Master of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  Her hand popped out. She sighed. “I’m always tripping on these floors. We have the landlord nail them down every few months, but annoyingly, they always come up. Much like my cooking, this whole building is falling apart.”

  An incredibly foreign sensation gripped Malcolm. It was like Eve had just landed into his garden and he wanted to keep her there.

  Leona’s hand hesitantly waved in closer. “Might I have my shoe, please?”

  With his knee still on the floor and her shoe still in hand, he eyed her hand which hovered close. It was dainty and pale. And the best part? They weren’t perfect. Those slim fingers were heavily calloused from years of labor. Like his.

  She blinked down at him. “Is something wrong?”

  He lowered his gaze to her grey-stockinged foot visible beneath her plain calico skirts and paused. Realizing he could see the slim curve of her ankle, his entire body grew obnoxiously hot. Her skirts weren’t the length a lady’s ought to be. It was obvious she had purchased her gown second hand. The hem was heavily frayed and the stitching was crooked. It reminded him of all the years growing up in which he had worn clothing the other boys would laugh about. Before he beat them into a wall with two fists.

  He carefully tugged down her skirts to cover her ankle, then positioned the worn leather slipper before her on the floor, nudging it into place so all she had to do was slip her foot into it. “There.”

  She hesitated, then slowly slipped her toes and foot into it. Her voice softened. “Thank you, my lord. That was very kind of you.”

  He sensed she liked him. Which he wasn’t really used to. Unlike his twin brother, who exuded nothing but too much charm since they were both old enough to recognize the power of females, Malcolm had always exuded the opposite. Even before his days in the monastery he’d always been too self-conscious and gruff around them. But this one made him feel capable of…

  functioning.

  He rose to his booted feet and blurted the nicest thing that came to mind. “Your scones were rather perfect, Miss Webster. I’m sorry I didn’t emphasize that enough. Am I permitted to have another one before I leave?”

  She smiled and set her chin, appearing content. “Of course. I’m so glad you liked them. Do take however many you want. Three, four or…more.”

  He wasn’t going to be that nice. “Two is good.” He grabbed two and tucked them into his pocket so that he looked incredibly eager but didn’t have to chew through them in front of her.

  Ryder sat up and stared. “Why not put the whole plate into your pocket?”

  “Ey, now, at least I’m not taking her son,” Malcolm said in between chews.

  “Gentlemen, please. We have an audience.” Leona leaned in between Malcolm and Jacob, preparing a scone with jam for her son. She set it onto the plate, making it clatter from its dense weight and nudged her son. “Don’t you have something to say to Lord Brayton? About your earlier behavior?”

  Jacob glanced up at Malcolm. “I behaved badly. Not at all as a gentleman should.” His small hand popped out toward Malcolm. “Might we be friends? I’ll never hit you again. Not ever.”

  Malcolm eyed that small hand, brushing off his hands against his great coat to remove the crumbs. He’d never shaken a hand that small. Reaching toward Jacob across the table, he carefully gripped those tiny fingers, giving it a gentle wag. “I accept your gentlemanly agreement and appreciate it. Friends.”

  Jacob’s eyes widened as he leaned in to look at Malcolm’s hand in between shakes. He poked at it. “Crickets on high. You have more scars than skin and your hand is the size of Goliath!” He kept shaking Malcolm’s hand more and more enthusiastically. “You could protect us all from every last villain in the world with your hands, couldn’t you? Couldn’t you?”

  It was the first time he’d ever felt worthy of a compliment. Malcolm smirked and released Jacob’s hand. “Not to brag, but as admiral, these two hands once took on as many as five pirates at the same time. You should have seen it. There was blood everywhere. I was sliding in it.”

  Leona gasped. “Lord Brayton, really. That is hardly a thing you should tell a child.”

  Jacob’s mouth dropped open as he gaped up at him. “Was it their blood or yours?”

  Malcolm blinked. It was time to soften the conversation. For the boy’s sake. “It was actually water from the ocean I was sliding on.” It wasn’t.

  Ryder edged forward in his chair, his brows coming together. “An admiral? Are you in the navy, Lord Brayton?”

  Malcolm paused, realizing he had put himself into a position he shouldn’t have. Because joining the Persian navy wasn’t exactly being a good Brit. “Uh…yes. It’s a certain division of the navy that isn’t well known by many given it’s secret nature. I’ve been part of that division for over ten years. Prior to that I served at a monastery for a year. Over in France.” That made him sound pleasant and less violent.

  Ryder angled toward him. “So you went from reading the bible to fighting pirates? That is quite a dramatic change of vocation, wouldn’t you say?”

  Not in Malcolm’s opinion. “On the contrary. Pirates are more merciful than you think, Mr. Blake. Unlike Christian organizations, they have a code of conduct even toward their enemies. I sustained fewer injuries at sea than I did in the monastery.”

  Leona stared at Malcolm, her lips parting. “Surely, you jest.”

  “I never do.” He returned his gaze to Ryder. “I believe you have an appointment with your lawyer, Mr. Blake? Shall I escort you to the door? Or even help you into your…barouche?”

  Ryder gave him a withering look. “That won’t be necessary.” He leaned over and tousled Jacob’s hair. “I have to go, Jacob. I promise we’ll see each other soon. You and I have a lot to talk about.” Tapping on his top hat, he rose from his chair. “Leona, it is my hope you’ll reconsider my offer. I think it to be incredibly generous.”

  She stared. “What happened to you, Ryder? What happened to the boy whose shoulder I once cried on when my father died? The one who used to be my friend?”

  Ryder sighed. “He still exists. He simply wanted more. What you and I shared was pleasant. But pleasant doesn’t inspire a man to create the sort of music that changes the world or his life. And it wasn’t until I met Claudia that I realized that.”

  Ryder adjusted the curved brim of his top hat, his features clouding. “I tried to do everything to help you given I was already married, but you chose the tactic of war. I sent countless letters but you never responded. Not once. Not. Once.” Staring her down, he angrily bit out, “I also sent money to your aunt every two months for the past few years. A good fifty pounds at a time. Fifty. Enough to have settled you, Jacob and your aunt into whatever bloody lifestyle you damn pleased. What the hell did you do with all the money, Leona? Why is my son living like this?”

  Leona’s eyes widened. “Whatever do you mean? I never got any of your letters or the money. I never—” Her chest visibly heaved. “Are you certain you were sending everything to the right address? Because my aunt never…”

  Malcolm almost bit into his own fist. By God. Even her aunt was swindling her.

  Ryder’s features twisted. “Christ. Leona, I thought…” He winced and slowly shook his head and kept shaking it. “She kept telling me you received everything and that your bitterness was worse than hers. Which is why I stayed away.” He muttered something to himself and murmured, “I suppose I can only blame myself for letting you love me far more than I loved you. And for that I’m sorry. I should have kept our association to what it had always been: friendship.”

  Leona said nothing.

  Malcolm flexed his hands, trying not to get riled knowing how she had been so vilely taken advantage of by the two people she had trusted most. It reminded him of the way he’d been taken advantage of.

  After waiting all afternoon at a garden party hoping to have a moment alone with the ever worldly and vivacious Miss Silverthorn, he cornered her, confessed his interest and then savagely kissed h
er in an effort to damn well prove it. The kiss lasted only long enough for him to realize she wasn’t kissing him back. When he’d pulled away, she started sobbing.

  He’d never forget it. He spent the whole day writhing in guilt and reliving that moment, thinking his method of forced seduction made her cry. A few days later, she used him to terminate the last of whatever relationship she had with his brother. A relationship James had never told him about because their association was too damn dark to speak of. That had been his first introduction to ‘passion’. And needless to say, he’d been avoiding it ever since. For the safety of those involved.

  Ryder veered his gaze to Malcolm. “I can’t have my son living like this. I can’t. And her aunt…that woman is— I’m done dealing with this. I have a right to my son. Do you have a calling card I can pass on to my lawyer?”

  The bastard still wasn’t letting this go. Even knowing about the betrayal. Ingrate. Malcolm shifted his jaw, dug into his pocket and pulled out his silver case. Opening it, he retrieved a card and snapped it out. “Direct all inquiries to me, Mr. Blake, if you’re really that anxious to tear a boy from his mother. Until this is resolved, don’t pester either of them. They have endured enough. Are we understood in this?”

  Ryder took it and inclined his head. “Yes.” He tucked the card away, and after a moment, offered his own.

  Malcolm grabbed it, shoved it into his pocket and pointed at the door. “Good day, Mr. Blake.”

  “Good day.” Ryder stiffly walked over to the door. Opening it, he glanced back at Leona, then stepped out and quietly shut the door behind himself.

  Jacob stumbled over to Leona and braced her legs.

  Mrs. Henderson sat up and wobbled her head, quivering the lace cap on her head. “I hope the floor opens up and hell grabs my cousin by the leg. I cannot believe Judith, my Judith, would do such a thing to her own niece. I knew she had grown incredibly bitter after being abandoned by that idiot but I never thought…” She glanced at Malcolm and then Leona. “I suggest you two create an alliance. Get married. That way no one will touch the child.”

  Malcolm choked.

  Leona glared. “Mrs. Henderson, please. That isn’t very helpful. After all, if Lord Brayton were at all interested, he would have proposed to me right now. And why wouldn’t he? I certainly have so much to offer him and every man. A child that isn’t his and a morally corrupt aunt who swindled her own niece out of enough money that could have very well sent Jacob into Eton alongside every last duke and earl!”

  A breath escaped Malcolm. This bloody reeked of pandemonium. “We will resolve this, Miss Webster. But it won’t be resolved if I stay here. I have to go. I’ll see you this Thursday at three. I promise to do everything within my means to help you.”

  She lowered her gaze to the table she was tidying, her hands visibly trembling. “I don’t even know what she would have done with all that money. She was never one to spend money on anything. She always wore the same dresses, the same bonnets and gloves for years and years. Even well before my father died.” She paused, her features flickering with hope. “Maybe she plans to surprise Jacob and me. Maybe she bought us all a house in Bath, like I always wanted. Maybe…”

  His heart hammered in his ears at the realization she was deluding herself. “Do you honestly think that?”

  Leona let out an anguished sob. She closed her eyes, plastering a hand against her mouth. “I knew she and I were never that close, but I trusted her.”

  Damn people for being cruel. He strode toward her and refusing to think about what he was doing and why, he tugged her close and set her head against his chest, letting her sob against him.

  Jacob’s small hands frantically found their way around not only his mother but also Malcolm’s leg.

  They all stood in silence.

  Leona sniffled quietly and lifted her head, swiping at her face. “I…forgive me for…crying all over you. I—”

  “Don’t apologize.” Malcolm slowly released her and stepped back, letting her and Jacob’s hands fall away. His chest tightened seeing them both lingering in tears. “I will right this.”

  Despite the tears, she met his gaze. “If only the world was more like you, Lord Brayton. So beautifully kind.”

  Beautifully kind? He damn well wasn’t that. He made people bleed out of their noses for a living and thoroughly enjoyed watching it drip. “Let us not go that far. I’m an admiral. Not a saint.”

  Her anguished features became more subdued. Another tear traced its way down her smooth cheek. “I was merely offering you a compliment. I am and will always be eternally grateful to you for offering me a position and helping me.”

  And here it was. The tears and the sort of messy emotion and gratitude women were so well known for. The sort that made a man of steel snap in half and turn to rose petals merely because there was a damn tear tracing down soft skin.

  There was a reason he surrounded himself with men at sea. So he’d never have to get attached to a female who would only send him down a path no rational woman was ready to embrace. Not willingly, anyway. “I don’t need compliments to get me through the day, Miss Webster. This is about getting you through the day. So I humbly ask you do so.”

  She politely sniffed, set her chin and then forged a small smile, her tear-streaked green eyes struggling to brighten. “You needn’t worry about me. I’ve gone through worse.”

  This woman was the sort of trouble a man could stub his toe on and still love whatever pain it brought. “I admire your fire. Keep that chin up. I’ll see you tomorrow and will send someone over to pick up all of your belongings so you’ll already be settled in.” He inclined his head and then gave the older woman a pointed look. “Good day, Mrs. Henderson. Try not to marry her off to anyone. I know well-placed people who will resolve this.” He turned and in passing Jacob, Malcolm leaned down and nudged the boy with an elbow. “Until tomorrow.”

  Jacob stumbled against the elbow and gaped up at him. “I almost fell because of you.”

  Malcolm grinned and nudged him again. “Good. The sooner you learn how to balance yourself, the sooner I can teach you how to throw blades.”

  Jacob straightened, eyes wide. “Blades? Truly? Who will we be throwing them at? Aunt Judith?”

  Leona gasped and hit Malcolm’s arm from behind.

  His senses sparked to life. Grabbing her hand, he yanked her hard toward himself and spun her straight into his body. The pulsing softness of her bare hand and his instinctive aggression toward her astounded him into realizing just how dangerous their association could be.

  Passion was the one thing that had drowned his own brother into becoming someone unrecognizable and if he wasn’t careful, it would drown him next. “I wouldn’t do that again, Miss Webster,” he pointed out, trying to ignore her skirts bundling against his trousers. “As you can see, I have a tendency to overreact.”

  Her astounded gaze held his for a moment. “I’m sorry. I…Can you please keep my son out of the navy?” She leaned in, as if determined to set her nose against his chest. “He’s only six.”

  That seductive scent of pepper and vanilla drifted from her skin again, taunting him. It teased him into wanting to rip clothing and scrape all of his teeth against her skin. Not. Good.

  Malcolm instantly released her hand, the muscles in his body tightening. Digging into his pocket, he grudgingly pulled out his gloves and yanked them on, adjusting them around each finger. “The boy should learn how to defend himself.”

  “No blades,” she countered. “He’s too young. He’ll hurt himself.”

  Maybe the boy was too young. Maybe if he and his brother hadn’t been allowed access to so many dangerous things in their youth due to absolutely no supervision, their lives would have been different. Maybe. It was always maybe. “All right. Fine. No blades.”

  “Thank you.” She hesitated and then patted his arm as if he were a dog who pleased her. “You may go now.”

  This woman was going to exhaust the hell out of him.
Puffing out a breath, he left.

  That afternoon

  The double mahogany doors leading into the lavish private quarters of His Royal Highness, Prince Nasser as-Din Qajar, were swept open. Two dark-skinned Persians dressed in identical flowing emerald-green garbs bound by thick, red sashes around their waists pulled back doors on command.

  Without waiting to be formally announced by the wigged butler in livery, Malcolm strode in, his boots thudding against the gleaming white marble. A line of servants departed the large receiving room and the doors he entered through closed, leaving him to address the prince alone.

  He hadn’t seen his dear friend in eight months. It was the longest they’ve ever been apart.

  Malcolm paused in astonishment, realizing Nasser had abandoned his traditional style of Persian garb his father expected of him. Instead, the man was dressed in all black, save a blue silk cravat and a blue embroidered waistcoat.

  Looking very much like any other upper-class European, Nasser was stretched out on a green velvet chaise in black wool trousers and polished boots. His favorite book, the Kama Shastra, was angled open just below his square shaven jaw. It was a new man. Even Nasser’s black hair, which was usually finger-tousled was meticulously swept back with tonic, mimicking the latest French style.

  “What the hell are you wearing?” Malcolm drawled, removing his gloves and tossing them onto a nearby table. “Did all of New York grab you by the turban? I don’t like it. You look like everyone else.”

  “That is exactly the point, Dalir. I am trying to look like everyone else. I think I look dashing.” Glancing up from his book, Nasser’s dark eyes brightened. He tossed the book aside and swiveled off the chaise, rising. His mouth quirked. “By Allah, how I have missed you and your gruff ways. My time in New York City was worth nothing without you there. Nothing. Because you are and will always be the love of my life. The moment you tell me you are ready to be my man, I will gladly abscond from my crown. Then you and I can disappear into the Caribbean and share…coconuts.”