The Viscount's Pleasure House (Irresistible Aristocrats Book 1)

by Suzi Love

  By now, they’d be safely ensconced in his family home, his inheritance, the mausoleum he’d never wanted. The pile of stone hanging like a noose around his neck. An enormous cross he was forced to bear through nothing but his own folly, his inability to keep his breeches fastened when he was younger.

  Back then, in his wilder younger years, he’d thought it a vast joke to seduce his father’s latest mistress. To fuck her every way he’d learned, and by then, he’d learned plenty. In his last defiant act, he’d plowed her on every piece of furniture in the house his father bought for her using the estate’s income. Considered it retribution for his mother and sisters doing without new gowns and fripperies so his father could pay for his own extravagances.

  Justin’s chosen method of revenge had appeared intelligent to an angry and vigorous young man whose father chose the rest of the world over his own family. Back then, his good looks were maturing, his virility peaking, and he’d only to lift a finger and women fought for the right to invite him to bed.

  Despite the long line of conquests awaiting him, he’d stalked and chosen the high-flyer paid for by the man who’d spawned him, then neglected him. Maria had been an easy mark. So easy even he, a titled gentleman known to harbor no conscience and no heart, had felt twinges of guilt at using her with such ruthlessness.

  As fleeting as his revenge had been against his father, Maria’s suffering had been the opposite. More prolonged, as had his mother’s when she’d learned of what he’d done from London’s gossips. It’d seemed merciful when Maria died soon after, though Justin’s guilt had increased threefold when he learned later that a miscarriage had caused her deathbed fever. Sickened by the thought of Maria dying because two ruthless men had used her without thought to consequences, he’d been too disgusted with himself to leave his house.

  For weeks he’d been too ashamed to speak with his mother as she’d read in his face the dishonorable part he’d played and her humiliation would be increased. Finally his compulsion to discover the truth about Maria drove him out onto London’s streets, where he freely spent coin to locate Maria’s staff—her footmen and at last, her personal maid.

  “Tell me, Betsy,” he’d said, trying not to frighten her with his desperation. Though he’d dressed, he’d long since given up his usual care with his appearance and she looked about to turn and run. “I need … I must know. Was the babe mine?” He groaned, remembering the quake in his voice as he’d asked. “Or was it my father’s?”

  By that stage, he’d been so angry, so crazed, the poor maid backed away, terrified of whom he’d become. Ruthlessly reining in his temper, he’d offered more money than she’d earn in a year for her truthful answer.

  “The babe weren’t yours, my lord. My lady already carried the child before you—”

  “Before I wormed my way into her bed, the bed paid for by my devoted pater.” Betsy had nodded. “So why didn’t Maria tell me? Why let me suffer this torment later?”

  Betsy hadn’t been able to meet his eyes, but the lure of gold coins loosened her tongue. “Me mistress afeared when your father found out he’d filled ‘er belly with a babe ‘ed toss her out. But she ‘oped you’d not leave ‘er, no matter who planted the seed.”

  “Humph! Your mistress’s belief in me was misplaced. I seduced her to strike out at my father, nothing else.”

  “Oh, sir, she knew it, she did. But it made no matter. You treated ‘er right. Your father … “ She’d gulped, swallowed, stared at the ground. “‘e never was a kind man.”

  “My father mistreated her?” Betsy had confirmed Justin’s suspicions about the true cause of his mother’s anti-social behavior. Like all his foolish and self- obsessed peers, he’d shut his eyes to the truth and let a woman, his own mother, protect his sisters from their father ‘s wrath. Time and again when they were all children, she’d put herself in harm’s way to save them from his cruelty.

  Yet, in his youthful arrogance, he’d turned every fight with his father into his personal affront, never giving a thought to the women in his family when he’d stormed out. He’d left London that last time in the belief that he did what was best for everyone, yet he’d failed to ask his mother her preferences. For her, or for his sisters. He’d failed them then, and now, after three years back in London, he’d still failed to locate them.

  A gentle hand touched his back, and Chrissie lowered herself onto the step beside him. “Are you well, my lord?”

  He gave a snort of laughter. “My dear lady, very recently my fingers were inside your body. So I think you should address me less formally. My name is Justin. Say it.”

  “Justin …are you well?” She peered at his face, her brown brows dipping together as she frowned.

  “Sweetheart, it should be I enquiring as to your well-being. After all, I’m the notorious Virile Viscount and you’re a discreet lady. You should slap my face for taking such liberties.”

  “My lord … Justin … I’d be a hypocrite to attack you for something I allowed.”

  He shook his head. No matter what he threw at this amazing lady, she retained her composure—with the exception perhaps of those minutes in the corridor when she was mindless to everything bar her own rapture. Her golden eyes had spun to meet his gaze as she climaxed and he’d felt their heat burn through to his cold heart. Felt the ice around it crack a little.

  Good God! Like a love-sick fool he rhapsodized poetical about her attributes. He held one of her gloved hands in his bare hand and squeezed with fingers still carrying the lingering musky scent of feminine arousal. Would she be shocked if he licked them, sucked the sweet and salty taste of her into his mouth? Ignorant of his lecherous thoughts, she flashed him a rueful glance.

  “And to answer your question, yes, I found comfort in my husband’s arms when he visited my bedchamber. For the first few weeks of my marriage anyway.”

  “Comfort? What about pleasure?”

  “My willingness, or rather my eagerness, to couple more than once a week shocked my husband. Though he knew I was eager to conceive our child. After he chastised me for my ill-bred behavior, I feared he may cease our conjugal visits altogether. I’d lose my chance of becoming a mother. I learned to hide my emotions and appear as dispassionate as my husband.” She glanced sideways at him through her long thick lashes. “Necessity forced me into a meeker role, but I wanted to become enceinte. So I took the cowardly road.”

  He snorted. “Despite me labeling you a mouse, you’re no coward. Anyone who beards a panther in his den in the dead of night unguarded and unchaperoned cannot be deemed a coward.”

  With his teeth, he tugged the fingertips of her glove until the soft satin slipped off her hand. Despite it being every rake’s well-practiced move of seduction, Chrissie gave an incredibly sweet and surprised little gasp, alerting him to her rapidly rising level of arousal. After only one day, he recognized it and delighted in it.

  “If I’m no longer a coward, I shouldn’t be so afraid to ask you for what I need. Wouldn’t fear being thought brazen.”

  Justin smiled his amusement. “I hardly think that I, or my friends, will look at the prim and proper Lady Wellsby and think her brazen.”

  She glanced down at herself. Their cloaks had been left downstairs and her mask had been abandoned. Her low cut gown stretched taut across the bodice of her red gown, purchased by a maid that afternoon from a shop that catered to ladies of the night. Soft mounds of pink flesh pushed up, an enticing feast for a man’s eyes, but he refrained from pointing that out and increasing her embarrassment.

  “Those women, the ones who sell their wares on the streets, must be less well-endowed than me,” she said, making a futile attempt to push her breasts into her bodice.

  Justin was unable to prevent his mirth escaping. She frowned.

  “Sweetheart, any whore blessed with breasts as large as yours would bow down and thank their Lord for providing a way to make pots of money.”

  She glared at him. “You’re ridiculing me.”

&nbs
p; He bit his lip to smother more laughter. Bringing her hand to his mouth, he flicked his tongue along the bare skin exposed above her glove.

  “I swear I’m telling the truth. You’re beautiful. From the curls on your head to those rather large feet that you insist on stomping when I annoy you.”

  “I do not—” She shook her head. “I may have stomped. Once.”

  He grinned, shook his head, waited.

  “Perhaps twice. But only because you are an extremely annoying man.”

  “I know.” He smiled again. “But please, ask away. What is your question?”

  “Question?”

  He squeezed her hand. “Do you repeat things that everyone says, or is it my charming presence that makes you so flustered?”

  “Oooh!” Her leg twitched, and he placed a firm hand on her knee. She narrowed her eyes at him, opened her mouth to say something, closed it again. Her leg jiggled again, a restless little motion under his hand, and he allowed her to see his amusement.

  “Bloody hard to stomp when seated, isn’t it?”

  “You, you … No, you’ll not irritate me. Rousing my temper is merely another ploy to goad me into retreating. I’m made of sterner stuff.”

  “Good. I detest spineless women.” He kissed the back of the hand he still held. She frowned down at it, seemingly puzzled by its presence. “Now, what did you want to know?”

  She sighed, a long expulsion of breath and a sag of her shoulders. “It hardly seems to matter now. I was concerned about you, your welfare.”

  He stared, open-mouthed. A lady, a truly gracious lady, who’d suffered and lived a small, unfulfilled life worried about him. Unaware she’d rendered him speechless, she continued to speak in a hesitant voice. “I-I wondered if you needed … if-if I should … “

  “Should what?”

  She glanced at his groin where his erection tented his trousers. “Should help you.” She used her head to point. “With that.”

  He looked down, shifted on the step, and with his free hand attempted to readjust his flap. “Let me understand, you’re offering to relieve my hard on?”

  She swallowed, nodded. “My husband preferred me to do it that way.”

  “Jesus Christ almighty.” He sucked in a breath. “How? Your hand?”

  “Mmm. My hand and a cloth inside his drawers.” Her words came out in a rush. “He said it was faster, less messy. Easier for us both. Especially when it became apparent I was barren.”

  “Bastard. I wish to God your husband still lived, because I’d like to kill him. Slowly. Several times.”

  “He did it for me,” she said, her tone snappy, defensive. “So I didn’t suffer soiled nightdresses or sheets by continuing our couplings.” He knew he looked ridiculous with his mouth open like an imbecile, but he couldn’t seem to recover from his shock enough to close it, or to speak. He’d never in his life heard such a cartload of horse shit—and to think that a clever woman like her had fallen for it stunned him. Horrified him.

  “Until now, I thought I’d seen and heard every low trick in the world. Married men use tricks and lies all the time to either entice a woman into their beds, or to keep them out of it. But never, never in my entire life have I heard of a man who demands his wife tug his dick to save dirtying the bed linen. Didn’t you employ a laundress?”

  “Yes. Geoffrey, however, thought it distasteful to have such intimate tasks performed by a servant. He preferred me to see to our personal linen.”

  “Fuck me! My father was a prick of the highest order, but your husband and his subtle cruelties outclassed him by a mile. He eroded your self-confidence. In ways you couldn’t fight, ways that freed him from any guilt over his liaisons and visits to brothels.”

  “No, no. It wasn’t like that.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, longing to rub some warmth back into her sterile life. The indescribable tortures women suffered at the hands of their male relatives disgusted him.

  “Yes it was, and it’s time you knew. Your sainted husband lied. Apparently about everything. Wellsby spent many nights at my houses and believe me, nothing he did was to save you from washing extra laundry.”

  “Geoffrey went to your Pleasure House? To the Bath House?”

  He nodded, stroked her hand, and ached for her pain.

  “I don’t understand. Geoffrey explained that he used the services of a … a woman. Occasionally. Because seeing to his physical relief every week wasn’t something he believed a wife, or a lady, should be asked to do, especially after it became obvious I was barren. But he visited a woman, an older widow who needed money.”

  “Christ! The selfish bastard.” “Why you are angry at Geoffrey? Though he wasn’t the most attentive of husbands, he didn’t treat me any worse than any other gentleman. My expectations for our marriage started out being very high, unreasonably so.”

  He snorted. “So saintly Geoffrey pointed out you expected too much from him. Said you drove him to other women.”

  She frowned. “Well, yes. But only one woman.”

  “And you believed him? Hell. For an intelligent woman, you allowed Wellsby do you a lot of harm. Didn’t it disturb you knowing your husband fucked another woman?”

  “I’m ashamed to admit it, but when he visited the widow again, I was relieved. Not that I hadn’t enjoyed those times when my husband touched my body. Those few moments before he completed his business. Because I did.”

  “A few moments.” Justin rolled his eyes. “Go on. Tell me the worst.”

  “It was the next part that I didn’t enjoy. Not when it hurt so much.”

  “And I’ll bet Geoffrey made sure you gained no pleasure from your couplings, as you called them. Made sex so vile that you encouraged him to seek it elsewhere and expunged his guilt over his sexual escapades. Though I doubt he suffered any remorse.” He threw back his head and groaned aloud. “What did you do, pack his valise when he went roving? Sent a cake to his hostess like a good little wife.”

  She leapt to her feet, her face crumpling into creases and tears. “You’re despicable. I offered to help because you looked to be in pain and you’re repaying me with cruel taunts and untruths.”

  He stood to face her, their noses almost touching. “I am in pain. Life’s cruel and bastards like Geoffrey, and my father, have caused us both pain. And yet naïve believers in good, like you, would still lie down and allow someone to walk over you. To crush your hopes and dreams.”

  He rubbed his nose across hers, gently, and wished he could as easily rub salve onto her inner wounds. Her hands came up, grasped his forearms, either to push him away or pull him closer. He hoped for the latter. Wanted her to lean into him, lean on him.

  At that moment, Lord Mannerly gave his loudest squeal as his dominatrix completed the last act of chastisement in his lordship’s ritual. Along the corridor, the others stirred. Gillian appeared flustered and Edward smiled, the smug look of a man who’d enjoyed an unexpected bout of sex. Thomas gripped Anna’s elbow and tired his best to look unaffected as Anna chattered like an overexcited monkey about the red streaks now marring Lord Mannerly’s fat white bottom. Bart awoke, stood, and ambled toward Anna like a disjointed puppy scenting a new bone.

  Thomas towed Anna toward the stairs and as he passed Justin he muttered, “Are we finished for the evening? Or do you have more torture to inflict upon us?”

  Obviously he and Thomas suffered a similar frustration.

  “No, I think we’ve suffered enough for one night.”

  He led the group outside to the waiting carriages, using back corridors and avoiding front parlor members. Decadent noises erupted— high-pitched giggles from his girls, squeals and moans of pleasure from his guests. To Justin, the noises were simply a qualifier as to how busy his house was for the evening and how much coin the girls were earning. The three ladies, however, moved at an annoyingly slow pace along the maze of corridors and at every room or window they halted, faces alert, and listened to every emitted grunt and groan.

 
He’d seriously misjudged them, as nothing upset their composure. He also owed Bart a crown. They’d wagered on how long the women would last and Justin’s overly optimistic assumption of less than half an hour seemed ridiculous considering that more than two hours later he couldn’t coerce them back to the carriages. Plus, more dallying meant more risk of recognition as the women had discarded their disguises.

  Ironically it was Edward who, although furious with Justin earlier, grasped his hand in a shake hard enough to pull his arm out of its socket. “Thank you, Hawkesbury. I can’t tell you what this evening has meant to me.” He pulled Gillian closer, his arm firmly around her waist, and kissed the top of her head. “To us, and our marriage.”

  Gillian stretched up on her toes and kissed Justin’s cheek. “You’re a wonderful man and I’m grateful you brought us here.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and gave a quiet groan. “My intention, as you probably guessed, was to shock you into running away.”

  Gillian patted his cheek as a nanny does to an errant infant. “We knew. But we’d spoken of it before we approached you and decided we’d not allow ourselves to be upset. After all, we’d taken a great deal of care, and time, with our research.”

  “Research.” His mouth dropped open again.

  Anna stopped beside Gillian and smiled—or was she smirking? “Oh, hell,” Justin said. “I’ve a feeling I’ve been outsmarted. By three country women.”

  Anna spoke up. “Mm hm. We made a pact before we left that nothing would deter us. Chrissie knew I’d be most easily shocked, so we studied before we came to London.”

  “Studied,” Thomas said, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on Anna’s face.

  She smiled again. “Oh, yes, Thomas. Many books carry detailed illustrations, if one knows where to purchase the right books.”

  “And from these books you learned what you’d see here,” Justin said. He bowed from the waist. “Ladies, I take my hat off to you for your ingenuity. You’ve outwitted me well and truly.”

  Chrissie dipped a quick curtsy and a cheeky grin. “You didn’t really believe we were so naïve that you’d frighten us away after one night, did you, my lord?”