by Robin Gideon
“I am what I am. Because of you, there is a man in my life who occasionally spends time in my bed, so for that I must thank you a thousand times.” She smiled in a conspiratorial way. “The duchess is very concerned with the behavior of others. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d enjoy knowing that you were scandalously entertained under the duchess’s roof by those rogues you’ve given your heart to. Afterward, when we have the time, we can open a bottle of champagne, and you can tell me the whole, delicious story from beginning to end. I will insist on all the juicy facts. Agreed?”
“Clarisse, you want me to kiss and tell?” Estelle’s tone was without censure.
“My dear girl, I hope you’ll do much more than just kiss.”
* * * *
“What the fuck are you telling me? You won’t cash this bank draft?” Prince Horace asked, keeping his voice low. A vein pulsed hotly in his temple. He glared at Mr. Morton, trying to intimidate the banker. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“Yes, Prince Horace, I know exactly who I’m talking to,” the bank president replied. “And I am sorry to have to be the one to give you the disappointing news, but the truth to the matter is that your wife has cancelled payment on that bank draft. I simply cannot cash it or even deposit it into an account.”
Horace got out of the chair, his hands clenched into fists. “Listen, goddamn you. That bitch is my wife, and she wrote the bank draft to me. It’s my fucking money, and you’re going to give it to me.”
Mr. Morton pushed out of his chair. “I don’t care what your name or title is. I’m not going to be browbeaten by you or anyone else,” he said with quiet authority. “Certainly not in my own office.” He adjusted his bowtie, and the look he sent to the prince was filled with disrespect. “The money isn’t yours, it is your wife’s. You are not authorized to get into her account. If you don’t like those facts, I suggest you bring it up to Princess Estelle.” His gaze went up and down slowly over Horace as though in assessment. “Get out of my office. Get out of my bank. Get out now.” He smirked contemptuously. “You’ve married well, but don’t for a second think that you’re worth anything yourself. Without your wife, you wouldn’t have two shillings to rub together. All you’ve got is a title you’ve never earned.”
“We’ll see about that,” Horace replied. “We’ll just see about that.”
Chapter Eleven
Estelle looked at herself in the oval mirror in her bedchamber and was pleased with what she saw. The gown was violet, trimmed with white lace. It did, as she had intended, highlight the unusual color of her eyes. She was a little concerned regarding the décolletage, since the neckline did put her charms on rather ostentatious display, but it was too late to do anything about it. When she had been speaking with her modiste during the fittings, they had discussed at some length the neckline and what fashionable society would and would not accept. This was the look she had wanted because she knew what Julian and Alek liked, and she wanted to please them.
She turned and looked at herself in profile. The gown was snug from the hips upward, and full and billowy below. With a sly smile on her lips, Estelle raised her dress and underskirt to reveal her legs in their white silk stockings, and her cotton drawers. With a tug to the drawstring, Estelle loosened her drawers and let them slither down her legs. She stepped out of them, folded them carefully, and returned them to the bureau. She had allowed her chambermaid to help her into them when she was getting dressed, but she had known from the beginning that she’d be taking off her drawers before leaving for Duchess Nellie Watters-Koch’s ball.
Mademoiselle Clarisse had requested hearing, with crystalline clarity and infinite detail, libidinous excess transpiring during the ball, and Estelle intended on having a salacious, and true, story to tell her.
What will it be? Estelle turned to the mirror to examine the small patch of soft pubic hair at the apex of her thighs. Should I find a dark hallway somewhere, get down on my knees, and suck them both? Julian absolutely adores it when I do that do him. Or perhaps I should just bend over a table in some empty room and let them have me from behind, one at a time. But they climax so much I’ll be filled to overflowing with their release. Oh, goodness, that’ll make a mess of my stockings, won’t it? Will anyone notice? I’ll have to clean them myself when I get back home. My chambermaids mustn’t find them, or my secret will be out. Oh, the complications which come from loving two men…
She let her gown’s skirt and underskirt fall down over her legs, and felt a tiny tremor go through her. Her lovers didn’t know it, but they were going to be more entertained at the duchess’s ball than they’d ever been at any ball in their lives.
Unless they’ve spirited away at other balls with other women. Knowing those two, I’m certainly not the first woman to plot their seduction.
She pushed the jealous thoughts away, knowing they were toxic. She couldn’t deny the fact that Julian and Alek had known many, many lovers, but she didn’t need to dwell on it, either. Since she couldn’t be their first lover, Estelle decided she’d just have to be content with being their last.
* * * *
Sir Edward Hockings cleared his throat quietly, took a sip of champagne, and said, “You look absolutely marvelous tonight.”
“Thank you,” Estelle replied, wishing she had something other than punch to sip. She felt nervous, and an icy glass of champagne would be most welcome.
She had been talking with Sir Edward since shortly after arriving at the ball. Though an elegant and gentlemanly man of fifty, with a significant fortune and no bride, Estelle thought he would do better talking to one of the many eligible, unmarried women in the room. She was, after all, still married to Horace, and until that misfortune was corrected, Sir Edward’s attentions were all for naught. Not that it really mattered, since her heart had been given to Julian and Alek, so even when her marriage to Horace was properly dealt with, she wasn’t in the market for a man.
It was nice, though, to catch Sir Edward glancing at her breasts, then looking away quickly, as though their beauty drew him despite his best efforts to keep his gaze averted. For so long, Horace had made Estelle feel dirty, feel unattractive. Prince Julian and Count Alek were in the process of repairing her attitudes about herself, and it didn’t hurt at all that Sir Edward clearly found her attractive, too.
“Where’s your husband?” Sir Edward asked casually. “If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight at a gathering like this. You’re much too lovely, and there are too many roués here.”
“Why, Sir Edward, I do believe that you’re protective of me.”
“It’s Prince Horace who should be,” Sir Edward said slowly, with a distinct edge to his tone now, “but he’s not.” His voice dipped so that he couldn’t possibly be heard by anyone other than Estelle. “You deserve better than the likes of him. Somebody needs to take a riding crop to him.”
Just then a blonde woman in her late thirties, wearing a fortune in rubies around her throat and dangling from her ears, stepped up to Sir Edward. She hardly glanced in Estelle’s direction.
“You’re looking even more handsome than usual, Sir Edward,” the woman said, her voice a sensual purr. “How is it you keep getting more handsome by the day?”
“It was good speaking to you,” Estelle said to Sir Edward. “I’d better find out if my husband has arrived yet.”
She walked away, wishing Sir Edward happiness, and wondering if the woman with the rubies was married. Estelle hoped she wasn’t.
* * * *
“What an absolutely lovely purple dress, my dear,” Duchess Nellie Watters-Koch announced. She was the Queen’s close friend, and her opinion carried frightening importance among those of the ton. “It brings out the startling color of your eyes.”
“You are too kind,” Princess Estelle replied, though that was precisely the reaction she had hoped to get. “I did wonder if it wouldn’t be a little too revealing, especially for a late luncheon event.” The U-shaped décolletage show
ed the luscious bounty of Estelle’s bosom, though she had noted that there were several other women with similar necklines, but none were endowed quite as extravagantly as she. Fashion dictated that necklines didn’t go down until the sun did. “You don’t think I’m being too immodest?”
Though notorious for her rigid sense of decorum, the duchess closed her fan with a flourish and shook her head. She leaned closer to Estelle, and her voice dipped slightly. “If I were as lovely as you, I wouldn’t be afraid to let the world see it. I’m sure the Queen would agree, though she’d never admit it.”
Estelle looked over the duchess’s shoulder just in time to see Prince Julian and Count Alek enter the ballroom. The sight of them, each dressed formally for the unveiling of the newest family portraits of the royal family painted by the latest in-vogue artist, Sigmund Kolb, caused the breath to catch in Estelle’s throat and her heart to suddenly accelerate.
The duchess turned to follow Estelle’s gaze. When she saw that it was Julian and Alek who had drawn her guest’s attention, she smiled knowingly. “They are beautiful to look at,” she said with quiet confidentiality to Estelle, “but you’ll only get your heart shattered if you fall for either one of them.” She opened her fan and placed it near her mouth as she continued, keeping her voice very low. “The number of ladies those two have seduced is positively scandalous. Look at how the women tag along with them. And look around at all the other ladies following their every move with their eyes. Those two have their pick of ladies wherever they go.” Her lips pursed tightly in reproach. “I even spoke to the queen about those two men.”
Estelle looked away from her lovers and back to Duchess Watters-Koch. “You spoke to the Queen about them?” She sounded indifferent to news of Alek and Julian and their indiscretions, but she wasn’t in the least. Everything about those men was of profound interest to her.
The duchess shrugged her slender shoulders. “The Queen, and even my husband, has business interests with both of them. I had wanted the duke to have a stern talk to Julian and Alek, but he wouldn’t.” She closed her fan in a gesture that suggested the subject was closed. “Have you tried the smoked salmon? It’s one of my chef’s specialties.”
* * * *
“What the hell do you mean?” Horace demanded, standing in the doorway to Madam Stansky’s establishment. “I want some answers, and I want them now.”
“Prince Julian bought your signed markers from me,” the madam answered. “Now you owe him the money, not me.” She smiled viciously, quite obviously enjoying Horace’s distress. “And even if you did have pounds sterling falling out of your pockets, you couldn’t spend it here. Prince Julian made it very clear that anyone doing business with you becomes his personal enemy. Do you really think someone in my position is going to make enemies of a man like Prince Julian?”
“He can’t do that to me.”
“He can’t?” Her tone was mocking. She lifted an eyebrow. “Prince Horace, he already has.” She smiled with an almost sadistic glee. “The word is out. Anyone taking your money or giving you credit becomes the enemy of Prince Julian and Count Alek. Who in London would want to go to war with those two men?” She rubbed her palms together. “I think you’ll find that all doors are now closed to you.”
“This is London,” Horace thundered. “I own this city!”
But the madam only replied, “You don’t own shit.” Then she closed the door in his face.
* * * *
It took ten minutes before Estelle could “casually” make her way over to where Alek and Julian stood in the ballroom, each with a glass of wine in hand, munching on freshly sliced cheese, cold cuts, and fruit.
Estelle looked at her lovers, standing fifty feet away. The duchess was right. They are beautiful. What she doesn’t know is that they’re mine. All mine.
The two couldn’t be any more different. Alek was the big barbarian from Austria with gigantic fists and a velvety touch. Julian was the dark, enigmatic English prince who could make a woman shiver and get wet just by looking at her. Since becoming their lover, Estelle’s inquiries into their past had proven enlightening—and a little disturbing. She had known that they were promiscuous, but upon investigation she discovered they were far more profligate than she had imagined.
Could the two of them ever be satisfied with just me?
These were the questions that haunted her waking thoughts. She didn’t want to be in love with two men at the same time. Certainly not with two men notorious for only playing at the game of love. But a woman has only so much control over her heart, the princess decided.
As Estelle approached, Alek looked her way. Even from a distance, Estelle saw the spark of desire in his ice-blue eyes, and her heart did a little flip. And when Julian turned his chocolaty gaze toward her, she felt the tingle of passionate readiness flutter through her pelvis. As her heart accelerated, Estelle forced herself to appear calm.
“Good afternoon, Prince Julian, Count Alek,” she said, her tone casual and friendly.
“Good afternoon, Princess Estelle,” they said in unison.
Estelle’s violet gaze flicked left and right. For once, Alek and Julian didn’t have a gaggle of women surrounding them. She could talk without being overheard.
“Have you done it?” she asked, her tone hushed, anxiety coloring the single sentence.
Julian nodded. “I’ve assigned four men to guard your home. I’ve given my men orders to shoot to kill.”
“Your solicitor is taking a full inventory of all your possessions as we speak,” Alek said. “Horace can’t remove anything without your written authorization.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly expression. “Julian’s bodyguard, Jarvis, is at your house. He’ll bring Horace to us. You won’t have to speak to him. Julian and I will handle everything.”
“He…he’ll be out of my life forever? I’ll never have to see him again?”
“Never again,” Alek said. “I promise you that.”
Estelle closed her eyes for a moment, fighting against tears of joy that couldn’t be shed because she was surrounded by people who would never understand a woman falling in love with two men.
“I’ll never be able to reward you sufficiently for what you’ve done,” the princess whispered. “I was afraid that he’d be in my life forever.”
Julian said, “Before nightfall, he’ll be on a boat headed for France. You’ll never see him again. He can’t touch you, your money, or your possessions. And he’ll soon enough only be a dim, unpleasant memory for you.” He took a sip of wine, glancing around quickly to make sure he wasn’t being overheard. “English law says that any woman abandoned by her husband for a full year has the right to petition for a divorce. In one year’s time, you’ll be free of Horace—and there’ll be no public censure against you, either. No one will criticize an abandoned woman for seeking a divorce.”
“Thank for everything. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
Then Estelle watched as both Alek and Julian gazed down at her breasts, and the relief that she had felt moments earlier shifted toward a more libidinous emotion.
“Beautiful dress. Is it a Worth?” Alek asked.
“No. My personal modiste made it for me. Do you think it is too revealing?” The pink tip of her tongue moistened her upper lip as though readying it to receive a kiss. “I love the way I feel when you look at me,” she said to her lovers. “I feel precious and wanted and feminine, and if you asked me to get down on my knees right now in front of all these people, I’d do it. I’d do it without a second of hesitation because every time you look at me my pussy gets wet and I start to tingle all over, and I think I’m getting addicted to your cocks.” She put a hand to her mouth as though to physically silence the words that were rushing from her. “I’m shameless where you are concerned.”
Before either Alek or Julian could answer, two women—a mother with a daughter of marriageable age—stepped closer. They gave Estelle only the briefest of glances before beginning an animate
d conversation with the eligible bachelors.
* * * *
Seeing Mr. Morton, the banker, was surprising. Seeing him taking inventory of the artwork in the library made it shocking.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Horace demanded. “Who the hell are all these people in my house?”
“Prince Horace, so good to see you again,” Mr. Morton said, holding a ledger in one hand and a pencil in the other. The sarcasm in his tone was undisguised. “To answer your questions, I’m taking stock of everything of value in this house. These men are assisting me.” His thin lips pressed into a nasty smile. “Should you try to remove anything from this residence, I will have you arrested. You may have stolen your wife’s diamond earrings and pawned them for a fraction of what they were worth, but you won’t do that with anything else that she owns.”
“I own it, too!”
A tall, slender man in a pinstriped gray suit, wearing pince-nez at the very tip of his long, slender, beaklike nose, stepped forward. He said to Horace, “My name is Andrew Easley, and I am representing Princess Estelle’s interests. What you own will be determined in a court of law. Until that time, nothing can be removed from this residence.”
“We’ll just see about that,” Horace shot back.
The attorney’s gray gaze measured Horace contemptuously. “I’ve been practicing law in London for over thirty years. See those men over there? They look a little large and muscular to be bank employees, don’t they? They’re here to see to it that what is in this house stays in this house. If you try to steal anything, they’ll stop you by using whatever means they deem necessary.” He smiled. “You hold no winning cards, Prince Horace. And if you try to fuck with my client, I’ll take your skin off in strips—not literally, of course, but it’ll feel that way to you.”
