by Sahara Kelly
She had sunk his cock deeply into her arse, Charlie could tell. This alone gave Charlie pause. Gracie had made no secret of the fact that she enjoyed being taken this way, but would permit few customers the opportunity. Mr. Johns must have been very well-behaved this evening for Gracie to go this far. Their bodies were aligned, tipped forward at the groin, allowing Charlie an unobstructed view of Gracie’s glistening cunt and swollen flesh.
Gracie moaned and pulled Neville’s hand to her breast, as his other one slid between her legs and found her clit.
He moved his hips slightly and Gracie moaned again.
For one blinding instant of time, Charlie was insanely jealous. She wanted to know what it was like. What was Gracie feeling right now? How was it to have a man buried in one’s darkness and to want his hands in one’s most secret places? She briefly closed her eyes as the image of Jordan Lyndhurst’s smile floated in front of her.
A groan from Neville distracted her, and Charlie resumed her watch as he threw his head back, lips curling away from clenched teeth.
Gracie was shivering now, hips thrusting in small but violent moves. She pressed a hand over Neville’s as he sunk his fingers deep into her cunt. Clearly their release was upon them.
As Charlie watched, Neville and Gracie tensed, and then Gracie yelled out her climax. Neville was silent but shuddering as Gracie spasmed above him.
The force of their orgasms blasted its way through the door and into an empty space between Charlie’s thighs. She ached for the same completion. She closed the peephole with a shaking hand, and smoothed the front of her dress.
What was wrong with her?
She was awfully afraid that the answer had long, firm legs, a very nice backside and brown eyes that tore at her soul.
She sighed and tried to put Jordan Lyndhurst out of her mind.
Her nightly patrol completed, Charlie moved to her quarters. There were still a few customers downstairs, and her girls would be busy for a couple more hours yet. But Charlie’s role for the evening was done. If there was a problem she’d be called, if not, Antonio would bar the doors a little after three o’clock in the morning, and the staff would begin the process of shutting down the house for what was left of the night.
“You all right, Miss Charlie?”
She jumped at the sound of Matty’s voice. “Matty. You should have gone to bed. Why are you waiting up for me?” Charlie chastised the woman gently, knowing they were both tired.
“It’s been an odd night, Miss Charlie, and no mistake. I couldn’t rest until I knew you were safe and tucked up in your own bed. Alone.”
“Matty!” Charlie was shocked. “After all we’ve been through, you actually thought…”
“It was that Colonel Lyndhurst. He bothered me no end. Just what did he think he was doing, coming here like that?”
Charlie sighed as Matty began brushing her hair. “He has no idea who I am, Matty. None at all. It was sheer coincidence that brought him here. That and a very nasty old injury. I saw the scar.”
She closed her eyes and for a second, firm flesh and a pair of well shaped buttocks flashed in front of her mind.
“Well, I don’t like it. Not at all, I don’t.”
“Neither do I, Matty. But we have no choice in the matter. In all probability, we’ve seen the last of the Earl of Calverton.”
“Yes. You’re probably right.” The woman finished Charlie’s hair with a little tug, and settled her onto her own pillow with a small hug. “Of course, dearie, I’m forced to remind you that we said that once before.”
Charlie needed no reminder. It was a long time after Matty left before her eyes closed and she let herself surrender to sleep.
Chapter Five
For the next few days, the Earl of Calverton and his man of business were kept fully occupied. Jordan had matters that needed his attention, and a project he wanted to complete.
That project was Madam Charlie.
The efficient Martin Jeffreys, who handled the Calverton business affairs, had demonstrated some surprise at being asked to bend his considerable talents in the direction of detective work.
“You want me to what, my Lord?” he’d said, looking dazed.
“I want to find out everything I can about this woman, Martin. You have the contacts. Find out who she is, where she comes from, that sort of thing, and report back to me. In exchange, I promise to sign all this stuff…” He waved his hand at the substantial pile of paperwork in front of him, “…without complaint.”
His dark eyes twinkled at his companion.
Jeffreys shook his head. “I’ll see what I can do, my Lord. “
“Excellent, my friend. Excellent.”
Jordan had rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He’d known after taking one look into those cool gray eyes that he wanted Madam Charlie. What he hadn’t realized was that this wanting would become a need, and might become an obsession if he didn’t do something about it soon.
For the past days he’d functioned perfectly normally, fulfilling his business obligations, visiting various friends and contacts in the City, organizing the Calverton financial matters to his satisfaction. Yes, things were looking very good for the estate, and his personal wealth was quite acceptable.
But he was constantly aware of a presence. A gray eyed ghost that haunted him. It was worse at night, when his head hit the pillow, his naked body felt the cool sheets and his cock did nothing but ache.
Two nights ago, he’d dreamed.
He was running his hands over her body as she ran her fingertips down his stomach to his groin. Her hair fell against his belly, bringing a moan to his lips and a smile to his face.
Then her mouth closed around him.
Within seconds he’d come, hard and strong, and woken himself up to the fact that he’d actually spent his seed while he slept, like some raw youth.
He’d angrily stripped the bed and put on fresh sheets himself, not wanting to shock the servants too much. They’d know, they always did. But he didn’t have to advertise the fact that he had lost control.
He’d slid back into the bed, dropped his head on the pillow and promptly got hard again as those damnable gray eyes laughed at him.
And that, Jordan Lyndhurst admitted to himself, was what he really wanted. He wanted to see those eyes smiling, laughing, and encouraging him on to bigger and better sexual achievements.
He wanted, above all, to see those eyes widen and dilate as she neared her peak, and to watch as they melted when she came with him deep inside her.
That was his ultimate project.
And like any seasoned campaigner, he knew he needed a strategy. Jeffreys was the first part of that strategy. Information was always vital, and never more so than now. With information he could begin to search for a weakness or a vulnerability he could use to achieve his goal.
And his goal was to bed her.
Further than that he couldn’t think, because for once, Colonel Jordan Lyndhurst was not thinking long-term. His cock was leading this assault, and completely ruling his usually organized and discreet thought processes.
Of course, in the back of his mind was the vague notion of making her his mistress. He didn’t have one currently, hadn’t had one since he became the Earl, and he thought that Madam Charlie would be ideal. He’d take her down to Calverton, maybe deed over one of the smaller properties to her and together they could while away the years…
Whoa.
Fortunately a knock on the door roused Jordan from a daydream that was looking suspiciously like the parson’s mousetrap. He needed a mistress, not a wife, and even if he did, a whore from a brothel was not eligible. In any way whatsoever.
Jeffreys entered with a nod for his employer and a sigh.
“Well, my Lord, I’ve failed you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I have failed you, my Lord,” repeated Jeffreys, seating himself in the large chair in front of Jordan’s desk and pulling a sheaf of papers from his leat
her satchel.
“In what way, Martin? This is so unlike you.” Jordan couldn’t help a little humor creeping into his voice. For Jeffreys to fail at something was akin to the Houses of Parliament falling down or the waters of the Thames fading to a trickle. It could never happen.
“I can’t find anything out about your Madam Charlie.”
Jordan sat up with a rush. “Nothing?”
“Well, very little.” He balanced a small pair of spectacles on his nose and referred to his notes.
Jordan held his breath.
“She certainly owns number 14, Beaulieu Crescent, free and clear. It was deeded to her as a purchased inheritance from the previous owner, one Anne Brody.”
“A purchased inheritance?”
“Yes. There were outstanding debts, which she paid, and the paperwork was then filed as an inheritance. She’s owned it for a little over a year now. Before that time, there are only rumors. It is as if this woman never existed until she inherited a brothel.”
Jordan exhaled through his teeth. “Impossible, man, impossible.”
Jeffreys flashed him a look of annoyance. “Well, of course it’s impossible, my Lord. Everybody who exists now has some kind of history. If you’ll permit me to continue?”
“Sorry.” Chastened, Jordan leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers and paid close attention.
“Her current financial situation is interesting and worth noting. The house, as I said is hers, free and clear. However, she has little in the way of personal assets other than the property itself. No major accounts, no private accounts, no personal fortune.”
“How can that be? That place is a goldmine, I’ve seen it myself. Always busy, always full of people who can afford to spend what she charges…” Jordan erupted with questions.
“If you’ll allow me the chance, my Lord, I’ll explain.”
“Sorry again.”
“My researches at the bank, however, led to a very interesting phenomena. Each girl in the house has an account for herself.”
Jordan’s mouth fell open.
“You may well look surprised, my Lord. I daresay I looked much the same when I realized this was happening. It would appear that Madam Charlie, who, I should add, personally opens these accounts for her girls, is putting money away for them on a regular basis and has done so for the past year. She is not keeping any of the cash they earn. She pays her expenses promptly and in full, she has no outstanding accounts with any of the local tradespeople that I could find, and the balance goes into the funds of the girls who’ve earned it.”
Jordan shook his head in disbelief.
“Furthermore,” continued Jeffreys.
“There’s more?”
“Oh yes. This is a very interesting task you set for me, my Lord. I had no idea what I’d find when I began my search for information. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, furthermore…” He pulled another paper from his satchel.
“Madam Charlie owns three large houses outside of London.”
“Aha. More brothels, I assume. That’s probably where she gets her money from.”
“No.”
“No?”
Jeffreys shook his head. “No. These houses were ramshackle old buildings that she bought very inexpensively. She is in the process of having them restored to livable conditions, and the first, which is now completely habitable, she has turned into a combination of Inn and boarding house for—how shall I put this—women of less than spotless reputations.”
another brothel, but a boarding house?”
“That is essentially correct, my Lord. Your Madam Charlie may run a brothel, but she is also doing her very best to improve the lot of other women who may not be as fortunate as to work in a place like the Crescent.” Jeffreys referred once more to his notes.
“In fact, I understand that the occupancy of the next two buildings is already full, and there are girls on a waiting list to get into the Crescent. That’s another interesting thing…” He paused, looking to Jordan for permission to continue.
Jordan nodded weakly.
“Madam Charlie is not your usual abbess. Her girls are carefully schooled, very carefully selected, and are there strictly by their own wishes. No one is forced to become a whore at 14 Beaulieu Crescent, they simply have no other choice and wish to make the best of it. There are no rooms that involve cruel practices, and the girls have the right to refuse any customer’s demands if they so choose. And they have, in fact, done so.”
“They have?” Jordan was completely fascinated.
“Oh yes.” A small smile crossed Jeffreys’ usually collected countenance. “It appears that recently a gentleman visited the Crescent without mentioning that he had a decided predilection for play that got rough. He assumed if he was paying for it that he could beat any girl he wanted with any thing he wanted—in this case his riding crop that he’d hidden in his jacket.”
“What happened?”
“Well, apparently he found out that being on the receiving end of such punishment wasn’t quite as much fun as he’d thought. His injuries made riding impossible, he had to use his carriage for the next few weeks, and he is rumored to have some interesting scars as souvenirs.”
Jordan couldn’t help it. He laughed out loud. “Good for her.”
Jeffreys’ face crinkled into a small grin. “Indeed, my Lord. All my researches into this young lady indicate a very shrewd mind coupled with a very kind, but retiring, personality. I had to look very hard to gather this information, you understand. She has hidden it very well indeed.”
“But nothing about her past, eh?”
“That’s where I hit a brick wall, my Lord. There are rumors, of course. One has her living at the Crescent for some time prior to her taking over, and dressing as a young man. Hence her nickname, Charlie. But no one seems to have any idea at all where she came from or when, or even if she has any other name. She has always been accompanied by her maidservant, a Mistress Matty Jones, but whether the Jones part is real or not, I couldn’t discover, and even if it was, there are too many Joneses for me to make any use of the name to trace their origin further.”
“Damn.” Jordan stood and paced restlessly to the window.
“There is just one thing, my Lord.”
Brown eyes fixed Jeffreys with intense interest.
“I did find out that both Mistress Jones and Madam Charlie share an unusual characteristic.”
“They do?”
“Indeed yes. According to the third parlor maid at Lord Duffington’s residence, who is stepping out with the knife boy from the Crescent, rumor says that Mistress Jones and Madam Charlie both carry scars. Burn scars. Mistress Jones’s are visible on her neck and shoulder, and Madam Charlie’s are supposed to be on her back, according to her maid.”
Jordan stood still, absorbing this tiny morsel of information. Burns. Scars. God knew he’d seen enough in battle to know the pain they inflicted. The thought of his Charlie being hurt like that was enough to make his breath catch in his throat. The thought that something or someone had brought that kind of agony to her soft skin was unbearable.
Suddenly the room felt close and the air stuffy.
“Jeffreys, you’ve done splendidly. Keep up the good work. I need a ride.”
And Jordan was gone before Jeffreys could pull out the rest of the papers he’d hoped to present to his Lordship that morning.
* * * * *
While Colonel Jordan Lyndhurst had spent the time since their meeting pursuing the interests of his position as the seventh Earl, his project, Madam Charlie, had been busy about her own affairs and trying not to think of the Earl at all. She’d succeeded in the first and failed dismally in the second.
It was her business affairs that had brought her this morning to a discreet residence on Harley Street, where she was facing the unpleasant task of confronting Dr. Ponsonby.
This physician, who regularly attended some of the highest titles in the Ton, had offered an arrangement that seemed useful at t
he time. His services as physician in exchange for a small financial retainer and “companionship” once a month.
Charlie, eager to protect the health of her girls, had agreed.
Then she’d discovered a few months ago, that the good doctor was not treating her girls with kindness or medical care, but often brutality. His actual doctoring was limited to lancing the occasional boil, leeching anyone who had anything resembling a fever, and dismissing a good number of complaints with the muttered phrase “women’s problems”.
Charlie had wasted no time in terminating his agreement, and the doctor was not pleased. In fact, he’d attempted to bully both her and her girls on several occasions and his recent visit to Dora was the straw that had broken Charlie’s back.
Today would be the end of it.
She marched to his door and rang the bell, leaving her carriage waiting at the curb and one of her maids inside it. For this visit, she’d prefer no audience.
She missed the elegant phaeton that was just turning onto Harley Street as she stepped inside, and never saw the alert gaze of the Earl of Calverton as he drew his horses to a standstill behind her carriage.
Dr. Ponsonby’s maid showed Charlie into his waiting room, a dusty and dim salon that could have used a fire and a thorough cleaning.
She heard voices from the next room, and deduced that he was with a patient. She walked across to the grimy window that looked out onto a small garden. Nothing was growing there except a couple of dandelions and some struggling weeds.
Suddenly, Charlie heard a scream.
Without a thought, she ran to the far door and flung it open, gasping at the sight that met her horrified eyes.
A woman was face down on some kind of table, and her back was lacerated in stripes from her shoulders to her waist. An attempt at bandaging had been applied, and was already staining with blood.
But what was worse was the doctor himself. With his breeches around his ankles, the doctor was thrusting himself in and out of the woman’s backside, oblivious to her cries.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” yelled Charlie, outraged beyond belief.
Lost in his lustful activity, the doctor hadn’t heard her come in and he jumped, his cock popping out from the girl’s arse and waving in the air. There was a trace of blood on it, and a red haze descended over Charlie’s vision.
