boon he demanded since she had no doubt he would fail quite fantastically.
“I’ll arrange something,” he replied, undaunted by her evasion.
Callista lifted her hand in a wave over her shoulder. “You do that, Mr. Maxwell. I’ll see myself out.”
Chapter Three
Erik was still as he watched the dynamic woman walk away. The regal tilt of her head and purposeful stride contrasted in a fascinating way with the deeply sensual movement of her hips.
Once she stepped out of sight, he released a slow breath and leaned back against the edge of his desk.
His body was drawn taut. From head to toe, he felt primed and ready for action. The woman had worked him over with barely any effort. Though he was relatively certain she hadn’t detected his fierce, consuming attraction, he was just as confident that if she ever did turn an eye toward him with the intention of seduction, he’d be in serious trouble.
When he’d first arrived in London, he’d learned a great deal about the woman behind the success of Pendragon’s Pleasure House. It had only been a matter of time before he’d expected her to arrive at his club.
Madam Pendragon had proven to be the most captivating female Erik had ever encountered. With the ethereal beauty of a seraph and the commanding presence of a sorceress, Pendragon would undoubtedly prove to be a force unlike any he’d ever come up against.
Anticipation rushed through him.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked forward to something so intensely. His offer to seduce her had been impulsive but he had no desire to take it back, despite its many risks. One of the first things he told his clients was that they needed to be certain of their motivation and desired outcome. Seduction—as he taught it—was a serious endeavor. The effects of which had the potential to affect not only the seduced but also inevitably the seducer.
It had been a long time since he’d taken a lover. Once he’d begun to help men in realizing the full scope of pleasure and enjoyment to be found in their marriages, he’d found casual affairs unsatisfying.
But he’d never encountered a woman he wanted so intensely upon one brief meeting as he did Madam Pendragon. Everything about her attracted him. Her regal confidence, her sensual form, the shrewd gleam in her gaze, and the subtle twist of disdain in her smile.
Erik paced around his desk to stare down into the fire. He imagined stripping away her calculating aloofness and brash arrogance just as he’d remove the many layers o
f her fine clothing. What might be revealed beneath the black brocade and bewitching authority? Would he find a hot and fiery core within her cold ambition? Or was she made of steel throughout?
Twelve days to convince the bold woman she belonged in his bed. He’d have to be careful. His mouth curved as a thrill of anticipation coursed through his blood. He was up to the challenge.
WHEN ERIK SENT THE invitation to Madam Pendragon’s attention at her business address in the very early hours of the morning, he hadn’t expected a prompt response and hadn’t gotten one. The answer he eventually received just a few hours ago, however, gave him a breath of insight into the woman’s nature.
His message had requested her company for a late lunch at a location of her choice. Erik graciously offered to come for her in his carriage at an hour best suited to her full schedule.
Her reply was brief. An address. A time. And the assurance that she could manage her own way to the restaurant.
It was another challenge. He’d have to be resourceful—which he always was—and he’d have to be exceedingly quick.
The most popular oyster bar in Covent Garden was not typically open for business at such an early hour, but the owner had agreed to make an exception for a healthy fee. Despite the very late notice, the restaurant was staffed to accommodate their two guests with the manager agreeing to take care of them personally.
Erik arrived early to ensure all was in readiness, then sat at a table with a view of the door and waited.
The woman arrived promptly at the appointed hour, entering the establishment with bold confidence. The restaurant’s manager rushed forward to greet her at the door as Erik rose to his feet. Across the small restaurant, he watched as she released the fastenings of her black velvet pelisse to reveal the scarlet gown beneath. The manager draped her pelisse over his arm as he gestured toward their table. She murmured something to the man and he backed away. As she approached Erik, he noted how her stunning gown molded to her figure, accentuating the deep, luscious curves while the stiff bodice lovingly cupped and lifted her full breasts, creating a lush setting for three ropes of black pearls. She wore no hat or veil today and her fair hair was piled atop her head in loose curls. As she neared, he could see that the cold December air had brought pink to her cheeks and a glitter to her green eyes.
