As the crowd dispersed to return to their boxes, they encountered the group of inebriated young bucks they’d seen earlier, this time no longer accompanied by the two females. All five gentlemen looked three sheets to the wind.
“Come with us, Sin,” one called out. “We mean to tour the fleshpots of London, starting at Tavistock’s.”
“I’m afraid I must decline,” Damien replied with obvious anger. “You may have noticed I have a lady with me.”
“Zounds, bring her along. The more the merrier.” Raising his quizzing glass, he squinted and ogled Vanessa’s bosom.
She clenched her jaw in absolute torment, but maintained a fierce dignity as Damien swiftly drew her away from his friends.
Feeling grimly reckless and destructive, she feigned a smile as she glanced up at Damien. “I should indeed like to see a brothel. It might be highly… educational.”
“I don’t think so,” he replied, stiffening.
“Why not?” she asked coldly. “You said you would show me the dangers of the wicked underworld. What could be more wicked than a brothel?”
“Indeed, but they’re generally for the lower class of demimondaine. A discriminating Cyprian would not allow herself to be seen there.”
Vanessa came to a halt, making Damien stop also. “But I’ve heard of ladies attending such places in disguise. They wear half-masks to conceal their identity.”
“You wouldn’t care for the form of entertainment to be found there, sweeting, I assure you.”
“I think I should be allowed to judge that for myself. Besides, what do you care for my feelings?”
Anger gleamed darkly in his gray eyes as he stared at her.
When Damien still hesitated, Vanessa added with a chill smile, “I imagine those fine friends of yours could be persuaded to escort me, if you refuse.”
Chapter Fifteen
As he escorted Vanessa up the steps of the most elegant sin club in London, Damien seethed with anger. He was loath to bring her here, to expose her to the decadence in which he himself was so well-versed.
His mood had become bleak and dangerous as the evening progressed. Seeing her ogled and demeaned by his drunken acquaintances was even more repugnant than her being taunted by one of his former paramours about her jewels.
He’d chosen emeralds for Vanessa to complement her dark beauty, to set off the burnished fire of her hair. He couldn’t even remember what trinkets he’d settled on Elise Swann so many months ago. Indeed, his secretary had chosen the Swann’s gifts, and any similarity was purely coincidence. Perhaps he should have simply told Vanessa that, no matter how ill-bred such an explanation would have been. He should at least have offered an apology.
Both incidents had left an acid taste in his mouth… oddly like shame. Damien’s jaw hardened as he recognized the uncommon sentiment.
Until tonight he would have termed their visit to London a marginal success. In the past few days he had managed to withdraw from their relationship, at least physically.
He’d kept their opportunities for intimacy to an absolute minimum, resorting to cold formalities and denying himself all but the most unavoidable contact with Vanessa. It had proven harder to dampen his fever for her, to maintain even a small measure of control over his unquenchable desire, to crush his alarming feelings of tenderness.
He dared not allow any tender emotions between them. Midnight trysts and quiet conversations had no place in their current relationship. If he found himself regretting the loss, or yearning for the friendship they had once shared, if he felt the hollow echoes of his past in this current sojourn to London-loneliness and emptiness-it was a price he was willing to pay to be rid of his obsession.
Vanessa’s education was proceeding apace, and soon he would be able to wash his hands of her without his conscience flaying him. Or so he desperately hoped…
“Will we find your dissipated friends here?” she coolly interrupted his dark thoughts.
He gave a sardonic smile. “I trust not. Tavistock Court, where they were headed, specializes in flagellation. I doubt you have any desire to be flailed with rods or nettles to stimulate sexual arousal.”
“No,” Vanessa said with a delicate shudder.
“Madame Fouchet’s salon is known more for its stylized diversions than perversions.”
“There is a difference?” Vanessa asked archly, a facetious question Damien didn’t deign to answer.
Cursing her stubbornness, he rapped sharply on the door. Vanessa had insisted on coming here, even threatening to find another escort if he refused. But she would discover, Damien reflected darkly, a vast difference between the pleasurable carnal games she enjoyed with him in private and the sordid kind of public debauchery to be found at Fouchet’s. Shocked enough perhaps to keep away from such iniquitous dens in the future. If so, then it would be worth bringing her here, despite his grave misgivings.
They were admitted to an antechamber without question by a majordomo and greeted personally by Madame Fouchet, a Frenchwoman who seemed delighted by Lord Sin’s patronage of her establishment. If she was curious about Vanessa’s presence, she hid it well.
“And what pleasure may I offer you this evening, my lord?”
Damien favored her with a charming smile that hid his savage mood. “This lady has never attended a house such as yours, Madame. We would like to observe for a time, if we may.”
“But, of course,” Madame replied, as if his request was nothing unusual in a sporting house that catered primarily to aristocratic young bloods. “And will you be requiring a private room? Perhaps some companionship?” Her glance darted to Vanessa. “I would be pleased to offer a young man or two to entertain madame.”
Damien’s jaw tightened. “I believe we will choose our pleasure later. Meanwhile a measure of discretion would be advised. You have a mask for the lady?”
“But, of course.”
She produced a demi-mask with ease, suggesting that protecting one’s identity was an entirely common request. When she asked his lordship if he wished her to conduct a tour of the premises, Damien declined, saying he would see to the matter himself.
“As you wish, my lord. If you require anything at all, you need only ask.” Madame withdrew then, leaving her noble clients to their own devices.
Without speaking, Damien led Vanessa across the ante-chamber to an alcove. Pulling aside a velvet curtain on the wall, he exposed a glass viewing window, beyond which was an elegant salon with gilt furnishings. A half-dozen young beauties dressed in translucent gowns sat or reclined artfully in various sensual poses that displayed their charms to advantage.
“This is where clients select their partners and their particular entertainment for the evening,” Damien explained without inflection. “The hour is late. Those are the performers who have not yet been chosen.”
“Is that all they wear?” Vanessa asked in a weak voice.
Damien feigned a smile. “No. They usually change into appropriate costumes for the entertainment. Madame Fouchet excels at satisfying fantasies, and costumes are part of the fantasy. For gentlemen with a preference for young virgins, there are schoolgirls and dairymaids, who, of course, miraculously regain their virginity overnight. For more forbidden fruit, one may chose a governess or nun. If you aspire to the nobility, you can have a duchess or even a queen. Or if your tastes run to the exotic, you can order slave girls or an entire harem, although the expense for a harem is far greater.”
He paused, gauging her reaction. “There may very well be a harem in progress tonight. Would you care to see what delightful entertainment awaits, sweeting?”
Vanessa nodded hesitantly. The destructive recklessness that had driven her here still stirred her blood, yet, frankly, she was glad she was not quite sober.
Damien led her through a door to a long hallway, explaining as he went. “The rooms on this floor are used for group affairs. For more privacy there are a number of bedchambers above.”
He paused at another alcove, thi
s one boasting a much smaller viewing window than the main salon. He hesitated for a moment before moving aside with obvious reluctance. Vanessa could smell the scent of incense as she stepped up to the window.
The exotic scene was of an Eastern palace, with swaths of filmy draperies and whisping smoke. Several nude men reclined on silken cushions like pashas, wearing nothing but turbans. One of them sported a rampant erection as he avidly watched a nude dancing girl whose swaying body glistened with oil and decorative bangles. The other clients were being fed grapes and sweetmeats while their limbs and genitals were stroked with oil.
Vanessa drew back, her face flaming with shock and embarrassment. Whatever had made her think she could go through with this? But she couldn’t back down now, not after forcing Damien to bring her here.
He raised an eyebrow but refrained from comment. Leading her to the next alcove, he glanced through the window, then stepped back so she could look.
“The shipwreck is a popular entertainment here. The clients dress up as pirates and take captive a ship of female passengers.”
The scene was a ship motif lit by flaming torches, Vanessa saw. Several naked women were tied to masts. A man was taking his pleasure with one of them, his face flushed with exertion as his buttocks pumped fiercely between her white thighs.
In another corner three men lay with another bound female, jointly fondling her breasts and mons and thrusting a large ivory phallus between her legs while she writhed in apparent ecstasy.
“Ravishment is a popular fantasy,” Damien observed in a grim voice. “Here a man can have his wicked way without consequence. And adventurous ladies can pay for the pleasure of being one of the captives.”
Vanessa closed her eyes, feeling revulsion and arousal at the same time.
“You should probably learn the techniques of bondage,” Damien added coolly. “Your lover might well enjoy such pleasures.”
She winced, reminded of the future in store for her. When he led her to the final alcove, Vanessa steeled herself for what she might find.
“This one is merely a ballroom scene,” he commented. “Doubtless it began as a masquerade, but the ball guests would not long be content merely to dance and eat.”
The chamber, she saw, was brighter than the previous ones, with light from several chandeliers reflected by walls of gilded mirrors. Costumes and masculine garments lay strewn haphazardly about the floor, while on a dais where the musicians might normally play was a writhing sea of naked bodies. The guests appeared to change partners frequently and without discrimination. Vanessa drew back from the viewing window even more quickly this time, her face paling.
Watching her response, Damien was aware of a vast sense of relief. At least he hadn’t corrupted her so thoroughly that she could view an orgy with equanimity. Even through her mask her shock was apparent.
“Have you seen enough?” Damien asked, his tone challenging.
She nodded but retorted in an arch tone, “I never realized there were so many degrees of debauchery to be found.”
He managed a cynical smile. “Sweeting, you haven’t begun to see debauchery. In London there are hundreds of houses like this. On this street alone you can find any manner of sexual perversions… torture, men enjoying men or even beasts…”
“And you are the prince of debauchery,” she observed.
Damien felt his anger swell again. “Actually my taste is fairly simple. I find I don’t need much more than a willing woman to arouse me adequately… as you well know. Now,” he said, taking her arm, “if you are quite finished, perhaps you will allow me to convey you home.”
“But there is more, is there not?” Vanessa said defiantly, pulling free of his grasp. “Didn’t you say there are private bedchambers abovestairs? Surely I shouldn’t let this edifying opportunity go to waste. Or have you suddenly turned craven?”
His smile this time was icy. “Very well, angel, if you insist… Wait here a moment, and I will make arrangements with Madame Fouchet.”
He left her alone in the alcove, but Vanessa declined to watch the orgy. Although she would have much preferred to end her visit altogether, she refused to allow Damien to dictate to her any longer. In any case, the debauchery abovestairs couldn’t possibly be as shocking as the scandalous scenes she had already witnessed. And it was far better to know what to expect in the event she ever found herself in another pleasure house like this.
A few moments later, Damien returned with a key. “A room has been prepared for us.”
Leading her to the far end of the hall, he escorted her upstairs to another hall and then to one of several bedchambers. Ushering Vanessa inside, Damien shut the door softly behind them.
She glanced curiously around her. The dimly lit room was tastefully opulent, decorated in crimson and black with touches of purple. The large bed that dominated the center of the floor boasted black satin sheets, with a pair of silk sashes tied to each of the four posts. An odd assortment of paraphernalia lay unobtrusively on a side table- smooth ivory and tortoiseshell phalluses, glass balls, riding crops, bottles of oil, and several other wicked-looking items whose use Vanessa could only imagine.
Behind her, Damien leaned back against the door. “Do you want Madame Fouchet to find some strapping young bucks to service you? Doubtless she will have a footman or two who would enjoy performing such a special duty.”
The cool question was insulting, and Vanessa, spurred on by the punch she had drunk, rashly replied in the same taunting tone. “What would you say if I did?”
She saw his jaw harden. “I would say that you might find being fucked by strangers an interesting experience.”
“I might indeed,” she retorted, refusing to let him see how his crudity wounded her.
His own expression showed absolutely no emotion, but there was a glittering flash of anger in his silver eyes that warned her of the danger in teasing a wolf.
Wisely relenting, Vanessa glanced at the outer wall beside him. “Are there spy windows for this room?”
“I’m certain there are. But I’ve been assured of privacy tonight.”
“I believe I will pass on the footmen.”
“Good.” Damien pushed away from the door. “I don’t feel like sharing you just now.”
Crossing to her, he took her by the shoulders and bent his head. He kissed her, but there was no tenderness in his caress, only heat and hardness.
Defiantly, she returned his rough kiss, more inflamed than alarmed by the dark tension pulsing between them.
She could be the sort of woman he seemed to want tonight. What did it matter if he ground her heart to dust? Without it, she could make her way in his callous, dissolute world without looking back.
Their tongues warred, then mated, igniting a fever in her. It was as if Damien was bent on domination, yet Vanessa was determined he wouldn’t win this battle of wills between them.
His lips were hungry, ruthless, as his hands worked the clasps of her gown. The low-cut bodice fell away easily, liberating her breasts to his mouth’s ravishment. He bent over her, sucking her straining nipples until he forced a low moan from her throat. Her heart was hammering by the time he broke off.
His eyes would not free her from their intensity as he undressed her, starting with her mask and ending with her stockings. When she was fully naked, he led her to the bed and pressed her down on the cool satin sheets.
As she lay back, she was startled to realize that a gilt mirror was affixed to the ceiling overhead. She could see herself and all of her body’s secrets, her pale skin a starkly erotic contrast to the black satin.
“So you can watch yourself being pleasured,” Damien explained in a low voice.
She lay there willingly until he reached for a silk sash and began to tie her wrist to the bedpost. Vanessa tensed, gazing up at him warily.
“Surely you don’t mean to turn shy now?” he dared her. “You insisted on experiencing a brothel. This is your chance.”
She raised her chin at his
taunt. Damien had become a stranger tonight, ruthless and more than a little dangerous, but she didn’t believe he would ever actually hurt her. And she had become a stranger to herself.
“I only trust you will make the experience enjoyable,” she retorted, throwing the challenge back at him.
He smiled coolly though his eyes smoldered. “I promise to do my utmost.”
He completed his task of tying her arms overhead, but left her legs free, to her relief. She watched him as he went to the table and returned with an ivory phallus to sit beside her on the bed.
His scorching gaze swept over her nude body, touching her intimately. “This is my fantasy, angel, having you at my mercy.”
“Hasn’t that been the situation all along?” she replied tersely.
Her rejoinder was ignored. She felt the cool caress of the ivory on her skin as slowly he brushed it against her inner thigh.
Vanessa shivered as a rippling thrill of alarm and arousal ran through her. She could understand why some women enjoyed this fantasy-a powerful, sexual male, fully clothed and dominant, holding her captive, while she was naked and vulnerable to his every whim. The mound at the apex of her thighs was pulsing sweetly in anticipation of his attentions.
But Damien didn’t immediately gratify her desire. For a moment all he did was stroke her lightly with the smooth ivory.
Vanessa moved restlessly on the black satin, her thighs instinctively stretching wider, hungry for his caress. He seemed intent, however, merely on sexual torment. Without haste he brushed her feminine cleft with the ivory tip, circling the outer rim, careful not to touch the delicate bud of her sex itself.
“Damien,” she murmured in a pleading voice.
“Patience, sweet. I want you to be fully ready.”
She was ready. In the mirror she could see the ripe lips pouting beneath her moist pubic curls, shining with her own juices, sleek with readiness.
For several moments longer he toyed with her, sliding the ivory crest over her warm, slippery cleft, anointing it with the honeyed liquid that seeped from her body. His free hand moved to her tingling, hardened nipples, playing lightly.
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