Ravishing Ruby

by Lavinia Kent

  “You may ask Captain Price, but I think not.”

  Simms nodded and with a light tap entered the parlor.

  Ruby took a brief moment to pull in a single breath. She would check her appearance and then the rest of the house. It was important to be sure that all was as it should be, that her girls were safe and that everyone was happy and contented.

  —

  Pausing outside the door, Ruby considered. Was she doing this right? She’d changed her wig to one of loose red curls, hanging about her shoulders, but should she have removed it altogether, and come to Derek as Emma again? No, she would never risk being seen so unguarded, not in the public halls. Hell, she didn’t even let her girls see her as herself.

  But did Derek want Ruby or Emma? He’d certainly been excited to see Ruby earlier in the evening, but on their last meeting it was Emma who had held his attention. And it had been Emma’s name he’d screamed.

  Her two identities had never given her such a headache before, their boundaries never crossing. She was Ruby here in the house, except late in the night when she washed her face and removed the heavy wig. Emma only saw daylight on Sundays when she visited her grandparents, and they had never met Ruby and never would. They were far happier living in ignorance of Madame Rouge and all that she represented.

  She would make it simple; from this moment forward the captain would get Ruby. Ruby was who she truly was now, and it was important not to forget it. Emma was only a character she played to keep her grandparents happy. Ruby. Ruby. Ruby. Ruby knew how to treat the captain. Ruby always knew how to treat a man.

  A slow smile spread across her face. Yes, Ruby certainly knew what to do. Emma could wait until tomorrow’s Sunday service to appear.

  Tonight, she’d be all Ruby, Madame Rouge.

  She pushed the door open and strolled in, hips a roll, breasts leading, the smile still upon her lips, but the expression now more careful. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

  “Never. Contrary to your earlier remark, I do have some patience.” Derek sat up on the bed, placing the small volume he had been reading into his coat pocket.

  “What has kept you entertained?” She gestured to the pocket.

  “Ivanhoe.”

  “I did not know you had a romantic soul.”

  “You’ve read it?” he asked.

  “Should I be offended that you sound surprised? I’ve read every available book by the author of Waverley.”

  Her bold captain’s cheeks flushed with color. “I meant no offense. I am quite sure you do read. I merely…It has not been available for long.”

  “I am only teasing.” She placed that practiced smile again upon her lips.

  He shrugged. “I suppose that we still do not know each other well. I do not know what you will find offensive.”

  “I am not sure I find anything offensive, or at least very little. Perhaps I have seen too much. And I have developed a thick skin over the years. I would be offended constantly if I became upset at every rude comment aimed in my direction. Even in my house I have come to accept that men are not always guarded in how they refer to me and my girls—but we will all keep smiling as long as they behave and they pay their bills.”

  She could see he did not like that. Was he ready to be offended for her? She reached out and ran a hand over his well-muscled shoulder. “You are still in your coat. Surely you would be more comfortable without it? Do you find the room cold?”

  “Not at all. Perhaps I was merely waiting for a helping hand.” A smile filled his eyes.

  “Surely Simms…Ahh, I am being slow. I would be glad to help. Do you wish a maid for this night?”

  “Are you offering? I’ve never had a maid to help me. It’s rare enough that I have use of a valet.”

  She lowered her voice, and her lashes. “Have you fantasized about being undressed by a maid?” Her tongue swept across her lower lip as she stepped toward him.

  He swallowed, his eyes taking her in. “I’ve never thought about it.”

  “Never?” Her tongue slowed.

  His gaze was fixed upon her lips. “I don’t think so.”

  “So what do you fantasize about?” Her tongue slid in and out.

  His pupils grew large and dark. “I’ve always just liked a good fuck, ass, tits. It’s never been complicated.”

  A slow, deep, throaty laugh. “And you never dream of anything in specific on those long, dark nights in your cabin when you—you take yourself in hand?”

  Chapter 3

  Had she really just asked him that? Was it really so hard to understand that he was a simple man? Large breasts. A plump ass. A soft thigh. The sweet scent of woman. What more did a man need to think about? His tongue tangled as he tried to find the words Ruby wanted to hear. “Most recently I’ve thought about you.”

  Ruby’s smile widened, that enticing tongue still sneaking in and out. “And what was I doing?”

  What was she doing? “I didn’t really consider that. I merely considered you.”

  “You do make this difficult. Was there anything about me in particular that you thought about?”

  “Your dumplings.” He gestured to her chest. “And I’ve always been fond of a good rear view. And sometimes I think of that first time you came to me, when I was in the bath chamber. I will always remember you slowly descending the stairs and then stepping into the tub, your simple white chemise growing damp and translucent. Even before I realized who you were—that the angelic blonde before me was the seductive Madame Rouge—I was entranced. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sight as breathtaking as your nipples through that damp cloth.” His eyes moved down to her breasts, remembering the wonder of that night, how the soft peaks had pressed against the damp cloth. He shifted his weight, feeling his cock strain against the fabric of his trousers. Everything had been so simple that night, no expectation, only wonder. It had been the same in the parlor below. Why did he suddenly feel so awkward, so unsure of how to answer her questions?

  “That is better. I have to admit I’ve thought about your body, water dripping down it, steam from the shower bath hiding and revealing.” Her voice grew lower. She took a step forward. “I’ll never forget that first moment I saw you standing there when I snuck down the stairs; you stood so proud, your eyes half-closed, your hand stroking, pumping. I thought I’d seen all a woman could ever want, but that image will stay with me always. If I doubted whether I was right in coming to you, it took only that one glance—and then I could not look away.”

  He’d never understood the need to mix words and sex, but now, as he listened to Ruby’s voice wrap around him, listened to it tease him, he began to comprehend. His whole body was ready again, and she hadn’t even lowered her bodice. Although, he looked up again, that mouth was sinful enough to tempt a saint.

  She licked across her lower lip, leaving it wet and shiny. She leaned forward.

  His breath caught, his mind full of all the things that mouth could do.

  Her lips came closer. Closer.

  He swallowed.

  She rose on tiptoe. Her lips settled upon his chin. A sweet kiss. A nip. A slight suck.

  They moved lower, traveling under his chin and down his throat, her teeth scraped upon the stubble of his beard.

  Soft palms settled upon his jacket, their weight pressing into him.

  Her mouth swept lower, nibbling just above the starch of his neckcloth.

  A low, rumbling laugh. “I can’t believe your cravat isn’t more rumpled after what happened in the parlor. I left the room looking a perfect floozy, and you could have been heading for Almack’s—well, perhaps not, but then I doubt you’re ever quite that put together.”

  God, he wanted to grab her again and bend her over the bed, or perhaps another go against the wall. Ruby took all his control away with a single flash of her eyes, a single lick of her lips. He was not at all sure he liked it, but he was sure he intended to enjoy it.

  —

  Now what? The thought
played about the edges of Ruby’s mind as she slowly savored the salt of his skin, the clean, fresh scent of his linen, the faintest hint of lemon and musk overlaying the smell of the laundry soap.

  She scraped her teeth against the growing roughness of his beard. He had not shaved since this morning. She could feel his body quiver beneath her fingertips.

  And hers quivered as well.

  What was it about this man that left her so ready to ignite—and yet so unsure?

  Her stomach felt like a herd of butterflies flew in circles, a cyclone of wings, batting and churning.

  She never felt this way. She was always in control.

  If there was one thing she knew in life it was how to handle a man: when to smile softly; when to let her eyes flash in anger and challenge; when to lean forward, showing him just a hint of what he might dream of; when to pull back and act demure and confused. Madame Rouge could calm a furious man and give courage to a timid one. She could find the perfect partner for any desire.

  So why was she at a loss now? What was it about this man that left her so off balance?

  Poppycock.

  She was becoming maudlin.

  She ran her lower teeth up the length of his neck, feeling the grate of his skin.

  When she reached his chin, she pulled back with a snap—and stepped away.

  The problem was that she was thinking too much about what she wanted, and not enough about his needs.

  The key, the key she was forgetting, was to always tease the man with his own desires, to let his imagination do most of the work.

  Keeping the sultry smile upon her face, she turned her back to him. “Help me with my ties.”

  His hands landed upon her back, sure and steady. The man might claim to like things simple, but he certainly knew what he was doing.

  “Should I work on your corset, as well?” His voice rumbled at the back of her ear.

  “No, I can manage the front fastenings.” She forced herself to take two steps away, and then half turned, looking over her shoulder, very aware of the picture she presented as she stood, gown held loose about her shoulders, ready to tumble given the slightest opportunity. She tossed her head slightly, letting the long crimson curls dance about creamy skin.

  His eyes followed the movement, captured.

  She let the gown drop the merest fraction, revealing slightly more of her lush curves.

  His eyes followed, a puppy eyeing a bone.

  She took another step back, saw his body tense to follow.

  “Do you know what Madame Rouge’s is famous for?” She put a deliberate purr in her voice, low and rolling.

  He paused. “I was told your girls are clean and experienced, without being worn—if a bit pricey. And that you were a consummate businesswoman. He kept emphasizing what a good woman you were, how you cared for your girls and always knew what to say. He sounded more like he was talking about a hospital matron than a madam.”

  Well, that was interesting, but she’d never heard herself described in such a fashion. “And who told you that?”

  “A merchant who I buy from gave me the first referral, but I got the same story from several others, although they talked more about your girls and far less about you. And all assured me that you allowed no thievery or cheating. That it was as safe as any whorehouse could be.”

  Now that was startling, although again true. And she supposed that it was not a bad reputation to have. “Clean and honest. What business owner would not like such a description?” She chuckled in self-deprecation. And then she grew serious, again turning to every sensual trick she knew: deep voice; lowered lashes; heavy, slow breaths raising and lowering her chest. “What most people say is that Madame Rouge’s is known for fulfilling every dream, every desire—even those you don’t know you have. Are you ready to try?”

  She stepped farther from him, slipping behind the dressing screen in one corner. There was a candle lit on the table. Her body would be silhouetted against the screen. Simms did think of everything. She let the gown slip, then the corset, and finally the chemise. Turning slightly, her body profiled, she asked, “So you like that glimmer of female flesh peeking through, do you, my dear captain? I wonder what else you might like.” She peered about her. “Most of my rooms have themes or are for an intended purpose.”

  “Yes. I saw the whips last time through an open door,” he replied from beyond the screen.

  “They are only for my more extreme clients. I must admit that I’ve never felt the need to try them.” Hmm, there must be something she could use. That man’s white shirt might be possible. She remembered he’d liked the innocent white of her chemise last time—and he’d certainly enjoyed the few minutes she’d been in his shirt. This shirt was definitely sheer enough to let some skin and shadow show through. And if she added that hat…An idea sprang to mind.

  “Never?” he asked.

  What? Her mind full of plans, it took her a moment to skip back in the conversation. “Well, once—sort of. It only took one not very hard blow for me to decide against it forever. I am not a fan of pain, wearing shoes for a full day is about as much as I can tolerate. I suppose I could play the other side, handle the whip, but the thought gives me no pleasure, and I find that such activities only work if one is finding pleasure in the situation. I fear my distaste would show—and where would be the fun in that?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Why? Do you find yourself curious about trying such things?” She did hope not.

  “No. I just can’t imagine you with a man and a whip. Talk about distasteful.”

  She laughed. Ahh, men and their jealousies. “It was actually one of my girls. And don’t get that look on your face—I don’t need to see you to know that it is there. I merely wanted to try and understand the practice. I felt it my professional duty. Unfortunately, I still do not understand. But, neither do I judge.”

  “That is reasonable, I suppose. I know several of my crew members have tastes I would not care for—but as you say, neither do I judge.”

  “I will not ask what tastes those are—although I can probably guess.”

  “Yes, you probably can. Now, what are you doing back there, woman? I begin to wonder if you delay.”

  “And why would I do that? I cannot imagine you would believe my virginal protests.”

  “No, I confess that I have a hard time imagining you as unwilling. Even in the beginning when you refused my initial request I never thought you reluctant.”

  “Yes, I believe I held out for almost a full day between when you initially asked how much a night in my bed cost and when I came to the bath.”

  The floor creaked as he stepped closer to the screen. “Are you ever coming out?”

  “Just one moment.” Hat. Shirt, half-buttoned. Boots. She needed boots. There must be some here somewhere. Her patrons were rather fond of black leather boots, high riding ones. Ahh. There they were. They were probably twice the size of her feet, but they would do for the moment. She slipped her bare toes into them.

  Oh, and there was a sword. A costume one, but it would still work perfectly. She wondered just what game her patrons had been playing. Perhaps the same one she was about to play.

  She tilted the hat upon her head, letting its long feather trail, and with as much grace as could be managed in the boots, stepped out into the room. “And how does my brave captain feel about pirates? Do you live in fear of a gorgeous corsair making you her captive?”

  “I…I…” He clearly was at a loss for words, his eyes sweeping her from plume to toe.

  “Are you ready to obey my every whim, dear Captain?”

  He still didn’t answer.

  Holding out the sword, she tapped the blunt tip to his chest. “I suggest you begin by removing that jacket. I don’t like my captives wearing more clothing than I.”

  Shrugging and sliding, he pulled out of the jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair.

  “Unbutton your shirt. You are still too clothed.” She bent forward s
lightly, letting her half-closed shirt slip open a little more, revealing the full curve of one breast, only the peaked nipple clinging to the fabric and remaining hidden.

  His eyes followed her movement.

  She brought the sword back to his chest. “Your shirt now, or should I cut it from you?”

  He complied, but his eyes remained fastened on the pale curve of her breast.

  She ran the sword up the bare skin of his chest and then used it to press his chin higher. “I would suggest that you look at my eyes, so that you might understand my desires. You do wish to please me, do you not?”

  “Yes.” He swallowed, his throat vibrating.

  “That’s a good captive.” She stood back and let the sword trail back down, stopping at the waist of his trousers. Hmm. She could just see the green tip of his dragon tattoo rising above the band. It was tempting. So very tempting. But it could wait; she could wait.

  She ran the dull tip back and forth across his flat stomach, watching his flesh quiver at the metal’s cold touch. His cock stirred beneath the flap of his trousers, hard and thick and ready—but she was in charge of this game. “I think it is time to discover if my captive has any hidden talents, any abilities of value, a reason I should spare his life.”

  “I can assure you that I have many skills.” He thrust his hips forward.

  “I think I want to explore your more subtle skills.” She walked to the chair he had laid his jacket upon and sat, letting the shirttails drape around her. “Tell me, how are you at taking direction?”

  “Taking direction?”

  “Captains do make the worst captives. I shall have to give you instruction.”

  “Whatever you say, my lady.” He completely failed at sounding humble.

  “You may remove my boot.”

  His lips pursed with slight displeasure. He was not used to taking orders.

  She resisted the urge to grin. Holding up her leg, she let the tails of the shirt slip to the side, revealing a long, sleek length of leg.

  He grabbed the heel and began to tug, his eyes focused above her head. Her captain was completely missing the spirit of the game.