by Rye Hart
He lowered himself to lay on top of her chest, groaning softly as she ran her fingers through his hair.
“Was it good?” he asked, looking up at her tiredly.
She nodded, sighing as her eyes slipped closed. The night’s activities had worn her out. “More than good,” she responded.
They fell into silence after that, understanding that there was no more to say. They were both content and ready to sleep. Toby pulled a blanket over them and she was thankful for the warmth. She fell asleep with her arms wrapped around him and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel a deep, aching loneliness in her chest.
Chapter Nine
When morning came around, Marie woke slowly, her opening reluctantly. There was only a single window for light to pour in through, but it was enough to tell her that she had slept well into the morning. It didn’t take her long to realize she wasn’t in her own bed, though soon enough she remembered what had happened the night before.
Her head was pounding and as she brought her hand to her temple she saw a quick movement out of the corner of her eyes. It didn’t seem human, but then again she was extremely hung over.
“Good morning.”
She jumped and turned around so quickly that she nearly fell off the bed. Toby caught her before she could tumble back and brought her back to the middle of the bed, wrapping his strong arms around her. He was still so warm and welcoming and held a cup of coffee in his hands. He smiled and offered it to her, pressing a kiss to her temple.
They were both still naked and she couldn’t help but take in his masculine physique. He was just so damn handsome. She blushed but sipped at her coffee as he stroked her hair. It felt nice to have him in bed with her the next morning. She felt good. She felt refreshed and she didn’t feel used. She’d almost expected to feel guilty after a one-night stand.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.
“Better than I have in a long time,” she sighed, closing her eyes as the bitter coffee hit her tongue, waking her up almost immediately.
“I’m glad. I really wanted to make you feel good.”
“You did a good job.”
He smiled and stroked her hair out of the way, his fingers gentle just like him. She cleared her throat and started to stand, covering her body as best she could. He reached up and gently pulled the covers away, exposing her.
“You shouldn’t hide. You’re beautiful. Walk with confidence,” he urged.
She cleared her throat, feeling the heat rise in her body once more. She nodded, deciding it was best not to argue with him. He stood with her and offered his hand.
“Come with me.”
Marie took it and wrapped her fingers around his, feeling surprisingly safe with this stranger. Sure they’d gone on a date, had sex and spent the night together, but in the grand scheme of things she really didn’t know much about him. Still, she followed him without hesitation and smiled when she realized they’d come to a large bathroom.
He crossed the room and turned on the shower, motioning for her to come closer. He pulled her under the spray of the warm water and started washing her body. It felt amazing to have someone’s hands dancing over her skin. It made her feel like a goddess that was being worshipped.
Marie glanced up at him and chewed her bottom lip. “I never would have expected this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,when I think of paid sex or a brothel, I imagine that you pay, you have sex and you go home,” she said, meeting his gaze.
“We aren’t a normal brothel,” he explained, “sex is an important part of human nature and human existence, but it isn’t the most important part, especially for women.”
She nodded in agreement. “I think you’re the first guy to ever admit that.”
He laughed and shook his head. “We’ll just say I’m a little more mature than most men.”
Was he saying he was old? He didn’t look a day over thirty. She didn’t press, though and just let him continue.
“Madame Osei understands that the physical part of our services is necessary but it’s important to make the person feel empowered and confident. It builds the person up and that is what we are here to do. It’s a total package.”
“You can say that again.”
The both shared a brief laugh before finishing their shower. They took their time, washing each other thoroughly and enjoying the physical contact. Somehow Marie felt that this was far more intimate than the sex had been. She’d missed this more than any other part of a relationship. She missed the intimacy that didn’t revolve around sex and she was happy that Toby seemed more than eager to offer it to her.
When they finished they returned to the bedroom, wrapped in warm, fluffy robes that felt like they’d just been pulled from a dryer. Marie went about collected her clothes and glanced back at Toby, looking a bit disappointed.
“I hope it’s not rude, but I should be heading home.”
She didn’t want to leave but there were quite a few loose ends at home that she needed to take care of. Now that she was leaving, this was starting to feel like business again and she hated it. She wanted the illusion to last forever.
“Of course. I understand that you have a life you have to get back to,” he said, smiling. “I’m here at your disposal. I enjoyed that you stayed the night, but I understand you have things you need to do.”
Marie was almost surprised at how understanding he was, though she quickly remembered where she was. She was at a brothel. This was their job. Of course he wouldn’t care if she left. Suddenly, remembering that this wasn’t just a random hookup made her a little nervous. She started going through her purse, trying to find her wallet.
“I should tip you or something right?”
He gently took her hands and pulled them from her bag. “Leave me with a smile. That’s good enough for me.”
She looked up at him and smiled softly, suddenly calmed by his touch. As she pulled away he offered her dress to her and zipped her into it. Once she was dressed her turned her around and kissed her slowly, holding it a bit longer than necessary.
“I’ll see you in your dreams,” he said with another cunning smile.
When he released her she stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant by that. She’d figured out at this point that there was something strange about this place. There was something inhuman going on, but her logical mind wouldn’t let her accept it. She was here to enjoy herself and she just didn’t have it in her to ruin that by asking questions.
Marie walked down the long hall on her own for the first time and sighed as she approached the large golden doors. The main lobby was empty with the exception of a few cats playing near a pond. She loved that there always seemed to be animals around. It calmed her.
She made it through the warehouse, deciding to go through the bakery and pick up something for breakfast. A bell on the door ran as she entered and Marco turned to smile at her.
“Welcome back. Did you enjoy your evening?”
The question made her feel a bit guilty. She could remember the look of jealousy on Marco’s face all too clearly. “Yes. I had a wonderful time,” she didn’t need to give him all the dirty details. “But it’s about time I headed home and I was wondering if I could buy something for breakfast?”
“Of course you can,” he said, “what can I get you?”
“Maybe a muffin? I don’t know. What do you suggest? You’re the expert.”
He snorted. “Hardly,” he said as he reached into the cabinet and got a fruit tart, “this is something new I made. I’d be honored if you’d be the first to try it.”
She smiled and nodded, waiting patiently for him to hand her a slice of the tart. Instead he picked a piece up with a small fork and leaned over the case enough to feed her the bite. It was one of the most amazing things she’d ever eaten in her life. It was a bit sour at first but that quickly turned to sweetness as the crust all but melted on her tongue. She covered her m
outh and nodded.
“That is what I want.”
He grinned brightly and bagged it up for her, handing it over the counter carefully so as not to tip it.
“Enjoy.”
“I always do,” she said with a smile, paying for the food.
She could feel his eyes on her as she left and she had to admit that she liked it. Going to Mystique was a far different experience than what she’d expected. She never thought she would feel desired in a place like that. She’d always assumed that brothels were where desperate people went when they were out of options.
As she turned the key in her ignition, she smiled and glanced back at the building silently thanking Toby and the rest for leaving her feeling confident rather than used. It was a change of pace and one she knew she could get used to.
She pulled out of the parking lot, leaving her old self behind.
Lord Pennington’s Christmas Wish
Chapter One
The stallion was a magnificent beast, worth every guinea that Lord Richard Pennington had paid for him. A powerful chestnut with a black mane and tail, El Diablo allowed no one but his owner to mount him and that concession had come with painstaking effort, which he willingly bestowed upon the steed. Perhaps it was because he had so much in common with the high-spirited, purebred thoroughbred which the proprietors of Tattersall’s knew to keep for him because of his discerning eye for horseflesh.
Lady Lenore, his fiancée, had once, in laughing protest, told a gathering of strolling ladies along Rotten Row that horses meant more to His Lordship than even she did. Lord Richard, with a caressing glance of his dark eyes, and a gallant kiss of her hand, had assured her that she was preeminent in his affections and Lady Lenore had been mollified.
They were to wed in just two months, etching into stone their perfect matrimony in a Winter Wonderland celebration sure to bring envy in the hearts of all attending debutantes.
El Diablo recognized Richard as his master because Lord Richard had bested him. He had done so with firmness and with kindness, appreciating the animal’s spirit while curbing his wildness. But El Diablo was not content to be subdued and Lord Richard knew it. He recognized the trait. Wildness called to wildness in the bond between the horse and his master: Lord Richard would not surrender sovereignty of his mount, and El Diablo would never completely surrender to the superiority of any rider. Each one, man and horse, had a pedigree, brains, drive, and a level of arrogance which was followed up with the ability to deliver what was expected of them.
El Diablo was the center of attention when Richard Pennington rode him afternoons on Rotten Row. There was no horse that could compare to him. Nor was there a rider who could compare to Lord Richard in the saddle. Until that day in November when Richard had gone out riding with Lady Lenore and she had proposed a gallop. Ever eager to let El Diablo show his prowess, Lord Richard agreed. They took to Pennington land that Richard had ridden on hundreds of times. He knew every hillock, every slope in the verdant green property that had been home to the Pennington family since the first Earl had been given his title by William III.
No one could be sure what had happened to make El Diablo, while riding at full gallop, suddenly halt and throw his rider high into the air, only to fall to ground in a crumpled heap. Lady Lenore had been horror-stricken.
Richard could still hear her voice, months later, ordering and then beseeching him to get up. He recalled her lovely figure, her face stricken with fear and frustration when he told her that he could not move and that she would need to return to the manor and notify his father that medical attention would be required.
The engagement was, of course, called off. No one would have expected a woman of Lady Lenore’s beauty to wed a man who could no longer be a husband worthy of her. The debutantes regretted the loss of their dancing partner, the married ladies sighed that the handsome young lord would no longer be able to flirt with them, and the dowagers whispered that, now that Lord Richard was unable to fulfill his manly obligations, the third son, Gerald, would one day become the next Earl. Not obviously, of course; Richard Pennington was still the heir and unless he sired a child, Gerald was the nominal heir in any case, but when the time came for Gerald to wed, he would be viewed as the future Earl and not the third son. Such a circumstance vastly improved his matrimonial prospects, although Gerald, enjoying his youth and privilege at university, had no thoughts of his obligations to the title as of yet.
His father had wanted to shoot El Diablo, but Richard had refused permission. The horse was his property. He would live. No one would ride him now, fearful of what could happen to them, if El Diablo had been able to throw a rider as experienced as Richard. The horse was let out of his stall daily and allowed to run loose within the fenced-in grounds of the pasture, his own master again. Richard could see the horse from his bedroom; once, when the animal had looked up toward the house, Richard had saluted him. El Diablo was the master.
He dreamed of the beast every night. That was how his slumber passed. During the day, Lord Richard spent much of his time in his bedchamber, even taking a tray there rather than sharing the family dining. His bedroom had been moved downstairs for ease of movement. Lady Constance had hesitantly suggested that a chair with wheels could be obtained so that Richard could move freely about the downstairs, but her son had angrily rebutted her suggestion. His valet attended to his needs, bathing him and dressing him, and enduring the flashes of temper that were as much a part of the ruined young man as his useless legs.
His father and mother both tried to talk to him about his condition and ways that could at least mitigate his circumstances, but Richard had refused to discuss the matter. To make his point, he had taken to keeping his pistol close by his side at all times; a silent warning that, should his fate become too much to bear, he had the means to bring it to an end. His mother had run weeping from his room at that point, and his father had stood in silence for a long time before taking his leave.
The pistol was from his days as an officer. Richard, the second of four sons, had followed family tradition and obtained a commission in the cavalry, but when his elder brother and the heir had died of a fever, Richard resigned from the Army and returned home. His father and mother, still grief-stricken, had welcomed him, their hearts were not yet healed from Edward’s death. His younger brothers were still at Cambridge. Richard had accepted the responsibilities of his position and within six months, he was engaged to the very lovely and accomplished Lady Lenore Crittendon, who had made her debut the year before and was acknowledged as the most desirable of prospective wives. The only reason that she had not been married the year she came out was because none of her suitors was deemed good enough for a woman of Lady Lenore’s beauty. That is, until Richard had asked for a waltz at a ball given by the Duchess of Devonshire at which England’s titled elite had been in attendance. All eyes had been on the couple and no one had been surprised, one month later, when their engagement was announced.
That happy time seemed very long ago. But for the first time since his eldest son’s death, the Earl was galvanized into action. He spoke with medical experts, consulted renowned clergymen, and determined that, whether Richard liked it or not, he had a responsibility to his family. Lady Constance was doubtful of her husband’s plans, but she could think of no better solution. There was help, whether Lord Richard wanted it or not.
When Cressida Lockwood was ushered into the study, the Earl rose to greet her.
“Miss Lockwood, you come highly recommended,” he began the interview. At his side, Lady Constance was quietly assessing the self-assured young woman who had responded to her husband’s discreet advertisement for a nursemaid.
“Thank you, my lord. I have worked with numerous patients deprived of lower extremity movement,” Cressida replied.
“Yes, and you’ve had some success, I see. Dr. Melcher provided me with details and testimonials.”
“Dr. Melcher is very kind. There are some cases which cannot be improved, as you
know. There are others which, although movement will not return, can be enhanced by building up the strength in the upper extremities. And there are others, although I must caution you that they are few, where the patient has actually regained full mobility.”
“Oh, Miss Lockwood, if you could do that for our son, we would be so grateful,” Lady Constance said with heartfelt sincerity.
“My lady, I will do everything in my power, but it depends upon the extent of the injury. Dr. Melcher examined your son after the accident and it is his belief that some physical ability could be restored to Lord Richard, but there will be much work involved.”
The Earl looked at his wife. “My son is afflicted with, shall I say melancholy?” he told her sadly. “We have been unable to convince him to be grateful that he is still alive.”
Miss Lockwood studied the Earl and Countess. She was not an unsympathetic woman, but she wondered anew how anyone could fail to understand the enormity of the change that altered a life when mobility was denied. “My lord,” she said, “I should be very surprised indeed if your son were anything but melancholy. I expect that he is enraged.”
“Well, yes, he does have rather a temper.”
“Good,” Miss Lockwood said, rising to her feet. “It’s much more difficult when a patient is lethargic and has already given up. I shall use his anger for his own good. But you must allow me to be the lightning rod for his temper and you must agree not to interfere. He will provoke me, he will threaten me; he will tell me to leave. You must not permit this. If I am to help your son regain his movement, I must be the one who rules him. If you cannot accept those terms, we must not waste any more of each other’s time.”
Chapter Two
As the Earl told Lady Constance later that evening in the privacy of their bedchamber, he hoped that he had always been a reasonable man. But to be told his business by a mere girl, one of ordinary breeding.
