The Tender Days of May (The Belle House Book 1)

by Vlad Kahany

  “I was never a man of fear, May.”

  “So you think. We all fear something.”

  “What do you fear, May?”

  Her lips curled in a smirk.

  “You probably know better than anyone.”

  “Do I?”

  “The all-knowing Lord Ashbee!” She smirked.

  He gave her a puzzled look. He didn’t like the tone, nor where this was going.

  “I see. Hmm. Why don’t we talk about something more pleasant?” he said with an uneasy smile and stroked her cheek.

  They dropped the topic, but it left a bitter feeling in both of them.

  May was hurt by his thinking that he “bought her.”

  Lord Ashbee was bitter at the fact that May thought she could dissect his inner world. Moreover, that she considered herself more powerful than the finest women in the high society that gave in to him despite their status and danger of exposure.

  Both pretended that they forgot about the conversation. Neither of them did. They talked about other things. The theatre that May didn’t know much about. Nature and horse-back riding that she did. She wanted to go back to the Belle House, but he insisted that she stayed till morning. His bedroom was bigger than any other room in the house, and they made love one more time, Lord Ashbee less attentive to May this time, consumed by his own needs.

  In the morning, when the first light crept up the walls, both of them stirred awake, alien to the feel of another person in bed. He took her again, and later, they rode back to the Belle House.

  There was a brief goodbye, less endearing than any before, and the two spent the day thinking about what they had said. While May felt like the times of the caged bird were upon her, Lord Ashbee decided that she should be taught a lesson. No one could tell Lord Ashbee what he was and what he wasn’t.

  CHAPTER 9

  How quickly one gets used to social life or the absence of it!

  Lord Ashbee threw himself back into the parties and gatherings, theaters and charities. He didn’t realize how much time he had spent with May. Now, he felt like he had been away and returned.

  Everywhere he went, he was met with a welcoming cheer from some and leering glances from others. A few asked him what he had been up to lately. Others whispered about what scandalous things he could be involved in this time.

  Charles was more enthusiastic than ever to have his friend back in social gatherings.

  Lord Ashbee, on the other hand, was disappointed. How dull and unexciting all this noise seemed now! He thought that not seeing May would take his mind away from her, but his thoughts constantly returned to her as if they anchored in that small room of the Belle House, and no matter where he went, it pulled him back.

  He didn’t like it at all. In fact, it irritated and annoyed him. He tried to soothe his restless mind by replaying the conversation they had had at his house. Every time he had an urge to go and see her, he thought of the reason to look down on her.

  On day three, he finally gave up and went to the Belle House but with a different purpose.

  To see Eliza.

  —————

  Oh, how delighted Eliza was to see Lord Ashbee! How she failed to conceal it! Chatting, witty remarks, pretended indifference, and they were in her room. She was like a feline doing her cat walk in front of him—her clever game of seduction. But this time, it didn’t work its charms on Lord Ashbee.

  “Take off your dress,” he said as soon as the door was closed. Bitterness festered in his heart, and his mind was in the room just several doors down, but he kept his gaze on Eliza.

  She sashayed towards him, hands on her hips, mouth curled in a smirk.

  “Please?” she teased him in her usual sassy manner.

  “It’s not a request, sweets. It’s an order.” He smirked irritated. He wasn’t in the mood for foreplay.

  “Is it, now?” she mimicked his tone. They had played this game before. “Say ‘please’.”

  His eyes remained cold, but the lips stretched in a smile, followed by a chuckle. “I pay for the services, remember?”

  She stopped, raised her chin, her eyes spitting fire at him, and started to slowly turn away, when he bolted towards her, grabbed her by the waist, drawing a yelp of surprise from her, and wrestled her face down onto the bed, his entire body weight on top of her. They panted from the abrupt action and tension as his hand slipped to her legs, gathered the skirt and yanked it up. Eliza trashed underneath him in an attempted protest as his hand went down her bare buttocks and in between her legs, finding her warm and wet already. Ah, she missed him, indeed, he thought with satisfaction. His finger slid inside of her in a quick move, and he bit her butt cheek. A delighted squeak escaped her mouth, and her buttocks pushed against his palm, though yearning for something bigger.

  “I think you need to learn some manners,” he said in a husky voice. His finger swung out of her and went for his trousers, pulled his member out, and he thrust inside her with one quick jerk.

  She moaned as he kept pounding into her with force, as if trying to hurt her, thinking that this time, he would not let her enjoy it. But as his hips started moving faster, he heard her loud moans, her perfect orgasm imitation that he knew so well. He closed his eyes and remembered May’s face, her body, her movements so delicate, almost art. He imagined her underneath him and soon exploded in an orgasm.

  He threw himself on to the back, panting, his eyes still shut.

  He could feel Eliza next to him, knew she was watching him, still lying there without changing the position, her buttocks throbbing for more action. Sassy and exquisitely versed in the ways of the bedroom, she had been his entertainment for several months now. He always enjoyed her company. Now, he didn’t feel like looking at her. It was all alien. Her voice, cooing something, trying to keep the game up. Her perfume, too intense and overly sweet. This room that hundreds had been to.

  He was spent, relieved, but somewhat disappointed, the only thoughts in his head—those of May.

  —————

  Several doors down, May sat reading a book, when Krissy brought her tea.

  “Lord Ashbee is here,” the maid said nonchalantly, avoiding to look at the woman.

  The news made May flutter in anticipation.

  “Is he with Mrs. Sharke?” she asked quickly.

  “He is with Miss Eliza.” Krissy gave May a curious glance.

  “Oh,” May uttered and looked away quickly to hide her disappointment.

  No, not a disappointment. She was stung by the news!

  So, he went to Eliza. Of course. He was getting bored.

  But didn’t they have a great time just the other day at his house?

  May didn’t understand. It pained her to think of Lord Ashbee with another woman. She tried to brush away the thoughts, the frustration, but her eyes welled up with tears. She got up abruptly, opened the window, and inhaled the spring air.

  It smelled of flowers, of the flowers that Lord Ashbee brought her now and then.

  It smelled like him!

  His embrace!

  His touch!

  His whispers!

  She was losing her mind! Several days had passed without seeing him, and now he was here again but with another woman. She closed her eyes, trying to hold the tears that were about to roll down her cheeks as Krissy shot a curious glance at her again and left the room.

  CHAPTER 10

  Ah, May!

  She had no idea what feelings were brewing in Lord Ashbee’s heart. There was no other woman in his life that he wanted more than her. He wanted to possess her, her body and life. The innocence that was so alluring when he first saw her in the hallway seemed to be still there. But no, it wasn’t the innocence that captivated him. It was the grace and the genuine qualities that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. There was so much more to her that she would not give up, no matter the cost. The virtue that shone through her was the most precious thing he saw in any woman, and the realization of it was surprising to him now, fo
r virtue was never much on his list of important qualities. He wanted her to be his, dreaded the thought of sharing her with anyone else, loathed the occasional images in his head of someone else’s fingers caressing her body and using the most precious corners of her flesh.

  But what were the options? He didn’t know what her story was, nor did he manage to find out where she came from and where she was off to next.

  “Tell me about yourself,” he asked her so many times, but she would look away.

  How long was she there for? Another week? A month? A year? A lifetime? Could he possibly make her his? And what would that be like? Would he get bored with her shortly? Would she get too needy? Would he care?

  The thoughts occupied Lord Ashbee regularly, to the point of obsession, for May inhibited his mind almost constantly, made a home there, her graceful hands and sensitive words caressed the most intimate corners of his mind, and it had nothing to do with bedroom pleasures. That was the scariest part. It had to do with his soul. And Lord Ashbee wasn’t used to that.

  He sat in the armchair in his sitting-room one evening and watched the flames lick at the wood in the fireplace. Then picked up a cigarette, lit it, and took a sip of brandy as his thoughts morphed to the rhythm of the fire.

  Yes, he wanted to see May again. Desperately. He was surprised at such a pathetic longing. What if he took her out, showed her off, presented her to the world? She would be dazzling in a beautiful dress and fancy jewelry! She would be the talk of the town and the envy of many! Would he get bored eventually? Would love get slowly sedated by the mediocracy of life?

  Love!

  The word almost made him choke.

  Did he, Lord Ashbee, just use that word?

  He chuckled at his silliness.

  No, it was not love. Obsession, maybe. Intense longing. He wasn’t a man made for love. He was made for lust and desire. She was his study piece. His most entertaining conquest. The fact that now he wanted her more than ever—after he had seduced her, after he had already gotten what he wanted—didn’t make sense. Everything runs its course. So shall this. Shall it? Was there a chance that May could be so different from others that she could fulfill his needs without becoming just another ordinary woman?

  Who was she? Would she understand London life and the fact that she would have to be his partner not just in bed or in the household, but also in his political games, learn the intricate mechanisms of the social life? Probably not. That was the thing that bothered him the most. She lacked power. She was learning it in the bedroom, for anything could be learned but the dignity of the upper class, its natural-born superiority. Ah, for him, even love came with conditions and calculations.

  Love!

  What a sticky annoying word!

  That wasn’t it. Then what was it that made him want to be in her small bedroom in the Belle House? To be touched by her? To be in her arms? To possess her? To hear her talk? To tell her things that were on his mind that he wouldn’t want to share with others? First, she stirred his curiosity. Then—his imagination. Now she stirred his soul, and that was the most vulnerable part of a man.

  The cigarette had burnt half-way through, and the glass of brandy was barely touched. Lord Ashbee looked at the ring on his left hand. The stone now shone with a deep orange-red, the green-colored gold almost dark brown in the lack of light. It was a present from The Man. The only thing besides the knowledge that was left of him.

  What would The Man have to say to that? Lord Ashbee missed him in moments like this. The Man always had the answer. He was an expert in games that people played.

  Lord Ashbee took a drag off the cigarette. He was lost in his thoughts. Reason before senses. Rationality before impulses. He never spent much time exploring his feelings until now. It amused him, how much tension and longing he felt inside. Surprised him, in fact. And disturbed him greatly. He always warned his friends that the matters of the heart led to foolish actions and could destroy the best of men. He thought he was taking advantage of May, ruining her innocence, slowly, step by step. Now he felt that she was ruining him.

  CHAPTER 11

  “I am glad we get to see you at this hour. You took a night off from bedding women?” Charles laughed, looking at Lord Ashbee, who was unusually quiet.

  They had just left Lady Agatha’s townhouse, where she hosted her usual Friday dinner. The company was the same except for Lady Catherine, who displayed uneasiness at Lord Ashbee’s presence and left early.

  “Why is it that some of the most respectable women in this city leave the parties in a hurry when you are present, Lord Ashbee?” Lady Agatha inquired over after-dinner brandy and cigarettes.

  “I think you asked me that before, Lady Agatha. And I think you know the answer,” he said with a smirk.

  She laughed. “Remind me. Good rumors never get old.”

  “There are no rumors. It’s the simple fact that women are too ambitious to pass up a good deal but too weak to admit it afterward.”

  “Lord Ashbee, you are certainly an interesting deal, for the lack of better words. And women hate the word ‘afterward.’ So do a lot of men.”

  “The smart men rise in this world because of those ‘afterwards’.”

  Lord Ashbee and Charles left the party just after ten at night. The weather was wonderful, and they decided to go to Haymarket. But instead of taking a carriage, they walked.

  “Something is bothering you, Ray,” Charles said, uneasy at his friend’s silence, as they walked the streets. “Or someone? Let me guess. It’s a woman.”

  “Women don’t bother me, Charles. Their weaknesses do.”

  “Their weaknesses are what you prey on, my friend.”

  “I prey on their powers, Charles. When they lose them, that’s when I lose interest.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Women are possessive creatures. You invest your attention and time into them, and suddenly they think they know who you are, what you need, and how you should live your life,” Lord Ashbee said with a more than usual bitterness in his voice.

  “Oh, do I hear disappointment?” Charles knew his friend too well. “Who is she, this mysterious infatuation of yours?”

  Lord Ashbee smirked and thought of May. This morning he wanted to stay away from her. Now, he wanted to see her again, talk, go back to the conversation, and set the record straight. As soon as he thought about her for length, the desire to be with her and touch her became stronger than any desire to entertain and be entertained. Even during the dinner, amidst the noise and the laughter, he could picture May on her knees in front of him, and it made him hard.

  She hadn’t done it.

  Yet.

  And all the things she hadn’t—haunted him in his dreams. It drove him crazy.

  In moments like this, he wanted to leave everything and run to the small room in the Belle House, to see May again. Women were something he never had to worry about. At times, he had them daily. Whores and ladies alike. Whores threw themselves at him for free. Ladies offered money to marry him, young, old, naive, smart. But all he could think was an inexperienced young woman dressed in a laywoman’s clothes who wouldn’t admit his power.

  The thoughts preoccupied Lord Ashbee all the way to the Haymarket, where they found the public orchestra still playing, the crowds as usually jolly, enjoying the warm spring weather. The parlors were full, too. There was a crowd at Theatre Royal that was rebuilt after the fire. The new building looked glamorous and full of life and light, but Lord Ashbee didn’t feel like watching another performance. They ran into Will Crossic and friends and stopped for late drinks at Wild Goat Saloon. Life was roaring all around. But in the haze of the tobacco smoke, and the glare of the glasses, and the heat of strong drinks, something bothered Lord Ashbee, nagged at his mind.

  Suddenly, he had the urge to see bear-baiting. There was one in Covent Garden. The bear, old and exhausted, would likely be a roadkill site. No claws, no teeth. The dogs, equally old and tired, yapping and snarling at the cornered o
ld monster in the last strained attempts to show off. In public cages, the bear-baiting was a twice-a-day entertainment, the bear and the dogs just angry roommates, performing out of habit. It was a pathetic display. A theatre. The bear—an unfortunate actor.

  No! Lord Ashbee craved raw entertainment!

  “Let’s go to East London, Charles,” he told his friend and met his surprised glance.

  “What for, Ray?” he said, smiling but with fear in his eyes.

  “Just good old bear-baiting. This”—he waved his hand around at the cheerful crowd—“irritates me. it’s like watching a cheap theatre play with bad actors and even more pathetic audience.”

  “I am afraid, I won’t keep you company, my friend.” Charles smiled apologetically but looked at Lord Ashbee with worry. It wasn’t often that his friend had the urge to descend to ‘darkest London.’ But when he did, there was usually a reason. A reason strong enough to want to be among the darkest sides of humanity.

  Instead, they went and spent some time at a gambling den, then stopped at Rose Tavern on Russell Street. It was quite a shady but notorious spot that brought the London variety together. Poets and actors, fraudsters and pimps, criminals, and aristocrats congregated here without minding each other’s business. Good food and cheap drinks pleased everyone’s taste, as well as the occasional brawls.

  It was no surprise that Charles and Lord Ashbee ran into Will Crossic again, and they spent several hours drinking. But even the rowdy crowd could not drown out the thoughts in Lord Ashbee’s head.

  —————

  To forget oneself, one needed to throw himself in the worst possible horror. For one to escape mental pain, he had to inflict physical. Only by exposing himself to the ugliness, however disgusting, one could appreciate the beauty of life.

  That was Lord Ashbee’s lifelong philosophy that he preached and practiced. The one he inherited from The Man.