by Amy Sandas
Portia scooted closer and put her arm around her.
Lily wanted only to set her sisters at ease. “I am fine, really. One of the gentlemen recognized me. He knew I should not have been there, and he rescued me.”
This was going to be tricky. She could not allow Emma’s astute perception to detect the lie in her tone. And if she created too much mystery, Portia would never let the matter drop.
“His only request was that his identity remain entirely unknown.” Lily steadied her voice, hoping her sisters would accept her words at face value. “His reputation—his family—would suffer if anyone knew he had been present at such an establishment.”
Lily turned to her younger sister, pleading with her gaze. “Please, Portia, you must stop any further investigation. I would not betray this gentleman after he saved me from what could have been a disastrous fate.”
Portia was clearly confused. And rebellious. “But the information would be revealed only to us. We could keep it from becoming known any further.”
“No,” Lily replied sternly. “I would betray this man to no one. Not even you.”
Lily could see the refusal in Portia’s eyes. She would not easily understand. Lily met her sister’s incredulous gaze and silently pleaded for her acceptance.
After a tense moment, Emma spoke. “I think we must honor Lily’s wishes, Portia. Can you send a message to this Nightshade to call off any further investigation?”
Portia hesitated, still staring at Lily. “If that is what Lily wants, yes, I can contact him.”
“Thank you,” Lily replied, hoping she had evaded the worst of the inquiry. Shifting her attention to Emma, she added, “Now, I wonder if I might retire. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
“I think we could all use some sleep,” Emma agreed. “Come, I will walk you up to your room.”
Lily was extremely grateful for Emma’s practical nature just then. She knew that if given the opportunity, Portia would very likely press for more information. Lily had done all the lying she was capable of for one day. If she was to maintain the secret of her agreement with Lord Harte, she would need to be more mentally alert than she was at present.
“Perhaps you should send off the note to Nightshade before you retire,” Emma suggested to Portia.
It was clear Portia still would have liked to refuse but did not. “Yes. I will do it right away. Good night. Or should I say, good morning?” she added. The front window revealed the light of morning spreading through the city.
“I am so proud of how both of you handled the events of last night.” Emma’s tone turned somber. “I will never forgive myself for not being here.”
“You could not have known Hale would preempt his deadline.”
“Speaking of…how did you fare last night?” Portia inquired with an arched brow.
Lily tensed at Emma’s heavy sigh.
“I won more than enough to pay Hale. If he had just waited until today as he had indicated he would…”
“Please, Emma,” Lily entreated, “there is no changing what happened. I am home safe. Can we not put this all behind us and move forward?”
“I agree,” Portia said. “Once Hale is in custody, facing the full consequences of his crimes, we need never think of it again.”
“No,” Lily interjected with some force. “We shall not report Hale to the magistrate.”
“You must be joking,” Portia exclaimed, her eyes wide. “He deserves to be hanged for this. Kidnapping is a capital offense. He sold you to a brothel, Lily.”
“I know. I was there,” Lily replied. “What do you think will happen once the ton discovers this little tale? The minute we report this, everyone will know where I was tonight. There will be no coming back from that.”
Lily glanced at Emma, pleading for her sister to see the sense in keeping everything quiet. Her older sister studied her carefully, her expression set with concern, but she said nothing.
Lily looked back at Portia.
“Please, Portia, I do not fear Hale. He has his money and no further cause to threaten us. But I do not think I could bear it if this ignoble adventure were to become common knowledge. I am home. I am unharmed. Can we please let the rest of this go?”
Finally, Emma offered her support. “Of course, Lily. We can talk more about what we plan to do after we have had a chance to restore ourselves.” As they left the room, Emma added in a stern tone to Portia, “Do not forget to send that note.”
“Go on to bed,” Portia called after them. “I will take care of it.”
The two sisters made their way upstairs in silence, neither of them particularly inclined toward discussion. Emma, at least, had always honored Lily’s tendency to keep things to herself.
Their shared appreciation for silence was perhaps one of the few ways they were alike. Even so, Lily did not fully relax until she was alone in her bedroom.
She undressed slowly. As she did, she couldn’t help but recall what it had felt like to have Lord Harte’s strong, masculine hands smoothing each article of clothing over her body. By the time she drew her nightgown on and curled up beneath the cool sheets, her skin felt heated and sensitive from the inside out. She might have thought it another aftereffect of the drug if not for the way the mental image of Lord Harte’s tortured gaze consumed her thoughts.
Despite the tumult swirling through her mind, she fell quickly into a deep sleep.
Eleven
Avenell Slade lounged back against the padded seat of the carriage, but he was not relaxed.
He withdrew a snuffbox from his coat pocket. It was an antique, made of gold and inlaid with onyx, mother-of-pearl, and lapis lazuli in a flowered motif.
He didn’t take snuff, but the box was a treasured possession. It had once belonged to his grandfather, a man Avenell remembered from his early youth as being noble and good. The snuffbox served as a vital reminder of how the traits of the father did not inevitably pass down to the son.
He rotated the box in his long fingers, flipping it this way and that, sliding his thumb over the textured lid, testing the hinges and clasp. The movements had long ago become habitual and were often performed when he was contemplating something of importance.
Tonight, his manipulation of the snuffbox felt awkward, and Avenell realized his hands were shaking. He closed his fist around the heirloom to cease the trembling of his muscles. But the quaking went too deep. It infused his entire body and had from the moment he had stepped forward in Pendragon’s drawing room to claim Lily as his own.
He slammed his fist down hard on his thigh. What the hell was he thinking? He knew nothing about keeping a mistress and even less about innocent young ladies.
His visits to Pendragon’s had been sufficient. There had been no reason to desire anything else. It had taken him a long time to learn how to manage the sensations he could not control. He accepted that he may never be able to withstand the intimate touch of another human being—would likely never experience pleasurable responses to a lover’s hands on his skin.
He had found ways around his limitations. He had discovered how to give pleasure and, by extension, how to enhance his own experience, though indirectly.
It had been enough.
But then, one look into soft gray eyes and his careful existence had been blown to hell. His unprecedented desire for Lily Chadwick was stronger than anything he had ever known. It was as if he suddenly felt everything, all at once. He experienced a primitive need to protect her even as he suspected she was in possession of an inherent strength that she seemed unaware of. The mysterious shadows in her eyes suggested a wealth of secrets he was dying to discover. He wanted to know every quiet part of her and uncover what she kept hidden from the rest of the world.
She made him yearn for pleasures previously unexplored. And for that reason, he had to be careful.
The depth of his
reaction to her overwhelmed him. It terrified him.
He had to be mad to consider an intimate arrangement with a woman like her.
And she more so to have agreed to it.
Before he could question his sanity any further, the carriage reached its destination. It was time to question someone else.
Sliding the snuffbox back into his pocket, Avenell stepped from the vehicle and ascended the steps of Pendragon’s pleasure house. It was very late—or quite early, as morning was already approaching—and most revelers had gone. A footman still manned the door and, with a subtle bow, allowed Avenell to enter.
“Where is Madam Pendragon?” Avenell asked. “I wish to speak with her privately.”
Without any change in expression, the footman gestured toward the stairs. “Allow me to show you to a room where you can wait while I see if Madam is available.”
Avenell nodded and followed the footman up to the second floor and down a hallway to a small sitting room. He recalled having been in this room only once before, the first time he came here more than five years ago. He took a seat and waited.
Less than ten minutes later, the madam glided through the doorway.
“My apologies for keeping you, my lord.” She smiled as she entered the room but did not approach him. Instead, she swept past him in her shimmering black skirts to the liquor service in the corner. “What an unexpected pleasure to receive you twice in the same evening.”
He did not respond but watched as she poured them both a glass of wine and brought one to him. Avenell sensed the woman’s tension, though she hid it well beneath her smooth and graceful veneer.
“Are virgin auctions to become a new feature of Pendragon’s?”
Nothing changed in her expression, but Avenell saw the tightening of her irises as he took the wineglass from her elegant hand.
“Last night’s entertainment was a singular event,” she replied smoothly as she turned to take a seat on the narrow sofa across from him, stretching her body in a way to accentuate her deep feminine curves.
Avenell’s voice hardened. “You do not appear concerned with the potential repercussions from your part in the abduction of a noble-bred lady.”
She did not answer right away. Her gaze was narrow and as sharp as flint. As Avenell continued to stare back, she finally replied, “In certain situations, great risks become necessary, my lord.”
“And what prompted last night’s aberration?”
She arched her brows. “This is a curious line of questioning, my lord. Was your prize not to your liking?”
Ignoring her question, Avenell said, “You know I am a careful man. I expect to be apprised of the circumstances in which I am involved.”
Pendragon stared at him with flashing green eyes. There was a wealth of intelligence and experience in her gaze. She was not a foolish woman, nor was she likely to be intimidated by any man.
Still, Avenell fully expected her to tell him what he wanted to know.
But first she took a sip of her wine. Then lifting the glass to swirl the red liquid in the light, she replied causally, “The girl’s family owed a debt, which has now been repaid.”
“She told me as much,” he said. “What power does Hale have to force your cooperation?”
Pendragon laughed, but it was a tight sound. “No man can force me to do anything, my lord. Especially not my hotheaded brother.”
Avenell was surprised by how easily she admitted to the familial connection. As far as he knew, it was not common knowledge.
He had done significant research on the madam before stepping foot in her establishment five years ago. He knew all there was to know of her path from being a gin shop girl who made it to the theater as an understudy to more talented actresses, to her time in a brothel similar to the one she now ran, through the bedrooms of several influential men, to the day she opened her own place. Any lovers she had ever had had been disposable. Her family was dead or had never been around in the first place—except for a half brother eleven years her junior.
The brother’s name was Mason Hale, a celebrated bare-knuckle fighter turned money man who handled the stakes for the fights in which he used to participate. When Miss Chadwick had mentioned his name, Avenell had immediately recalled Pendragon’s connection to him.
“Yet, you assumed a great risk on his behalf,” he pointed out.
“I did,” she acknowledged with a dip of her chin, “but even I will do things I swore I never would to help someone I love.”
Avenell could not understand her sentiment, but clearly she meant it. He saw no other reason for her to have gone to such an extreme to help her half brother. And he could see by her shuttered expression that she was not going to say any more on the topic. She was not going to betray Hale’s motivations to Avenell.
Catching her wary gaze, he changed the subject, asking something that had been bothering him all night.
“Why include me on your guest list?”
The shrug of her slim shoulders was innately sensual. It was easy to see how she had reached such an elevated level of success in her profession. Pendragon was as exceptional a courtesan as the pleasures her business offered. But she had not made it as far as she had by being stupid.
“I invited those of my clients who I thought would most appreciate the uniqueness of the opportunity I presented.”
Avenell forced himself not to give in to the tension rising in his shoulders at the thought of the other men who had been present for the auction. “What made you think I would have any interest in an innocent young woman who clearly was not here of her own volition?”
She smiled again, and her face became ageless. “But you did, my lord. Your bid ensured no further competition. It seems I was quite accurate in assessing your interest.”
A realization made his gut twist painfully. “You intended me to have her all along.”
Pendragon laughed then, a lovely melodious sound as she rose gracefully to her feet. “Of course I did, Lord Harte.”
The madam circled around him, close enough that he tensed against the potential brush of her skirts against his legs. Of course, she was far too good to make such a mistake. He heard her moving behind him, and when she didn’t speak or reappear, he turned in place. She stood beside a table, taking her time choosing a thin cigar. After running it under her nose, she placed the cigar between her lips and leaned forward to light the end in the flame of a candle.
Avenell waited while she took several puffs of the tobacco. The smell of the stuff made him ill, but he concealed his reaction as he waited for the woman to explain herself.
Watching the smoke trail from the end of her cigar in a wavering pattern, she finally spoke. Her tone was at once casual and meaningful.
“I had an opportunity to talk with the girl before…” The madam smiled and cast an almost apologetic look toward Avenell. “Well, shall we just say, before she had to be readied.”
Avenell’s chest tightened painfully as he imagined what Pendragon might have done to prepare Lily for the auction.
“It is my business to understand people, Lord Harte. Not only my gracious clients, but the girls who would entertain them. Not everyone is compatible. Lust is not always enough. It is my responsibility to ensure my clients are matched with just the right woman”—she shrugged a slim shoulder—“or man, as the case may be, who can provide what they need most in their sensual exploits.”
Avenell took a slow breath in an attempt to smooth out his rising discomfort. He marveled at his ability to keep his tone civil when he replied. “And you thought I needed a damned virgin?”
She tipped her chin and peered at him with a look in her eyes that suggested disappointment. “Come now, my lord, she is more than her maidenhead. You know that,” she added in a knowing murmur.
He did not reply. Surely, she could not have detected his obsession with th
e girl.
Pendragon continued. “Despite her virginal glow and pristine facade, your young lady possesses hidden depths. Who better than you to tend to her intimate darkness?” She paused before adding in a suggestive tone, “Perhaps she will tend to yours as well.”
Pendragon walked toward him then, holding his gaze with hers. Her poise and confidence was unwavering as she added, “You came to me more than five years ago seeking my assistance.”
“And I have become adept at managing my reactions while out in society. What does that have to do with the lady in question?” Avenell asked, growing annoyed with the madam’s lack of true explanation.
“That is not all you asked of me, my lord. Do you remember?” Her voice lowered to a sultry tenor. “You asked for pleasure. And though I understand you have learned a great deal about the giving of pleasure—my girls have assured me of that—I also know you have yet to demand the same in return.”
Avenell did not speak. Every muscle in his body tensed. Of course she would know every detail of the time he spent within the walls of her establishment; he just hated having the truth acknowledged so plainly.
“I have noticed that your visits have become fewer and farther between, my lord. I have no intention of reneging on my agreement.”
“Again,” he said finally through clenched teeth, “what does the woman have to do with any of this?”
The madam’s green eyes flashed as her smile grew practically smug. “It occurred to me that perhaps it would serve you to experience a switch in roles. Rather than remaining the pupil, you would become the master, tutoring an untried girl in how to experience sensual fulfillment. How to provide it in the specific ways you would require. Tell me the idea does not appeal to you, my lord.”
When he did not reply, she added confidently, “I believe the young lady you claimed tonight will prove to be a treasure you cannot imagine.”
