One Wicked Night

by Noelle Mack

  I observed my love as she drifted from one acquaintance to the next. It seemed that she had made many during her months in London. But no one seemed to be close to her—she had no bosom friends. No wonder she was so passionate with me. Our affair meant much to her, perhaps everything. It was good that she knew nothing whatsoever of Anne, and vice versa. My first love was in no way a rival to my second, but women are women, and cats will scratch.

  "Meet me in the garden," I whispered. "But leave after I do and make sure no one sees you."

  She looked at her mousy maid, who was now being bounced on the lieutenant's knee, sipping a glass of wine and giggling at whatever he was whispering in her ear. Giddy with delight, the girl spilled a drop on his white breeches and brushed at the spot, moving her hand up his manly thigh.

  "She is bold," Xavi said softly.

  "And growing bolder by the minute. Get her more wine and I will see you in the garden."

  I left the ballroom unnoticed when the music began again. Even if Xavi could not manage to find her way to me, the night was beautiful and I was content to be alone. The moon floated in the sky, full but half-shrouded by wisps of moving clouds. The garden was framed by tall cypress trees and against these were marble statues, gleaming whitely in the dark.

  I wandered down the close-clipped lawn, my footfalls mak­ing no sound, and stopped at a nude Diana, depicted as the huntress of myth. The figure held a marble bow, drawn back to its utmost point, and looked high overhead with unseeing eyes. Had the arrow in it been released, it would have hit the moon above. The marble doe at her side was so lifelike that it seemed to tremble for a moment... but the illusion was caused by the passing clouds.

  I sighed. I heard the rustle of silk and Xavi appeared. Her steps had been as noiseless as mine. She did not speak, but pressed her lips to mine for an ardent kiss that went on and on. Her dark sensuality fired my blood. My hands roamed over her, forgetting everything that had happened since our last meeting.

  "It has been too long," she whispered. Not for me. Remem­bering the encounter at the inn, I was assailed by guilt and rightly so. My cock, however, rose to the occasion. The seduc­tive intimacy of her voice, the pressure of her supple body, were too much for me. But I would do penance by giving her pleasure, I decided, and denying myself.

  I dropped to my knees and looked up at her. "Xavi... will you allow me to satisfy you intimately?"

  She stroked my hair as I pressed my face against the folds of her gown. "Yes. Of course." Her hands clutched her skirt and she lifted them to show me her cunny. I nuzzled her there, giv­ing her loving little licks. Xavi sighed.

  Although the dark concealed us, someone else or perhaps another pair of lovers might come out to enjoy the beautiful night. I had to be quick about what I was doing. I had her set her feet far apart to make room for me as I kneeled before her. My tongue went far up into her cunny and I savored the wom­anly taste of her, selfishly happy that only I had this privilege. I thrust it slowly in and out, remembering Quinn's lascivious skill and how readily he had brought the buxom barmaids close to climax.

  Xavi was near her own. She ran her fingers into my hair and clutched it, pulling my face against her mound and grinding wantonly away. Her little moans came faster and faster, and I kissed her cunny as wantonly as I liked to kiss her mouth. When a shadow passed over the moon and the darkness grew more intense, I heard her scream. The sound died away but I quickly raised my head and wiped my mouth.

  Had something frightened her? Had we been seen? We were still masked, it was hard upon midnight, but even so... I could not quite shake the feeling of being watched. But there was no one.

  She dropped her skirts with a rustle, smoothing them down, as I rose. "And what about you, my love?"

  I shook my head. "Not now. Not here. But soon. Very soon."

  Eight

  A month later, a letter came for me. The faithful Decimus held it out upon his silver tray without comment. My surprise must have showed on my face.

  "Oh! One from Anne, is it? And not—?" I caught myself. I had almost said Xavi's name out loud.

  He merely smiled. I turned Anne's letter this way and that in my hand, thinking it would be interesting to hear his opinion of the pros and cons of loving two women. Old Decimus had long cherished a tenderness for the cook, who kept him supplied with the sweet rolls he adored, but he also admired the house­keeper's comfortable bum. Both women seemed happy in his presence. No doubt I, at thirty, seemed like a young fool to him. But he was too respectful to say so.

  I set the letter aside to read in private. The younger maids were cleaning the windows and I enjoyed looking at them upon the ladders, scrubbing away and joking with each other. Living amidst women had always come naturally to me.

  But I could have used manly advice now and again. For that, I could ask my secretary, Richard Whiston, who was back in London. He thought nothing of having more than one lover, and might well be able to tell me exactly how to maintain the delicate balance and keep my own sanity.

  Quinn was happy to offer his counsel whenever he thought I needed it, but the artist lived so far outside the bounds of po­lite society that most of his advice would have landed me in the dock, with him right beside me. He was apt to encourage the wildest schemes, fuck any woman who wanted him, and was generous with all that he owned.

  Especially to poor, shabby Miss Reynaud. Why she kept her­self on such a tight string, I didn't know, but I had slipped her a few guineas myself. Noblesse oblige. I had taken her into my confidence and showed her what was in the green-and-white portfolio I had, supposing that she had seen the engravings in Mr. Martin's window anyway. I hoped she might shed some light on the artist who had done them, but she pronounced her­self quite unfamiliar with the man's style.

  I came back a week or so later with a further question, for which I had procured one of the engraved plates from Quinn's hiding place after an exchange of letters asking and answering the question of where it was. She had examined the plate with a strong magnifying glass and come to the conclusion that the plates had been engraved some years ago, even if the prints made from them were recent. The lines etched into the metal showed traces of older ink, dried out, and there were also signs of wear. Far more than a mere seven sets of ten each had been pulled from them.

  The evidence of the old ink was proof that the model could not possibly be Xavi, who had not been in London anywhere near that long. But it was very curious. The likeness was re­markable, especially when viewed through a magnifying glass. Miss Reynaud ventured the opinion that the resemblance was coincidental. I agreed but the prints were still guaranteed to in­furiate the volatile Diego.

  I wished that Quinn had taken the whole file-box from the shop, instead of only the six receipts. There had to be some record of payment to the artist, even if he—or she—had en­graved the plates years ago. The meticulous Mr. Martin would have written down his name.

  I could go back and steal the box myself, I supposed, but I was not as reckless as Quinn. If more stealing needed to be done, I volunteered him in absentia.

  The matter did seem to have blown over quite quickly, as I had hoped it would. Xavi and I were not able to see each other as frequently as we had during the first months of our affair, but we found enough time to discuss it, when we were not making love.

  I still wanted to retrieve the remaining four portfolios. Fotheringay's... well, I would wait for Quinn to storm the barricades with me. The one that had been sold to the address with a woman's name—the answer to that might be found in the letter from Anne that had arrived today in reply to my own. The remaining two were in parts of London that I did not want to enter alone: one in St. Giles's and the other, the last, in the far more refined vicinity of Regent Street, not far from St. James's Palace.

  I might be robbed in the teeming slums of the first, and as far as the second ... I imagined myself knocking upon the door of some august personage attached to the court or encountering a royal mistress who was expec
ted to live close to the royal cock.

  I would not risk either.

  Xavi was no longer pressuring me in any case, and I was willing to wait. It was high time I outgrew my natural impul­siveness in any case.

  First things first. I picked up Anne's letter and broke the seal, quickly reading the few words on the folded paper in­side.

  I saw you at the ball and ever since .. I miss you, Ed­ward. Come as soon as you can.

  Astonishing. Had I walked right by her without knowing it? How her heart must have ached to have been cut by me in that way—Anne would not have known that the slight was inadver­tent. I would go to her at once and explain. I dipped my quill in the crystal bottle of ink, dashed off a note and folded it without benefit of blotting sand. The wet ink bled through. I sealed my hasty missive and rang for a servant. The lad would bring it to her house within minutes. I knew it would do—she loved me as I was, impulsive as I was. And I still loved her.

  I bounded up the stairs of the stone house, grabbing the heavy ring of the doorknocker and pounding away. The brass monster that bit the ring had been polished recently ... I could swear the damn thing winked at me. Someone new let me in, a big fellow I did not know—the reptilian doorman had slithered away in my absence. The new man waved me upstairs. I took the stairs two at a time, not looking upon the landings to see if the whores I had met during my time with Anne were any­where about.

  Even in a house as well-run as hers, the women in residence changed quickly. It was a hard life. No amount of finery could conceal the viciousness at its core.

  I came at last to the top floor and entered without knocking. There was Anne, sitting in the sun in a billowing robe of Chi­nese silk that caught the light. The window was open and I could hear the leaves of the tree rustling outside. She smiled when she saw me come in and stood, reaching out to let me take her in my arms.

  "Anne... oh, Anne. Why did you send me away?"

  "I had to." She kissed me with passion. "I was growing too fond of you."

  I held her close and rocked her a little against my body, kiss­ing her honey-colored hair. "I thought as much," I said smugly, wanting to provoke her.

  She laughed at my rude reply and gave me a slap, precisely placed, that stung my cheek. But it felt good.

  "Skillfully done, Anne. Would you like to birch my arse next?"

  "Not you. Never you."

  "Ah, why will you not let me experience that strange plea­sure?"

  "Because you are not suited for it. You are not in the least humble and you hate to hold still."

  She was right on both counts. But I had never forgotten her in that unusual dress, her breasts and buttocks bared, whipping the balls of the man she'd tied so expertly. His erotic agony had been hotly anticipated and completely fulfilling.

  "So," she said hesitantly, "when I saw you at the ball, I thought you no longer wished to speak to me."

  I led her to the bed and we sat on it together. "No, Anne. I am so sorry that happened, but it was entirely unintentional. If I walked by you, it was because I did not see you. Were you masked?"

  "Yes. And my hair was powdered. Even so..."

  "I swear that I meant no insult. But were you invited? I was not. Do you know Lord Colefax?"

  She smiled slightly. "There is a man who needs very firm discipline. He likes to be over a woman's knee to get it."

  "Really?" Sharing salacious gossip again was great fun. And I hoped to distract her from unpleasant memories. "Tell me ex­actly how. I dislike the man."

  "That is because you slept with his wife several years ago."

  I tipped up her chin and made her look into my eyes. "And how did you know that?"

  "Colefax mentioned it during one particularly vigorous session with our new spanking girl, and got three extra blows of the paddle for whining. Sally doesn't allow it."

  "Good for her."

  "He expected Lady Colefax to be perfectly faithful when he never was and he was proud of his cruelty toward her."

  "Precisely what she said."

  She patted my thigh. "He is not ill-favored. Some of my women think he is handsome. Of course, he always brings little gifts."

  "Colefax was never generous with his wife, the blackguard."

  "He mentioned that as well. Sally gave him two extra for that offense and made him tie his cock in a knot."

  "I see," I said, laughing at his fate and Anne's joke. "I will have you know I provided his forlorn lady with pretty things and all the loving kindness she desired."

  She pressed an approving kiss upon my cheek. "Then she was lucky for a little while. Like me."

  "A good-hearted rake bestows diamonds in equal measure on wife, mistress, and whore alike. But you would never let me give you any."

  "No. You were sweet to try. You are still sweet."

  "Thank you very much. I intend to try again."

  She shook her head. "No. You are in love with someone else. I saw her at the ball. Why did you not tell me?"

  "Ah—"

  She put a finger to my lips. "Do not apologize. I won't lis­ten."

  "Very well. But we were trying not to look like we were to­gether."

  "I know you too well, Edward. Who is she?"

  I explained as best I could without giving too much away and I left out Diego, who had not been there. Anne prided her­self on keeping up with the ton, but Diego was not really a part of it, despite his influence at court. She certainly was not. Anne knew the men who came to her house and not that many oth­ers.

  She nodded when I got to the part about the portfolio with the nude engravings that looked so much like Xavi.

  "Which is why you wrote to me," she sighed. "And why you went to the trouble of getting the receipts for them from Mr. Martin, by hook or by crook. You must have been sur­prised to see my name." I was.

  "And here you are. She wants them all in her possession, I suppose. Does she have a husband? She is very beautiful."

  Female intuition was a remarkable thing. "Yes. She does. And she is no more beautiful than you, Anne." I meant it sin­cerely but she waved away the compliment.

  "I find mirrors much less fascinating than I used to. And that is all I have to say on the subject."

  "Would you tell me, though . . . why you bought one of the portfolios?"

  Anne shrugged. The billowing robe slipped off one of her shoulders and I saw the thin gown beneath. Her magnificent breasts were revealed under the silk and I longed to bury my face in them. I suspected that she knew what I wanted and under­stood my unspoken desire, but she kept it to herself.

  "I happened to walk by the shop and saw them in the win­dow. I liked them and went in. I have bought sets from Mr. Martin before. But I haven't looked at that one since."

  I wondered if her girls had posed for others, but it was not a question I was going to ask. And trying to buy it back from her would serve no purpose.

  "We sometimes give a portfolio like that to clients in ad­vance," she said thoughtfully. "Anything to get them excited quickly."

  That was the last thing I wanted to hear. The more men who saw the pictures, the more likely that word would get back to Don Diego.

  "But I won't use those now that I know. I had no idea that your Xaviera was the model," Anne said. "Of course, she was wearing a mask at the ball and—"

  "She was not the model, as I said."

  Anne raised an eyebrow and gave me a quizzical look.

  "The resemblance is striking, however. If her husband found out, she would be treated very severely indeed."

  My love favored me with an ironic smile. "More severely than if she was caught with you?"

  I rose from the bed and paced the floor. "She is not going to be caught. But it is best if there is not the slightest breath of scandal where she is concerned."

  "Well, then she must be careful. Indulging in private infi­delity while maintaining the appearance of public virtue is diffi­cult." She coughed. "Your Xavi and I are in the same business."


  "Anne! What are you saying?" My temper flared but she continued to look at me steadily.

  "Oh, nothing. The truth is never welcome."

  "Enough." My anger swiftly ebbed away and suddenly all I wanted from her was a kiss, a real one. I sat on the bed again and took her hands in mine, bending down to press my cheek to hers and nip at her earlobe. I could feel the blush rising in her cheeks under my gentle treatment. La Belle Dame Sans Merci, my beautiful lady without mercy, needed mercy desperately.

  I caressed her as lovingly as I could but sensed a steely resis­tance. All the same, I put my lips over hers and teased her mouth open with my tongue. Anne yielded at last, able to sur­render only to something as simple as a kiss.

  But she pushed me away when it was over. I felt put in my place. Very well. If I was not to have her this time, it was not the end of the world. We might as well talk.

  "So." She wrapped the robe tightly around herself, like armor. Beautiful, soft armor. "Tell me more about your Xavi. Something that I don't know."

  I nodded. "Did you see the first portrait of her that appeared in the shops? The reproduction, I mean. Everyone was talking about it. But she was not named."

  "Clever of her."

  "She is, but that was not her doing. In fact, she had nothing to do with it at all. Nor did Quinn, even though he painted the original."

  "Oh, that man. One of his girls came here, looking for work."

  Nonplussed, I simply stared at her. "Which one? There are so many."

  "I expect you have slept with several." Her tone was acerbic.

  "I haven't. Not recently."

  "Hmph."