“Devil, would you care to pour some wax?”
“Devil, we’d certainly appreciate it if you showed us how you wield a crop.”
The offers flew like arrows from around the room. Slowly he rose to his feet, bracing himself for what he was about to do. Desperate to silence the loud voice in his head protesting the wrongness. Desperate to drown out the grateful moans of pain, the effusive thanks, the orgasmic cries of the women, and instead focus on the power and control of the men.
He could do this.
Somehow.
Chapter Three
Even though she’d nearly worn a hole in the Aubusson rug, Eliza continued to pace the chamber.
Where on earth was Grayson?
Both his office and Charlotte’s chamber were empty; she’d sent a maid to look. Although after her completely unladylike eruption at the chapel, it was no wonder her husband was avoiding her. Painful as it was to admit, her mother had proven right. Sweetness, obedience, and calm decorum won the day.
She had failed yet again.
After splashing some water on her face and patting it dry, Eliza scooped up a shawl and left the chamber. If Grayson was anywhere in the building, she would find him, even if she had to check every blasted room.
A half hour later she found herself in the foyer, staring uncertainly at the huge oak double doors that led into the pleasure club proper. During the few months she’d lived at Fallen, she had ventured inside on several occasions. But that seemed like more than a lifetime ago.
“Lady Eliza? Are you all right, madam?”
Nearly shrieking in surprise, Eliza stared up at Diaz. He’d always been unfailingly polite and deferential, but he was built like a mountain and moved as soundlessly as a panther. What the attractive but scarred Spaniard had done before he became butler and overseer of security at Fallen, she wasn’t certain she wanted to know. “Oh, good evening, Diaz. I’m looking for my husband. Have you seen him by chance?”
The butler’s eyes briefly closed, as if he were in pain. “Not for a while, madam.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Where is he? In there?”
“I believe he is in one of the special activity rooms along with Miss Charlotte and some others, yes.”
Eliza gasped. Special activity rooms. The chambers where small groups with very particular shared desires met to indulge them. Questions pounded her mind—which room? What kind of sexual play was he currently involved in? But this was greatly overshadowed by terrible jealousy. Even now, Charlotte or some other woman—or women—could be touching Grayson. Pleasuring him. Making him come…
“Lady Eliza?”
She blinked, her cheeks burning at the realization the odd sound echoing through the foyer had been her foot stomping. Oh, this was ludicrous. There truly wasn’t any hope for her in the sweet decorum stakes. “I, er, need to go and find Lord Grayson.”
“Indeed, madam. For his lordship’s sake. And…the lady’s.”
Frowning, she reached out and touched his sleeve. “What do you mean, the lady’s? You’re talking about Charlotte? You don’t approve of them together?”
For just an instant, his dark eyes reflected an aching sadness. Then his expression returned to its usual impassiveness. “Not for me to approve or disapprove. Forgive me, I forgot myself for a moment.”
“Well. I’m going in. And if anyone attempts to stop me, I’ll, er, crush their toes to powder.”
“Duly noted,” he said gravely. “Would you like a mask?”
Eliza smiled in gratitude. The man truly was a treasure. Only Sin, Grayson, Vice, and now Sin’s wife Grace went without masks, as established owners of the club. Her status was far too precarious at present; to walk into Fallen sans mask would be foolish and risky in the extreme.
“I would.”
“Then allow me to assist.”
The butler took out a black and white satin demi-mask from his jacket pocket, fitted it to her face, and swiftly tugged the ribbons over her ears before tying a tight bow at the nape of her neck. Heavens. How strange, viewing the world in such a manner. Her eyesight wasn’t impeded in any way, and yet knowing she was unrecognizable apart from her hair and cheeks and lips, felt so…freeing.
“Thank you.”
Diaz bowed. “A pleasure, madam. Good luck,” he finished, opening the door and waving her through.
It was like stepping into another world. More lavish than a palace, louder than Vauxhall Gardens with laughter and chatter, the clink of champagne glasses and melodious tunes of an expert orchestra. Not to mention the sheer number of elegantly dressed and bejeweled people. Not just men and women dancing and kissing and touching, but women and women, and men and men. This was the essence of Fallen, a sanctuary of pleasure for all.
Her courage nearly failing her, Eliza took a deep breath.
“Darling Lady Eliza, what the bloody hell are you doing in here?”
Relieved beyond measure, she turned to a welcome sight—Lord Iain Vissen, only known as Vice. The Scottish viscount was dressed to the hilt as a rather scandalous Highland chieftain, wearing a soft wool plaid short kilt, an elaborate silver sporran, and a fine linen shirt open to reveal his broad chest. He was bare legged, barefoot, and his shoulder-length auburn hair hung loosely around his face. But instead of looking carefree, he gazed at her with real concern.
“Er, how did you know it was me, my lord?”
“Gaelic hair, lass. I see it in the looking glass and recognize it at a hundred paces.”
She rolled her eyes at her own foolishness. As if a head of hair like hers ever went unnoticed. “Of course. I’m looking for Grayson.”
“Thank God. He’s been in that room too long already. Sin and I are at our wits’ end with him. Dev is an expert, but the price he pays is far too high. And the aftermath is ugly.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Vice grimaced. “The bloody idiot thinks we don’t know he has certain needs. We always played along, hoping one day Dev would be comfortable enough to be his true self. Especially when he met you…but he is a fucking dark and rigid Sassenach. Er, a most proper gentleman. Now what I want to know is, if you’re going to fight for him, like the warrior we thought you were, or run away again.”
Shocked to the core, she stared at the viscount. But there wasn’t a trace of usual sardonic humor on his rugged face. “I…I…I want to fight.”
“Good lass,” said Vice, with a short, approving nod. “Then I’ll take you to the room.”
“At once, please,” she replied, anxiety twisting her stomach into a hard knot. First Diaz, now Vice, speaking more freely to her than they ever had, and it felt like she stood on the edge of a knowledge abyss. It couldn’t be clearer that Grayson’s truth would change everything, and she wanted to discover exactly what that truth was. Right blasted now.
“Come this way, then,” said Vice, taking her arm and leading her out of the ballroom and down a more narrow hallway. At the end, he pointed at a closed door. “He’s in there. Do you want me to accompany you?”
Eliza shook her head. “No. You carry on. I know you have much to oversee. Besides, that outrageous costume is distracting.”
He grinned, lifted her hand and kissed it, then turned and hurried away.
Taking another deep breath, her heart pounding so hard it would surely burst from her chest, Eliza carefully pushed open the door and peeked in.
Oh God.
Grayson stood in the center of the room, a riding crop in one hand and a lit candlestick in the other. Several men were seated in a row, each with a woman on their lap, while two more women knelt at her husband’s feet. The air was thick with the scent of arousal and pleasure, and even from here she could see the glistening, swollen cores of the women, the bright pink marks decorating their skin, their beaming faces.
But there was something desperately wrong with the scene.
In direct contrast to the elation of the others, her husband looked hellish. Parchment pale. Linen shirt damp with
sweat, his mouth twisted in agonized stoicism, his beautiful green eyes haunted, glazed and red-rimmed as if trapped in a nightmare.
Horrified, Eliza stumbled into the room. “No more.”
“Lady Eliza,” said a low female voice to her right, the sudden grip on her wrist firm.
Even though the woman wore a mask, she knew exactly who it was, and hated her even more. “Let me go, Mrs. Lewis. You say you love him. And yet you witness this and do nothing?”
Charlotte winced. “Here, Dev is my employer, the man who ensures the kind of security and comfort I could never have achieved alone. Do you think I enjoy watching him drink to the edge of oblivion and destroy himself?”
“Well it won’t be carrying on. Not one moment. I’m taking him away,” she hissed fiercely, and to her disbelief, Charlotte smiled and squeezed her hand with true warmth.
“Of course. I’ll finish here.”
Thankfully the other people in the room, whoever they were, didn’t protest as she marched past them and slid an arm around Grayson’s waist.
He blinked slowly at her, as if coming out of a deep trance. “Eliza?”
Pulling his head down and standing on her tiptoes, she whispered in his ear, “You are coming with me. Right now. Charlotte will continue on your behalf.”
Grayson nodded. “I don’t…I don’t feel well.”
“I know,” Eliza whispered, then she turned to her curious audience. “Terribly sorry, my dears, but I must steal Devil away from your party. A certain portly gentleman with a rather extravagant jeweled cravat is positively insisting to be joined for brandy and cheroots.”
One of the men laughed. “Couldn’t imagine who that might be, Devil, poor chap.”
“One does what one must,” said Grayson, setting down the riding crop and candlestick on a nearby bench as they left the chamber. “Good evening, all.”
His steps faltered halfway down the hallway. As they rounded the first corner, Eliza barely managed to maneuver him against the wall before his head dropped, and with a brandy-scented sigh, he slid to the floor.
…
“Grayson. Look at me. Please, please look at me.”
The feminine voice sounded far away, yet very insistent. He would obey, too, but for the damned anvil pounding his skull, and he’d eaten a pound of sand if his desert-dry mouth was any indication.
“Grayson. You look at me this minute!”
He blinked terribly heavy eyelids until his wife came into focus. “I live to serve, my dear…I’m on the ground.”
“You gave me such a fright,” said Eliza sternly, but her eyes were wide with worry. And the way her fingers were stroking his hair was so warm and soothing, he wanted to lean into her touch, until every memory of the past few hours had been caressed away.
“Not my finest hour.”
“Rather an understatement. I’m informed by members of the harem that before you went into that blasted club room, you drank nearly three bottles of brandy on an empty stomach.”
“Bloody turncoats. I hope you told them I’m cancelling Christmas.”
“Tell them yourself. But right now we are going upstairs and you are going to have a hot bath and eat until you are fit to burst.”
“I’m not cold.”
“Then why are you shivering? Everyone in Portman Square can hear your teeth chattering.”
Frowning, he peered down at his hands. Damned if they weren’t moving all by themselves. Actually, he was freezing. The kind of bone-deep chill that robbed a person of reason and direction. “I do feel a trifle off. Foggy, even.”
“Can you get up? I’d rather we were in our chamber than this hallway. If Prinny sees, the news will be across London within the hour.”
“I doubt it,” he replied, but he eased to his feet anyway. Fuck, he was as unsteady as a newborn colt. “The prince owes me money, so he is neatly avoiding me right now.”
“Everyone owes you money, Grayson,” she said with a laugh, sliding a soft arm around his waist, the care and comfort of the action constricting his throat. “If I recall correctly, you hold promissory notes from half the ton.”
“Maybe not quite that many. There are some aristocrats who pay their bills on time and don’t crawl to me, cap in hand, for a loan or debt forgiveness. The rest are bloody leeches, want, want, want, and they demand with such entitlement,” he said woodenly, barely able to suppress a wave of nausea at the never ending list of people who courted him for no other reason than financial gain. “At least Sin, Vice, Diaz, and Charlie are true. And you. My wife.”
Eliza stumbled but quickly righted herself. “Sorry. New slippers. Haven’t quite broken them in yet.”
His chamber was deliciously warm thanks to a roaring fire in the grate. Devil sighed in relief as three footmen filled a large copper tub with buckets of steaming hot water before swiftly leaving.
Devil hauled off his clammy, sweat-soaked shirt and tossed it aside, along with his boots and trousers, then climbed into the tub. The temperature near scalded him and, as if a curtain had been yanked back, every single excruciating moment he’d been in the activity room flooded his mind. Fuck. That had been the worst night yet. Usually he could will his mind away while he played at being an alpha, but in that room, every moan and whimper, every flick and slap of leather or drop of candle wax on flesh, had sliced his soul. The women around him had come again and again, their nipples rock hard, their pussies slick with juice, and he’d been in purgatory.
A soft cloth glided across his back, and he shuddered. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly into the heavy silence. “For downstairs, I mean. I wasn’t really enjoying myself.”
Eliza lathered the cloth with more soap and scrubbed his arms. “A mild understatement, Grayson. You hated it. It was the most distressing thing I’ve ever seen. Fallen is supposed to be about pleasure for everyone, but you were gaining nothing from what you were doing. Nothing at all. Why do such a thing if it makes you hate yourself?”
Devil froze.
Well, if that wasn’t the thousand-guinea question.
“I just wasn’t feeling well, that’s all. Far too much brandy on an empty stomach, as you noted.” The lie burned his tongue.
“Poppycock.”
“Eliza, I have a reputation to uphold. And to do that, sometimes I must do things I don’t enjoy to ensure that reputation stays intact. All right?”
“No, it is not all right,” she said angrily, tossing the cloth away. “Something that you have to drink three bottles of brandy to endure, and loathe every minute of, is not all right in any way.”
Abruptly, Devil rose from the copper tub, sending a splash of water over one side. “And what would you have me do? Apart from send away a very dear friend?”
“If she truly was your friend, she wouldn’t stand for you hurting yourself. Not ever. You aren’t to do that again, Grayson. I’ll tell Diaz and Sin and Vice to bar you from that room.”
Stepping out of the tub, he stalked toward her. “Oh will you now, madam wife?”
“Count on it,” Eliza snapped, hands on hips, her eyes shooting silver sparks at him. She was so magnificent in her fury on his behalf, his cock began to stiffen.
It should have been impossible after the wedding, the bottles of brandy, the evening at Fallen, and a complete lack of food, but the damned thing kept getting harder. Thickening and lengthening and sticking out from its nest of coarse black hair like a sword, while she watched. Avidly. Which only aroused him more. “Excuse me, I’ll just get a towel.”
“No.”
The whispered word floated across the chamber, but had the impact of a shout. He stilled, helplessly obedient, his hands at his sides as he waited for her next move. Seconds later, Eliza rubbed and patted a soft yet slightly abrasive towel across his shoulders, down his back, around his backside and farther down each leg until half his body was completely dry, the other half still dripping wet.
By the time she moved around to face him, he was near panting. Agonizingly slowly, she
dried his face, then his neck, dancing with a light touch across his collarbone, then rougher across his chest. Back and forth she rubbed, stimulating his chest hair and nipples with the towel until his whole upper body tingled.
He groaned, his cock so hard it nearly rested on his belly now. “Eliza…”
His wife ignored the entreaty, instead kneeling down to dry his feet and the front of his legs, sliding up from ankle to knee to thigh, circling higher and higher to pat dry his abdomen but deliberately not touching his cock. “I’m nearly done.”
Devil stared down at her, a fiery angel who might have been at his feet but remained in total control, and there was only one heartfelt word he could say. “Please.”
She smiled. And dropped the towel.
The next touch he felt was a warm, wet tongue. Licking the length of him from base to tip, then lapping the engorged head, removing the bathwater but inviting a trickle of pre-come to drip into her mouth. He moaned at the exquisite teasing of her lips and tongue, reveled in the firm grip of her fingers, hard enough to make his back arch in ecstasy. Somehow he fought the rapidly building climax, never wanting her luscious ministrations to end. Until she looked him straight in the eye and said, “Come for me. Now.”
Surrendering immediately with a low, guttural roar, he climaxed. But she didn’t turn away or draw back; instead she opened her mouth wider and took him deeper down her throat, greedily swallowing his seed. Finally, when the last splendid, wracking spasm had waned, and the likelihood of him passing out again was strong, he could only look at her in awe.
“Lizzie…” he breathed, not even sure he still possessed the ability to speak in complete sentences.
She stood, her lips curving into a smile so wicked his spent cock still managed to twitch. “Supper time, Grayson. You’ll need your strength for the rest of the evening.”
Incredulous joy battled innate caution.
Dare he hope that courtship Eliza had returned to stay?
…
While Grayson devoured the supper sent up on a tray, Eliza stared at the roaring fire. How could her body still be in one piece when her thoughts were flying in a thousand directions?
The Devil's Submission (Fallen series) Page 4
