Jolin frowned as a tall voluptuous woman stepped down from the one of the coaches, her thin black dress barely concealing her more-than-ample breasts and wide hips. Long wavy tresses of blonde hair cascaded down her back, dipping towards the plumpest derrière Jolin had ever seen. Goodness, a woman like that must make her look like a flattened piece of lumber. Shifting uncomfortably, she straightened as they came to a stop before the woman.
“Ah…” Rafira cooed, gaze moving appreciatively over her body. “She’ll do.”
Jolin stiffened. It was one thing for a man to ogle her like this but a woman? Surely women did not think such a way towards their own sex?
“You’re certain?” came Sinclair’s voice.
Rafira nodded, one hand resting lightly on a curvaceous hip. “Absolutely. She’s rather stunning, isn’t she? She’ll fit right in with my girls. However…”
“However?” Jolin squeaked. Christ, she’d almost bit her tongue.
“We women of the trade never wear our hair up, madam,” she clarified. “We are free to do as we please, you see. And for tonight, you must do the same, yes?”
“Yes. I-I suppose.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, Jolin felt the woman’s hands in her hair, removing the pins that held her tresses up in a tight coil. Her hair fell past her shoulders and she held back a shudder as Rafira gave her body one last sweeping glance.
“Absolutely breathtaking,” she sighed and turned, her hips swaying as she went. “Come along, madam. Our alderman must not be kept waiting. He’s got a mighty big appetite, that one, and very little patience.”
FOURTEEN
Viktor de Gesch lowered his gaze to the tankard in his hand, watching with scant awareness as the dark liquid swirled within it. He’d taken much to drinking over the past few years, for nothing seemed to calm his nerves better than a couple flasks of hard-brewed brandy. And it was also the anniversary of his birth, for hell’s sake. But he had not wanted much company tonight. What he’d wanted more than ever was to visit his docile wife’s bedchamber and plunge into her worthless quim like he was a mad man. But perhaps he was. Mad, that is. After ten years of marriage, the idiot woman still could not provide him with a male heir. What use was a blasted daughter to him? Damnation, was he cursed to be blessed with such fruitless women?
Isabel-- He seethed and slammed the metal cup down, all eyes at the long feast table now turned on him. He flicked a dismissive hand their way and his men immediately returned to their meals. Save for his Captain, Carlisle, who was regarding him like he was some petulant child. If the man hadn’t known him for so long and was familiar with all his secrets, Viktor probably would have dismissed him ages ago. Tomas Carlisle had grown far too forward over the years.
Viktor took another sip of his brandy, pausing to relish the burning velvety path it carved down his throat. His lips curled with contempt as he allowed his thoughts to travel once again to his former wife. Isabel deserved everything she’d gotten and he’d see her straight to hell himself for her deception. She’d made a mockery of him, deprived him of his own son. His heir. For years he’d searched, trying to locate the boy but the witch had been careful, determined to see him fail. And for that he’d seen her properly punished. She was now in a place that even God himself could not reach, for the devil must surely have already snatched her pitiful soul.
Swallowing down the rest of his brandy, Viktor rose from his chair and strode across the room, intent on paying Madame Rafira an early visit. As he passed the large column leading to the double doors, he felt a familiar presence behind him.
His jaw ticked wildly but he did not turn. Nor had he intended to. “What now, Carlisle?”
His Captain, a man who’d been with him since the day he’d succeeded his own father as the alderman, stepped into his view. “Should I call the party to an early close, milord?”
“No. Tell the men they can enjoy the women when they’re ready. I’m no longer that hungry for food. Or their company.”
Not for food. His cock was aching with a need that not even his eager-to-please wife could satisfy. Truth be told, the woman was as sturdy as a fly. He’d feared countless times that he’d broken her damn back whenever he went to bed her. No. He needed the comfort of at least three of those doxies tonight. Rolling his shoulders, he shoved the doors open and moved into the front hall, taking the corridor which lead to the west wing. Only he and his men were permitted there; and on occasions like this, his voluptuous female companions. Viktor found himself grinning. At fifty-four years old, he was still in his prime and a woman like Rafira knew how to milk a man’s cock dry. And that was precisely what he needed to rid that traitorous, raven-haired Isabel de Gesch from his mind.
Brightly lit torches illuminated the dark halls as he went, clearly guiding the pathway to his private parlour. The two guards stationed outside the door bowed swiftly, one shoving the door wide open to allow him pass. As soon as Viktor entered the room, the tantalizing scent of expensive feminine perfume engulfed him, and he grinned with satisfaction when he spotted Madame Rafira amongst her doxy girls. Heat instantly burned in his crotch as he pictured those ample thighs spread wide to accommodate him, his face buried between those bountiful breasts.
He had almost reached her when something, or rather, someone caught his eye. Two someones, to be exact. He scowled and narrowed his gaze on the two brawny men seated far too comfortably on the seat next to the hearth. His damn guards had allowed this blasted breach?
“No need to summon your gaoler, milord,” came the seductress’ voice.
He felt her bosom pressing firmly against his side, her breath hot in his ear. “I thought I’d made it clear that only you and your girls were to come.”
Her hand shifted over his groin, momentarily distracting him. Viktor snorted. Hell, if he hadn’t a soft spot for voracious women.
“Yes. But we came into quite a piece of trouble the other day and I thought--” She gave his cock a suggestive pat-- “that it would be best we had some male escorts. They shan’t be in our way at all.”
Viktor harrumphed, his eyes still boring into the men’s faces. They looked far too superior in built to be just escorts. Men such as those should be among his guards, especially the one with those atrocious scars etched into his face. A man like that spoke of many battles and limitless endurance; something he needed in a Captain now that Carlisle was approaching an age to hand over the reigns. Perhaps he would make the suggestion before the night was through.
Satisfied with his plans, he returned his gaze to the woman at his side. “I hope you plan to ride me into oblivion tonight,” he grunted, enjoying the way her nipples tightened beneath the thin silk of her dress. “I have no mind to release you until your body is thoroughly bruised beneath mine.”
Madame Rafira’s mouth turned up in a salacious smile. “Oh, milord. You of all men know I’m a woman who always satisfies.”
That she was, indeed. Viktor chuckled. Gripping his fingers behind her neck, he dragged her hard against him, his tongue plundering deep between her parted lips, while his other hand dipped inside her décolletage, plucking a nipple free.
“Milord,” she gasped a chuckle. “You are very hungry, indeed.”
“Starving,” he barked, his body burning to take her here and now. Anything to soothe his lust a while, to distract him from murdering his damnable useless wife.
“Just the way I like my men, milord. I suggest…we take our leave then?”
Viktor allowed his finger to trace a path around the exposed nipple before slipping it back in place. As he made to usher Madame Rafira out of the room, his gaze shifted once again to the man with the scarred face, who happened to be watching him. Watching him with far too much boldness for his liking.
“Your escort seems to forget his place, Madame,” he said, ire rising. The man was still staring dead straight at him. “Is he one of those empty-brained dingbats from the village?”
The woman’s voice took on a suspiciously
flat tone. “Oh? Not at all, milord. He hails all the way from Duit, I believe. But I do think he might be blind in one eye.”
“One eye, you say? If that is so, then why are both of them glaring at me, his superior?”
“I… Well, I suppose he might not recognize you, milord. Most country villagers haven’t a clue of your countenance. Perhaps I should go have a word with him this instant.”
Viktor snaked one hand out and grabbed her before she took another step. “I’ll see to it.”
“Milord--”
“Do not question me, woman! I invited you here for a quick fuck and nothing else.”
* * *
Tethran rose to his feet as the alderman approached. Giving Sinclair a hard nudge, he kept his gaze locked on the older man until they were but a couple feet apart. The alderman wasn’t at all what he’d expected. He’d been expecting to see a greying man with a sagging belly, and perhaps a twitching eye to go along with it. The man standing before him now was clearly middle-aged but his physique boasted of youth and power. Of control. Tethran didn’t like that at all. Neither did he like the way the man was looking at him at the moment; like he was some disgusting maggot caught slithering through his cheese.
Forcing himself to be at least civil lest, he forget that he was currently facing his superior and ended up being tossed in jail, Tethran bowed his head in reverence.
“Ah…” the alderman uttered derisively. “There it is.”
“Milord?”
“Your manners, lad. The respect that ought to come quite readily when you are within the presence of your alderman.”
Tethran darted a glance at Sinclair who was standing so still, he might snap at any moment. Across the room stood Miss Crymble, completely surrounded by the doxies and far away from this obvious lecher, thank God.
“My apologies, milord. Forgive me if I have offended you in any way.”
The alderman looked him over intensely, then Sinclair, and back at him. “Have you two fine lads been apart of any of my stationed battalions in the other villages? Perhaps, the constabulary?”
Tethran fought back a scowl. A man like him had never seen the need or had the privilege of being on the right side of the law. “Negative, milord.”
“Mm. Fine piece of artwork someone did on your face there. How did it happen?”
Tethran’s fists clenched behind his back. He could see the wheels turning in the alderman’s head, could tell just where this conversation was heading. “Fire. A section of my roof had collapsed and almost killed me while I was rescuing my sister.” It was a fine tale, he knew, but Tethran was proud of himself for thinking it up so quickly. Especially with the alderman’s gaze boring into him like a poisoned arrow.
“Interesting tale,” the alderman went on, nodding stiffly. “Surely a lad of such courage and strength ought to be apart of my men.”
Sure. After I kill myself. Tethran gave his best look of excitement. “That is a generous offer, milord. My friend and I will most definitely think on it.”
The alderman slightly bared his teeth in grin, but the emotion did not reach his eyes. “It is more than generous, I tell you. Madame Rafira mentioned you are blind in one eye but I doubt that will be a problem.”
Blind in one eye, eh? Tethran nodded and stole a glance at the Madame who turned away swiftly, draining her glass. “I’d almost lost both from the ordeal, milord.”
The door to the parlour opened and a file of about a dozen men strode inside, their eyes already zoned in on the doxies. Tethran felt his blood quicken, the need to lodge himself firmly at Miss Crymble’s side even more alive than ever.
“Is that the sister?”
The alderman’s voice commanded back his attention. He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring at Miss Crymble. Christ! “Yes.”
“Mmm. She is rather fetching. Seems quite young but fetching nonetheless.”
Rather fetching? The woman was a goddamn stunner. “Gets it from our late mother, she did.”
“I question why a man would escort his own sister to a setting as this. You seem quite content with her occupation.”
“I shan’t take issue with God for the many talents bestowed upon women, milord. My sister is content, therefore so am I. Besides, food must be kept on the table one way or the other.”
The alderman gave a grin that seemed far more genuine than anything he’d done or said over the past couple minutes. “Ah! A lad who shares my own sentiments with regards to women, I see.”
FIFTEEN
He was a goddamn fool. A blithering idiot.
No. He was worse than that. He was the most putrid of cads to have ever walked the earth. He was a blockheaded imbecile who deserved a blade straight through his heart. And even as he watched the alderman saunter back to Madame Rafira’s welcoming embrace, Tethran still could not forget the intensely appraising look he had sent in Miss Crymble’s direction. The fact that Alderman de Gesch might be entertaining thoughts--improper thoughts--towards her, made his own skin crawl.
“You are a goddamn fool!” came Sinclair’s expected admonishment.
Tethran scowled, cursing himself again. “Thanks,” he muttered dryly. “I sort of already came to that conclusion.”
“Not only have you just described Miss Crymble as a happy prostitute but you’ve just basically offered her on a silver platter to the damn alderman. I hope you rot in hell for that!”
He turned to glare at his friend. “You think I don’t recognize my err? If you hadn’t put this…this idiotic idea in her head, she wouldn’t be here in the first place.”
“And we would have had less to worry about if you hadn’t piqued our beloved ruler’s interest!”
“Fucking hell.” Tethran waved off his friend, his eyes trained steadfastly on a tall blonde-haired guard who was now watching her with keen interest.
“What now?”
His skin prickled and sweat beaded at the back of his neck. His heart did a deep dive straight down to his bowels. Fucking hell, indeed.
The guard was heading over to Miss Crymble.
* * *
“He’s interested in you, you know.”
Jolin swallowed tightly, her gaze following the path Myra’s--a girl not more than eighteen--had passed, to land squarely on LeMark. Over the past hour, she’d discovered that the girl was an orphan and had been under Madame Rafira’s guidance for almost two years. From what Jolin could tell, Myra was content with her occupation and several times praised the Madame for pulling her off the streets. She’d explained that a girl of her poor circumstances and no connections, could not have found a better life as a doxy. Something tugged in Jolin’s heart. All her life, she’d never been in need of food or shelter. It almost made it more clear why a woman…a girl would take on such a life.
Myra grinned and nudged her in the side. “Don’t play ignorant now, miss. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we arrived.” The girl then leaned in closer. “And I know you’re no doxy either.”
Jolin gulped, facing her, as the other girls began accepting offers for a quick tryst with the alderman’s men. “How did you know?”
Myra shrugged, her green eyes sparkling. “In all honestly, you couldn’t pass for a doxy even if you sported Madame Rafira’s lowest décolletage.”
Heat crept up her jaw and she knew she was blushing. “Oh.”
“Don’t worry. Madame Rafira told me to stay next you. I’ve a plan, you see.”
Jolin raised a brow. “What plan?”
“Well, you can’t play the role of a doxy if you don’t spend the night with a man, now can you?”
“What?” Jolin’s mouth dropped open. “Spend the night? With a man? I couldn’t possibly--”
Myra waved her off, like a woman of far more advanced years would have done. Or perhaps the girl was far more mature than Jolin had thought. Well, she supposed a girl could never lead such a…shocking life and still remain innocent.
“You don’t actually have to spend the night with
a man. You just have to give the impression that you did.”
A mischievous glint flashed in the girl’s eyes and Jolin watched as she pulled a tiny glass bottle of a dark liquid from her reticule. “What’s that?”
“A sleeping potion.” Myra grinned and tapped her index finger against the container. “I use it sometimes on the old, ugly ones.”
A strange iota of amusement pinched at the corners of her mouth and Jolin fought against it. If she hadn’t felt so anxious over the entire night’s proceedings, she probably would have laughed. But her tightly laced corset and this…this scandalous décolletage were beginning to send her nerves into a frenzy. She was longing for the privacy of that room back at the tavern far more than ever. And one of her high-necked frocks too.
The Strength of Baffin Page 10
