by Jenna Jaxon
Footsteps approached once more, slowed, stopped.
Violet’s heart pounded, her rapid breathing keeping pace. The huge bed to her right drew her attention for perhaps the hundredth time. Was this the moment? She seized the arms of the velvet chair, fighting to hold herself in place. Her nails sank into the soft fabric as she struggled to slow her breaths.
The handle lowered.
Her head came up, back straight, forced smile plastered on her face as the door opened wide and she caught a glimpse of the man who had bought her for the night. Madame Vestry had informed her this morning that one of her regular customers had responded favorably to her invitation—she’d actually called it an invitation—and for Violet to make herself available in the green room at eight o’clock tonight.
She’d not been told who he was and somehow it mattered little to her that she did not know the name of the man about to ruin her. One of the house rules forbade her to ask. If the gentleman offered his name, that was his business. The other girls had told her if she needed to put a name to the face, to think of customers as “Lord John.”
This Lord John entered the small room in a swirl of black fur and sandalwood, the spicy scent tickling Violet’s nose, making it twitch.
She tipped her head back and looked up into the swarthy face. Dark hair and piercing blue eyes, a strong jaw, and a long, straight nose. Too tall, though. He was too tall for her. The ridiculousness of the irrational thought broke through her lethargy. She forced herself up out of the chair as he strode toward her.
The smile curling his full lips would have been charming had not the gleam in his eyes betrayed his lustful intent.
“Good evening, Cassandra.” His deep baritone voice sent a frisson of dread through her. “Such a lovely name for a lovely temptress.”
“What pleasure may I give you this evening, my lord?” The words came out flat, but by God, she’d gotten them out. Now to remain standing and not faint. One small goal at a time. She stared at the wide expanse of blue velvet jacket barely two inches from her face.
He ran the back of his hand along her cheek and goose flesh pimpled her whole body. “I do hope the pleasure will be mutual, my dear.”
Violet jerked back from his caress. Her gaze, firmly fixed on the gold buttons of his jacket, now shot to his face, expecting a leer. How could he suggest she might enjoy being debauched?
His dark brows had puckered into a surprised frown, almost reproachful. He lowered his hand.
Dear God. She couldn’t refuse him anything. Lord John owned her for the night. Whatever he wanted to do to her, be it lewd touch or soft caress, she had to submit. No matter she wanted to scream, or cry, or pummel his chest. Curse him for being a depraved wretch who reveled in her misfortunes.
That wasn’t fair. She returned her gaze to his chest. Despite her misery, she couldn’t blame him for her misfortunes or her decision to come here. He was a man bent on the usual pleasures of men, and she needed the patronage of such men to survive. If he wanted her to be pleased, then she would convince him of her pleasure. A leaden weight settled over her, grounding her. She tipped back her head and smiled at him, the practiced false smile that showed her teeth. “Then I am certain we shall both be pleased, my lord.”
A broad grin spread across his swarthy face. “Amorina has taught you well, little one. You will go far here, I believe.” He untied his cloak and tossed it carelessly onto a chair.
Violet gawked at his body—perfectly proportioned shoulders, waist, and hips, well-muscled legs—and her bravado slipped a notch. He was gorgeous, with a face like a cherub bent on mischief and a body made for sin. Somehow a devilishly handsome, virile man made the situation worse. She had assumed whoever ruined her would be old, ugly, evil. Like the deed he performed.
He touched her cheek.
She started then forced herself to remain still this time. Despite the heat of the blazing logs, uncontrollable shivers wracked her body. Twisting the fabric of her skirt helped.
Slowly, Lord John leaned down, bringing the scent of sandalwood to swirl around her head. He scattered kisses along the side of her neck. “Don’t worry, ma petite. I don’t bite, unless instructed.”
His caresses sent chills down her arms. When she turned her head and rubbed her arms, he laughed and pulled her against him. Don’t fight. Just submit. She made herself relax, lean on his taut body. As if given permission, his mouth descended, tickling the sensitive flesh of neck, making her whole body glow as though a fire had been lit within. Her heartbeat pounded a staccato rhythm. Did he hear that? Did he feel her getting warmer? Pressed together as they were, he must.
He slid his mouth down her throat, and cupped her derriere through her thin lavender striped petticoat.
Her bottom tensed. More heat rushed to her face and she burrowed her head into his chest, grateful he couldn’t see her.
A low humming vibrated the skin of her neck, and his full-throated growl ensued. He gripped her buttocks, surprising a gasp out of her. With strong fingers, he kneaded them before he traveled up her backside, across her back to her waist. Lord John raised his head, his eyes bright with desire. He moved her away from him and continued up to stroke her breasts.
Smiling all the while, Violet closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. So that was why Madame Vestry had given strict instructions to remove her stays beforehand.
He circled her nipples with his thumbs, making them tingle and ache. She bit her lip to stifle a moan. He couldn’t be right, could he? She shouldn’t enjoy being ruined.
But he had awakened sensations Violet couldn’t deny. Her nipples swelled as he stroked them, tightening to rock-hard points. When he gave them a playful pinch, the pain shot through her and lodged an unfamiliar throbbing at the apex of her thighs. She couldn’t stop her moan that time.
A sensual smile touched his lips. “We should get you out of these clothes now, my dear. It’s so much better skin to skin.” In two swift motions, he had her garments in a pool on the floor.
Violet stared at her naked body, the pink of a body blush spreading downward like a wave. She clasped one arm across her breasts, the other across her body to shield her sex.
A chuckle brought her head up to stare into appreciative blue eyes. “I must say, Amorina has got quite the little gem in you, my dear.” The renewed hunger in those bright eyes leapt at her. He grasped the hand clamped to her breasts, drew it over her head, and then led the other one up to join it, so her breasts jutted toward him in invitation.
Shame clogged her throat, making it hard to breathe.
He raked her nakedness with his hot gaze, and sighed deeply. “If I were free, I might have to spirit you away from here. Keep you all to myself.” Some of the hunger died and his voice softened as he released her. “Why don’t you climb up onto the bed, now? I’ll just take care of my clothing and we’ll continue.”
Violet scurried toward the tall, four-poster mahogany bed, covers and sheets turned down as per Madame’s instructions. Two steps up and she collapsed onto the mattress, her skin pebbling from the cold sheets. If she could make it through the ordeal this once, the next time would not be so bad perhaps. She steeled herself and turned toward him.
Divested of all attire save his breeches, Lord John stood near the fireplace. The flickering glow gave his skin a golden sheen, the muscles of his chest rippling as he worked the buttons at his waist. Light danced along the blue velvet encasing his thighs, until with a twitch of his fingers the fabric came loose. He bent swiftly, peeled the tight garment down his legs. When he stood again, all of him gleamed in the firelight.
Violet’s breath rushed out with a hiss. She’d never seen a naked man before, save in statuary. The shaft jutting toward her in the flesh was much larger. Her stomach fluttered. She dragged her gaze away. Better not to look.
He strode toward the bed, his smug grin fading into a puckered frown.
She scooted away from him, barely registering the new chill of
the untouched sheets on the far side of the bed.
“You look pale, my dear. Are you not well?” The concern in his voice sounded genuine.
Still, all she could do was shake her head.
He cocked his head then shrugged, climbed the steps and sat in the middle of the bed. His hip brushed hers, scalding her skin and setting her to trembling again.
“Just cold, perhaps?” He ran a finger along her arm and the shivers increased of their own accord.
Like a mouse fascinated by a snake, Violet couldn’t take her eyes off of him.
“I believe I can take away the chill.” His voice deepened, softened like spun silk. He leaned closer and clasped her hands, their fingers intertwining as he drew them up over her head once more. Levering himself over her, he straddled her thighs, using them as a cushion, his long, hard shaft lying atop her mass of dark brown curls.
If she watched him any longer she would surely cry, which she had sworn not to do, so she closed her eyes. Warm, wet lips latched on to her nipple, startling her, and she arched it into his mouth. Bounding up, he pressed his knee between her thighs and her whole body tensed, waiting for the pain. Tears slid down her cheeks as she tried to stifle a sob.
“Did I hurt you?” His kind voice held a desolation all its own.
How could she rail against such kindness? Even that bit of comfort was denied her.
“No, my lord.” She fought the tears, but they choked her voice even worse when she held them back. Instead, she concentrated on controlling her breathing, hoping that would calm her. In just a few minutes it would be over.
“I know you haven’t had a man before.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead, a soft touch that devastated her with its gentleness. “It will hurt, but not very much, and not for very long.”
No, not for very long. Only for the rest of her life. She buried her head in the pillow and sobbed.
Suddenly, her hands were free and his weight eased off her.
“Look at me.” Lord John grasped her chin and her eyes popped open. He wiped his thumb over her cheek, collecting the tears she could not stop. “Is Madame Vestry forcing you to do this?”
Violet blinked rapidly and shook her head. “No, my lord. I came to her of my own free will.”
He scowled and moved back on the bed.
“Why?”
Odd he would be interested in her woes. “I have no one and nothing, my lord.” Despite the heat stinging her face, she forced herself to continue. “Except for my body.”
“No one at all you might turn to?”
Madame Vestry had questioned her thoroughly about her connections.
“My brother was killed in a duel over a year ago. What money and possessions I had left, I lived on. Until last week when there was no more.”
He searched her face as if trying to catch her out in a lie. “Your brother was killed in a duel? Then he was obviously a gentleman. Have you no family or friends who might take pity on you?”
“Our family had dwindled in our generation, though there may yet be a cousin in the colonies. But here in England it was just Jamie and Kit and I. After my brother died, the way he died, most of our friends shunned me.”
“Jamie and Kit?”
Resigned, she stared at the glowing embers in the grate. What was that shame compared to this? “James Carlton. In his cups one night, our cousin insulted a nobleman’s family and was challenged to a duel. Jamie agreed to be his second. I begged him not to, but he said he had to look after Kit.”
With a grim-set mouth that alarmed her, Lord John studied her face.
“Our cousin was killed in the duel and Jamie—” She still hated admitting this to anyone, but forced the words out. “Jamie then attacked the nobleman and was killed himself.”
Harshly, he seized her legs through the sheet and pinned her with an intense stare. “Do you know who the nobleman was? Who killed your brother?”
“No, my lord.” She dug in her heels, trying to shrink away from him. “The men who brought his body home wouldn’t tell me anything. Except what he had done was a most dishonorable thing.”
He slid off the bed, and to her amazement, padded over to the heap of his clothing and began dressing, all the while cursing lightly under his breath.
Violet’s heart pounded. He was leaving. What she had said to anger the man? Was he too disgusted by her brother’s dishonorable behavior? Whatever it was, it must have been horrific if it had deadened the rampant lust he had shown for her.
The man pulled on his shirt, shook his hair back and glared at her.
She reached down and pulled up the covers, shielding herself as best she could from the eyes that still smoldered, with anger now rather than lust. Should she be relieved by her reprieve, or despair that her inevitable ruin was merely postponed? What Madame Vestry would have to say about the turn of events she had no idea, save it would not be pleasant.
“Let me help you dress, my dear.” The soft-spoken words exploded in the quiet room.
Violet jumped.
The man tugged the sleeves of his coat before adjusting his cloak over it.
She rose on her elbow, keeping the covers tight over her shoulder. “Thank you, my lord, but I will manage. I would not want to put you to any trouble.” If only he would leave, she could go back to her room upstairs and perhaps stop shaking enough to get some sleep.
“It’s no trouble.” He stooped, grabbed her purple dress then approached the bed. “Here…” He stopped, a light flush suffusing his face. “I am sorry. Miss Carlton.”
Violet shook her head, regretting she had given him that piece of information about her identity. “I’m Cassandra.”
“No, you are Miss Carlton. Miss…” He waited expectantly, with a raised eyebrow that brooked no nonsense.
“Violet,” she whispered, her shame complete that he now knew her name. She cringed and slid further under the covers. Madame Vestry was right. Only anonymity made survival possible at the House of Pleasure.
“Well, Miss Violet Carlton, I have a proposition for you.” His bright blue eyes glittered.
“What do you mean, my lord?” She clutched the cover tighter.
“I want you to become my mistress.”
Oh, God. She slid all the way beneath the covers. He still wanted her. So why hadn’t he taken her just now?
“Miss Carlton?” There was a tap on her shoulder. “It would be a temporary arrangement, and in name only. I would like to help you.”
Inch by inch, Violet poked her head out. “You want to help me? But why, my lord? I have no claim on you. I don’t know you.” God knew she should be grateful, but she had seen the look in his eyes. This might be a mistake. Here, at the House of Pleasure, if he hurt her at least she could scream and help would come. Madame Vestry did not tolerate her girls being physically harmed.
“I knew your brother, Miss Carlton.” He sounded grim and impatient. “And therein lies the claim. I insist you allow me to help you. I would not have you end up in this house because of the untimely death of your brother.”
“You knew Jamie?” Her brother had known all manner of men, but none of them had had the decency to attend his funeral. His shameful death had tainted all his family.
“We were not well acquainted. However, I feel the obligation.”
Fear, stress, and shame of the past hours must have taken their toll. Her overtaxed brain could not make the connection. Simply knowing a man did not obligate one toward his sister. “But how—”
“None of that really matters, does it, Miss Carlton? I offer my assistance to keep you from a life of prostitution.” Hard lines scored his face. “Will you insist on bandying words about it, or will you accept my offer?”
“But you asked me to be your mistress!” She sat up in bed, careful to swath herself in the sheets. “How is that different?”
“As I said, you will be so in name only. The woman I employed as such for the past six months
went home last week. I gave her a large settlement and sent her off. But the house I rent for her residence still has three months left on the lease.” Lord John approached the bed and she shrank back. Startled, he put up a hand and retreated. “If you live there, no one will know your identity. You will be thought to be Serena if we are careful. We will have time to find you a place, respectable employment.” His eyes beseeched her. “Is that not better than living in this house?”
Madame Vestry’s admonition about accepting an offer of protection resounded in her head. Madame would think her a fool if she did not accept Lord John’s proposal.
Violet nodded. “I won’t really be your mistress?” Hope crept back into her heart. With the help of this lord, surely she could find a place somewhere.
“No, my dear.” His kind smile touched her heart. “I would not so dishonor you, although after our interlude this evening I should, by rights, marry you.”
Appalled at the thought, she shook her head. “Oh, no, my lord. This was not your fault. I lost claim to gentility the moment I set foot in this house.” She drew the sheets tighter around her. Thank God for sending this man to her. “If you can help me find a respectable position, anything at all, you will earn my eternal gratitude.”
His quick smile relieved her of some of the embarrassment of the situation.
“But if you will excuse me, my lord, it will only take me a moment to dress and get my things.” She paused and looked pointedly at the door.
Averting his eyes, he nodded and left.
Violet tossed back the covers and threw on her clothes. Madame Vestry had instructed her in the art of swiftly disrobing and enrobing. At least one part of her training would be put to good use tonight.
After joining Lord John outside the green room, Violet led the way upstairs. Five minutes saw her things gathered, and with her thin cloak over her shoulders, she followed her rescuer down the shadowy staircase, once again trying to ignore the bawdy noises swirling around her. Whoever Lord John was, he could not lead her into a worse hell than this one.
