Secret Pleasures

by Cheryl Howe

  Secret Pleasures

  by

  Cheryl Howe

  First Kindle Edition, October 2012

  Copyright 2012 © by Cheryl Howe

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Janet Wellington, author and independent editor. Contact Janet at mail@Janetwellington.com.

  Cover by Sexy Book Covers

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Acknowledgements

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To Jerry and Stacy

  Yours is one of my favorite love stories.

  12 March 1782

  Dearest Darien,

  It pains me to have to bid you a final farewell in the cold formality of a letter.

  CHAPTER ONE

  NINE YEARS LATER

  Ivy Templeton raised an eyebrow at the masked man lounging on the vermillion velvet covered fainting couch. His domino had fallen open, revealing his engorged sex proudly rising from his opened breeches. A dairymaid knelt between his booted feet in obvious anticipation. Her costumer had neglected to include a chemise, and her low-cut bodice exposed swollen nipples that had clearly been rouged. A slim young man in a tight-fitting silk suit perched on the furnishing’s back and licked the rim of the man’s ear. He gripped the base of the other man’s cock and offered it to the dairymaid.

  The masked man gasped, his gaze still locked with Ivy’s. He reached out his hand in invitation. Ivy smirked and turned away. She had most definitely arrived at the wrong party. She needed to locate the front door or another glass of champagne. Whichever arrived first would decide her fate.

  An instant later, Darien Blackmore appeared from a crush of costumed revelers. Ivy at first suspected the pots of incense scattered about were not merely for an exotic effect but omitted opium. Had her darkest demon arrived to save her lost soul? Her heart quickened its beat.

  The moment Darien caught sight of her, he shook his head and grinned. Yes, she was most definitely hallucinating. Darien had not smiled upon her in almost ten years. And then she remembered she wore a white silk mask, its attached gauze scarf concealing her from eyebrow to chin.

  Darien strolled over, as if to be by her side was as natural as breathing. He was definitely no illusion. Ivy’s heart flooded with memories too heartbreakingly innocent to even be contemplated in the midst of a beau monde masquerade. Before tears of unresolved sorrow could destroy her thick Egyptian eyeliner, Ivy frantically glanced about for the young buck with whom she had agreed to meet this evening. His choice of amusements proved tiresome.

  “I know who you are. Do you know who I am?” Darien parried the standard masquerade ball greeting with a mocking smirk. Since that had long been Darien’s manner, Ivy was still not certain he recognized her.

  He leisurely examined the thin gauze of her Isis costume, making no effort to hide his interest in what lay underneath. Not that Darien ever could. Ivy took the opportunity to study him as thoroughly. Their last chance encounter had been at a gathering in Cornwall. Though Darien had not spoken to her directly, he made a scene from across the ballroom by accosting the host and ending the party. So it seemed highly unlikely he even recognized her at all. She should be grateful for the mask.

  His beard had grown heavier over the years, and shadowed his jaw. She breathed in his fragrance, vaguely familiar yet sadly different from the adolescent who had been her constant companion. Tears she had not shed in nearly a decade burned in the back of her throat with a fresh sense of loss. Being a stranger to Darien Blackmore proved more painful than his scorn.

  “You are not even wearing a mask, Darien,” Ivy said instead of answering his foolish question. She yanked off her mask in the event he still didn’t recognize her. “How did you slip past the man at the door?”

  “I told him I was a sheep farmer.” He plopped a sweat-stained felt hat atop his head and tugged a corner over his eyes. “I also tipped him five quid.”

  That he still joked as he did in his youth pleased Ivy beyond measure. She returned his welcoming smile but their truce was short-lived. Slowly, Darien’s grin slid from his face. Ivy followed his stunned stare. The amorous threesome that to her had seemed tame in the face of Darien stumbling into a sordid London soirée, had attracted a gathering of voyeurs. The dairymaid had removed her apron leaving only her stockings and ankle boots. Her pale bottom lifted, exposing her inner pink folds, as she sucked her dominoed companion’s cock in exaggerated ecstasy. The silk-clad youth leaned over the edge of the couch and rode the dairymaid with a single ringed finger.

  A warm flush infused Ivy’s cheeks and she turned to Darien. The performance held his rapt fascination. His nostrils flared with his increased breathing.

  “I am surprised to find you here,” Ivy said, needing to break the tension. Darien’s nearness tempted her to yearn for impossibilities.

  Darien returned his attention to her. “I wish I could say the same.”

  “You don’t venture to London much, do you? This all must be shocking for one unaccustomed to our wicked ways.”

  Ivy tried to sound droll instead of crushed by Darien’s reminder of her tainted status. Obviously he knew exactly who she was and she’d be a fool to think he would ever forgive her.

  “I think I have been too harsh in my judgment of London.”

  She followed his stare as his returned to the fainting couch and the ménage à trois. A sultan snuggled up behind the lad and slipped a hand in the front of his peacock blue breeches. The boy rocked against the newcomer who kissed the soft slope of his neck.

  “I came here to find someone to accompany me to a ball on Friday. Do you think the one in blue’s available?” he asked, looking at Ivy again.

  “Possibly. I think they are professionals. Half entertainment, half encouragement. Since when do you attend balls?” she asked, holding his gaze.

  “Only ones that honor my father, thrown by future in-laws who were not informed of my banishment.”

  Ivy’s heart seized at the prospect that Darien had finally decided to marry. But, still, he did say he was searching for an escort, which was puzzling.

  “You intend to bring a prostitute to your own engagement party? That’s shocking even for you.”

  “No, it’s my father who has chosen to take a bride.” He shrugged, but a mischievous spark smoldered in his brown eyes. The naughty-boy charm that had been so compelling in his youth was sexually charged and completely disarming now that he had become a fully grown man. “He wants an heir and you know how he often takes matters into his own hands.”

  Darien returned
his gaze to the now foursome whose chorus of ecstasy rivaled the Mozart floating from the other room. She prayed he didn’t see her wince over his subtle reference to her relationship with his father.

  “So you intend to take a prostitute to your father’s wedding?”

  “I wasn’t invited to the wedding and I doubt I will be. The mistaken invitation arrived for the ball where they will announce their engagement. Perhaps you would care to join me?”

  “Perhaps. This Friday, you said? I shall have to check my calendar to see if I’m otherwise engaged. My Friday evenings are often filled.” Ivy forced herself to meet his gaze and hoped her voice held steady. She had never lied to Darien face to face, but he had never given her the chance. “I’m quite inundated with the gents who want a bit of muslin before the end of the season. My reputation keeps me in demand, you know.”

  He glanced away and ground his jaw. What did he expect? He was in her world now. Or at least the world he no doubt imagined her to occupy. And exactly what was she doing at such a place?

  The dairymaid now mounted the prone man, riding him in wild abandon. The sultan had removed the lad’s breeches, leaned him over the sofa’s back and rocked against him in a slow rhythmic upward thrust. He had worked a hand into his partner’s open vest and massaged a surprisingly ample breast.

  “That young man appears to be a woman,” she said, hating that she had caused a shadow to fall over Darien’s features.

  “That eases my mind considerably. I was beginning to rethink my preferences.” Darien turned to Ivy. “Then it’s settled. You shall go with me to the ball?”

  “Why would I?” Ivy again searched for the door from which she came, feeling the sudden and overwhelming urge to leave.

  “Revenge.”

  “I made my choice, Darien. You know that. I can only blame myself.” It was the closest Ivy had ever come to explaining…or apologizing.

  Her admission did not even merit a blink. Darien’s gaze remained absorbed by the growing orgy.

  “The bride is Miss Arianna Maddox.”

  “Arianna Maddox? How do I know that name?” Ivy had not mingled in polite society for at least a decade. Marriageable young ladies from good families did not travel in her circles.

  “My nephew claims a particular fondness for the girl. Robert mentioned you two were chummy while you were enjoying the country life in Cornwall.” Darien shrugged. “I thought he might have mentioned the girl.”

  “I hope you’re not insinuating that I had a trifle with Robert.” Ivy tried her best to appear indignant in her nearly transparent gown, shadowed by strangers copulating.

  “I wouldn’t dare think of it, Miss Templeton. You are old enough to be young Robert’s maiden aunt, at the very least.”

  “And your father is no doubt old enough to be Miss Maddox’s grandfather.” Ivy might have been pleased that Darien did not openly accuse her of seducing his nephew if he hadn’t pricked her vanity in the process. An unmarried woman well into her third decade should not be teased about her age by a man only two years her senior. He was considered eligible while she ready to be taken off the shelf and packed in the attic.

  “The earl has wanted an alliance with Henry Maddox since…” He shrugged and looked away, obviously unable to finish his sentence.

  Ivy wondered which tragic event he mentally stumbled upon. Their broken engagement, or perhaps his brother’s death? Of course, it was hard to think of one without recalling the other.

  “But what of Miss Maddox? She has agreed to such an inappropriate match?”

  “Happens all the time. Family pressure is hard to resist.”

  “Except for you.” She stared at him and wondered if he’d ever surmised just a bit of what had compelled her to break their engagement.

  “Not everyone is willing to disregard their own best interest as I have,” he said without looking at her.

  “Some are,” Ivy said quietly.

  “And the price is always higher than one expects,” he said casually, as if they were not discussing the ruin of their youthful hopes and dreams. The price was indeed too high. He turned to her and held her gaze for a long moment.

  A man’s loud moan drew their gazes back to the foursome. The sultan’s red face signaled his passion was at a crescendo. He pumped the woman leaning over the couch. The dairymaid riding the prone man on the couch had turned to face the other woman and they kissed in wild abandon. The sultan gasped and collapsed against the two women, moaning his release.

  “I think there is a spot available,” Darien said, his fascination clearly with the slim woman who still sported her man’s vest and neckcloth.

  “Well then, I shan’t keep you,” Ivy said, ridiculously hurt by his preference.

  “So you will accompany me to the ball this Friday.” He turned to Ivy. “Save a young couple from a life of emptiness and bitterness?”

  Darien’s tone was joking but his direct gaze spoke a truth they both knew all too well.

  “Yes, I’ll go.” Ivy never intended to say no to him. How could she? Too many nights she had laid awake praying that one day she could do something to earn Darien’s forgiveness. “Robert Fitzgerald has been inordinately kind to me. Though, I’m not sure my appearance will change things.”

  “It will certainly stir the kettle and remind Henry Maddox I’m not dead yet. Who knows what else I might do to destroy my father’s good name? Perhaps the sacrifice of their daughter might not be worth the risk after all.”

  “I shall leave you to it, then.” Ivy glanced at the sex show and saw that the women had exchanged partners. “I have rented a place on Chelsea Square. Shall I come round for you or would you rather I meet you at the ball?”

  “I know where you live. I shall arrive at eight so we can discuss our strategy.”

  “You know where I live?” She glared at him, but he just shrugged.

  “After I forced you out of Cornwall, I wanted to ensure you landed on your feet. And I see you have, so to speak.” He nodded to the growing sexual fray. “Are you sure you won’t stay? Things are getting interesting.”

  “If you have been to one of these, you’ve been to them all. Good evening.” Ivy turned to leave, something burning in her throat. Did he truly believe this was what she had been doing with herself since they parted?

  She was unable to resist one last glance at Darien before she disappeared into the crush of people eager for the back room’s entertainments. He had not moved from the spot where she had left him, and remained staring at her departure. The grin he held moments ago had vanished.

  “Darien,” she said and had to pause to clear the break in her voice.

  “Yes, Ivy?”

  The sound of her name on his lips startled her. Perhaps her shiver of excitement was just nostalgia, but she swore his tone rang with a hint of affection. At least she hoped so.

  “Don’t arrive drunk or I will refuse to go with you.”

  He bowed. “As you wish. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He turned and strode over to join the fray.

  Ivy urgently sought the nearest exit, unable to watch as he leaned into a tangle of bodies to kiss an eager woman.

  After a solid night’s sleep, Ivy knew she would be a braver woman in the morning. Despite her extreme reservations, she would stand by Darien’s side through what was sure to mark one of the most excruciating evenings of her life. Ivy’s onetime cowardliness had cost them both far more heartache than either could continue to endure.

  She would do this for Darien. She must.

  ***

  Ivy arrived at Madame de Rachelle’s most recent accommodations the following afternoon and they proved almost as shocking as her meeting with Darien. But even the East End address did not begin to prepare Ivy for the change in her beloved mentor’s circumstances. Though Ivy had been in Cornwall for the last year, she had not seen Diana for at least six months before that. Ivy had suspected her friend’s letters telling of a grand journey abroad had been a ruse, but never suspected Di
ana’s health had deteriorated so rapidly.

  “Diana.” Ivy rested her palm upon the once famous beauty’s limp hand. “Why did you not tell me you were ill?”

  “Appearances are everything, darling. Besides, I did not want to burden you until you were settled. So country life did not meet with your expectations?”

  “Even Cornwall is not remote enough to escape my infamy. You tried to warn me, didn’t you?” Ivy focused on the cream silk of Diana’s embroidered gown rather than the water-stained wallpaper or the scurry of something suspicious in a dark corner.

  “I did not want my dear friend to leave London.” Diana shrugged but her strained laugh gave away her desperation. “What happened that forced you to return to Sodom and Gomorrah?”

  “I stumbled upon Darien Blackmore. It seems even the West Country is not big enough for the two of us. I dared to attend a small country dance at the encouragement of the last remaining childhood acquaintance who would still speak to me. Darien accused the host of harboring me as his mistress.”

  “And were you?”

  “Certainly not. I had never before met the man.”

  “How dull.” Diana sighed and slumped against her pillows.

  “But he was handsome and he did challenge Darien to a duel.” Though Ivy had left Cornwall because of that particular incident, she did not mind revealing her shame and infamy with Diana. They had always shared what no one else could understand. “It seems the host in question, a baron, no less, thought Darien was exposing the lady who was indeed his mistress. Thankfully Darien was too drunk to stand and the baron, too honorable to shoot an intoxicated man.”

  “So Darien still hasn’t forgiven you?” Diana coughed into a lace handkerchief. She twisted the yellowed cloth in her hand before Ivy could check for signs of blood.

  “I am so sorry I did not come to see you sooner. I was setting up my household and…”

  “You’ve come now and that’s all that matters.” Diana waved her hand in dismissal of Ivy’s excuses while gracefully letting her change the subject. “I knew you would not forget me even if my address is not what it once was.”