Cavern of Pleasures Boxset: Georgian Regency Romance

by EM BROWN

  “Which is precisely why I have chosen to assist her. For her safety.”

  “Do not play me for a fool, Charlotte.”

  “Well, had I not offered her the use of my carriage and driver, she would have found another means of arriving at Madame Botreaux’s.”

  That was true enough. He folded his arms. “What has she told you thus far about Madame Botreaux’s?”

  “Why do you wish to know?”

  “She is my wife.”

  “In name only. You yourself have said that she could take a paramour.”

  “And has she?”

  “The men at Madame Botreaux’s are not exactly paramours.”

  “What has she said?” Vale pressed again with a calm that veiled his eagerness.

  “Only that she is unlikely to return.”

  Vale inhaled a breath of relief. He did not think he could repeat his performance of last night. He had been fully aware that Harrietta was not enjoying much of what was being done to her, but she had not uttered further protest after telling him she hated him. That she hated him did not trouble him so much, but when she left without a backward glance, the shimmer of tears in her eyes, he had not thought he could feel more wretched. He had wanted to bring her to spend, to grant her the orgasm that she had been denied.

  Well, at the least, the effort had succeeded.

  “She spoke in no unwavering terms?” he questioned for confirmation.

  “She is not with me tonight,” Charlotte replied, then hesitated.

  “I know where she is,” Vale supplied.

  “I discouraged her association with the Elroys.”

  “As did I, but you may leave that concern to me. What I desire from you is that you not aid and abet her reckless ventures.”

  “There are no dangers here at Madame Botreaux’s, merely the freedom for men and women to explore the carnal pleasures.”

  “Wrong. There is, for instance, the—”

  He stopped himself for he had been about to reference Lovell Elroy. Charlotte waited patiently for him to finish his sentence, but he did not. Through the darkness, he felt her gaze pinned on him.

  “You,” she began. “You are a patron of Madame Botreaux.”

  He could see the wheels turning in her mind and decided he should put an end to their tete-a-tete.

  “That would be irrelevant if true,” Vale said calmly and rose to step out of the carriage.

  “I make no judgment of your person, Dunnesford,” she hastened to add. “How could I when I myself have long been a patron here, but...is the Countess a patron as well?”

  “Charlotte, I bid you good night.”

  He stepped out of the carriage and was about to close the door behind him but was stopped by her hand.

  “If you knew that I had been abetting Hettie, why not confront me earlier?” she demanded. “And why your interest in what she had to say to me?”

  He removed her hand from the door. She tried to pull away from him, but he held onto her, holding her gaze fixed in his.

  “There will be no more dialogue with regards to Madame Botreaux’s.”

  Only until her silence and lowered chin indicated that she understood him did he release her hand. He bid her good night and walked away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  LOVELL ELROY TURNED over his card to reveal an ace.

  “Of all the luck!” Harrietta huffed, shaking her head and tossing her cards toward him. “That were the third ace with face pairing you have had in less than twenty minutes!”

  “Forgive me,” Lovell replied. “What a terrible host I am to have caused you to lose your last crown. Please allow me to extend a credit that you may continue to play.”

  “While it may be true that I could play vingt-et-un all night, I think a respite will do me well,” Harrietta replied.

  “Shall I play for you? Perhaps the Sonata in C minor?”

  “Oh, yes! I enjoy the allegro but was never able to attain any satisfying proficiency.”

  Lovell offered his arm and escorted her into the drawing room. Two women were gossiping on the sofa, but the harpsichord stood at the other end of the room from them. Lovell sat down and motioned for Harrietta to sit next to him. She was enthralled with his skill, his long fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys.

  “This is one of my favorite pieces,” he said as he began the adagio. “The grace and tranquility of this movement is quite a variance with the other movements. One would not think they were paired in the same sonata. It is a surprising find, and I delight in surprises.”

  There was something odd in the way he looked at her when he spoke that she wondered if there was a reference to something else? Not understanding what that would be, she replied, “I like the dramatic quality of the molto allegro, but the changes from F minor to G minor to C minor always gave me pause. You play it superbly, Lord Elroy.”

  “I knew from an early age that the harpsichord was an object I wished to master.”

  “And you have done it. I wish I could play this sonata.”

  “I should be happy to teach it to you.” He paused. “But we would want for a harpsichord or pianoforte.”

  “Oh, but there is one in my boudoir. Vale knew that I sometimes attempt to play...”

  He had a wistful smile, and Harrietta realized her error.

  “Pray, forgive me, I forgot...” She knit her brows.

  “On that note...”

  Harrietta chuckled.

  “I must speak how obliged I am that you have chosen to befriend us,” he continued, “given the circumstances with your husband. My sister is quite taken with you, but I am sure Dunnesford must disapprove of your association with us?”

  “He does not concern himself overly much with me,” she revealed, “and I prefer to choose my own friends.”

  “You are possessed of admirable courage, my lady. I know few women who would have such independence from their husbands.”

  “Well, Vale is almost like a brother to me, and sisters and brothers must have their disagreements.”

  “How true. Then, you would not need to seek permission from Dunnesford...”

  She bristled at the thought of asking Vale for permission.

  “Forgive me,” Lovell added hastily. “It was inappropriate of me—”

  “We have an agreeable arrangement, Vale and I. He does not attend me, nor I him.”

  Lord Elroy did not pursue the matter and proceeded with the final movement of the sonata.

  “Bravo!” Harrietta clapped when he was done.

  “You are too kind. But I think I will enjoy this sonata all the more if I could see you play it. If you think Dunnesford will not object, perhaps you could visit Alexandra and we could avail ourselves of this harpsichord.”

  He wanted to spend more time with her? she asked herself, studying him more closely. But there was only an innocent, almost bland, expression upon his handsome features. In the quiet corner where they sat, away from most prying eyes, he could easily have made love to her, but he had done nothing to suggest that he had any interest beyond friendship or generosity of spirit.

  “But how kind of you, but I wonder that your time might not be better spent than amusing me?” she protested.

  “Not at all. It is not often that one finds another with a shared enthusiasm for Mozart. I think, if you will forgive my intimacy, that you and I are kindred spirits. I am sure there is much more we have in common, Marchioness.”

  “OH, YER GRACE! BE THIS where you live?” Adia exclaimed, looking out the carriage window at Grosvenor Square.

  Vale had already attempted to explain that only Dukes were referred to as ‘your Grace,’ but Adia had yet to grasp the difference between a Marquess and a Duke. She only knew that she had never seen such a magnificent carriage or such stately horses.

  “Does the King live here as well?” Adia asked Harrietta after they alighted from the carriage.

  Harrietta smiled, but the innocent question made her cognizant of the luxuries
they possessed and that Adia would never have.

  They had tea and biscuits in the parlor. Adia was full of questions and could barely stop to chew her biscuit. Vale answered all the inquiries with great patience, and Harrietta was reminded of how he had been many years ago. Bethany and Jacqueline had been less close to Vale than she, but he had never been anything but kind to them. Harrietta had suspected Bethany harbored her own affections for the handsome Vale.

  Watching him interacting with Adia, Harrietta began to wonder what sort of father Vale would prove. She had no doubt he would be more than competent. He was certainly capable of scolding and being stern when necessary, but also gentle and benevolent. It was hard to reconcile the part of the man she had loved years ago with a man who had entertained as many mistresses as he had. Perhaps in that respect he would not make a good father.

  As they wandered in the garden next, Harrietta became sad with the thought of children. She expected she would have children for Dunnesford would need an heir, but she would have preferred a family that was more like her own. She saw in her own father and mother how a man and a woman could be devoted to one another. Not until she was much older did she realize that the marriage her father and mother enjoyed was rather rare—especially among the gentry of England.

  “Would you care to pick some flowers to bring back to the asylum?” Harrietta asked, determined to shake away her despondency in the company of such an exuberant child.

  “They are much too beautiful to be picked!” Adia gasped.

  “I should like for you to have a token of our day together.”

  “Truly, yer ladyship? Then I will have one of these, may I?”

  Harrietta nodded, and Adia plucked a pink carnation before skipping to the next bed of flowers. Vale stepped up next to Harrietta. She had been rather surprised that he had chosen their company when he could have excused himself once he had seen them safely arrived.

  “I wonder that I did a good thing in inviting her here,” Harrietta confessed. “The asylum will only appear more dismal after she has seen Dunnesford House.”

  “Perhaps,” Vale responded, offering her his arm. “But do you not see the joy in her eyes? Would you deprive her of that?”

  She smiled gratefully at her husband. “I dread that she should return to that asylum.”

  “Mr. Winters has done an admirable job with it. Many orphaned young girls are sent to workhouses or carted to Hoxton.”

  “And it is terrible! The thought sickens the soul.”

  He pressed her hand, and her heart ached for another reason. How she wished he could be a constant ogre that she would not feel so confused, indignant at him one day and tender toward him the next.

  Plucking a rose that had come into a full and voluptuous bloom, he turned to her and pushed the stem into her hair above her right ear. Her heart began to pound at his nearness, at his fingers brushing her ear. His eyes scanned her face, and then seemed to settle on her mouth. She was rendered immobile by the sense of destiny looming between them. Did he mean to kiss her? Did she want him to when but seconds ago she wished him a tyrant?

  “Are these not beautiful?” Adia asked breathlessly, holding up a bouquet of blues, pinks, and yellows.

  The moment was gone, and Harrietta knew not whether she mourned its loss or was relieved. She had been, without a doubt, drawn to Vale at that moment. Had felt a yearning and a desire to touch him and to be touched. She did not want or need to have such feelings for him.

  Perhaps a visit to Madame Botreaux’s would clear her head.

  Chapter Fourteen

  VALE SURVEYED THE MEN and women who had chosen to present that night at Madame Botreaux’s. The presenters included a redhead with freckles on her cheeks and arms, a plump one with cherub-like cheeks, a beautiful brunette that he had seen once with Penelope, and a slender woman with golden curls and a lovely figure. The first selection was his, but none of the women interested him. He considered going home and wondered what Harrietta was doing at the moment. Perhaps curled in the library with a book. She was more literary than he for his reading of late comprised only the newspaper and resolutions of Parliament. He imagined her reading Fanny Hill. Would she become aroused as she followed the heroine on her adventures? Would she wish to touch herself? Would she allow him to touch her?

  Earlier in the evening, Penelope had urged him to press on. Her words, to be exact, were “either go home and fuck your wife or find yourself a new submissive.”

  He could not summon up the eagerness that once accompanied the selection of a new submissive. The promise of a new body. A new scent. A new voice. He found his mind constantly returning to Harrietta. There was still so much left undone, so much more to explore. But Penelope could be an acute woman. There was no sense in his being here at the Cavern unless he would engage a new submissive. He stepped in front of the plump one and looked her over from head to toe. She appeared a little older than the others. She would do as well as any, he supposed.

  “You,” he said to her.

  Then out of the corner of his eyes he saw a flash of red. Harrietta.

  He felt relieved. Her return here meant he had not gone too far with her. He should have been disappointed that his efforts had not succeeded, but instead he felt...pleased. It would no longer be a dull evening.

  “My lord?” the plump one prompted.

  “Another night, perhaps,” Vale replied and followed Harrietta to their alcove.

  She was standing naked in her spot when he entered. He circled her, glad to see there was no bruising of her skin. His strikes rarely produced bruises, though he had once had a submissive who had the most delicate of skin and often turned grayish-purple to his consternation. A superficial mark was acceptable, but he derived no joy from the deep marring of a woman’s body.

  “You have returned for more, have you?” he inquired.

  She stared straight ahead of her and said with the stoicism of a soldier, “Yes, my lord.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish to determine if I might derive pleasure from my discomfort, my lord.” She paused. “I am ready for you, my lord.”

  Was that a challenge? he wondered, studying her lifted chin.

  “You are late,” he told her. “Bend down and take a hold of your ankles.”

  She did as told. He smiled at the beautiful rump presented to him and brought his riding crop down upon one luscious cheek.

  “One, my lord,” she counted.

  Pleased, he delivered several more blows in sharp succession. Her voice did not waiver as she shouted out the numbers. He rewarded her by sliding his hand between her legs and brushing his fingers along her quim. To his surprise, she made no sound. He pushed a finger into her slit, and her muscles flexed about his digit. They were stronger. She must have been using the balls.

  “Your progress is commendable, ma petite,” he praised, twisting his finger in her hot flesh. His groin tightened.

  Stepping back, he lashed the crop against her arse, alternating cheeks, swiping his arm against the right buttock, then backhanding the other.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said when he had finished, her rear a bright shade of red where the crop had fallen.

  He detected a different defiance tonight. Less presumption. More confidence. He hesitated. He had no plan for her tonight.

  “Stand,” he directed. “Cross your wrists behind your back. My voice will be the rope that binds your hands. If you uncross them, you will be punished.”

  He liked her with her arms behind her for the position forced her bosom forward and her shoulders back. She had a graceful collarbone—one that he could run his tongue along. Her shoulders did not slope as dramatically as other women and were rather masculine in that aspect, but they would provide a nice leveraging handle were he ever in need of holding her. For example, if he were to bend her over the back of a chair and take her from behind, he could a put a hand on her shoulder and push her body further down onto his stiff erection.

  His cock
urged him to do just that. It was maddening, but if he took her, he would be making a cuckold of himself.

  Instead, he pulled over the bench and sat down with legs akimbo. He pulled her down and sat her in front of him, her rear nestled against his crotch. Her scent filled his nostrils, and he breathed it in like he would the flowers in his garden. He liked the way she smelled. He remembered the absence of a strong perfume when he had kissed her for the very first time many years ago. Now she had the means to purchase the finest perfumes, and yet she chose not to douse herself in fragrance.

  He gently grasped, then kneaded her shoulders, working his thumbs into her back to loosen the tension below her nape. His hands glided along her shoulders toward her neck and his fingers slid up to the base of her head. Her hair had been pinned atop her head, exposing the skin of her neck. As he caressed her, he sensed her eyelids closing, felt her body melting into him. His cock pressed against her buttock with hardened need, but for now, he wanted to savor the feel of her skin. As soft as silk.

  Lowering his head, he pressed into the side of her throat. Her head tilted away to allow him more access. He let the heat of his breath caress her skin before he placed his lips slowly and deliberately on her neck as if he were about to suck nectar from a tree. She shivered at his touch. He tasted of her. To no surprise, she tasted divine. An opium that went to his head. He trailed his mouth down her neck. A low moan rumbled at the back of her throat.

  His hands reached around her for her breasts, grasping an orb in each hand. They did not overflow his hands as many other women, but neither were they limp or overripe. He remembered noting that her areolas had a healthy pink hue. Under his palms, her nipples hardened. He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and felt her arse wiggle against his crotch. He fondled her breasts tenderly at first, then with more aggression when her lower body began to squirm.

  “Make me spend, my lord,” she said with heavy breath.