Gentlemen Prefer Heiresses

by Lorraine Heath

  Striding away, he couldn’t help but wonder exactly how she liked her porridge served.

  Sitting in his father’s library, sipping on scotch, Andrew cursed the strange fascination he had with Gina. He’d ended up staying until the last guest left, remaining in the ballroom and tormenting himself by watching her dance, flirt, and laugh with an assortment of gentlemen, all unsuitable for her. Considering her diminutive height, some were too tall—including himself if he were honest. Some too short. Others too plump or too thin or odd looking. She’d even danced with Lord Wheatley, whose face was a permanent mottled red that made him look as though he walked around in a constant state of embarrassment. Did she really want a child who resembled that unfortunate fellow? Like begat like. Perhaps he should hand her a book on husbandry and explain how breeding worked.

  Gina and his parents had retired for the night. His mother had suggested he stay, rather than heading to his townhouse, but how could he when he knew she was sleeping down the hallway, only a few doors from his room? He imagined if he listened very carefully he would be able to hear her breathing in slumber.

  As much as he fought it, he envisioned more than her breathing. He saw himself standing beside her bed, gazing down on her as she slept, unmoving until finally, at last, she opened her eyes, smiled softly, and lifted the covers in invitation.

  All he imagined was the sight of bared shoulders, yet he grew so hard he ached. What the devil was wrong with him? Obviously he’d been too long without a woman. It had been weeks since he’d parted ways with the actress, and he’d not sought out a replacement—not even for a single night. That was the reason for his mind’s lustful wanderings when it came to Gina.

  Well, he knew the cure and just where to find it.

  Gazing out the window, Gina had yet to see Andrew leave. Although he could have made his exit while she was changing out of her gown and into her nightdress. As she’d started up the stairs, she’d overheard the duchess imploring him to stay the night. Perhaps at this very moment he was stretched out on a bed, staring at the canopy, and thinking of her.

  She scoffed at that fantasy. He considered her dull. Although he’d admitted to wanting to lay his tongue against her pulse. At the thought, warmth sluiced through her just as it had when he’d spoken the words in a raspy voice as though the mere idea of it dried his throat. It had certainly dried hers.

  It was long past midnight. She should be abed, but how could she sleep when memories of the day bombarded her, all the moments when she’d been in his company? She’d engaged in conversation with other gentlemen, danced with them, but the memory of the time spent with them was rapidly fading like fog withering before the sun. While every recollection of Andrew seemed only to brighten in intensity.

  Slumber would elude her. Perhaps a book would help. While she was only a guest, she was familiar with the residence, having spent considerable time here after Tillie became betrothed. She was certain the duke wouldn’t mind her prowling about his library. Perhaps she’d even nip a bit of brandy. That should help her sleep.

  After slipping into her wrap, she headed into the hallway and down the stairs. In the foyer, she turned into the hallway. The residence was still and quiet. Everyone lost to dreams except for her. Brandy was definitely called for—after finding a book. Entering the library, she found her nose very nearly flattened against a broad chest.

  “You’re still here,” she said to Andrew, hating that she sounded breathless, excited, and grateful all at once.

  “Looking for me?”

  Yes. No. “I was in search of a book to read. I couldn’t sleep, but then I seldom can after a ball. All the excitement of the evening is still whirring through my brain. Perhaps you’d be up for some cribbage.”

  He made a face as though she’d suggested needlepoint. “I’m on my way out.”

  “Home or elsewhere?”

  “Elsewhere.”

  “As I’m unable to sleep, I’ll go with you then, shall I?”

  He gave her a patronizing grin. “It’s not the sort of place ladies usually visit.”

  “Is it one of those questionable places you mentioned earlier? I know you think me dull, but I’m actually quite adventurous. Do you know when Tillie would go out at night to be with Rexton, I’d often sneak off to the Twin Dragons.” The establishment was a private club offering wagering, spirits, and dancing that catered to men and women.

  “This place is nothing at all like the Twin Dragons.”

  “Then I’m even more keen to go. I enjoy partaking in new experiences.”

  His gaze wandered slowly over her as though he were marking every line, dip, and curve. “You’re not dressed for going out.”

  “I can be. Give me half an hour.”

  “I’ve yet to meet a woman who can get properly dressed in half an hour.”

  “I can. Give me a chance. When Tillie returns I’ll have no freedom whatsoever.”

  The sensual curling up of his lips stole her breath. His expression told her they were on the verge of doing something truly wicked. “Be quick about it.”

  She released a tiny squeal and hopped before making a mad dash into the hallway.

  “Grab a wrap with a hood,” he called after her. “We’ll need to be sure you’re not recognized.”

  Chapter 5

  “Is this a brothel?”

  She didn’t sound scandalized, merely curious. He didn’t know what had prompted him to bring her here. Granted, it was where he’d planned to come before she showed up in the library begging to go with him on his adventure. He did wish he hadn’t insisted she keep the hood of her pelisse raised. It shaded her face from him, and he desperately wanted to see the blush he was certain was presently warming her cheeks.

  “Ah, you are a mistress of deduction. What gave it away?” he asked.

  She snapped her head around, lifted her face to his in order to hold his gaze, causing the hood to fall back just enough that the dim lighting allowed him to see the curiosity in her eyes. “They’re not wearing frocks. Only corsets and skirts which show a good deal of ankle.”

  “Saves time. I suppose you can wait in the parlor while I—”

  “Mon chère, it’s been a while.” The voice was throaty, the accent French.

  He turned to the buxom woman with hair a red shade he doubted nature had ever created. She was no longer in the blossom of youth, her face reflecting a life that had known a good deal of hardship. Still, he took her hand, pressed a kiss to the pudgy fingers. “Madame Elise. I fear I have neglected your establishment for far too long.”

  She tossed her head Gina’s way. “Who is your lovely companion?”

  “Let’s simply refer to her as Miss H.”

  “So you want something a little different tonight. Is it to be one girl for the two of you to share or one for each of you?”

  “One for each of us,” Gina said, stepping forward.

  Andrew stared at her. Had she gone mad? When he had insinuated he was going to get on with business while she waited, she was supposed to return to the carriage in a huff or at the very least announce he was to take her home. He’d brought her here to teach her a lesson: adventures could carry consequences, especially when she didn’t know where the adventures might lead.

  Madame Elise smiled with the sort of sauciness he suspected accompanied her often during her youth. “Oh, I like your spirit, mademoiselle.”

  Clearing his throat he leaned down and lowered his voice. “I don’t think you quite understand what she is implying.”

  “Oh, I understand perfectly.” Gina pointed discreetly. “The girl with the black hair and the red corset. I rather like the looks of her. I do get to choose, don’t I?”

  He was on the verge of blurting, “No!” when the madam said, “Of course, ma chère.” She snapped her fingers at the brunette, who immediately shot off the sofa where she’d been lounging.

  “I’m not certain this is a good idea,” Andrew said, taking pride in the fact he managed to sound ca
lm. He’d expected Gina to retreat, not rush forward into the fray. Rex was going to kill him if he ever learned about this outing.

  “Oh, I think it’s a splendid idea. You won’t believe how often I’ve considered doing this, but I didn’t know where to go or how to manage the particulars. I’m frightfully excited about all the possibilities.”

  His head nearly exploded as a variety of sexual positions burst through his mind. “You are aware that we are talking about sex occurring here.”

  “Of course. I’m not a dimwit. I understand the purpose of brothels. Although I haven’t any coins. Would you be so kind as to pay for tonight’s adventure? I can reimburse you on the morrow.”

  Before he could say no, the madam once again interfered. “Your first time, ma chére, is on the house.”

  The dark-haired beauty sidled up to Gina, dipped a little, and slid up her body, very much like a cat. His mouth went dry, his cock twitched. Damn it to hell.

  Smiling brightly, Gina looked over at him. “See you in a bit.”

  The girl took Gina’s hand and began leading her toward the stairs.

  “Now we need to find someone for you, mon cher,” Madame Elise said.

  “Yes, I am in need of a woman,” he announced loudly. “A buxom one at that.”

  Gina didn’t even look back.

  “With wide hips!”

  She started up the stairs. He watched until she reached the landing, disappeared down a hallway. He waited on bated breath, expecting her to pop back out and laugh, flinging her arms wide and proclaiming, “I was only teasing.”

  Only she didn’t reappear, no matter how hard he wished it.

  “She’s a saucy one. Wherever did you find ’er?” Elise asked, her cockney suddenly strong. Apparently she’d forgotten she was supposed to be French, although any self-respecting Frenchman would be offended by her accent.

  He glared at her, wanting to blame her for this fiasco but knowing the fault rested with him for being foolish enough not to stand firm against Gina’s imploring green eyes. “Have you ever had a woman customer?”

  “We ‘ave all sorts, love.”

  “How long does it take?”

  She glanced up the stairs, rolled a shoulder carelessly. “I’d give ’em an hour. Now who would ye like to entertain ye while yer waiting?”

  He let scotch entertain him. It wasn’t the best he’d ever had, but it dulled the senses as he stood with his back against the wall, his gaze fastened on the top of the stairs. He tried not to envision what was happening in that room—

  Bloody hell. He couldn’t seem to stop the images from flashing through his mind, because he knew exactly what was taking place. When he was nineteen, younger and curious, he’d paid to watch two girls pleasuring each other. In all fairness, he’d hoped to learn a few techniques he could incorporate into his own lovemaking arsenal. He’d wanted to bring his lover at the time as much pleasure as a man could bring a woman. He’d been open to trying anything. So he’d watched and learned and embarrassed himself because his young randy self had never seen anything so sensual. There had been no rush to fruition. There had been nothing left untouched, unkissed, unlicked.

  So he knew precisely what was happening. Gina’s clothes were slowly being removed. Bared skin would be kissed. Breasts would be suckled. Hands would caress—

  He dug out his watch. Only a quarter of an hour had passed. Three more. Three more quarters of an hour to endure. He would go mad with—

  He hesitated to use the word jealousy. He was not the jealous sort. Yet what he was experiencing now made him feel as though his skin were too tight, that his entire being was on the verge of combusting.

  Visions of Gina being touched in ways that he wanted to touch her, stroke her, caress her bombarded him. It didn’t matter that she was with a woman. He’d have felt the same if she was with a man. It was the act itself, the things being done to her, the way she would squirm, thrash about, cry out in ecstasy.

  What if she hadn’t understood precisely what was going to happen in that room? What if she didn’t know how to extricate herself from an uncomfortable situation? What if she thought she had to go through with something even if she didn’t want it? She could be in need of rescuing and he’d never know. What the deuce had he been thinking to let her go off with the girl? He’d been irresponsible, could not risk that she might be in trouble with no way of calling out to him.

  He shoved himself away from the wall and stormed across the room to where Elise was sprawled in a chair. “Which room?”

  “Once a client has gone upstairs, we don’t disturb them.” Her French accent had returned.

  To hell with that. If he had to search every room, he was going to bloody well disturb them until his mind was put at ease. “Which room?”

  “If you partake, I will charge you. If you watch—”

  He dug some coins out of his pocket and tossed them at her. “Name your price. I’ll send more over tomorrow.”

  She gave him a victorious grin, as though she knew he was being spurred by jealousy. He was not, he absolutely was not. It was concern for Gina, pure and simple.

  “The purple door.”

  He charged up the stairs and down the hallway in which Gina had disappeared. While he hadn’t been here in years, he knew the doors had no locks. If a girl screamed, they wanted to be able to get to her easily. And the knowledge that the doors could be opened stopped some gents from being rougher than they might be otherwise.

  As he rushed toward the purple door, he decided he’d just throw it open, calmly instruct Gina to get dressed, and close the door. It would have more impact without a knock to forewarn them and perhaps she’d listen. If he yelled at her through the door, she was likely to carry on. Besides, he didn’t want to disturb the other customers, have them dashing out into the hallway to see what all the fuss was about. He was striving for discretion in order to protect her reputation.

  He barged in and staggered to a stop. They were sitting on the bed, legs crossed, knees nearly touching as they leaned toward each other, possibly on their way to engaging in a kiss. “We’re leaving,” he announced without preamble.

  “But I’m not finished here.”

  That was obvious. She was still fully clothed, as was the girl. Not a single stitch had yet to be removed, not a hair out of place. Thank God, he’d arrived before any mischief or real damage could occur. “Well, I am. Let’s go.”

  She looked at the girl. “So he’s a quick bugger?”

  “A what?” he snapped.

  “Not usually,” the girl said. “At least that’s what I hear. I’ve never had the pleasure of his lordship’s company.”

  “What the devil are you on about?” he asked, irritated to be the subject of their conversation, to have them discussing him as though he wasn’t even in the room.

  Gina glanced over at him, her face a mask of innocence. “Venus—”

  “Venus? Good God, are you serious?” She’d named herself after the goddess of love?

  “Don’t interrupt. Anyway, she was explaining that some men are rather quick at peaking, which a prostitute doesn’t mind because then she can go on to her next john. That’s what they call you, you know? It doesn’t matter what your real name is. To them you’re just john. But a woman who isn’t being paid—like a wife for example—wants a gent who isn’t quick. She wants a man with stamina, who can go on for a while because it takes women a bit longer to peak. And if a man is always fast, a woman might never experience absolute pleasure. Why do you suppose nature did it that way?”

  What was she going on about? “Which way?”

  “Made it more of a challenge for women to reach orgasm. That’s what it’s called. Orgasm. My vocabulary has expanded dramatically since sitting here talking with Venus.”

  “That’s what you’ve been doing? Sitting there talking?”

  “Yes, but back to the orgasm question. It doesn’t seem fair.”

  God help him, he burst out laughing.

&
nbsp; “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Of all the things I’d imagined going on in here, talking was not one of them.”

  “What did you imagine?”

  He abruptly sobered and cleared his throat. “We should be off.”

  “But I have so much more to learn.”

  “I know a better way to teach you. Come on.”

  She scrambled off the bed. When she reached him, she placed her hand on his arm and while it was as light as a butterfly landing on a petal, he felt it as though he wore no jacket, no shirt. “You’ll still pay her, won’t you? Even though we only talked, even though Madame Elise said there would be no charge. It’s not fair to Venus not to make any money after giving me her time.”

  “I’ll see that she’s paid double.” Because they’d only talked.

  The look of gratitude she bestowed upon him caused a funny, unfamiliar sensation—a tightening that wasn’t altogether unpleasant—in his chest.

  She started to walk past him.

  “Cover yourself with the hood.” While he’d waited in the parlor he’d spotted a couple of gents—one who had danced with her earlier in the evening—escort girls up the stairs. The last thing he needed was to have one of them exiting a room and spying her in the hallway.

  When they were clear of the room, he was grateful when she took his arm and snuggled up against him as though she saw him as her protector. Although he was so far removed from being that he’d probably burn in hell. “You do realize you are never to tell anyone I brought you here,” he said, his voice low.

  “It’ll be our secret,” she whispered back, and he wished he wasn’t bombarded with other words he’d like to have her murmur to him.

  He led her down another hallway, this one narrow and short. A behemoth of a man stood guard outside a door. Andrew handed him a coin. The bloke nodded once before opening the door for them.