That was unlikely, as Lavinia had seen the look in the duke's eyes as she had attempted to suck his cock that fateful night. It had been clear to her that his mind was elsewhere, most likely on the lovely Lady Eliza. The woman who was now his wife.
Desponia was under the illusion that once the duke got an heir on his new wife, he would once again seek out the pleasures provided by the whores in her stable. Lavinia knew otherwise. The duke was a man in love. No, Candlewood would not return to Lycosura again. But Desponia clearly believed otherwise and when the missive - written in the duke's firm, slashing hand, no less - had arrived that afternoon, directing Desponia to ready Ianthe for his good friend Viscount Chillton, the woman had jumped to do his bidding, visions of a small fortune likely dancing through her mind.
After all, Lavinia was not currently making Desponia any money, since word had gotten around rather quickly that she had not performed for the duke as he had desired. No man coming to Lycosura requested Lavinia's services, even though she knew good and well that the rumors regarding her virginity were swiftly making the rounds of the ton, largely spurred on by a recent on-dit in the Town Tattler. No man looking to tumble a whore for the night wanted to take a chance on her, it seemed. Especially given the outrageous prices Desponia charged for even an hour's worth of bedsport.
Still, Lavinia had thought there was some man, somewhere who had a taste for virgins. She had met at least two in her relatively short lifetime, after all. And she prayed that one such man would arrive at Lycosura soon. Otherwise, she would likely pay the consequences.
So when the letter from Chillton, otherwise known as Frost, had followed within the hour of the duke's letter being delivered, Desponia had all but fallen to her knees rejoicing. She finally had someone willing to take a chance and pay for an evening with Lavinia. Or rather Ianthe. And this time, for Lavinia anyway, there was no going back. The consequences for failure had been spelled out all too clearly this time around.
Now, with a critical eye, Desponia finished her perusal of Lavinia's body. "No. There will be no changes. You are adorned just as the viscount requested." She sniffed disgustedly. "I thought he would like you to look a bit more exotic, but I was wrong. There is no accounting for what arouses a man at times, I suppose. Maybe he is in an 'innocent' phase, as that does seem to be all the rage among Prinny's friends at the moment." The madam shrugged because it truly didn't matter to her one way or the other. "As long as his coin is good, I do not care." Then she smiled and Lavinia almost blanched in fear. "Though I do not think I have to worry on that front."
Just then, from somewhere in the depths of the house, a bell sounded, one used to announce the arrival of truly special visitors. "He has arrived," Desponia snapped, her eagerness to meet the viscount causing her more cultured accent to slip a bit, and her native, lower-class accent to come through. "Wait here and I will bring him to you." She narrowed her eyes again. "And do not forget the price of failure, Ianthe. I will not accept another night like the last."
Then she was gone in a cloud of cloying perfume, leaving Lavinia to take her place on the singular chair in the room and wait. It promised to be a long evening.
The town home was perfectly appointed. Frost would give Madame Desponia that much. The gold silk wallpaper blended perfectly with the ecru ceiling and delicately carved moldings. The furniture was a light oak, the coverings done in the same gold and cream color scheme. All very tasteful and refined, as if he was in a fine drawing room instead of inside one of London's most notorious brothels. Then again, the house had two entrances, one of which exited into one of London's more fashionable, if not a little shabby, districts. From that vantage point at least, Lycosura looked for all the world like a proper London town home.
It was only when one passed through the heavily guarded entryway and into the true depths of the house - which was really four houses that had been deconstructed to make one beastly large house - that one became aware of the true purpose of this otherwise impeccably furnished abode. One only needed to glance around the first sitting room and see the bare-breasted young women with their skirts hiked up rather indecently to realize that they had stumbled into one of London's best - and most notorious - brothels.
Normally, this was just the sort of place that he would fancy for an evening of pleasure - and had in the past. Oh, the woman running the house, Madame Desponia, was rumored to be a bit brazen, but he paid that particular gossip little heed, having never met the woman in person. After all, these days, prostitutes and courtesans were all of the same mindset - to snare a wealthy husband or at least a wealthy noble protector. Therefore, they dressed much like most ladies of society did, in fine silk gowns and adorned with jewels. Even when they were preparing for an evening of entertaining in, Desponia's girls wore the same.
The last time Frost had been here, he had been in so much of a rush to find a willing woman that he had not particularly noticed much of anything regarding his surroundings. Yet tonight these girls' bodices were tugged down to reveal their breasts, though in a few cases, gauzy chemises left a little something to the imagination. He found that he did not care for the look as much as he supposed he might. On another occasion, that might have troubled him greatly, but this evening, he simply tucked the information away to mull over later. At the moment, he had more important matters to attend to.
Instead, Frost simply passed the scene before him off as yet another step towards the downfall of Society, where even the most basic of proprieties were no longer observed. Such a pity, too. Even a scoundrel like him adhered to some rules. Otherwise, where would Society, as a whole, be? Precisely nowhere and sliding into ruin. That was where.
He was about to move on to another room in search of the proprietress so that she might be able to direct him towards Ianthe when a rather tall woman dressed in a bold golden gown swept into the room. Like the rest of the soiled doves in her stable, this woman's breasts were bare and he noted that even the footmen guarding the doors could not help but sneak a peek and the overly large breasts on obvious display. The woman was also clearly in charge of all she surveyed, for the rest of the women in the room, no matter their age, immediately cast their eyes downward, though in fear or out of respect, Frost could not be certain.
This, then, was Madame Desponia. The last time he had been here, he had not met the woman directly. That was, perhaps, a good thing, as he found that he was rather uncertain about her, at least based upon initial appearances. Had he encountered this woman before now, he wasn't certain he would have been able to complete Lord Candlewood's task without fighting some pre-conceived notions. Particularly about Ianthe. What sort of woman lowered herself to this, no matter how desperate? To work for a woman like Desponia required a certain measure of hopelessness, he would think. Could Ianthe truly still be an innocent? He rather doubted it.
Then Desponia smiled and Frost took an immediate disliking to her, everything else forgotten for the moment.
She was too polished. Too certain of herself. Too prideful. Too bare. Too brash. Even for one such as him. He would need to be very wary if he was to come out of here unscathed in any way. This woman clearly took advantage of the weak and preyed upon vulnerability. He could see it in her eyes, eyes that raked his body as if she was imagining undressing him. That would not do. He would not allow her to have the upper hand. Not this night.
There was no hint of propriety within Desponia. No charm or wit, something that most of the brothel owners he knew possessed in spades. Instead, there was a greedy avarice gleaming in her eyes, one that no amount of opulent clothing and jewels could disguise. In short, there was no humility.
And that lack of humility, as well as a distinct lack of humanity, as if Desponia saw herself as somehow better than the noble men - and in rare cases women - she catered to with her stable of whores, set Frost on edge.
Moreover, he didn't trust her. Not one bit. If she discovered what he was up to, he would disappear. Even if he was a viscount. This woman would like
ly rather hang than reveal her secrets.
And Frost was not here on a pleasure trip, but rather one of subterfuge. His long association with Candlewood had taught him to thoroughly investigate any new and potentially dangerous situation before he entered. This time had been no different and now he knew he had good reason to be suspicious.
In the course of an afternoon, Frost had learned that Desponia employed twenty-five women and three men - in fact the only such male prostitutes in all of London - to service the elite of society. She had risen from seemingly out of nowhere to become one of the most renowned brothel owners in all of England in only three short years. She boasted of offering some of the most beautiful and refined ladies to be had, as well as limitless possibilities in the bedroom. The three men in her stable? Rumored to be sinfully handsome and beyond skilled in the bedchamber. She even offered, to select clients anyway, services that would scandalize even the worst of Society if they were to catch wind of her activities.
Even now, Frost did not know how any of this was possible, especially as it was almost directly under the Prince Regent's nose, but he had a feeling that there were some underhanded dealings along the way. Not as duplicitous as what had gone on at The Golden Temple perhaps, but not quite above-board either. But that was not his concern, no matter how tempting it was to allow the thrill of the puzzle take hold of him. Tonight was only about Ianthe. The rest of the secrecy surrounding this place was to be left for someone else to uncover.
Letting out a breath he did not realize he had been holding, Frost bowed low before the woman - just as he was certain she wished him to do. "Madame Desponia, I presume?"
"Indeed." When he looked up, she was still smiling, yet there was a smugness in her expression as well, as if she believed him cowed before her. Well, he was not about to disabuse her of that notion. After all, Candlewood had taught him better than that.
"It is a true pleasure." Frost made certain to seem both deferential and yet complimentary at the same time. "I have heard so many excellent tales of both you and your establishment." Actually, he hadn't, but she didn't need to know that. "And my time here a few weeks ago, though far too brief, was indeed quite memorable." In truth, it had been one of the worst fucks of his life, as he suspected the whore had been drugged with laudanum, but this woman didn't need to know that either.
The madam blushed prettily at his words, but Frost was certain it was nothing more than an act. There was very little that could shame women like Desponia after so many years in the trade. "You are too kind, my lord," she sighed as she dropped into a brief curtsey that anywhere else would have been beyond improper and perhaps downright rude. As she rose, she gestured around the room. "As you can see, my girls are among the finest to be had in all of London."
Frost didn't doubt that. At least none of these women appeared to be in a drugged stupor. Despite his better judgment, he had quickly and quietly assessed them all the moment he walked through the door. In fact, one of the women reminded him vaguely of a baronet's daughter that he had met in Bath some years before. He doubted it was her, but the seeds of familiarity had been planted and he had to wonder again just where Desponia procured her women. He itched to catch a glimpse of one of the men - quite possibly of noble birth - he knew to be in residence as well.
Still, his mission for tonight had been clear and he could not allow himself to get swept away by intrigue. Get to know Ianthe. Rescue her if necessary. He was not to interfere with the brothel in any way. That was far too risky for one man. Especially not if the Prince Regent was in any way associated with this place.
Much as Frost might itch to solve this puzzle immediately, he could not. He had a job to do. And he would do it as requested. Tonight was about Ianthe and no one else.
"They are lovely beyond compare," Frost agreed when he realized that the silence had stretched on a bit too long. "But as you know, my good friend The Bloody Duke has requested the services of Ianthe for me this evening, and I am greatly looking forward to meeting her in short order." Then he smiled wickedly, just as he suspected Desponia would wish. "After all, if rumors are correct, she is still untried." Then he deepened his grin just a bit more, even though the pit of his stomach roiled a bit. "And I do so love that sort of woman the best. At least at present. Surprisingly, I find a have a taste for the innocent now that I am in my later years."
Actually, Frost did his best to avoid innocents at all costs, even though many of the rumors circling around the ton would have people believe otherwise. He was a scoundrel but he was not a debaucher of innocents - despite what rumors were spread about him.
Desponia was, as expected, quick to reassure him of the rumor's veracity. "Then you will be extremely pleased with Ianthe, my lord. She is still chaste, as you have heard." The woman gestured to a long hallway that led into the depths of the house and when she began to walk, Frost took her arm, every inch the gentleman. "However, she is also still a bit young. Only four and twenty. She can be a bit spirited at times, not to mention a little uncertain regarding bedsport as you might imagine, though she does possess a handful of skills. I pray that you will find her to your liking."
"As long as she is yet unspoiled, I am certain that I will," Frost was quick to reassure the woman. "After all, there hasn't been a woman yet that has not eventually come into my bed willingly if that is where I wished her to be." Well, that wasn't strictly true, but then Desponia did not need to know that either. "And all women, once they find themselves there, are trainable. No matter how innocent at first."
Perhaps that was a bit of an overstatement, as Marina had certainly never been all that biddable, but then, Frost didn't necessarily plan on bedding Ianthe this evening. So whether or not she was biddable was a matter for another evening. If this ruse ever progressed that far. He, of course, did not plan for it to do so. He did have some morals after all, and forcing an innocent woman into his bed went against a great many beliefs that he held dear.
In short order, they arrived at a plain, golden door. Quickly, Frost scanned the door for any distinctive markings so that if necessary he could locate it again. He was not certain that he trusted Desponia to make Ianthe available to him again after this night. He might not be a spy, not like Candlewood was, but he was an excellent judge of character and something about this woman did not sit well with him. She was too shrewd. Too calculating. In short, she reminded him of one of his father's old creditors and those men were not to be trusted. Ever.
In truth, though he had not yet met Ianthe, Frost had, of course, read all of the gossip about her. The rumors of her had reached his ears even well before the duke's request. Then there had been Candlewood and his belief that the chit needed to be saved somehow. That she was more than a whore. And, rather stupidly, in the span of a few short hours, Frost had built this woman up in his mind as a paragon of beauty, a soiled dove who was still an innocent. Even though quite logically he knew that was not possible. After all, she had taken Candlewood's cock into her mouth. So she could not be that innocent. Could she? Not to mention that Desponia had mentioned that the chit had some skills in the bedchamber. So what was the truth?
It was Frost's assignment to find out. All of his friends knew that he was rather bored at the moment, the end of the Season dragging on for what seemed like forever. It was also not unknown that, if he could not find an adventure - preferably one with a luscious and willing woman - on his own, he would create one simply to alleviate boredom and stave off ennui. Candlewood had likely come up with this plan to prevent Frost from doing something altogether stupid while the duke was on his honeymoon with Lady Eliza, and had provided his old friend a puzzle that was far too tempting to resist.
And Frost, with what his good friend Lord Raynecourt termed his "heroic ideals," had fallen for the trap Candlewood had so neatly laid out for him. Then again, Frost only had himself to blame. If he did not feel the need to rescue innocent women - women that reminded him all too much of his sisters, he must remind himself of that - then Cand
lewood would have been unable to talk him into this foolish exercise in the first place.
However the duke did know Frost's one and only true weakness, and had neatly coerced him into doing this favor. Rot and bother it all, anyway. Then again, this was far more entertaining than another boring night at a ball or musicale. Frost would grant Candlewood that.
Turning, Desponia smiled at Frost again, though once more, the smile did not reach her eyes and he was again wary. "Behind this door lies paradise, my lord. Or so I hope. As I am certain you know, given how familiar you seem to be with the chit's reputation, she is not precisely biddable, despite your belief that you can make her so. She is also not that willing to be bedded, I fear."
"You inform me of this now?" Frost did his best to affect the air of the bored aristocrat that he truly was - most of the time, anyway. "Why?"
"I do not wish you to be disappointed, my lord." It was clear to Frost now that Desponia wished to take him to her bed, especially given the way she was thrusting her naked breasts into his face. Brazen woman. Did she not know that no man would wed her - let alone bed her - if she continued in that manner? Then again, perhaps that was not her goal after all.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Frost graced her with a quizzical look. "And if I am? Disappointed that is."
Desponia was nearly purring now. "Then come and find me afterwards and I shall make this situation right." She ran a hand down the length of his chest and it was only because he caught her wrist in his firm grip that she did not venture lower. "I do hate it when my clients are displeased. Especially ones so well connected as you."
Ah. There it was. The businesswoman in Desponia did not want Frost to find Ianthe lacking and complain to his friends. That would be bad for business. Though Frost had no doubt that if the woman before him thought that she could bring him, a wealthy and powerful viscount, under her spell for her own gains, she would not hesitate to do so.
From the Viscount With Love Page 3
