by Vlad Kahany
The closeness of his body!
His embrace!
She felt the familiar throbbing between the legs and wanted to punish herself for such a reaction. Yet, the memory of the kiss replayed again and again in her mind.
Like a reel.
Like an obsession.
Madness! She was going crazy! How could a man have so much effect on her? Unless he was the devil himself weaving the spiderweb of sinister desires into her mind.
She tried to read, then put the book away and started writing, but every time the images of the evening infected her mind, she would make a mistake. Irritated and exhausted by the emotions, she finally got undressed, put out the lamp, and got under the sheets. That made it worse. In the darkness of the night, and with the lustful noises of the brothel, her thoughts inevitably went to Lord Ashbee and his arms around her. She wondered what he was doing, where he was right now, what he thought of her, whether she was going to see him again.
And her mind went again to the kiss, the embrace, the scent of him that seemed to still linger in her hair. She was burning with a desire that she couldn’t explain, the shame that followed it everywhere, the longing with which her body reacted to every memory of his hands on her. Finally, her fingers lifted the bottom of her gown and slipped between her legs, to her throbbing core, wet like an ocean. Her legs opened wider, she sank into the memories and released herself with the thoughts about the one man.
Lord Ashbee…
CHAPTER 9
The next day, May was beset by a sickly feeling. The memories of the night before were following her everywhere.
The man’s words were fueling her anger.
A scoundrel!
His touch made her burn with shame.
How dared he!
His kiss and the imagery through the peephole sent her body into a strange restlessness. She shush-ed the images away, but whenever her mind wandered, they came back with even greater insistence.
A knock at the door did not foreshadow anything alarming until May answered it and saw Lord Ashbee standing there. The usual calmness in her eyes changed into panic as soon as she recognized the cunning smile.
“So, we meet again,” Lord Ashbee said as he gently forced himself past May and into the room, took a look around, and turned to face May.
Oh, her frightened eyes!
He loved that look of a trapped animal, the helplessness. Her eyes! They were even more beautiful now in the light of the day! A mix of grey and blue, clear but so deep as if they were meant to catch the ones looking into them and trap their souls.
She was beautiful, indeed. Lord Ashbee looked her up and down, noticing her one gentle hand clutching the door handle so tight as if her life depended on it.
“Hm…” He smiled and stopped his eyes on hers.
No, not a trapped animal. A caged bird!
She was like an endangered species captured and kept for preservation, rare and exquisite in her beauty. Lord Ashbee had seen a fair share of beautiful women in his life, but this one in front of him, so young and delicate, was something else.
May looked away.
“What do you want?” she asked, still holding the door open.
“What do we all want…” Lord Ashbee echoed. “Ah! That’s the question, isn’t it?” He took several steps to the nearby chair and took a seat carelessly as if he was in his own house.
“You need to leave,” May said quietly. She was appalled at his informal manner.
“I don’t need to. Do you want me to?” He smirked, fixing his eyes on her.
She raised her eyes at him.
“I want you to leave!” she said louder, trying to summon all her determination but failed.
“If you keep screaming, someone might take an interest and come to check what is going on. You should close that door”—he nodded—“unless, of course, you want spectators.”
May hesitated for a moment and closed the door. He was right. Lord Ashbee was bad enough, but she didn’t want anyone else to find the two of them here.
He took his time. Looked around the room, clean and simple, glanced at the books on the bureau. The room smelled of fragrance that he couldn’t quite dissect—a floral scent, with some fresh fruity accords, yet, musky and woody. There was a hint of a water-lily in it. Quite unusual!
“I find it peculiar,” he said, turning his gaze to her, “that every time we meet, we are hiding from people.”
A smile played on his lips, and May blushed at the hint of the night before.
“I don’t believe we were formally introduced. I am Raymond Ashbee. Ray. Or Lord Ashbee. You can call me either way”—he smiled—“and you are…”—he raised his eyebrows, waiting for the answer.
“None of your business, Lord Ashbee,” she answered and lifted her chin to reinforce her answer.
“Hm, I’ve heard that somewhere…” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Ah! Miss May. That’s right.”
He knew her name!
Did Mrs. Sharke tell him?
Did she tell him more than that?
Panic reflected in her eyes, and she looked away from him.
“Here’s the thing, May. Beautiful women are my interest. So are the women of the House.” He paused, but she was silent, and he continued, “So is anyone that makes my business their own.”
He got off the chair and strolled towards her.
“And I believe that you accidentally fell into that category when you decided to spy on me.”
He stopped in front of her. Too close, in fact. She stepped back only to find the door behind her. Lord Ashbee moved closer, cornering her. She was helpless, again, without a way to flee.
His eyes traveled around her face. The sweet scent of the room got stronger. Ah! It was hers!
“I am a wealthy man, Miss May,” he said, drawing a slow, wicked smile, which May did not quite understand the meaning of yet. “Maybe, you could use a good benefactor, and I would be more than happy to be of service.”
A benefactor?
He was trying to buy her?!
“I don’t need money,” May answered sharply but failing to hide the trembling. “Or a benefactor,” she added and blushed, knowing perfectly well what the man was offering.
“I see.” Lord Ashbee’s smile didn’t go away as if the man didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. “Do you like to be entertained, Miss May?” His smile grew bigger instead.
“I don’t want anything from you,” she answered, trying to avoid his eyes.
“Uh-huh”—he nodded—“the encounter last night fails to prove your statement. I could sense a certain interest that you expressed by invading my”—he cleared his throat—“privacy. To put it mildly.” The smile shifted to his eyes.
May was starting to panic. There was nowhere to run. Lord Ashbee’s face was almost as close to her as the other night, and though it scared May, she felt a strange jolt of excitement from being so close to him. His body was inches away, and she could smell a mix of cigars and cologne and spirits and woman’s perfume and something bitter. It was a wonderful scent—the scent of a man that lived a full life without denying himself any pleasure.
She tried not to look at him.
The time stood still.
The silence between them was more dangerous than words.
She could see his hand rising, and in the next moment, his finger delicately stroked her cheek.
Her mouth opened in a tiny sharp gasp, and her heart started to beat violently. Motionless, unable to speak, she felt paralyzed feeling Lord Ashbee’s finger trace her jawline, then stroke a strand of her hair.
“There is no reason to be afraid, May,” Lord Ashbee said in a husky voice as his other hand slowly slid around her waist. He was so close again, just like the night before. She looked up and met his dark eyes that sent shivers down her spine. She immediately wanted to look away but couldn’t, instead, felt drowning in his magnetic gaze. It’s as if without any means, he tied her up, wrapped her into his tight embrace, and
got to the very core of her, reading her thoughts, discovering her deepest desires.
His forefinger traced her chin, then paused, and his thumb caressed her bottom lip.
She could barely breathe, unable to move as his thumb slowly moved back and forth along her lips and his eyes studied her face. She knew that she needed to stop him, but her body refused to, told her otherwise, swelled with the unknown before desire, and she wanted this man to be even closer.
Lord Ashbee studied May. Her eyes that he could see now so close were mesmerizing, framed with perfect dark eyelashes, the look so timid but longing, no mistake. Her skin like cream and the lips so full and sensual that he felt aroused just from touching them. He wanted to devour the fragile thing in front of him, rip her clothes off, take her instantly and drown inside of her, but there was a sweetness to this slow torture of restraining oneself. The girl was like no other, and he knew he had to take it slow. This wasn’t the darkness of the hallway where he, already burning with desire, caught her by surprise. Here in the light, he was trying not to scare her away.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered, lifting May’s face closer, and his lips touched hers.
He kissed her slowly at first, once, twice, his touch that of butterfly wings, as if letting her lips to get to know his. Then with gradual intensity, parting them, carefully sliding the soft tip of his tongue between them, sending the tremor down her nerves. Then deeper, finally meeting her tongue, timid but responsive, willing to match his eagerness. He softly pulled her tighter and felt her timid hands touch his forearms and move up to his biceps. Her tongue responded more eagerly, which swept him into a wave of desire that took his hand to cup her face and sink his tongue deeper, intertwine with hers, so soft, open, and accepting. He pressed himself into her as if trying to send his desire through the clothes, and her body went limp, giving in to his, and a barely audible moan escaped her throat.
Oh, May!
Their mouths and tongues melted together and became one. His body pressed her tight against the door wanting to be closer, yet, unable to get close enough.
The sudden loud rapping on the door sent them to a jolt. May pushed away, and her eyes flew open up at the man.
What was happening? Her mind panicked, and her heart started beating wildly in her chest.
The room suddenly seemed too quiet.
Lord Ashbee gazed at her in amusement, and she looked at her hands, still on him, withdrew them, slowly pulled herself away, trying to hide her eyes as if they could tell him something she was hiding.
Lord Ashbee stepped aside and let May go, carefully watching her disoriented moves, her fixing her dress as if it was a giveaway of what had just happened. She opened the door and found Krissy behind it. The maid looked up cheerfully but froze, noticing May’s frightened eyes.
“Miss…” Krissy paused, afraid that something awful happened, then fixed her head cap with a brisk movement and continued. “Miss Eliza is looking for Lord Ashbee,” she blurted and lowered her eyes, embarrassed to admit she knew the man was in the room. She then gave a quick curtsey and hurried away.
May closed the door and stood for a second, composing her thoughts. She couldn’t quite understand what had just happened. The kiss wasn’t the problem. Even Lord Ashbee in her room, which could put her in jeopardy, wasn’t. Her eager response, on the other hand, and the sensation that she had never experienced before—were. They were breathtaking and yet scary.
“May,” Lord Ashbee said softly and stepped closer, reaching his hand to her, but she jerked away. She didn’t want to look at him, but he seemed to be everywhere, and when he spoke, his voice enveloped her as if she was in his arms again.
“You need to leave,” she said quietly and stepped back, not looking up at him but trying to keep the distance.
“You said that already”—he made another step closer—“but I don’t think that’s what you want, sweetheart.” His mouth curled into a half-smile, but May stepped back again and looked up at him.
“I don’t want any trouble, Lord Ashbee. You need to go,” she said, though her eyes told him otherwise. “Please,” she added, and there was no timidness in that ‘please’ but despair and insistence instead.
She stepped back again, and Lord Ashbee nodded, looked around one more time as if waiting for her to change her mind.
“Very well, then,” he said finally, “I hope to see you soon, Miss May. Life is a lot more interesting when you give in to your desires.”
And with that, he left the room.
May went to the door and listened to the sound of his footsteps. Her mind went right back to the kiss, to his hands on her. She pressed her forehead to the door and closed her eyes, replaying in her mind the moment—his fingers, his lips so soft and gentle, his tongue that explored hers with such caution. He knew how to work women, that devil! No one kissed her like that before! And why in the world did May let him have his way again? What a fool she was! So self-confident before, she somehow turned into a helpless creature in the presence of this man. The sensation still burnt through her body, as if her mind was trying to set the rules, but her body functioned against its will. Despite what she was trying to tell herself, her body wanted Lord Ashbee again.
His dark eyes with a sparkle of a predator, so sharp yet so kind.
His lips on hers.
His tongue.
His fingers, touching her skin.
Madness!
May turned and looked wildly around the empty room, her nostrils tickled by Lord Ashbee’s scent that stayed behind. She walked to the desk, straightened the books, then sat on the chair, got up again, then straightened her dress and, for the rest of the night, did anything possible to erase the images of what had happened.
CHAPTER 10
Ah!
Fate! What a sneaky creature!
Luck. Destiny. Providence. Whatever you might call it. It didn’t matter when one could not escape the events that spun the life out of control.
Only later, after fated events, could one see the true scale of their works. The atrocities disguised as blessings. Or the happiness brought by misfortunes.
It happened on a perfectly nice sunny day, as the most unspeakable things usually do. When the bright blue sky shined onto the world. When the birds’ songs were the gayest. When the spring blossoms were the loveliest.
It was Krissy who brought the news, entering May’s room with the gravest expression on her face.
“It’s Ada,” she said, and May’s heart seemed to stall. “That bastard, drunkard, took her.”
“Her father?”
Krissy nodded.
“Took her where, Krissy?” May stared in confusion.
The maid shrugged her shoulders.
“He owed money. For gambling and stuff.”
She told May what she knew—that he had gotten involved with the ruthless sharks of the Bluegate, how he kept losing money but kept going, already deep in debt, how they beat him several times, and he lost even more money, and eventually, under threats of life, he offered them Ada.
“But how…” May gaped at her in shock. “That can’t be… The constables! Martha needs to get the constables! The magistrate! The court!”
“No point.” Krissy shook her head. “There are many like him. He will rid of Martha before she does anything.”
“But… What will become of Ada?”
Krissy sighed. “Who knows. Things they do. She’ll probably be sold.”
“Sold?!” May exclaimed in horror.
“For something or to someone. It’s true,” Krissy answered simply. “Little girls fetch a lot of money down in the East End. It’s true, Miss”—she nodded—“the pretty ones like her—even more so.”
May stared in shock. The words resonated in her mind with Ada’s.
“My papa says so too.”
Her eyes ran wildly around the room, her thoughts a whirlpool.
The bastard!
How could he?
Or anyone?
<
br /> How rotten can one’s heart be to do such a thing?
A wave of ice gripped her insights and the lungs that seemed to lack air.
She summoned Martha. The maid was tears and sobs, with red puffy eyes and the mouth twisted in distress as she repeated the story.
“I can’t ask Mrs. Sharke,” she sobbed. “She don’t want no trouble. And if she fires me, I will be as good as dead anyway,” she concluded and broke into an even more violent sobbing fit.
“I will ask her myself, then,” May said with confidence. “I will find the way.” She trembled with shock. Surely Mrs. Sharke would not remain unsympathetic when a child was in danger!
—————
“Have you lost your mind, my dear?” Mrs. Sharke cried out after hearing the story and poured herself more brandy.
Was that surprise or mockery? May thought, unsure of the reaction.
“Do you know the amount of money it takes?” the madam continued. “Say, what am I going to do if one day you disappear and I am left with the money loss, the only consolation—doing a good deed? Almost every room in this house has a rescued soul. Rescued by no other than me!” She lifted a forefinger in the air for reinforcement. “I am no angel. Or god. But surely, I am not filthy rich.”
Oh, Mrs. Sharke was being modest! She had plenty of money. And, to others’ surprise, enough empathy that was hidden away from the strangers’ eyes. She calculated in her mind the costs, mulled over the situation, and decided that if Martha were so inconsolable and asked her for help, she would help. But no earlier.
Meanwhile, May came back to her room with the bitter feeling of rejection and on the verge of tears.
Desperate, she tried to come up with a way out.
Where can she get the money?
Just an image of Ada in the hands of filthy people, taking advantage of her, using her, humiliating, forcing her into unimaginable, made May suffocate from horror.
She spent hours pacing around the room, then called for the maid, and collapsed in the armchair.
