by EM BROWN
She settled back into the settee, unsure of herself and unsettled that she should feel such doubt. Montague Edwards was not part of her plans, and she should pay him no further heed. But it was no easy matter to forget how his hands had made her feel. How glorious it would be to receive such treatment each and every day! Even now, her body responded with a memory all its own. She closed her eyes and replayed his massage upon her. She repeated his name in her mind, wondering if she had ever heard of him before.
It was not until later when she had finally composed herself and left the library that she had forgotten to ask herself what had become of the Viscount.
MONTAGUE HAD NOT WANTED to leave the library, but he could not appear too eager whilst she was still aloof. She did not trust men readily. He could sense, despite her stoic physiognomy, that he had rattled her. He had stated the truth that it had not been his intention to impersonate the Viscount for he had not expected to walk into a dark room and be commanded to do anything. He had intended to feign surprise to find anyone in the room, explain that he had expected to seek and obtain solitude, and hopefully strike up a more satisfactory conversation with her. She had presented the opportunity, the invitation – nay, the demand – to touch her. And he could not resist.
There was no mistaking the stirring in his groan as his hands roamed over her supple skin. He was pleased to feel such desire for it would fuel his efforts. He had feared that a seduction born of necessity rather than aspiration would lack the passion needed for success. He wanted to bed the Baroness and not merely for the sake of his arrangement with the Earl. She had expressed her pleasure with his caresses – even had she not put words to her sentiments, he could detect it from the responses of her body – and he wanted to show her how much more awaited her enjoyment. What words or sounds of satisfaction would she utter when he had her writhing beneath him?
Returning to the ballroom, he straightened his shoulders and looked about the room for Lady Constance. She could aid his endeavor if he could win her over. He had learned from Mr. Henry that the she and the Baroness were indeed bosom friends, and that were it not for the good graces of Lady Constance, the Baroness might have been shunned altogether from polite society. With women, it was often necessary to court the friend as well. Woe to the man who incurred the rancor of a woman’s best friend.
He found the Lady Constance cornered at one end of the ballroom by a woman wearing a headdress with exceptionally high ostrich plumes. From the downturn in her lips, he perceived that the Lady Constance was not enamored of the other woman.
“Tremayne has not asked my Elisabeth for a single dance!” the feathered woman said.
“It would appear the Viscount has not asked any woman to dance,” Lady Constance replied evenly and made a move to indicate her intention to leave, but Mrs. Worsely did not budge.
“Because he waits for the Baroness Debarlow! I tell you that I shall not tolerate such humiliation. My Elisabeth is worth twenty of her.”
“Miss Worsely will not want for suitors. Perhaps—“
“You could do polite society a grand favor by convincing that woman to release Tremayne from her claws.”
“You mistake the amount of influence I—“
“Have you tried to reason with her? Has she not the least sense of propriety? Her conduct is most inappropriate, even for her standards. You must advise her to cease. If I may, you have a responsibility, Lady Constance, aye, a duty to—“
Montague decided to interject. “Lady Constance, I have been looking all over for you.”
Both women turned to look at him in surprise.
“Did you not promise me this minuet?” he finished as he offered his arm.
“Er—yes,” Lady Constance replied, hastily taking his arm without a glance back at Mrs. Worsely.
He led her onto the dance floor.
“My knight in shining armor,” she whispered to him as they took their positions to the start of the music.
She had an engaging, if crooked, smile, Montague thought to himself as he bowed to her curtsy. He turned his side to hers and took her elevated hand. They stepped forward together.
“I hope you will forgive my earlier intrusion,” she said to him.
“There is naught to forgive, my lady,” Montague responded. “It was fortunate that you came upon us when you did. I believe I was mistaken for another and not the gentleman your friend expected.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Please convey to her my regrets for having spoiled her rendezvous. I realize I had departed without apologizing.”
“Forgive me, but you do not sound remorseful, sir.”
His eyebrows rose at her impudence, but he suppressed a smile. “What do you imply, my lady?”
As she finished walking around him and resumed her spot, she replied in a low voice, “I have not known any man to regret his time with Lady Debarlow.”
“My lady is most astute. I confess that I felt our time in the library short-lived, but I did not mean to cause distress.”
“She is a woman of confidence. Are you quite sure she was distressed?”
Montague thought back to the library. Save for her initial disbelief at finding herself with another man instead of the Viscount, the Baroness had every appearance of composure.
“Perhaps it was a pleasant surprise,” Lady Constance added after completing a bouree.
“I should be relieved if that were the case, but I fear I shall never know. I could not help but overhear Mrs. Worsely. It appears that Lady Debarlow is spoken for.”
He could see the wheels of her mind turning as she curtsied to the woman opposite him. When the women had completed their steps, he took his turn.
“Have you been to Berkshire” she asked after he had returned to his position beside her.
“Not in many years.”
Her eyes twinkled. “My brother has a small estate there. I have asked Abbey to join me there. Perhaps you could call upon us when we are there?”
Montague paused. “To what do I owe such generosity?”
She briefly frowned, but the mischievous half-smile returned soon enough. “Let us say that I believe my dear friend is in need of better divertissement.”
“You flatter me.”
“Do not fail me, Mr. Edwards.”
Montague smiled. “Perish the thought.”
Chapter Five
“THE CAVERN OF PLEASURES?” Montague repeated as he took his breakfast in bed the following morning.
Jonathan grinned. “A den of debauchery for the Quality. The proprietress is one Penelope Botreaux.”
“And you followed the Baroness into this place?” Montague asked as he handed Jonathan a cup of coffee.
Downing the beverage in two gulps, Jonathan sat down in a chair across from the bed. When in private, Montague allowed the valet a degree of latitude. The two had been in far too many scrapes together to adhere to the formalities between servant and master.
“She went in, but I did not. When the door opened briefly, I saw a sentry of sorts inside. I worried that the Baroness would discover me if I were to follow her in.”
Montague nodded. “But how do you know the place then?”
“I stood about across the street, and within the half hour a coach pulled up to the gate. A man debarked and went inside, but his coachman tarried outside. I had with me a bottle of gin – if ever the Baroness found and confronted me, I would play a disorderly drunkard – and walked by the man. ‘Your master has you employed a late hour, my good fellow,’ I say to him. ‘Aye,’ he grumbles. I offer him a swig from my bottle and say, ‘Mine is afeared to walk the streets alone, but he was determined to come here. What is this place?’ The man snorts, ‘First time, eh?’ That is when he tells me what he knows, which, in truth, be not much for he has only ever had to wait outside the gates. What he knows he has gleaned from others like him. I ask of him how he knows what he has heard to be true. His master, he tells me, always returns with a funny gait. And ever since the man
has become a patron of Madame Botreaux, he has not once returned to the banios of Covent Garden where he used to frequent.”
“Does he know the other patrons?”
“He mentioned a few names, all unfamiliar to me. He said there is much secrecy to the place and that most take great care to conceal their identities.”
Montague allowed his toast to grow cool for he was in too much thought. What would bring the Lady Debarlow to such a place?
“The Baroness strode to the door without hesitation,” Jonathan offered, “as if she had been there before. She must have stayed an hour or so. When she emerged, she had upon her a cloak and got into a chair. I followed her to her residence and saw no more of her.”
Was the Baroness entertaining another lover? Montague wondered. He was convinced the Viscount was no match for Lady Debarlow. But the existence of another paramour would complicate his plans. But why would the Lady Constance reference the need for a better diversion if the Baroness had another? Was the Lady Constance unaware of a second lover or did she disapprove of both men?
“I must find a way into this Cavern,” Montague thought aloud as he tossed aside the bedcovers and rose from bed.
“For the Baroness or your own purpose?” Jonathan asked, rising to his feet to finish what remained of Montague’s breakfast.
“It would depend, eh, on the exact nature of the establishment?”
Jonathan finished off the toast in two mouthfuls. “I think the name tells it all.”
Montague shed his nightshirt and went to the water basin to wash his face. The Baroness was proving more and more intriguing. Sleep had eluded him last night as he reflected upon the events of the night. The scent of her, the sounds, and the feel of her body beneath his hands. All continued to barrage his memory. The moon had emerged from the clouds just prior to the interruption by Lady Constance, allowing him to study the pout of her lips, the point of her nose, the curve of her ear. Only her hand over her eyes prevented him for beholding all of her face.
He had enjoyed her responses to his touch and found himself wanting to elicit more from her. He had skimmed his fingers beneath the back collar of her gown. He would have liked to massage her bare shoulders or caress the flat below her collarbone, just above the tops of her breasts. But he was satisfied that he had left her with just enough of a taste to tease her appetite.
“Have my card sent to Madame Botreaux,” Montague instructed. “I should very much like to meet this proprietress of the Cavern of Pleasures.”
PENELOPE BOTREAUX ENJOYED reclining on the settee in the pose of a lazy Dionysus. From her Rubenesque figure, Montague surmised her to have also enjoyed her share of fine wines and foods. Her dress of delicate muslin draped over thin layers of petticoats harkened to ancient Grecian attire. Sandaled feet revealing painted toes peeked from underneath her gown. She peered at him from behind her quizzing glass, boldly raking her gaze across his body, perhaps envisioning how he would appear before her sans any clothing. The proprietress had responded swiftly, inviting him to call upon her within days of receiving his card.
Montague calmly submitted himself to her scrutiny in the dim drawing room. Nothing in the nicely appointed but unpretentious address gave any evidence that another world lay within. A handsome young man stood behind her holding a tray with two glasses of wine. Thinking back to the striking footman who had answered the door, Montague idly wondered if all her servants were such sweets for the eye.
“Pray have a glass of sherry with me.” Madame Botreaux gestured to her servant.
Montague accepted the offering.
“Now, Mr. Edwards, what is the purpose of your call?” she asked, taking a sip of the dark liquid between two vibrantly rouged lips.
“I am interested in your establishment,” he replied.
“Indeed?”
“I understand it to be quite exceptional in nature.”
“Yes, but its success depends in part on its exclusivity. Not anyone can become a member lest they have been referred by a patron in good standing.”
“I see. I fear I know not your patrons and, thus, cannot secure such a reference,” he said candidly. “Might there be another means to recommend my application?”
She looked him over once more with studied interest. She ran her tongue over her lower lip, either in response to the taste of the wine or what she saw. He wondered if she might require him to strip naked as part of his application.
“I understand you to have had a repute of sorts in Bath.”
“My lady has inquired about me,” he noted. “May I ask if she found the information to her liking?”
She smiled. “It does not displease me. In truth, I am intrigued that you have not been expelled from polite society there given your exploits.”
“May I be bold but candid?” he asked, though he knew the answer. It was obvious there was no need to be timid with Madame Botreaux.
“You may.”
“I do not consider my liaisons to be exploits. Unlike the common rakehell who uses and discards women like so many handkerchiefs, I exalt the female sex.”
“You have left a trail of broken hearts, no?”
“But not without hope.”
She thought for a moment. “Dues for the year are paid in advance. I also recommend generous perquisites for those attending the members. Unhappy servants can be quite loquacious.”
“I understand.”
“Would you care to view the facility before you make your decision? Some of our activities are not for the faint of heart.”
“Your hospitality is appreciated, my lady. May I?”
Standing up, he proffered his arm. She placed her wine glass back on the tray of her manservant and took his arm.
“Lovely,” she murmured, feeling the muscle beneath her hand.
“Tell me, does the proprietress take part in the activities of the Cavern?”
“I do not intermingle with the membership if that is your query, save for a select few that are in my confidence. But that does not prevent me from appreciating my members.”
She guided him down the hallway. Pointing to a series of doors on either side, she said, “Patrons may use these rooms for their toilette. A valet or chambermaid is always available to assist.”
Pulling him over to one of the rooms, she opened the door to a room that was perhaps once a small library. A single bookcase remained but instead of books, it held a series of masks, ranging from the austere to ornate. She selected a simple black mask that covered three quarters of the face, leaving only the mouth and chin visible.
“I think you will look quite nice in this one,” she told him and slipped it over his face.
For herself she selected an ivory mask trimmed with pearls and feathers. She led him back outside. At the end of the hall, they reached a simple door that looked as if it might have led to the kitchen. He opened the door to a winding staircase. If not for the sconces upon the walls, they would have entered complete darkness. The first sound to greet his ears was a woman’s high pitched scream. If not for the knowledge of where he was, he might have thought the woman to be in peril.
“Ah, the sweet sounds of tormented pleasure,” Madame Botreaux observed, eying Montague for his reaction.
He did not flinch, but his blood began to course more strongly as they rounded the corner and came into view of the assembly hall. The vision was unlike any he had ever seen. The assembly hall had the appearance of a half-finished structure that had sunk into the ground. The walls of the alcoves lining the main assembly area were of rock, but the floor of the assembly itself was of perfectly smooth marble. A single chandelier above the assembly floor, strategically placed candelabras and fireplaces provided just enough light and warmth.
Men and women in various states of dress occupied both the main assembly and the alcoves. While some were clothed from neck to foot, others were stripped to the buff. Montague observed one woman wearing naught but nettle branches wrapped about her loins. In one corner a man wore o
nly a lady’s corset and petticoats. His partner had not a shred of clothing, proudly baring his assets for all to behold. A woman dressed in the costume of an Amazonian warrior led a man wearing only a loincloth about the assembly floor by a chain around his neck. He crawled after her upon all fours and, like a dog, licked at her heels.
In one of the alcoves, Montague witnessed a woman, her beautiful slender body suspended from the ceiling, being whipped alternately by a man and woman. In the neighboring alcove, a man had pinned a woman against the wall with her legs wrapped about his hips. She clawed at his back while he thrust into her. Beside the pair, a man lay with two women upon a mattress, their naked forms silhouetted by the fireplace behind them. As he kissed and fondled the breasts of one woman, the other had taken his cock full into her mouth.
The sinners of the second level of Dante’s Inferno could not have engaged in more carnal decadence.
“Do you like what you see?” Madame Botreaux asked.
“Undoubtedly,” Montague replied, his cock stirring at the lustful images before him. “You have quite the establishment, my lady. How did you come to oversee such an enterprise?”
“Years ago, my husband and I – ah, you are surprised that I was married?”
“Only in that I would not have expected a woman such as yourself to have confined herself to matrimony.”
“Marriage itself places no constraints. Only man.”
Montague considered the possible truth of her words. He had never considered matrimony anything but constraining.
“You are fortunate to have found a man of similar pursuits, one free of mind.”
“You speak as if such a person were a rarity. Though my husband and I enjoyed the company of others, we loved one another above all. I would not have wished myself married to any other. He passed away before his due, and there is not a day that goes by in which I do not miss him.”
Taken aback by this revelation, Montague had no response. He had thought himself broad of mind, unhindered by prim convention or orthodoxy, but he had not considered that sentimentality could be coupled with lust.
