Mistress of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  She’d been thinking about things these past few days. About how miserable she was. About the fun times they’d shared. About all the amazing sex they’d had. And she’d come to the conclusion that she could manage, at the very least, being his mistress. And if they happened to be ill matched?

  Oh bother. Why think about it anymore? “What time?”

  A slow smile spread across Hawksford’s face. “I knew you’d see reason.”

  To her utter and complete frustration, Maybelle had spent most of her evening searching for Edmund amidst the overcrowded and noisy townhouse. Hawksford took liberties by grabbing for her waist and pulling her close, instructing her to stay close and in the front parlor or they’d never be seen.

  What if Edmund wasn’t coming? What if he changed his mind and didn’t want to see her? What if—

  Maybelle froze, jerking Hawksford to a complete halt.

  Edmund stood not even twenty feet away, dressed in perfect, black evening attire, jacket and all. His right shoulder was to her and he was gazing out at the crowds around him. In one gloved hand, he held a glass of champagne, while his other gloved hand was tucked behind his broad back.

  Her pulse livened at the reality that she was actually standing in his presence. And that he’d put his respectability on the line again to see her.

  Seeing him standing there alone, as everyone else around them groped, chatted, drank, and laughed, gave her pause. And for a crazed moment, she wondered how he would react to her if she abandoned all plans with Hawksford and simply went up to him and offered simple pleasantries? Would there be a loss of dignity by doing that?

  A woman dressed in black satin strode in from behind Edmund. The beautiful dark-haired woman had a perfect curvy physique, beautiful porcelain skin, and sizable breasts that would have made her grandmother quite jealous.

  She sashayed her way around Edmund, the way a vulture did around the food it was about to indulge in, and paused before him. She offered Edmund a rather provocative and inviting smile as she reached out a gloved hand and openly touched his arm.

  Maybelle felt her throat tightening. Had they arrived together?

  Hawksford tightened his hold on Maybelle’s waist and positioned them both toward Edmund’s direction. As if only now seeing them.

  Maybelle narrowed her gaze as Edmund leaned toward the beautiful woman to receive her words. He shook his dark head and said something, yet made no effort to remove the woman’s hand, which continued to rest on his forearm. They must have arrived together. They were rather friendly.

  Hawksford leaned down toward Maybelle. “There she is,” he whispered into her right ear. “My Lady Chartwell.”

  Maybelle’s heart nearly stopped altogether. She glanced up at Hawksford. “Did you say Lady Chartwell? You mean, the same Lady Chartwell who is giving my grandmother usage of the school’s passage?”

  He grinned. “Indeed. And did you also know that she hunts down men like the poor sheep that they are, takes whatever she desires of them, and then discards them completely, leaving them to drown in their unrequited lust? She is quite vicious. Though I mean to change that.”

  Maybelle’s eyes widened as she snapped her attention back to Edmund and Lady Chartwell. Had Edmund somehow met her during his journey through her townhouse and into the school? Impossible. She herself had never had a chance to meet the woman. Certainly she’d met all of the woman’s servants, but never the woman herself. So why was it that while she had never met this Lady Chartwell while going in and out of her townhouse, all of the men seemed to know her?

  This did not bode well. At all. There was a rather wicked purpose behind why Lady Chartwell supported the School of Gallantry. For no respectable, titled woman ever would. Which is why it bothered Maybelle to no end that the woman was now trying to engage in theatrics with her Edmund.

  Maybelle turned back to Hawksford and demanded, “Did they arrive together?”

  The onyx buttons on Hawksford’s perfectly cut black jacket gleamed as he adjusted his hold on her waist. He glanced down at her. “I would only worry if they left together. Then we both have a rather serious situation on our hands.” He winked.

  Maybelle waved an agitated hand toward Lady Chartwell, who was still talking to Edmund. “As your teacher, Hawksford, I advise you to do something. Immediately.”

  He glanced down at her, raising both brows. “And what exactly do you suggest I do?”

  She smacked at his arm. “What we had planned!”

  Hawksford smirked. “Of course.”

  Maybelle glanced over at Edmund, who had completely turned toward the dark-haired woman and seemed genuinely immersed in their conversation.

  A flare of jealousy pounded her brain and all reason went out the window. The woman hunted men like the sheep that they were? Really now. What could that possibly mean? Furthermore, why did it bother her so much? She was supposed to be making Edmund jealous. Not making herself jealous.

  “Shall I begin?” Hawksford offered matter-of-factly.

  Maybelle set her chin. “Yes. Do.”

  With that, they strolled toward the two. Hawksford with his arm still around her waist and Maybelle holding her arm around his trying to act like it was the most natural thing in the world. And though she tried hard to exude calm and confidence, she could already feel her camisole melting into her corset.

  “It’s rather hot in here, isn’t it?” Hawksford commented when they were within earshot. “Do you mind assisting me out of this jacket, love?”

  Cue. Maybelle eased out of Hawksford’s arm and turned toward him. Keeping her voice natural and steady, she replied, “But of course. I rather prefer a man without his jacket.”

  Hawksford grinned down at her and leaned his solid frame toward her, clearly enjoying their game a bit too much. “Remember,” he whispered, “if you and Rutherford ever do decide to go your separate ways, you will always have me and the school.”

  Perish the thought. Maybelle ignored the spark of amusement in his green eyes and instead worked to slowly remove his jacket one sleeve at a time, painfully aware that she was touching a man who wasn’t Edmund. She slipped the jacket from Hawksford’s warm muscled shoulders and held it up for him.

  Hawksford adjusted his vest and his cuffs, then grabbed the jacket and flung it off to the side, missing a couple who were on the floor frantically groping each other and making disgusting sounds.

  Maybelle genuinely grinned, took his arm, and leaned into him. Hawksford finally turned them toward Edmund and together they closed the remaining distance between all of them.

  Both Edmund and the dark-haired Lady Chartwell were already staring at them. Lady Chartwell appeared quite fascinated by their approach, a dark elegant brow perched high.

  Edmund, on the other hand, didn’t. His dark eyes met hers, his lean face set and his smooth-shaven jaw clenched.

  Maybelle tried to keep the heat from rising to her face as she tightened her hold on Hawksford’s arm. She only hoped to God Hawksford would keep walking so she wouldn’t have to say anything as of yet. For she still hadn’t thought of anything to say to the man that wouldn’t make her sound like a babbling idiot.

  Hawksford drew them both to a sudden halt right before the two.

  Damn him. He would.

  “Rutherford,” Hawksford drawled, gesturing toward him. “Where the devil have you been? We’ve had quite a few lessons since we last saw you.”

  Clearly, Hawksford had no trouble fibbing through every single one of his teeth. For the men had been completely deprived of a teacher. And mostly due to Edmund. Maybelle struggled to remain calm as Edmund continued to stare her down.

  To her relief, he eventually turned his dark gaze to Hawksford. Edmund surveyed him for a long moment, then coolly replied, “Unlike yours, my life does not evolve around the school.”

  Hawksford grabbed hold of Maybelle’s waist and yanked her hard against the side of his large frame, causing her to almos
t gasp from the crushing hold. “Pity.” Hawksford eyed the widow. “Maybelle was giving invaluable advice as to how to deliver multiple orgasms to one’s lover. Seems I am quite good at it. Isn’t that so, Maybelle?”

  Maybelle choked. She tried desperately to pretend she was coughing but it was no use. For there was no bloody way she was going to answer that.

  Edmund narrowed his gaze in response, while Lady Chartwell had a gleam in her sultry brown eyes as she scooted toward the direction of Hawksford.

  “Is such a thing even possible, My Lord?” she asked in a low, seductive voice.

  Hawksford leaned toward the woman, forcing Maybelle to lean right along with him. “Anything is possible when you submit yourself to the right man.”

  Maybelle kept herself from rolling her eyes.

  The supper bell rang in the distance, calling the first set of guests into the dining hall that was just down the corridor.

  Beautiful timing!

  Maybelle yanked Hawksford back. “Take me to supper, My Lord.” She trained her gaze on Hawksford, afraid to even acknowledge Edmund anymore. What a dim-witted failure she was.

  Hawksford paused, his brows coming together as he eyed her, but otherwise didn’t argue. “Do excuse us.” He nodded in the direction of his widow. “It was a pleasure. As always.”

  Maybelle could have sworn the widow was breathing hard. Apparently, it didn’t take much to excite the woman. And Edmund? God knows what Edmund was thinking the way he was glaring at them. She’d be lucky if he ever talked to her again. Good at delivering multiple orgasms indeed. Romeo could have done better on opium.

  Hawksford turned them away and led them toward the dining hall. “You think I overdid it?” he whispered down at her.

  “A bit.”

  Hawksford chuckled. “I would not trust that woman to Rutherford.”

  “If we don’t see them in the dining room in ten minutes, we will hunt them down.”

  He eyed her. “You do realize that anything can happen in ten minutes?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Hawksford!” She glared at him.

  “Well, it is true.”

  When they finally arrived in the small dining room, Maybelle glanced around, surprised. Considering the sort of gathering it was, she was truly impressed by the effort Caldwell had put into it. For it appeared a bit more respectable than the last gathering of his she’d attended.

  White garlands decorated the mahogany-paneled room. The china, crystal, and silverware were so well polished they reflected the candles around them, giving a glittering shimmer to the long dining table.

  After making their way around other couples, Hawksford found her a seat and pulled it back and out for her. She nodded her thanks.

  After she was seated at the crowded table, she picked up her lace napkin and laid it carefully on the lap of her burgundy gown. She didn’t know how long she’d last knowing she’d left Edmund alone with that…she-lion.

  Maybelle glanced around the noisy table wondering if she should already be heading back. She paused, however, when her gaze unexpectedly met Edmund’s dark eyes just across from where she was seated. Her eyes widened and her breath caught inside her throat.

  Edmund pulled out a chair for himself. He stared her down from across the table even as he seated himself.

  Despite all common sense, Maybelle offered him a genuine smile, thrilled that he had actually followed her to the table.

  He shifted his jaw, as if considering what her smile meant, then gave a curt nod in her direction.

  She eyed their surroundings. What was even more promising is that there was no sight of the widow.

  One of the servants paused beside her, leaned in, and held out a silver dish for her to look at. She paused. Lovely. Seems there was no soup or appetizers to begin the meal, but rather roasted partridges in mint sauce. Then again, what was she to expect from a gathering she was actually able to attend?

  “Half of one, please,” she said over all the loud chatter. Hopefully the man could hear.

  The servant hesitated as he searched for the best piece of meat, and then gave her the portion she’d requested.

  Hawksford leaned toward her. “Not to be rude, but I intend to excuse myself. I am not all that fond of little birds bathed in unidentifiable sauces.”

  Maybelle eyed him and hoarsely whispered back, “Don’t you dare leave me.”

  “I promise to return, love.” Hawksford planted a soft, warm kiss on the base of her neck, startling her out of her wits, and rose, leaving her at the table alone.

  And yes. Everyone witnessed it. Including Edmund, who stiffened in response.

  The men and women at the table started removing their gloves, preparing to eat their meal. Maybelle glanced across from her. Edmund was boldly examining her. He lifted his hand slightly above the table and slowly and seductively used his teeth to pull on the fingers of his white gloves. Watching her the whole while.

  Maybelle swallowed hard against the clenching dryness in her throat, realizing only at a gathering like this would he dare to remove his gloves so animalistically. What was worse, it made her want him more remembering how that mouth had kissed her, how those teeth had nibbled on her during their lovemaking.

  By the smirk on his face, she had no doubt he was doing it on purpose. And she had no trouble showing him up.

  Maybelle stripped her gloves off one by one, folded them neatly into one another, then slowly slid them down the length of her throat and straight into the front of her bosom. A place where no lady ever tucked her gloves.

  Edmund’s brows rose as he eyed her bosom. He shoved his gloves beside his plate, looking agitated.

  She smiled, pleased with the result. Just as she was about to pluck up her knife and fork, the side of a shoe brushed the leg of her skirt below the table. Her eyes widened as she glanced up. Was he actually flirting with her beneath the table?

  Edmund shifted in his seat, the gentle pressure of his shoe disappearing, and took to eating his partridge as if nothing had occurred.

  The tinkering of silverware against china surrounded her, along with the multitude of humming voices. Every now and then her gaze met Edmund’s across the table. And every time, she swore his heated gaze grew in intensity.

  By the time dessert was served, nearly an hour later, she was wishing she could crawl across the table, grab him by the collar, and have her way with him. If only to rid herself of the wretched yearning she felt for him.

  When supper was finally over—oh, thank goodness for that—Maybelle rose and quickly left the table, hoping to gain a sense of composure. The biggest dilemma the evening presented was trying to figure out how she was to approach Edmund without appearing to be cork brained.

  Hawksford reappeared and caught her arm just as she was leaving the dining room. “How was supper? Good?”

  “Well, I—” Maybelle paused and noted that Hawksford’s bronzed hair was scattered and hanging sloppily down into his eyes. And his cravat, gloves, and collar were missing. What was worse—she sniffed, leaning toward him—she smelled cognac. Which she hoped explained the visible wetness on the front of his vest.

  She lowered her chin. “You did not.”

  He grinned, his face flushing for the first time since she’d known him. “I did.”

  Maybelle leaned toward him. “You’ll be taking arsenic treatments for it, you realize.”

  “Hardly. A man of my experience always comes prepared.” Hawksford reached out and plucked her gloves out of her bosom as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He handed them to her. “What about you?”

  Maybelle grabbed her gloves from him and yanked them on, strangely annoyed that Hawksford had received more than she had. “I received a foot from under the table. Nothing more,” she muttered as they headed out of the dining room and back to the bustling festivities.

  “We shall have to remedy that. Immediately.” Hawksford held out his arm and gestured tow
ard the crowded rooms beyond. “Shall we instate a bit of public display?”

  She grabbed hold of his arm and smiled. “Yes. Only be sure not to get carried away.”

  “Me? Never. Now. Remove your gloves.”

  Lesson Twenty

  When you realize that your conquest is not adhering to the straight path you have set out for her to follow, it may be time to admit that perhaps the road you have paved is rather crooked and in desperate need of repair.—The School of Gallantry

  Edmund watched Maybelle as she rose and left the dining table, her burgundy gown shifting seductively around her slim body and small waist. The back of her soft long neck and her exposed, creamy shoulders melted him with the memory of their night together. A night that would forever be scorched in his mind.