Virgin Enchained (Virgin Series Book 4)

by Louisa Trent

  “While face slapping of rude customers is frowned upon, my dear, alternative measures may be employed should gents grow too eager. The cut direct to the offending party is one such measure.”

  I went all agog. “Really?”

  “Really! So long as it is done discreetly,” she warned on our second turn around the garden. “Ignoring customers is not the way to encourage repeat visits, the bread and butter of a gambling den.”

  I nodded. “I understand now. Will you fill me in on Mr. Simmons next?” I asked her on a whisper.

  “Not much to tell. Our employer is one of the most closed-mouthed men I have ever known. However, I do have it on good authority – second-hand gossip – that Matthew Simmons ran away and joined the circus as an adolescent.”

  “Just like Gil said,” I muttered beneath my breath. “A circus! I thought that story was made up. You know – folklore.”

  “No. God’s truth. Mr. Simmons worked under the Big Top for years. But he never did forget his promise to someday buy a rundown tenement, fix it up, and provide safe harbor in Boston to girls who have nowhere else to go but the docks. And when they make enough money, they move onto something else, something better. ”

  “Anything else?” I pressed. “Something more personal?”

  “Why do you need to know?” My new friend slanted me a searching look.

  “I love him.”

  “So?” She tssked. “All the girls here love him. Including me. And though all of us have tried at one point or another to get him into bed, no one has ever succeeded. We even have a running contest to see who wears him down first. You might have a leg up on the competition, Emma. Our boss has never invited a street whore upstairs before you.”

  “I was a dancer before this position fell into my lap, not a whore,” I corrected her.

  “Are not all dancers prostitutes, my dear?”

  “No! Not by choice, we are not,” I strenuously disagreed. “Some of us are forced into the business if we wish to continue on in our profession, the one we wanted since childhood, the one we dearly love.”

  “Are you speaking about yourself, my dear?”

  I looked down at my feet. “Yes. Partially. Sorry, Clarissa. I get hot under the collar when it comes to all the misconceptions about dancers.”

  “As well you should, if dance is your passion. Is Mr. Simmons also your passion?”

  “Yes. He owns my heart.”

  “Glad to hear. Matthew is a good man. He deserves all the best. And if he were only after a warm body, he would have his pick of girls at the gambling den, and not only amongst the paid whores. Now, I have said quite enough. Onto other items, my dear. Are you aware we run a center here for children?”

  “A nursery?”

  “For the little ones, yes. For older ones, Mr. Simmons insists on a classroom environment.”

  “What a wonderful idea!”

  “It is, because whores have children too, the same as decent women. Save – with whores – many have been disowned by their kin or other problems in the home existed that led them to run off in the first place. So – who cares for the illegitimate offspring of these girls while they work?”

  “The gambling den?” I tossed out, never once thinking my flippant answer might very well turn out to be correct.

  “Yes.”

  “What!”

  “We provide a place for these children to go, yes. They are tended to here while their mothers are out walking the streets.”

  “And you do this where in this building?”

  “Mr. Simmons renovated a large space in the basement with its own private entrance just for them. The children are given free meals in the kitchen, next room down. While their mothers are otherwise occupied – or tossed in jail for the night with a charge of prostitution – they learn rudimentary skills, like tying their shoe laces and so forth. The service Mr. Simmons provides is around the clock if necessary, so there are cots set up as well and a night nurse, all coming out of the pocket of Mr. Simmons. No charity would ever be able to afford what he provides here.”

  “And where would I come in?”

  “We are always on the lookout for creative outlets. If you agree to become involved in the program, I thought you could teach the older children simple dance moves. If nothing else, the instruction will keep them occupied instead of trying to kill one another. Many of the kids have had a bad time of it before coming here, and it shows in their behaviors.”

  “As an orphan myself, believe me, I understand.” I nodded. “I have never taught classes, but I can give it a try.”

  “That is all we can ask,” Clarissa replied, and then gave me a warm embrace.

  After that, we went our separate ways, returning to our respective duties at the house. Though I went through the motions, my mind was occupied with what Clarissa had told me.

  As it turned out, Mr. Simmons was an extraordinarily complicated man. I had not taken him for a do-gooder, but perhaps I should have. After all, he had taken me in when I had no place else to go and no one to turn to. Asking nothing of me in return, he had offered me a position in his gambling den, one that paid better than kitchen work would have and which I had come to enjoy very much.

  The details I learned from Clarissa motivated me to learn more about Mr. Simmons. He hid so much behind that placid façade of his. I had a feeling he seldom surrendered to his own needs, whatever they were.

  I could only assume all this, of course.

  I rarely saw him, and then only briefly downstairs during my shift at the gambling den, where we exchanged impersonal pleasantries as if we were no better acquainted than strangers. And here our bedchambers were adjacent to one another, the connecting door kept not only unlocked, but ajar!

  As owner/proprietor of what I had come to understand as the most successful establishment in all the Red-light District, he worked long hours. His habit, as far as I could tell, was to be the first to arrive in the morning and the last to leave at night, and that was often no longer night at all but the wee hours of the following day. Many an evening, I had lain awake listening for him, only to nod off before ever hearing him arrive next door. And now that I had an appropriate new wardrobe, meeting with him and the seamstress was no longer an excuse to see him.

  I wagered his mistress saw plenty of him, however. Perhaps even during those hours when I assumed he was working.

  Jealousy clawed at me. What did she have that I did not?

  I was beginning to think closeness to Mr. Simmons must be dictated on his terms, when and where he wished it. This meant making myself assessable. This meant, answering his every whim and desire, even those not asked of me.

  Mindreading in other words. And more.

  Everything permissible, nothing off limits, allowing him unsanctioned use of my body, the kind of carnality a wife would certainly not allow.

  As to my dream of red roses…I must let that fairytale go. I would never be his wife or any man’s wife. My profession had branded me a prostitute. And to get ahead in the business of ballet, so I must become.

  And, as I was getting a little long in the tooth, I would need to make my move before it was too late.

  Speaking of which…I vowed not to fall asleep before Mr. Simmons arrived next door tonight, regardless of the lateness of the hour. I would never wear his wedding band, but I could still have him…even if it were only for a night.

  Chapter Ten

  Finally! The sound of footsteps on the creaky stairs. Even above the wind-driven torrents of rain outside, I heard them.

  Mr. Simmons was about to enter his master suite through his private hallway door – he never crossed through the connecting entrance from my boudoir into his own bedchamber.

  All-aflutter, I rehearsed my ambush. Specifically, what I would wear.

  A short deliberation.

  The voluminous nightgowns he had insisted the seamstress design for me all sported high-necked collars. All were suitable for a twelve year-old schoolgirl, not a mature
woman who knew her own mind.

  A compromise was in order. I settled on a nearly transparent batiste de soie, yard goods used in the making of fine lingerie. In my case, a petticoat. Beneath all the ridiculous ruffles, I was blissfully naked. No drawers. No hose. No support. My breasts shifted as I made my slow way across the floor into his master suite. How I wished for my discarded nipple hoops to tantalize him then.

  Or anything else, for that matter. Picky, I was not. When it came to seduction, I needed all the help I could get.

  I interrupted Mr. Simmons while he was seated atop the bed removing his black socks, a domestic scene that could not have been more ordinary…between a husband and wife. Only we were not a married couple. Or any other kind of couple.

  As I approached, he looked up, his face showing concern. “Has the storm outside frightened you, sweety?”

  His endearment failed to raise my hopes. A bachelor uncle would have used the same term and tone when soothing an anxious child. But, as he had just provided me with a perfect excuse for my nocturnal visit, who was I to complain?

  Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, I said tremulously, “Downpours always did frighten me half-to-death, sir.”

  “Many children are similarly afflicted.”

  A false reminder of my youth. I was no little girl, no matter how much he preferred to think otherwise in the interest of keeping me at arm’s length. As for the real me – there was nothing I liked better than a good storm.

  As arguing my maturity would prove a losing battle with him, instead I employed my acting skills to full advantage. “The rain is coming down so hard, sir.” I shivered. “Who can sleep? I stayed half-dressed ready to dart for cover under the bed should lightning strike. The bolts scare me so.”

  As if on cue, the single light in the room flickered. Huzzahh! Perfect timing.

  “Oh, dear,” I cried forlornly.

  “No need for upset. See? The lamp is still on. And should we lose electricity, I am here for you, child.”

  Child. Another false reminder to himself not to touch me. So long as the lamp held, he could damn well look though.

  Now to give him something to look at.

  I shivered again, the quakes stronger this time, and the strap on my petticoat slipped down to my elbow, baring one breast.

  I pretended not to notice.

  As did he.

  “Sweety, we all have our fears.”

  Was I his?

  The lights flickered again and then went out.

  I could not have planned this electrical outage any better had I tried, I thought contentedly.

  In total darkness, I raced for his arms, my speedy steps ensuring the other petticoat strap’s descent. On my leap for the mattress, I knocked him backwards. Showing him no pity, I burrowed bare-breasted against his massive chest, which his somewhat undone shirt had left semi-exposed.

  Was my ploy working?

  For me it was. The tumultuousness outside energized me within. And all things taken into account, this was going rather well, I mused, my only covering now hovering tenuously at my hip bones as I hung over him. Did he feel my turgid nipples against his chest?

  Uh-oh. Did they tip him off to the fact that my fear was pretense?

  An ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure…

  So as not to be found out, I pretended to shiver once again. The ruse was getting stale but what could I do?

  “Frightful deluge out tonight, sir. Though, I am not nearly as frightened now that I am with you.” With a hint of bravery – it was best not to overdo the scaredy-cat dramatics – I offered, “Indeed, now the rain seems almost melodious to my ears. Quite lulling.”

  “Then, if you have sufficiently lulled, leave,” he said, turning the tables on me. “Return to your own bed beyond the wall. I will be right here should you need me.”

  “I need you now, sir.” And I did. Just not the way he meant. And not the way I had originally portrayed the need, either. Perhaps my elongated nipples betrayed my cowardliness as deceit, but they did speak the truth about my horniness.

  My seduction attempt of Mr. Simmons had not left me unaffected.

  “I am beginning to suspect you of having an ulterior motive in being here with me like this, Emma.”

  I cooed. “Would that be so very bad, sir?”

  “Yes!”

  I giggled. “Feel free to punish me, then, sir.”

  “Christ. You win.” His palm came down on my partially uncovered bottom.

  And I was undone.

  Pressing my bare breasts against him, I snuggled deeper against him.

  He was having none of it. “Give an inch and you steal a mile.” He sighed. “Cease trying to manipulate me.”

  “I thought myself a better actress. What gave me away?”

  “I would have to say it was your transparency.”

  “You saw through me?”

  “Like a window. And from the very beginning.” He clucked his tongue. “The rain? Please. You went toe-to-toe with an Irish gang in a Red-light District alley. I think you can make it through a storm all on your own.”

  “You will turn my head with your compliments, sir.”

  “You have had your fun, now quit. In all seriousness, you know we should not be together like this, Emma. None of this is right. Shove off me, honey, so I can walk you back to your room like the gent I am not.”

  “Piffle,” I gamely whispered, rubbing my nose back and forth against his chest, relieved at least this much was out in the open between us. “We are doing nothing wrong. You are only comforting me.”

  “You need no comfort. What you need is a spanking.”

  “Goody! Now, we are talking.”

  “Stop it now, Emma. The tease is too much. Could we please be adults about this?”

  “I am being an adult here. Very adult. And besides, who is to know, sir?”

  “Me. And that is more than enough. Admittedly, there is an attraction between us the size of Texas, but I refuse to act on it. Because acting on it would break my house rule about consorting with staff members, of which you are one. Apart from that, I already have a mistress.”

  I swallowed what was left of my pride and said brightly, “And I could be your whore, provide you what she does not. A virile man like you surely has other appetites, unmet appetites I can satisfy.” I crossed my fingers there. “Please – do not send me away.”

  “Send you away!” He patted my bare back. “I would never do that. You have a home here as long as you want or need one. I told you so.”

  “At the moment, I require the warmth of human companionship. Someone I trust. Please, sir. Say I can stay the night with you.”

  “Very well.”

  That was easy. I would have felt guilty about forcing the issue…save for the disconnect between his grudging consent and his busy hands. Even as his voice screamed his agreement was done under duress, his actions whispered otherwise.

  He smoothed his palm up and down me, from nape to waist, his thick fingers tense against my naked flesh. “Just for tonight, Emma. This thing between us ends here.” He shook his head ruefully. Fucking rain. It has us both keyed up.”

  I sighed. Lovely storm. Rain that might make all my dreams come true, at least for tonight.

  I started shimmying out of my petticoat. When my big toe caught in the hem, I struggled to undo it.

  He muttered, “Allow me.”

  In the dark, he reached out a hand to assist me, mistakenly brushing my bobbing breast in transit.

  I, of course, took full advantage and turned into his touch, which promptly turned into a steamy caress.

  “Your closeness feels so right, sir.”

  My goal had been to slip my gauzy petticoat in a southerly direction, until my lower regions were entirely uncovered, but in my desperation to make any appreciable headway, I would have settled for lowering it even a small additional amount. Surprisingly, he had another inclination.

  He stripped the undergarment cl
ean off me. Then, he returned his attentions to my person. This time, the small of my back, directly above the swell of my buttocks, was favored. His fingers feathered my flesh as they investigated the crevice.

  Whether my corresponding wiggle accomplished it or his male forcefulness succeeded where my subtlety had failed mattered not to me – he tightened his grip on my buttock.

  “This might have been a good idea after all,” he croaked, his hoarse admission music to my ears.

  There could be no mistake – I stirred him. His hardened cock told me so. What to do next?

  I only knew this much – should he be waiting for me to make a decisive move, he was in for disappointment.

  To take his mind off my ignorance, I said conversationally, “Your bed is ever so high off the floor, sir. A stepstool would come in handy.”

  “Got me some long legs,” he said by way of an answer.

  “But what of all your lady friends, sir? Do they never stay the night?”

  “No lady friends. There is only my mistress. And she never visits me here. I always go there, though I have not for a while.”

  Not since my arrival.

  Why pretend? I was keeping track. That he had felt no need for a woman to warm his bed was an excellent sign of his attraction to me. Or so I told myself.

  He must have grown tired of waiting for me to do something for, cupping my bare bottom underneath, he lifted me up onto my knees.

  For heaven’s sake! I was a dancer, so why was I always so clumsy with him?

  During the transition, I lost my balance and fell to all-fours faced away on the bed, just as lightening crashed and brightened our surroundings.

  From behind me, I heard him suck in a breath. “Christ. The picture you make.”

  His helpful hand remained on my bottom. The other one had somehow gotten tangled up in my hip-length hair. When he flicked a strand, I drawled, “Is that your way of telling me to giddy-up, sir?” I whinnied.

  His mood had gotten awfully heavy all of a sudden and I thought to lighten things up.