Love Reclaimed

by Sorcha Mowbray

  “No. That will be all. Thank you.” Exhaustion swept over her as the door clicked shut. Emotionally wrung out and sore with a physical ache from the tension riding between her shoulders, she longed for the oblivion of sleep. Her day had been up and down like a yo-yo.

  ***

  Five days later, Jonathan decided to try a different tactic with his siege. A frontal assault seemed in order. If she would accept his blunt, then he would spend it in her establishment and prove to her he could be as hedonistic as the next peer. He was, after all, single and his actions should serve to show her he could play by her rules since she no longer seemed interested in playing by society’s after so many years living outside of them.

  Sauntering into the room, he spied his prey sitting in the corner by the fire holding court again. Elegant in a bronze silk gown, she glowed with beauty and inner light. The green-eyed monster seethed below the thin veneer of politeness, even as he chastised himself. Of course, he would not be the lone man drawn to her flame. Their eyes met, and he inclined his head in greeting. Her eyes widened and then returned to normal as she turned to laugh at something the man next to her said.

  Turning away to hide his desire to rip the doting fop to shreds, he approached the bar. Two quick slugs of brandy bolstered his courage, and he approached the client liaison to inquire after an arrangement. “Good evening.” The man looked surprised to see him.

  “Good evening, my Lord. I am Phillipe; how may I be of service to you?”

  “I am hoping to find one of the ladies of the house available this evening.” Jonathan imagined his brow must be dotted with beads of sweat his nerves were strung so tight.

  “Ah.” He glanced at Marie, who must have nodded. “I believe I have one or two available this evening. Do you have a preference?”

  “No blondes.” Jonathan picked at some phantom bit of lint on his sleeve.

  “Of course.” Phillipe nodded. “If you will wait here, I will have Celeste join you.”

  “Very good.” He returned to the bar to wait for the heretofore unknown Celeste to join him. He did not wait long before a svelte brunette sidled up to him.

  “Good evening, my Lord. I’m Celeste. Phillipe sent me.”

  “Yes.” The bartender appeared, and Heart ordered a brandy before glancing at Celeste for her order.

  “Champagne please.” She smiled a sultry grin, which promised untold delights.

  Their drinks appeared, and she took his hand. A short walk upstairs led to a room decorated in various shades of blue. She turned to face him, having set her glass down as the door snicked shut. “Now, my Lord, is there anything in particular you would like to request this evening?”

  “Actually, yes. I would like to sit and chat with you. That’s all I wish to do, and I would prefer you not mention it to anyone, including Phillipe or Madame.” He sipped his drink and considered the beauty over the rim of his snifter.

  “That’s all you want? Dirty talk.” She winked at him.

  “No, just conversation. No sex, no discussing sex.”

  “Just conversation.” She blinked. “Well, I’ve had far stranger requests.”

  “Excellent. Let us sit by the fire.” He showed her to a chair and handed her the abandoned champagne before taking his own seat. “So, Celeste, where are you from?”

  ***

  Afternoon sunshine caused the dust motes to shimmer and dance in the light. Marie focused on breathing and framing her questions for Celeste. Tall with her dark hair hanging loose, Celeste settled across the sitting area on the opposite settee.

  “I’m sorry to wake you so early, but I need to speak with you about a client.” Marie strove to project her normal cool and confident persona despite the inner turmoil she fought.

  “It is of no issue, I was already awake.”

  “Excellent.” Marie attempted to smile. “How is your back doing?”

  “Very good, Madame. I am healing well and it does not pain me overly.”

  “Good. I am very sorry you had to suffer such an unpleasant and unexpected episode.”

  “Thank you for asking, Madame. Is there something else you wished to ask me about?”

  “There was. You entertained a gentleman last night. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair with a bit of salt streaked through.”

  Yes, I remember him.” The softening of Celeste’s gaze ate at Marie.

  “Did he have any strange requests of you?”

  “No, Madame. He was very kind.”

  “I see.” She groped for what to ask next. “Did your back upset him?”

  “Not at all.” Celeste glanced at the floor and then the art on the walls, her gaze never settled on anything.

  “Did he do anything inappropriate?”

  “Inappropriate? Madame, we cater to so many unusual requests. What might you be referring to?”

  “He didn’t have any desires outside of our normal bounds?”

  “No, Madame. As I said, he was very kind.”

  “Kind.” Marie couldn’t find a way to ask what she wanted to know without feeling like a meddling hussy. “Did he…satisfy you?”

  Celeste shifted in her seat. “He is one of my new favorite clients.”

  Madame wanted to growl her frustration at the nonanswer. She still didn’t know if they in fact had sex, bloody hell. “One of your favorites? Is there a particular reason why?”

  “Of course. He is a consummate gentleman, very concerned about my comfort, tender, and of course he is very handsome to gaze upon all night.”

  “Yes. Well, such a list would recommend a fellow.”

  “Indeed.” The clock in the hall chimed ten in the morning. “Oh my, Madame, if that is all I must go dress. Miranda and I are off to Bond Street for a few items. Is there anything I could fetch for you while I am out?”

  A powder for the headache you created? “No, dear, I am quite fine. Thank you.”

  Celeste disappeared and left Marie alone to mull over the obtuse responses she had received. Why couldn’t the girl have been more forthcoming? The whole situation was damned awkward.

  ***

  Marie watched as Heartfield once again came to The Market, selected a girl, always a brunette or a redhead, and disappeared upstairs for the evening. For the fourth night in a row! The man had the stamina of a bull in rut. A very few of her regulars came on so frequent a basis and they were the young pups. The typical men of Heart’s age attended The Market a couple nights a week and sometimes with the sole intent to gamble.

  Something strange and foreign gnawed at her insides as she considered whom he had taken upstairs the last three nights. First Celeste, who looked radiant the next day—a woman well catered to. Next came Caroline, and then Sally. Tonight, he had selected Celeste again. Bordering on physical illness with the malady she refused to name, she departed the salon to retire to her room.

  Despite her questions of Celeste, and each subsequent girl, she had come away with no better sense of what might be happening. If she had been asking for business purposes, she would have put things more bluntly. But, this proved to be such a personal concern she could not summon her normal steely reserve.

  In the safety of her most private space, she could be honest with herself. Jealousy ripped at her guts. Pacing in long, angry strides, knowing Heartfield lay upstairs in her house burying himself in one of her girls came near to driving her over the edge. It should be her body he took and used. She had ached for him for twenty long years and now, with a maddening lack of control, she grew desperate for more of him after their one night. Frustration rode her as she rang for Phillipe, who appeared in short order.

  “Before Baron Heartfield departs, please see he is brought to my office.”

  “Very good, Madame.” Phillipe bowed and departed.

  If the ridiculous man insisted on continuing to visit The Market, he would have to see her. Otherwise, he would need to find a new establishment. Tolerance of his frequent visits was too much to ask, and the damn insufferable man knew thi
s.

  Picking up a book of poetry, she settled in to wait for Phillipe to let her know Heartfield had descended. She suspected a long night lay ahead of her.

  A knock at her door woke her from her doze. Bleary-eyed, she glanced at the clock. Three in the morning, that must mean Heartfield waited in her office. Excellent. She rose, tidied up a bit, and swept into her lair. His gaze followed her path across the room and stayed with her as she settled behind the desk. She needed all her armor as she prepared to wage battle.

  “I am afraid I misspoke the other night when I said your money would be welcome here. I find it intolerable to have you appearing at my establishment so regularly.” Drawing a breath to calm her racing heart, she let the silence reign for a moment.

  His eyebrows rose in question. “Are you barring me from The Market because of our personal differences?”

  “No. Not entirely. I am simply limiting your selection of companions to me.” There, she said it, and with some modicum of credibility.

  The blasted man smiled. “I see.”

  “I would suggest we negotiate the terms of the contract now and have done with the business end of this deal.” She attempted to pull the tattered edges of her business persona around her in defense.

  “Well, what terms do you seek in such an arrangement?”

  “First, you will be required to seek out a wife while our contract is in place. If for some reason you fail to do so, our arrangement will end and you will be barred from The Market. Second, you will be required to keep your name clear of scandal, and will therefore immediately begin wearing a mask while in the public rooms as the majority of my other patrons do. In the privacy of the room we use, a mask will not be required. And I will deal with the prevention of conception, though you are welcome to use skins should you choose. Finally, you will not be permitted to invite friends or have guests at The Market as our normal members do. The contract will be for the term of six months and is severable by either party at any time for any reason.” She slid a half-blank page over to him with a pen.

  “And what of my demands? Am I permitted any terms?” He ignored the page and the pen and waited for her response.

  “Very well, what terms would you add?”

  He picked up the pen and wrote his stipulations. “First, you will be mine exclusively. You will entertain no other men, and you will cease all flirtations. Second, you will entertain me any time I wish to see you as long as it does not interfere with your ability to conduct the general business of The Market. Finally, you will indulge my every desire, and in return I will indulge yours.” He finished writing and then signed the bottom of the document.

  “Keep in mind I will make the determination on what might interfere with my business and as for your desires, as you know, there are certain practices we do not permit in this establishment.”

  “I believe I recall the rules.”

  She ignored his droll comment. “No defecating on the girls, no cutting the girls, and certainly no raping the girls. I will allow a forced seduction fantasy to play out under strict control and with a monitor to ensure the girls’ safety. Otherwise, we accommodate any reasonable request.”

  He stared at her for a moment and then blinked. “I do not foresee any issues.”

  Marie took the document and pen from him and signed her own name below his. They had an agreement. She tucked the paper away in her desk drawer and stood. “Good. Now, if you do not mind, I will retire for some much-needed rest. Please send around word when you intend to visit.”

  “I shall be here tomorrow evening at eight.” He eyed her and then turned to leave.

  No quarter would be given and none asked. This meant war, and she wasn’t certain who’d won the first skirmish. Closing the door behind her, she listened for the sound of retreating footsteps. The room remained silent for a bit before she heard him move over to the door she pressed her ear against. The steps stopped. He hesitated, and then retreated without knocking or saying anything. It was as though he could sense her there, on the other side, but he withdrew without further comment. A small part of her wished he had opened her door and taken her in his arms. With a ruthlessness born of years spent as a prostitute, she tamped down the kernel of hope and went to bed.

  Chapter Three

  Marie tried to control her restlessness as she waited for the clock to toll eight, the delay almost more than she could bear. As the last chime of the clock sounded, reverberating through the halls of The Market, a knock sounded on her office door. “Enter.”

  “Good evening, Marie.” Even with the mask obscuring half of his face, Heartfield looked handsome in his somber suit with white cravat.

  Forcing herself not to stare, she stood and circled the desk to welcome him. “Good evening Heartfield. If you will follow me, I had a room prepared for us.” She took his arm and led him upstairs to the quieter side of the house with private rooms.

  He selected a seat near the fire as she poured him a brandy and herself a glass of Madeira. “I shall be right with you,” she offered as she slipped behind a screen. With an efficiency born of years of practice, she shed her gown, corset, petticoats, and chemise in order to don a red Asian inspired robe made of the finest silk. Easing from behind the screen, glass back in hand, she settled by his feet on a cushion he had placed for her. He silently worked the pins from her hair to let it fall down around her shoulders and to her hips. His fingers were magical as they rubbed and massaged her scalp in between long strokes of her hair. Her eyelids drifted closed as all the tension left her body.

  She’d almost left behind her earlier anticipation letting the knots in her stomach unsnarl. Then his stray hand skimmed down her robe and cupped her breast, flicking the nipple through the silk. Delicious shivers ran through her in response. Her nerves vibrated with need and expectation.

  “This is very nice, Marie. I am feeling more relaxed by the moment.” His voice stroked her jangled senses in a gritty caress. The roughness sexy as hell, and when combined with his nimble fingers on her breast and head, came close to undoing her then and there.

  “As am I. Some gypsy must have charmed your fingers once upon a time.” Her contentment had edged away as need pooled low in her belly. She lifted her head, took a sip of her drink, and tried to bring her wits back under control. She had a plan to execute, and it did not include being seduced by him from the start of their liaison. Rising from her knees she walked to the little chest nestled by the bed on a nightstand. Within the box lay a large jade ring with a dragon’s head on top waiting for retrieval. Far too large for a finger, yet not big enough to be a bracelet. It was easy to imagine he had no idea what it was, so she sought to both enlighten him and teach him how to use the circlet.

  “What are you hiding over there, Marie?” He asked the question even as he returned to watching the fire.

  “A cock ring.” A knowing smile slipped across her lips as she waited for him to respond.

  “Whatever for? I can’t imagine wanting one of those torture devices near my penis.” He shuddered.

  Laughter bubbled up from inside her. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is a house of pleasure. Even the torture devices are intended to bring pleasure to those who wield them”—she paused—“and those who submit to them.” Her measured tread carried her closer to his side. “Those rings created by the puritanical types are hideous contraptions. This is an Asian ring designed to enhance pleasure for both you and I.” She knelt before him and watched his reaction through lowered lashes. “If you’ll trust me, I assure you it will not disappoint.”

  His brow quirked, giving him the air of a skeptic, even as he took the ring from her and inspected it. Running his fingers over the smooth stone surface, he paused to appreciate the dragon’s head and tongue. “How does it work then?”

  “You slip it over your cock and balls now, and once you grow hard it will create a pleasurable sense of engorgement, lengthen our time together, and provide me with additional stimulation. Asians have been using these fo
r thousands of years.” Grasping the fall of his trousers, she unbuttoned them for removal. He worked on his shirt and tie as his drawers followed his pants leaving him naked and exposed. Her tongue slicked over her dry lips while she concentrated on easing the ring down his semi hard shaft and over each of his balls. With the ring in place, she stood up and disrobed for his perusal. She massaged her own breasts until her nipples rose up in stiff peaks for him.

  He stroked his length as he watched her pinch and roll her own tips. Abandoning his cock, he stretched up and pulled her down. She found herself in his lap in an unceremonious tumble. She arched into him as he suckled first one breast and then the other. The heat of his mouth on her sensitive nubs sent erotic jolts of pleasure to her core. His shaft, hard and beautifully engorged, rubbed against her slit and drove her to distraction. She wanted—no needed—to come. Lifting up over him, she located his cock, sheathed it in a skin, and pressed the head to her entrance. He filled her in a slow assault until she found her clit pressed against the tongue of the green dragon. A short rub and she came near to exploding. Little gasps escaped as she pressed against it harder, she rose up, and came down on him.

  He groaned while he continued to feast on her breasts, sucking and licking her nipples into tight little berries. Up and down she rode him while the dragon’s tongue rubbed her swollen bud over and over with each stroke of his cock. She impaled herself on him and ground against the jade sex toy until her body shattered, seeming to fragment in a million pieces. She pumped his shaft, letting her body clench around him until he too joined her in release. He called her name as he pumped into her, meeting her stroke for stroke. A second orgasm ripped through her, less intense, but just as satisfying as her first.

  Slumped over him, awareness returned and she lifted off his shaft, removed the ring, and the spent sheath from him. He sat boneless in the chair and stared at her.