And he thought Muslims were crazy. The French apparently were, too. “My moral ethics don’t appear to be same as yours.”
“Set aside your distorted way of thinking. You are a gentleman who knows how to exercise the one thing few men do: control. How else do you think you remained a virgin all these years? By being an irresponsible rake who tortures women? Non. You understand pain is something that needs to be respected. Which is very important when you embark upon playing with pain. You are compassionate and therefore will not be a danger to yourself or whatever woman you wish to involve yourself with. You must simply learn to give yourself permission to share your desires with another. That is all.”
He paused. “How can I impose such dark desires on a woman who has a child and seeks to lead a normal life? I can’t. I…what I would be asking of her wouldn’t be…normal.”
She tilted her head. “What defines normal in this world, Lord Brayton? The real question here is whether you can take this woman into your bed and apply your definition of normal. Intimacy is the only time when we are able to be real with those we love. And if you cannot be real with her in bed, knowing the world is not even watching, when can you be real? Never, I imagine. You are simply wasting not only her time but yours. Do you understand?”
The more he listened to this woman, the more he realized he had been looking at his life the wrong way. Just as his brother had always told him. Because it didn’t matter what the world thought when he was in the arms of a woman he wanted to be with. All that mattered was that the woman in his arms remained there willingly.
He swallowed. “So how do I tell her? How do I tell her what I am and what I will expect from her without scaring her?”
Madame lowered her gaze to his hand and wagged her fingers. “Show me your hand.”
He held out his right hand, displaying the scars marring his outer hand, palm and fingers. He felt awkward. He’d never had a woman ask to look at his hand. He usually wore gloves to prevent them from seeing what he had always considered his shame.
Taking his hand, Madame turned it over, inspecting all of the scars with a dainty squint. “It certainly has seen its share of pain. My Andelot had hands like these.”
“Andelot?”
Her features tightened. She slowly released his hand and averted her gaze. “He was like you,” she murmured. “Only…he was dedicated to solely giving himself pain. I was too young and too scared to understand him in the way I understand things now.” She was quiet for a long moment. “Does the rest of your body look like your hand?”
He flexed both hands. “Unfortunately. Although it was hardly my doint. When I went to the monastery my body became unrecognizable. I don’t like looking at it. It’s too much. Not at all what I wanted.”
Her features softened. “Show her your body and do not allow poom-poom to happen when you do it. For you cannot do it as a means of seduction or you will scare her. Do it as a means of unveiling the truth by explaining to her what it is she is seeing. It will have a more profound effect and will reveal her true heart. You need a woman willing to accept who you are, because it is who you are. Do you understand?”
Panic gripped him, realizing something. “What if – and I’m overreaching here, so don’t judge me – what if she agrees to be with me? What then? I’d be unleashing things I never— What if I hurt her? What if—”
“You will not hurt her.”
He glared. “How the hell do you know that? You don’t.”
A pert sigh escaped her. “Prince Nasser tells me you are a religious man, who believes in God, and that you always rise to the occasion of helping others, even at the cost of yourself. Not even normal men can claim that much. Take pride in knowing that even while you explore your darkest desire, your compassion will be the light to pull you away from the darkness every time.” She leaned in. “Your compassion is what helped you end that kiss that almost made you pull her tongue out of her socket. Am I right? Did you rip her tongue out? Non. You did not. You stopped yourself. Why? Compassion. That is all you need to ensure she will be safe. Because you will keep her safe. Oui?”
It was like a heavenly golden light finally glittered from above and shone down on what he always thought to be nothing more than darkness. She was right. She was…right.
Malcolm crossed himself in honor of God for finally speaking a truth he could understand. He hadn’t recognized that in himself until she said it aloud. For while yes, when he kissed Leona, his Leona, and submitted her to his desire and his need to give her pain, he hadn’t forced her to continue with it. Her pain become his pain and knowing it, that gave him the power to stop, which had always been his greatest fear. Not being able to stop.
But he had. He put Leona’s well being before his darkest desire.
And that was how he was going to keep her safe.
Drawing in a slow, disbelieving breath, Malcolm let it out, feeling as if he were finally being given permission to…breathe. Because he was compassionate. He’d always been. And nothing, not even his darkest fantasies, not even his own damn brother, had been able to rip that out of him or the rock he had molded around his life.
Madame gently patted his cheek. “I can see you opened the first door. Now you must enter the house and live in it without destroying the furniture.”
If there had been a vast green meadow before him, he would have set aside being a man for a breath and skipped in it. Still in disbelief, he grabbed Madam’s hand and fiercely pressed his lips to her hand, squeezing it hard in an attempt to convey his gratitude. “I feel like I can breathe. Which I never even thought possible. I can finally—”
“Oui, oui. But it will not be enough. You will have to learn how to continue breathing. There is more you will have to learn if you plan to be a master of all pain and pleasure.”
He released her hand and slowly straightened. Master of all pain and pleasure. Ey, now. He rather liked that. It was a subtext to his position as admiral. And that was what he damn well was. An admiral. He had led men through battle, raging waters, had faced sabers and fists and broken bones and pirates. Facing an adorable, five-foot woman with green eyes and freckles was fucking easy. So fucking easy, all he had to do was aim and go click.
Malcolm pushed out a determined breath. “I thank you for the new title, Madame. I think I can manage. I know exactly how to approach this.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” Stepping back, he set a hand to the back of his neck, pinching the muscles on it hard in an effort to remain calm. “I’ll have Holbrook keep Jacob out of the house for the rest of the afternoon tomorrow. After that, I’ll call her up to my room, strip, explain, she and I will agree on terms, then I strip her and we get to it. Simplicity at its finest.”
Madame let out a bubble of a laugh. She quirked a silver brow. “Lord Brayton, whilst I am incredibly pleased with your miraculous progress and assertive military nature, I suggest you slow the beat of your heart down a tick.”
He lowered his hand. “If I slowed it anymore, Madame, I’d be dead. I’ve finally found the woman I want and I plan to damn well seize what is mine before someone else comes around and takes it. Have you seen her? I’m surprised there are that many stupid men walking around London. I’m pulling out the artillery. I’m doing this. Right now.”
Madame tsked. “Unfortunately, a woman’s heart is not a battleship you can blast your cannons at. What you are proposing to do will only scare her. You must wait.”
“Wait?” he echoed. “For what?”
“The perfect moment. A moment when you are guaranteed full cooperation. You do want her to accept you for what you are, oui?”
That would be helpful. “Yes. Of course. I…so what constitutes a perfect moment?”
“Only you can define that.”
He paused. “But I just defined it. Tomorrow afternoon. Perfect moment.”
“Non.”
“No?”
“Non.”
His brows came together. “I’m confuse
d.”
“Men usually are.” She sighed. “The perfect moment is unplanned. It is a moment similar to seeing a shooting star. You blink and it happens. Give yourself time to wait for that perfect moment. You cannot rush this or you will break the bond you are seeking to create.”
He puffed out an agonized and rather annoyed breath. “Are you saying I have to—” He couldn’t believed he was saying it. “—romance her?”
“It depends on whether you think it would be helpful.”
Damn it. “She did mention romance. So I guess…I— Do I buy her flowers?”
She rolled her eyes and waved a hand about. “Non. Pas de fluers. Gifts, such as flowers, come later. When you have already given her everything else.”
His brows came together. “Explain what you mean by everything else.”
Her lips puckered. “Romance is lending a quality to her life. How are you lending to that quality? You seem like a very gruff man. And there is certainly nothing wrong with that. Women are drawn to gruff men. You are strong, confident and do not feel the need to prove that strength or confidence to anyone. Or…do you? Yes, you do. To her. Being a good, noble and gruff man is exciting, but imagine if this same gruff man can surprise her with tokens of affection she does not expect. Fall on your knee for her and announce your affinity.”
He stared. “Announcing one’s affinity I understand, but how does falling on my knee prove anything other than the fact that I’m on my knee?”
She leaned in and tapped at his forehead. “Falling on your knee is the ultimate act of submission. It amplifies the words you are conveying and announces you are willing to be vulnerable enough to remain beneath her. Such tokens allow her to recognize she is the glory of all you want. And is that not what you want? Her?”
This just got complicated. He wandered over to the wall and sank against it. “What if my tokens aren’t enough?”
Her voice softened. “If they come from your heart, Lord Brayton, they will be more than enough. They may almost be too much.”
He swallowed. Leona was the one and only chance he wanted to take. She and those soulful green eyes and that giving heart that insisted on being loved, was the closest he would ever feel to being…normal. “I will wait until I believe she and I are both ready.”
Madame’s features brightened. “You listen beautifully and apply what is necessary with no resistance. I admire that. Whilst I do not believe you will require too much cultivation or guidance, as you are impressively well grounded, I still wish to invite you to apply to my School of Gallantry which will be opening its doors soon. You will meet other men who struggle with their own understanding of…women and such. It may prove useful over these next few weeks prior to you leaving to Persia. Are you interested in applying?”
A school for gallantry? Huh. He could…use that. Would he be pathetic to admit that he—“Well, I…”
“Prince Nasser insisted and already paid for it. He will send you any and all information.”
Malcolm bit back a smile. Leave it to Nasser to take over his life when he needed it most. “Thank you. I will be there. Fortunately for me, I have a Persian friend who seems to think I have time to burn.”
Bringing a hand to her bosom, Madame theatrically patted it to her heart. “And burn you shall.”
Quick booted feet and the slamming and opening of doors made them both pause and turn.
Someone frantically pattered over to the door, the knob turned and a small hand banged open the door. Green eyes brightened mischievously as Jacob grinned and ran in. He skidded around Madame de Maitenon and stumbled over to Malcolm with booted feet.
“Is this your room?” Jacob glanced around, his eager grin fading to distress. “Where is all the furniture? And why is the mattress on the floor? Did you use the bed frame for firewood?”
Malcolm smirked. Leona wasn’t going to be the only one keeping him busy. “No. I’m afraid the rats ate everything.”
Jacob gaped. “And you let them? Why?”
Malcolm coughed out a rough laugh. “Remind me not to joke with you and your freckles. If you want the truth, all of my real furniture is on a boat at sea. And given I don’t want to take anything more than a few trunks back with me, I’m keeping my life real simple. Now.” He grabbed the boy’s head and turned him toward Madame. “Don’t be rude, Jacob. A gentleman always acknowledges other people in the room. Introduce yourself to an incredible lady who is going to ensure we become a family.”
Jacob’s eyes widened. “By all that is blue. She looks like she could be married to Father Christmas.”
Madame de Maitenon let out a breathy sigh. “I do believe the boy just announced I am old. My hair went entirely silver by the time I was forty and I assure you, I am not even sixty. Unacceptable. I am done here. It is time I go back to Father Christmas before he notices I am gone.” From behind a raised hand, she winked playfully at Jacob and then gathered her skirts. “Lord Brayton, it was a pleasure.” She turned away and then paused, glancing back at him. “I suggest reconnecting with your brother.”
He winced. “Uh…no. No. We encourage each other too much. My language gets foul, I get into even more fights and—”
“He never denied that part of himself, my lord. While you always did. You can both learn from each other.”
“Or kill each other,” he drawled.
“If you can allow yourself to embrace him again, you will be able to embrace yourself. Which is what you need. Do you understand?”
Malcolm’s throat tightened. Who was he to deny he missed his brother? He’d been missing him since that very first day he left for France. “I will call on him when I’m ready.”
“Bien.” She held up a finger. “I leave you with your first lesson. It is this: Le moment parfait.”
The perfect moment. He sighed. How hard could it be? Malcolm inclined his head. “Oui, Madame. The perfect moment. À la prochaine.”
Running feet echoed, making them all pause.
Leona skidded into the doorway, the oversized ribbon and feather bonnet flopping forward. She removed the bonnet from her head and cringed. “I’m so sorry. Jacob and I were playing a bit of hide and seek, and I…Jacob, dear, I told you not to—”
“Worry not, Miss Webster,” Madame de Maitenon regally announced, sashaying up to her. She took the hat and set it on a perfect angle onto her coifed silver hair, tying the ribbon into place beneath her chin. “Expect nothing but full cooperation, Miss Webster. He is ready and willing. The real question is…are you?” Madame smiled. “As the bible says ‘Love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sin.’ Be patient with him, Miss Webster. He needs it. That said, I will see myself to the door. Au revoir and…viva l’amour.” She disappeared with a pert, click-click-click of her shoes.
Silence pulsed.
Dread gripped Malcolm. How the hell was he going to tell Leona he wanted to spend the rest of his life letting her bruise him so he could bruise her? It wasn’t a romantic sentiment.
Leona met his gaze. Her green eyes prolonged the moment. “You and she spoke for some time.”
He awkwardly nodded. “Yes. There was a lot to discuss.”
“What were you two discussing?”
He wasn’t ready to say it. Especially with Jacob in the room. “I need more time before I—”
“Mama, look!” Jacob held up the dagger Malcolm had earlier tossed onto the floor and started running with it, slashing at the air. “I’m a pirate! A real pirate!”
Leona’s eyes widened. “Jacob, for heaven’s sake, don’t—”
Jacob stumbled beside Malcolm.
Malcolm’s heart popped as he lunged and grabbed the boy hard to keep him from falling onto the blade or the floor. A searing burn punched into Malcolm’s thigh. Deep.
Lord, I do love You, but Your timing isn’t always the best.
A choked scream escaped Leona. “Malcolm!”
He staggered, realizing the blade was embedded into the muscle of his upper thigh, an
d used the other hand that wasn’t holding Jacob to keep the dagger firmly in place, lest he bleed out. His throat tightened against the skull-pounding pain that was as lethal as it was euphoric knowing Leona had cared enough to scream.
Was this the perfect moment? Probably not. “Let go of the blade, Jacob,” he rasped. “Slowly. We don’t want to move the blade.”
Jacob, who still dangled frozen from his arm, slowly released his small fingers from the handle of the blade. An anguished sob escaped Jacob as Malcolm’s blood oozed from the blade, soaking the area around the trousers.
“Shhhh. It’s okay, Jacob. I’m fine.” Malcolm carefully set the boy down, then edged back and winced his way over to the mattress on the floor. He lowered himself onto it and hissed out a long breath as fire-piercing pain dug deeper into the core of his muscles. He knew wounds well enough to say it was going to get worse. “Leona, I need three bottles of gin and a doctor. I would rather not stitch this up myself. Go have Andrew take care of it.”
Leona nodded frantically, her chest heaving, and ushered Jacob to the door. “Jacob, let’s go downstairs to Andrew. Hurry! We need to—”
Jacob let out another sob and grabbed at his mother’s leg. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, Mama. I didn’t— Is he going to die?”
Malcolm hissed out another breath, recognizing that the child was more traumatized than he was. “Jacob, no. I’m not going to die. I’m fine and can I assure you I’ve survived worse. Now go to Andrew. Tell him I need three bottles of gin and a doctor and stay with Andrew until the doctor arrives. Can you do that for me? Can you be brave? Like a pirate?”
“Yes, sir! Like a pirate!” Stumbling out of the room, Jacob sprinted out of sight.
Malcolm tried not to move knowing it was best to keep the blade in until the doctor arrived.
Leona lowered herself to the floor before him, her skirts playing across his booted feet. Her chest heaved as she clasped a trembling hand against her entire mouth. “Only the handle is sticking out,” she said through her hand.
“I know, pigeon, I can feel it,” he said through his teeth. “There is no need to elaborate.”
Master of Pleasure Page 16
