All Afternoon with a Scandalous Marquess

by Alexandra Hawkins

  Hunter had decided duty and Lady Grace could wait another day. Saint shook his head, his smile tinged with apology. “Perhaps another time. I’ll leave the women in your capable hands.”

  “What do you intend to do?” his friend asked. His unspoken question was, Why did you come to the Golden Pearl if not to bed the wenches? The gent was genuinely surprised that Saint was refusing his generous invitation.

  “I thought it was obvious.” He clapped Hunter on the shoulder. “I decided to take my own advice. I intend to change my course.”

  Chapter Seven

  Madame Venna knew he was close.

  Saint.

  The one man put upon this earth to bedevil her. Abram had signaled her the moment the marquess had entered the Golden Pearl, though his well-intentioned warning was hardly necessary.

  Saint would come to her when he was ready. This was a new twist to their odd relationship. When Abram had escorted him out of the Golden Pearl six years ago, Madame Venna had wondered if his bruised pride would keep him away.

  He could have ruined her business with a calculated lie or used his connections to have her dragged in front of the magistrate on some charge. She was the owner of a brothel. Whatever the charge, there was a good chance it was true. There were always risks when one became a peddler of flesh and sin.

  Saint had not used his position in polite society to claim his revenge. After a week had passed, he had returned to the brothel as if nothing had transpired between them. That first year, he barely spoke to her. Instead, he availed himself of the services she provided. According to her girls, Saint did not discriminate when it came to women. He favored them all.

  The occasions his indifference bothered her, Madame Venna reminded herself that she had barely spent one night with the man. What was done or said no longer mattered. Saint had done her a great favor by respecting her wishes. Everyone had gotten what they had wanted. No one had been hurt. It did not signify that when he asked for a blonde, he requested that she come to him masked.

  He was not imagining that the woman was her.

  “Have you made a decision, Madame V?”

  She cast what she hoped was a sultry glance at the gentleman to her right. Lord Mulcaster could be counted on when she needed a charming companion as the evening played out around them. He was in his early thirties, had never married, and usually wandered into the Golden Pearl once he had grown weary of the ton’s amusements for the evening. He also loved to gamble. Fortunately for her, he liked to spend his money in her establishment.

  “And what decision might that be, Lord Mulcaster?” she asked, her eyes twinkling through the red-sequined mask she had donned for the evening.

  His face revealed his chagrin that she had not been hanging on every word he uttered. Like the majority of the males she had encountered in her seven-and-twenty years, the earl believed that all of his opinions were noteworthy.

  Unfortunately for Lord Mulcaster, she had a business to run. She usually was better at feigning interest, but Saint’s presence was distracting her from her duties.

  “I was hoping I could tempt you to honor me with a walk this evening, Madame V?” the earl genially said as he extended his arm.

  Madame Venna glanced at three other gentlemen who had been heatedly discussing politics. Now everyone’s attention had returned to her. This was not the first time Lord Mulcaster had tried to lure her upstairs. She had to admit that she had considered it once or twice. The earl was handsome enough, and it was to his credit that he did not bore her with polite conversation. His arrogance grated on her nerves, however. He was also prone to lecture, but these concerns should not be an issue in the bedchamber.

  She abruptly cast her gaze up to one particular balcony, only to discover that Saint was no longer watching her. He was engaged in a serious discussion with the Duke of Huntsley. Madame Venna offered her companions a brilliant smile.

  “What say you, Lord Kearns? Am I safe in Lord Mulcaster’s care?” she asked, appealing to the married viscount for his opinion. The earl frowned at this sudden wrinkle to his plans, but she ignored him. As she had intended, the gentleman straightened and stuck out his chest, inordinately pleased that she had consulted him.

  “Well, now … everyone knows Mulcaster is a filthy scoundrel!” Lord Kearns said gruffly. His bravado wilted when Lord Mulcaster took an intimidating step toward him.

  Fifty years old, the Earl of Golland clapped his hand on the insulted man’s shoulder. “There’s no need for fisticuffs.”

  He shook his head at Madame Venna, his eyes silently scolding her for her mischief. She simply shrugged. She was allowed her little pleasures, was she not?

  Looking from one face to the other, he asked the fuming man, “Do you want to get tossed out on your arse for breaking the house rules?”

  “Who can trust the opinion of a man who betrays his own wife each night he walks into the Golden Pearl?” Mulcaster said savagely.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed two footmen heading toward them. Before the situation came to blows, Madame Venna crossed in front of Lord Kearns and placed her hand on Lord Mulcaster’s arm. “My good sir, this is the last place in London that would judge a man for his indiscretions. High morals would pauper me,” she said cheerfully, winking at her companions.

  The gentlemen in her small circle chuckled, except for Mulcaster and Kearns. To placate the earl, she moved closer and was not surprised when his attention abruptly switched from Kearns to her.

  “You have swayed me, monsieur le comte. A brief stroll would improve everyone’s dispositions.” Her smile did not dim, even when the earl’s hands pulled her away from her admirers with a possessive look that made her want to grit her teeth in frustration.

  “Gentlemen, au revoir. Enjoy the many pleasures the Golden Pearl has to offer.”

  With a stone-faced expression, Lord Kearns muttered to his companions, “It appears Mulcaster will be savoring one or two that are not on the list.”

  Madame Venna did not bother to stop and correct the viscount’s mistaken impression of her accepting the earl’s invitation. Neither would Mulcaster. It did not signify that she intended to disentangle herself from the earl as soon as an opportunity arose. The man could spin any tale he chose as long as it benefited her business.

  “Do not mind Kearns. Jealousy can put an edge to a man’s tongue,” the earl murmured in her ear.

  “Let them talk. You and I are both aware that all I have consented to is a stroll,” Madame Venna said glibly.

  Lord Mulcaster patted her gloved fingers on his arm. “True. However, I do hope to persuade you to consider a more intimate setting.”

  Genuine laughter bubbled in her throat at his arrogance. “You are welcome to try, monsieur le comte!”

  As she and Mulcaster walked by Anna, she smoothed her hair with the first three fingers of her right hand. It was a signal to let the other woman know that her assistance was needed. Unbeknownst to their guests, Madame Venna and her staff often communicated with subtle hand signals and oblique words and phrases as a means to direct and to warn others of potential problems within the establishment. This private communication was also put in place to protect her girls and staff. She did not condone violence in her house unless it was consensual, but rules were not always a hindrance. Some men thrived on cruelty and hurting creatures weaker than them. Unfortunately, brothels, even first-rate ones like the Golden Pearl, had their fair share of loathsome blackguards who thought of nothing but themselves. Since the police were more likely to toss her girls in prison than prosecute an abusive gentleman, it was up to her and her staff to watch over the girls.

  Lord Mulcaster slowed as they left the main ballroom. The grand staircase they were approaching would take them upstairs to the small balconied alcoves that overlooked the ballroom. Saint and his friend had taken possession of one of those alcoves. While the open balcony ensured that the earl would behave himself, Madame Venna questioned the wisdom of Saint witnessing the exchan
ge. The alternative was to direct the earl to one of the private parlors, but she was not in the mood to be fondled by the amorous gentleman.

  “Do you wish to take the lead, Madame V?”

  Perhaps one of the alcoves on the opposite end, not easily seen from Saint’s position, she decided. Gracefully she extended her arm in the direction of the staircase. “Oui. After all, it is my house.”

  * * *

  What game was Madame Venna playing with Mulcaster?

  Unseen by the couple, Saint sipped his brandy as he observed the polite exchange between them. He expected more of a flirtatious manner from her, especially if she was planning to invite the man into her bed. Mulcaster’s looks impressed most ladies, and his fortune had caught the attention of more than one ambitious mother who had daughters to marry off.

  Saint grimaced and rubbed the sudden pain in his left eyebrow. Why was he standing in the shadows, lusting after a woman who had made her disinterest as clear as keen blade slicing into his gullet? He and Hunter had parted ways more than thirty-five minutes ago. His Grace had gone downstairs to inquire after a pretty strawberry-blond-haired wench named Temperance. Hunter had confided that the naughty minx would never live up to her puritanical name, and many gents were grateful for this flaw in her character. Saint, on the other hand, suspected that the prostitute’s ridiculous name was proof that Madame Venna had a sense of humor.

  Suddenly feeling foolish, Saint was about to leave when a pretty blonde approached the couple. Whatever news the woman brought was bad for Mulcaster. Madame Venna confirmed it when she sent Mulcaster an apologetic look as she rose from the sofa. The earl swiftly came to his feet as well, but his rigid posture revealed that he was not pleased by the interruption.

  Madame Venna moved with confidence and purpose as she headed for the staircase. The blonde who had ruined everything remained a few minutes longer in an attempt to appease the disgruntled patron, but Mulcaster dismissed her with a wave of his hand. With a slight frown marring her face, she departed in the opposite direction from her employer.

  Mulcaster did not seem to notice. He was staring after Madame Venna as she disappeared into the corridor. Reluctantly accepting that he had been denied his prize, he headed for the staircase. In the end, one immoral lady would do as well as the next. Saint was confident the earl would find someone else to warm his bed this evening.

  “If this is subtlety, Lord Sainthill, I find your execution somewhat lacking.”

  Saint started, caught unawares by the blonde’s approach. He recovered quickly by saying, “Spying, Anna? I thought you preferred to participate?”

  He had some history with Anna. Although he was not proud of it, he had bedded Anna simply for the fact that the woman had a close friendship with Madame Venna. Revenge was a pathetic reason to get a woman naked, and it did not take long for him to sicken of the petty game. Worse still, Anna knew exactly why he had chosen her.

  “How would you know?” She gave him a sad, knowing half smile. “It has been years since you have asked for me.”

  In truth, several years had passed since he had bedded any of Madame Venna’s girls. Oh, there were other women. Like naughty Temperance, he rarely lived up to his nickname. Once the hurt and fury he had felt from Madame Venna’s rejection waned, expensive courtesans and widows had lured him away from the Golden Pearl for months at a time. Even so, he always returned. No one ever questioned his reasons for spending his evenings there. Then again, not everyone came to Madame Venna’s establishment for its carnal pleasures.

  “Did you have something to say, or are you looking for reasons to shirk your duties?” he asked, uninterested in discussing why he’d stopped visiting her bed.

  Anna’s eyes narrowed at his flippant question. Her scowl added lines, aging her. Until that moment he had not realized that she was likely older than him. Mid-thirties, if he were to guess. Older than Madame Venna, too.

  “I only came to tell you that you have nothing to worry about,” the woman said, not looking very pleased with him. “Though why I should bother, I do not know.”

  She started to walk away.

  Saint reached out and grabbed Anna by the arm. “Worry about what?”

  “Lord Mulcaster,” she replied, giving him an impatient look. “She isn’t interested in the man.”

  He did not bother to profess that he didn’t know which she the woman was talking about. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Anna rolled her eyes heavenward. “Probably for the same reason that you used to insist I wear a half-mask to bed. Or that I found you skulking in the shadows—”

  “I was not skulking,” he protested. Is that what she thought? Thank goodness Hunter wasn’t about or he’d never hear the end of it.

  “Perhaps I was mistaken.”

  She might as well have called him a liar. “You are,” he said, his voice hardening. “I trust you will not be spreading unfounded speculations with the staff.” Or specifically, Madame Venna.

  The older woman met his unflinching gaze. “The Golden Pearl has a reputation beyond reproach for its discretion. Madame V would sack anyone whose actions tarnished it.”

  Saint did not doubt that Madame Venna would do what was necessary to preserve the Golden Pearl’s sterling reputation. “Good. Then we understand each other.”

  “More than you know,” she said, not appearing to be cowed by his subtle threat. “However, I can see that you are just as stubborn as she is, so I won’t detain you a moment longer. Enjoy your evening, Lord Sainthill.”

  Saint’s fingers tightened on her arm. “Explain.”

  Anna glanced down at his hand, and he released her. “I think not. If you want answers, you’ll have to get them from Madame V,” she said over her shoulder, the sensuous swish of her hips briefly distracting him before he noticed that she was leaving.

  “Where is she?”

  He did not expect a reply, but she managed to surprise him again. “Upstairs. Right passageway. At the end, there is a small parlor with a balcony. She goes there when she wants some air and a moment to herself.”

  “Anna…,” he began, wondering if he should thank her or curse her for offering him this temptation.

  “No need to thank me,” she said, flashing him a saucy grin. “I’m wagering Madame V will feel the same.”

  Chapter Eight

  As usual, Anna’s timing had been impeccable. Not that she needed any assistance ridding herself of an unwanted lover, but the woman’s arrival with a believable pretense allowed Madame Venna to escape and Lord Mulcaster to keep his male pride intact.

  Madame Venna opened the doors to the balcony and stepped outside. A faint cooling breeze teased her face, making her long to remove her half-mask, but she did not dare. Catherine did not belong here. There were too many people around to take the risk, even when the risk was minimal. The narrow balcony was too small for entertaining, so the parlor was rarely used except by her and her staff.

  She closed her eyes, taking in the sounds of the night. There was music from the Golden Pearl’s ballroom, and softer strains of a violin from down the street. She could hear laughter, low sensual murmurs from a gentleman who lied to everyone, including himself. A woman’s high-pitched shriek pierced the night, and the unintelligible grumblings from two males below most likely would lead to a fight. Horses’ hooves clattered; equipage rattled as lords and ladies hurried to their destinations. London never rested. For a moment she allowed herself to feel connected to it, and it washed away some of the loneliness that had been plaguing her.

  Behind her, she heard the soft scraping noise of the parlor door opening and closing. Anna had probably come to check up on her. Madame Venna wondered if her friend was aware of her tendency to mother everyone around her.

  Madame Venna smiled as she leaned forward, her forearms braced against the railing as a thought occurred to her. Without turning around, she said, “Have you ever wondered if it was time for you to quit this business? Perhaps you should leave town and fi
nd yourself a plain, yet dependable, farmer who will plant a dozen babes in your belly.”

  “I’ve always been adventurous,” Mulcaster drawled. His amusement was apparent as Madame Venna straightened so quickly her spine cracked as she spun around to confront him. “Even so, your virile farmer and I would never suit. I prefer a delicate, sweetly scented blonde who fires my blood with the chase.”

  The earl pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  * * *

  Between Anna’s directions and the tour Madame Venna had given him of the Golden Pearl’s public rooms, Saint found his way to the small parlor with relative ease. Occasionally, he heard muffled conversations and moans on the other side of the doors he passed, but he knew from his own experiences that the rooms had been built for privacy. Madame Venna provided services for all depraved cravings and vices. Saint’s indulgences were tamer by comparison, but Frost had often spoken highly of the establishment’s creativity and diversity. No doubt, the earl had sampled much of what he had praised. There were few things that thwarted Frost.

  As he reached the door to the informal parlor, Saint raised his fist to knock, but hesitated. Seconds later he let his arm drop to his side. There was no guarantee the woman would invite him to enter if she heard his voice. In fact, he assumed the brothel had hidden passageways built into the thick walls in case the Golden Pearl fell out of favor with the police. Madame Venna could easily slip away unnoticed while he pounded at the door like a lovesick fool.

  The thought of being outmaneuvered by the woman again angered him and spurred him to open the door. Several oil lamps were lit, but a sweeping glance of the interior revealed an empty room. Damn it! Had Anna merely been playing games? With his hand still on the brass door latch, he stood there, his posture simmering fury.

  “Mmm … no. Let me—”

  Saint’s head shot up at the soft feminine voice. To the right, dark green draperies moved, buffeted by an unfelt breeze. He hadn’t noticed the partially shut curtains that concealed a small balcony.