by Alyson Chase
His ears turned bright red. “Aw, go on with you. You’ll be making Mrs. Hutchins jealous, you will.”
“So, you admit there’s something there to be jealous of.”
He shooed her from the back room. “Scoot. Or I’ll sell to that Friday-face next door.”
“I can’t have that.” Although having such a sullen man as her new neighbor didn’t exactly fill her with glee, either. But she could handle living next to a cranky man. “I’ll see you next week.” She gripped the door’s handle.
“Wait.” Mr. Ridley shuffled towards her. He held out a woody stem with a delicate starburst of white petals.
“It’s beautiful.” Colleen took the flower and rubbed one of the leathery leaves between her thumb and forefinger. She slid the stem into the buttonhole of her old coat.
“Smells even better,” he said gruffly. “It’s bridal wreath. Supposed to bring you luck.”
From the depths her life had sunk to six months ago to being a week away from purchasing her dream, she didn’t know how much more luck she needed. But she supposed every bit helped.
“Thank you.” She squeezed the man’s arm and slipped out the door. Her good mood lasted three blocks. Colleen stopped in front of the remnants of her old home. The burned-out shell of the structure remained, a discarded carcass. The bottom floor of the building next to hers had also burned, but the owner had rebuilt. A new tenant was slapping paint on a sign above the front door announcing a bakehouse.
Colleen stared at the charred pile of rubble that represented eight years of her life. She’d lived there since the day of her marriage at age nineteen. Eight years of her life, and it didn’t feel real. Her memories of that time were already fading, becoming obscured, as though she was looking through a window covered with a heavy sheen of oil, distorting all the images. Nothing in that time felt as real as her life now at The Black Rose.
As a woman, her husband had owned everything. She’d worked in the clock shop, increased its profits, and it all belonged to Mr. Bonner. Nothing was hers. Even if she’d worked outside the shop, her wages would have belonged to her husband, as well. As a widow, her rights had changed.
Her throat thickened. Of course, she’d give all those rights up if she could go back in time and change what had happened six months ago. But she couldn’t deny the heady rush when she received her pay each week and knew it was hers, and hers alone. The Black Rose had provided her with the means to determine her future. For that, she owed Lord Sutton a large debt of gratitude.
Yes, the club was immoral. Colleen chewed on her lower lip. But a proper establishment would most likely never be managed by a woman. Strange to think a den of iniquity was more forward-thinking than the rest of London society. Perhaps … perhaps the club wasn’t all bad. And like the baron had said, no one was hurt by it, except perchance the salvation of some everlasting souls. But that was a decision best left up to God and not hers to pass judgment upon.
Eyes dry, she turned and walked away from her past life. Night was falling by the time she reached the club, and she suspected a large blister had formed on her right heel. The footman opened the door for her and gave her a polite nod. “Molly’s been looking for you, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Looking longingly at the door to her apartments, Colleen turned into the main room of the club instead and searched for the girl. Molly wasn’t dancing with the members. Or drinking champagne. Or sitting down to a game of cards. Nowhere semi-respectable. Colleen turned for the unrespectable parts of the club.
She found her in the Cellar Room. Not an actual cellar, but the walls and floors were a dark grey stone and a damp chill hovered in the air. It was the name Colleen had given the room. She preferred it over what the girls called it – the Dungeon.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim torch light. About fifteen members gathered on hard benches to watch the scene playing out before them. None of the spectators made a sound, either too awed or too afraid of the consequences. And Colleen could see why. Molly stood in the center of the room wearing a gown of crimson organza. The skintight pantaloons that were visible beneath the dress made her look dangerous. Fierce. The outline of her bare breasts beneath the sheer fabric did little to soften the image. Molly looked like a female pirate.
The whip in her hand didn’t hurt that image, either.
A naked man knelt before her. Even in the low light, Colleen could see the long, red welts marking his back. Four leather cuffs wrapped around each of his knees and wrists and were attached together with thongs.
Molly placed her booted foot to his side and tipped him over. He landed on the stone with a groan.
“Get up!” Molly cracked the whip. It didn’t seem to strike the man, but the noise was enough of a motivation for him to try to right himself. The ankle and wrist harness hampered his efforts, an effective hobble. After two more cracks of the whip, he managed to heave to his hands and knees. He crawled towards Molly and kissed her boot.
Colleen slid into a spot on the wall next to Lucy. “How much longer?” she whispered.
Lucy shrugged. “Almost done, I think,” she murmured. “The scene started with him forced into his restraints by four of our men. He was cursing Molly’s name. Now he is all slavish devotion.”
Colleen could see that. The man practically purred when Molly smoothed his hair, a glazed look softening his face. Molly bent over and whispered something in his ear. She stroked the handle of the whip down his spine and between the cheeks of his bum.
The man mewled and arched his back.
“She is skilled,” Colleen admitted. Had someone put a whip in Colleen’s hand, she’d as like end up choking herself with it than control anyone else.
“She should be.” Lucy shifted, leaning closer to Colleen. “I heard she’s been on the streets since she was twelve. You can learn a lot in that time. And that’s why I watch as many of her dominance scenes as I can. To learn from her.”
Colleen rubbed at the ache in her chest. She didn’t care overmuch for Molly, but her heart broke for the little girl she’d been. And that any man would touch one so young …. Colleen clenched her fists, and her glare landed on the unfortunate male who sidled through the door.
Lord Sutton closed the door behind him, caught her look, and raised an eyebrow. He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, looking content to wait.
Colleen turned from his scrutiny, her scalp prickling. Insufferable man. It was easy to forget his kindnesses when, with just one look, he could make her as uncomfortable as a cat in a room full of dogs.
Molly lashed her customer twice more before grabbing his member and tugging none too gently. With the handle of the whip, she pointed at one of the house servants lounging in the shadows. The man wore breeches but no shirt, and claw marks streaked across his stomach. He stepped forwards and unbuttoned his falls.
Molly cracked the whip, and the tail bit into the customer’s buttock. “You injured that young man when he was kind enough to restrain you. I believe he deserves some recompense.” She kicked him before striding to the servant and stroking his freed prick. He hardened quickly.
“Yes, Mistress.” The bound man shuffled forwards on his hands and knees. With his wrists bound to his knees, he had a hard time raising his head high enough to put his mouth on the servant’s length but he finally managed.
Wet, slurping noises filled the chamber. Colleen averted her eyes, looking everywhere but at the tableau. More than one of the male spectators had unbuttoned his own falls and was bringing himself pleasure. The wife of one of the members knelt before her husband and took him in her mouth.
Colleen stared at the floor. There was nowhere safe to look. Sutton shifted, drawing her attention. He had one leg crossed over the other, the toe of one top boot planted firmly next to his other foot. She looked up the dark leather shafts, up to the trousers tucked into the tan-colored band circling the tops of the boots. His thighs bulged behind the wool of his black trousers,
and …. Her cheeks heated. Was he hard behind his falls? Was he watching this licentiousness and becoming aroused?
She darted a glance at his face and lost her breath. One of his shoulders was propped against the wall, and he was facing her, ignoring the scene in the center of the room. He stared at her, unblinking, his countenance indecipherable. The man was an enigma. He rarely showed his thoughts or emotions, yet he seemed to always know hers, a condition that was becoming increasingly annoying.
Soft moans filled the chamber, and she didn’t know if it was the house servant’s pleasure or that of the other members’ that she heard. The gentle sucking noises developed a rhythm, each tug sending a low thrum to her center. The tips of her breasts tingled, and she stared into Sutton’s eyes, finding it impossible to look away. The air in the chamber warmed, grew heavy from the heat of all those bodies and the scents of their desire.
She shifted her thighs together, trying to will away the ache. The moans grew louder. The delicate sucking sounds picked up tempo. Sutton’s eyes were black in the dim light, dark, burning embers. She needed to look away but was ensnared. Sweat dampened her back, rolled down her skin, joined with the moisture pooling between her thighs.
And still he stared at her.
Her breath clogged her throat. Her chest heaved. Slowly, he pushed off the wall. Took a step towards her.
Molly planted herself in front of Colleen, severing the connection.
All the air left Colleen in a hiss, and she slumped back against the cold stone. She needed to gain control of herself. She was a widow and a woman of business, with no time for such nonsense as … well, as whatever that was.
She cleared her throat. “You wanted to speak with me?” she asked Molly. “I can wait until after your scene.” Glancing over the girl’s shoulder, she took note of the house servant gripping the customer’s hair, yanking the man’s mouth over his length in deep, rough strokes. “It is almost over?”
Molly tapped the handle of the whip into one hand. “Bernard can wait. I can have him service every male in the room as his punishment if need be. But I did want to speak with you.”
“About?”
“Mr. Harper. He’s one of Suzy’s regulars. I want him.”
Colleen waited for more, but the girl remained silent. “That’s it? You want something so you think you should have it?” Molly hadn’t had parents for most of her life, Colleen had to remind herself. No one to teach her the sins of selfishness.
“Yes.” Molly dropped the tail of the whip and drew circles on the floor with it. “I’m a better courtesan than Suzy. Why shouldn’t I have him?”
“And how does Mr. Harper feel about this?”
Molly looked at her scornfully. “He’s a man. He’ll feel what I tell him to.”
“I hope you don’t hold all members of my sex in the same low regard.” Sutton stepped behind the girl’s shoulder. “We don’t all care to be led around by our … noses.”
“My lord!” Something dark flashed across Molly’s face before she spread her lips in a pleasing smile. Turning, she dropped a saucy curtsy. Resting her hand on his forearm, she leaned close. “There are exceptions to the general rule, of course. But I would love a chance to prove you wrong. Show you just how sweet life can be when guided by the firm hand of an experienced mistress.” She tapped his shoulder with the whip’s handle. “It can be a battle of wills. Trap us in a room for a couple of hours and see who’s the first to crack.”
Sutton leaned away from her and side-stepped towards Colleen. “As delightful as that sounds, forgive me if I pass. I have no desire to break or be broken myself.”
Molly inhaled deeply, and her breasts pressed against the organza, her hard nipples poking against the fabric. “Pity.”
Colleen stepped between them, blocking the baron’s line of sight to that exhibition. “My answer is no, Molly. Mr. Harper can request any girl he wants when he visits the club, and if he wants Suzy, he’ll get her. I won’t assign him elsewhere.”
“But—”
“That’s final.”
“Of course, mum.” Molly wrapped the tail of the whip around her palm. “I’d best get back to my slave.” She tossed her head, her sheaf of silky, nutmeg hair swinging, and marched across the room.
Sutton followed Colleen from the chamber. “You’re tough.”
“I have to be to keep people like her in line. I had thought of asking you if I could fire her, but as Molly said, she is one of the better courtesans. The club’s profits would take a hit if she weren’t here.” Colleen turned left, away from the main room, and made her way through the back halls to the second staircase leading to her private rooms. The baron was only a step behind, so she kept her back rigid, her steps firm, even though she longed for a bucket of ice water for her feet and a hot bath for the rest of her body. “Did you want something, my lord?”
“I wanted to know where you’d been all day.”
She slipped past her half-open door to her office, but he pushed it wide, filling the frame.
She tossed her reticule on her desk. “Out.”
“Out? Is that all the answer I am to receive?”
“It’s all that you’re owed.” She tugged off her gloves. “You’re my employer, not my father.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And as your employer, I expect a certain level of responsibility from those under me. You’re supposed to manage this place, not go traipsing around London. Unattended, no less.” He stalked towards her, and she backed around her desk. He followed. With his bushy beard and wild black hair, he was the very image of a rampaging Visigoth, or what she imagined one to look like.
Barbarians didn’t scare her. She planted her feet and tipped up her chin. “If you are displeased with my managerial style, I’m happy to conclude my employment now rather than next week. I’ll just take my premium and get out of your way.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed. “I apologize. When I couldn’t find you, and after that letter …. I apologize. Of course, I don’t want you to leave.” He pulled out her chair from behind the desk. “Please, sit.”
Ignoring the pain flaring in her heel, she stepped to the chair. She tugged off her coat and lay it across her desk before dropping into her seat.
He lowered his gaze, his dark green eyes growing hooded. “You’re in pain. Where?”
Colleen gaped. “There’s no way you can know that.”
“And yet, I do.” Pulling around another chair, he sank down in front of her. His gaze tracked up and down her body, assessing. “Are you ill?”
“No. I’m quite well.”
“Are you suffering a megrim?”
She gritted her teeth. “I said—”
“And I can play this guessing game all night until I hit upon what ails you.” He fingered the flower in her coat. “Why don’t you save us both the time and trouble?”
“It is of little account. I walked too far and my foot is sore.” Gripping the edge of her desk, she scooted her chair under the tabletop.
Sutton dragged her back around. “Let me see.” Picking up her left foot, he studied her face, and replaced it with her right.
Colleen tried to keep her expression even. It was blasted annoying how the man could see past her façade, always knowing what she felt and thought. He hadn’t believed her when she’d told him she was content living with her cousin and had installed her at this club. And she suspected he didn’t believe her when she feigned indifference to the activities that took place within these walls.
He unlaced her boot, and she didn’t argue. It was highly improper, of course, but her standards of propriety had become distorted these past couple months. A gentleman’s hand on her stockinged ankle was hardly enough to blink an eye over. When the worn leather of her boot slid over her blister, she winced, and then sighed in relief when cool air caressed the wound.
Trailing the tips of his fingers along her heel, the baron said, “That’s a beautiful example of Stephanotis floribunda.”
Colleen bent her knee and looked at her heel. “There’s a name for my blister?”
He laughed, the deep rumble crashing over her like waves on the shore. Fine lines softened the hard set of his eyes, and the wild beast suddenly looked human.
Her heart twisted like the mainspring in a clock, setting things in motion in her body that she didn’t want to acknowledge.
He nodded at her coat. “I was speaking of the flower.”
“You know the Latin names of flowers?” The baron didn’t even look like the type of man to know the common names.
“Botany is a hobby of mine.” He rested her ankle on his thigh, close to his hip. “One I hope to pursue more fully in the future.”
A slight tingle spread across the arch of her foot and down through her heel. His muscles made a hard bed beneath her ankle and one of the buttons on his falls just scraped her big toe. She was inches away from something most inappropriate.
She shifted her hips on the seat. “I can’t see a man like you studying plants. Ripping them out to plant a crop, perhaps.”
With one hand, he cupped the top of her foot. He stroked his fingers up to her toes and back down, pressing his thumb into a fleshy pad on her sole. His movements were slow, the pressure delicious. She could hardly sit still.
“I’m happy to surprise you.” He raised her foot, and Colleen pushed the fabric of her skirt tight between her legs. From his angle, he might look right up her petticoat. Lowering his head, he blew cool air across the blister. “That flower is fairly unusual here in England. Where did you get it?” He lowered her foot back to his thigh and picked up her other. Her blisters no longer hurt, but she missed the soft caress of his breath. Liked the way his lips pursed inside the circle of his beard. He untied the laces of her other boot.
“A florist in Wapping.” Would he furnish the same treatment on her left foot? It felt like thick syrup coursed her veins, making her limbs heavy, her body languid. She needed to keep talking, anything to prolong his ministrations. “I’m buying the flower shop with my premium. It’s a lovely store, and the owner is the sweetest old man. I’ve wanted to buy it for years.”
