“You’re ill? Why didn’t you say something?” Jannah’s beautiful face was full of concern. Eden could barely meet her eyes.
“It’s nothing, love. I’m just tired. Perhaps Mattie will play cards with you.” She rose from the table and went upstairs.
He entered her room some time later without knocking.
“Take that disgusting thing off.”
“Yes, my lord.” She unbuttoned the buttons that had taken her shaking fingers so long to do up.
“You know,” he said, “no matter how much distaste you show me, I’ll have you anyway. In fact, it only makes my victory the sweeter.”
She said nothing.
“Cat got your tongue, Puss? Your little sister’s eclipsing you daily. While you’re shriveling up like an old prune, she’s bursting like a ripe fig. What is she now, fourteen? Fifteen? Not much older than you when I married your mother and you set your cap for me. I resisted as long as I could, but you lured me to your bed. Oh, don’t protest. You were so hot for me a bucket of cold water would not have doused your ardor.”
“Do not touch her.”
“I won’t need to if you come to your senses. There’s absolutely no point in you behaving like a skittish virgin. You are mine and have been these past three years.” He advanced toward her, his pale blue eyes noting that he’d hit home.
“Why do you torture me so?” she asked desperately.
“Because you want me to. It’s your nature. There is nothing you will not do, isn’t that right, Puss?”
“Stop it.”
“If I told you to fall to your knees, you’d do so. If I told you to kiss your own breast, you could easily manage. And have.” He laughed shortly. “If I told you to lie still so I could carve my initials into your skin—”
In shock, she called him by his first name.
He slapped her across the face. “I have never given you leave to call me by my Christian name, Puss. Apologize.”
“I am sorry, my lord,” she whispered.
“I see my little idea has surprised you. But no one need know save you and I.” He removed a small silver knife from his pocket. “Lie down.”
“Please, my lord, I beg you—”
“The more you beg, the more determined I am.”
She climbed on her bed, folding her hands protectively over her mons pubis.
“I see you have divined where I shall mark you. Don’t worry. Your sin will be buried beneath your nether hair. In the unlikely event you ever give yourself to another man, he’ll not even notice that I was there first. Must I tie you down, or will you submit?”
She closed her eyes and said nothing, did nothing. How lucky that I and A and H were simple straight lines. The pain was nothing to what she had permitted him in the past.
“There.” He went to her washbasin and came back with a damp cloth, gently wiping the blood from her body. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No, my lord,” she said dutifully.
“There is no question now that you belong to me. You’re a good girl.” He patted her head in a fatherly way and made to leave.
She sat up on the bed. “Are you not staying?”
“Do you want me to, Puss?” He had probably never really intended to leave, but it always amused him to see her resolve crumble to dust.
“Oh, yes,” she said.
She wouldn’t find her own satisfaction, but that was unimportant. She was unimportant. He’d taught her that.
Eden’s heart began to pound. Surely she wouldn’t be turned away from this place, now that she’d finally made her decision? She sat up to try to see Ivor’s initials, but was interrupted by the return of Mr. Anton and Mrs. Brown.
“Look. It is insupportable what that man has done to her,” said Mr. Anton, a tremor in his voice.
“Don’t take on so, Tony. She survived it, did she not? And he is mercifully dead now, quite beyond your disapprobation. Flora, my dear, how would you feel about having a design painted right there?” A cool fingertip touched the disfigurement. “A flower—a rose, perhaps, in henna. If it suits you, we might seek a permanent tattoo to cover up your little problem. Later Selene might show you the cunning little moon and clouds she has in just such a place. There was an unfortunate birthmark, you see.”
Eden swallowed. “All right. But who will do it?”
“Why, Tony, of course! It was he who painted most of the lovely artwork displayed downstairs. One blossoming rose will be but a trifle to him.”
The hairdresser smiled. “It is true. I studied art in Vienna. Madam is one of the few who have recognized my talents. We shall remove your underarm hair first, however, and deal with your coiffeur. And those wretched eyebrows. Iris can send someone to my lodgings to obtain my brushes and stains. We shall have a little fun, no? And Iris, the breakfast tray? I am so very peckish.”
Eden had been transformed. Mr. Anton had cut her heavy dark hair to release some waves that fell about her shoulders. The image of a full-blown rose had been painted in henna on Eden’s bare mons to conceal Ivor Hartford’s marks. Her nipples and lips were rouged and her body dusted with golden powder. She was a glowing Flora, goddess of flowers and the season of spring.
And she had “proven” herself. Eden had been required to demonstrate her sexual techniques using a variety of props and positions. Completely nude, of course. Her eyes, now sloe-eyed with kohl, had closed as she unself-consciously masturbated before Mrs. Brown and three of the girls. And why not? She had done this so often for her stepfather, and for herself, it was perfectly natural. As she did so, this time she thought only of Hart, although her audience did a distracting running commentary on her facial expressions and the sounds she chose to accompany her exertions.
When she had exhausted herself and passed inspection, the women left her, save for Ceres. Mrs. Brown had been sufficiently impressed with Eden’s—now Flora’s—carnal skills. But there was one act between a man and a woman of which Eden had claimed ignorance, and that must be remedied with all due speed.
Eden examined the large marble “he’s-at-home” the girl handed her. She ran a finger over an amazingly lifelike vein, cupping the balls in her other hand. The carver had textured the base with a simulation of fine hairs. “I believe it’s quite impossible.”
“Not at all,” Ceres said cheerfully. “You’ll find it feels ever so good up your arse if you put plenty of oil on it. You’ll go off like a rocket if you touch yourself, I guarantee it.”
“But why would a gentleman choose to place his member there?” She could not recollect any of Lord Hartford’s books showing this particular activity. Perhaps it was not to his taste.
Ceres snorted. “They bugger each other in those fancy schools they go to. Sometimes they’ll even want you to strap on a cock and ride them. The bum passage is much tighter, you know. Those that’s got little rods prefer the feeling, and there’s no worries they’ll sire a bastard on a whore. It’s my personal specialty, which is why Madam wanted me to instruct you. You’re to practice on your own, then watch me tonight.”
“Watch?” Eden asked faintly. She remembered the occasions she had performed for her stepfather’s friend Lord Blanchard as he had watched, his face flushed and eyes glittering. She wasn’t sure she would enjoy being on the other end of the equation.
“Oh, you won’t be in the room with us, never fear. Lord Regan is a pervert but not in that way. There’s a peephole in the cupboard. He’ll never know you’re there. And it’s not a nasty dark closet, either. Madam keeps a comfortable chair there and all the champagne you can drink. Well,” amended Ceres, “that’s probably only for the subscribers. But the chair is nice. You can get right comfy and enjoy the show.”
Ceres rose from the chaise longue, her cap of scandalously short red curls framing her piquant face. She wore what all the whores wore in their time off, a sheer peignoir that left nothing to the imagination. Mrs. Brown was a firm believer that all her girls should be ready to service a gentleman no matter the time of day. At the
enormous membership fees she charged, a gentleman could expect to get his money’s worth whenever it suited him.
Ceres had the slender body of a prepubescent boy. Her nonexistent breasts were noticeable only because of her large strawberryhued nipples. Gentlemen who in truth preferred boys but were too high in the instep to acknowledge such a thing enjoyed her flat white bottom and flat white chest enormously.
“Use plenty of oil or unguent, mind, and take it slow. It’s apt to be a trifle uncomfortable at first, but trust me, you’ll enjoy it.”
Eden held the cold marble in her hand. Surely she’d freeze within. Slowly she rubbed sweet-smelling rose oil on its surface, warming herself and the object to the task. No doubt there was a peephole somewhere in this room, too, and Mrs. Brown just waiting to see if she were obedient.
Eden lay on her side, willing herself to relax. She wondered if Hart had ever done such a thing, or even wanted too. Surely not. He would be too pure. Pouring oil into her hand, she rubbed her bottom. Slowly she rotated the tip of the dildo around her back passage, feeling a frisson of wickedness. It slipped in, inch by inch. She felt stretched, not so much in pain as deliciously from being full. Pushing gently, she felt her lubricated body absorb the invader quite easily until the root was buried within her up to its stone balls. She turned carefully on her back, hoping not to dislodge it.
She was completely depraved, there was not a doubt of it now. Her stepfather had known her nature long before she did. Remembering Ceres’s advice, she rubbed her clitoris until her cries could have woken the dead Lord Hartford in Hell. She had discovered the one thing he hadn’t taught her and swore that before the week was out, she’d not be satisfied with just a marble replica.
In the next room, Mrs. Brown had indeed watched her protégée come undone. The girl was the most purely sensual creature she’d ever encountered. She would drive any man happily to a conflagration. No wonder young Hartford had been frightened of her. No doubt she ignited the very nature he had sought so long to repress. The two of them would be explosive together, and Mrs. Brown began to plan for Flora’s unveiling.
“That’s it, lad, that’s the way,” said Lord Regan, a portly young earl who sat naked on a chair holding Ceres’s head between his knees. She bobbed up and down obediently, purring, lapping. His fingers twisted in ecstasy in her short curls, and Eden could see what role Ceres played this evening.
The girl had opened her door to the earl wearing skintight breeches and nothing else. Her torso had been powdered to diminish some of the brightness of her nipples, but her face was scrubbed clean of makeup. Eden had to acknowledge Ceres made a very fair boy. She was still wearing her pants, but Eden could see she would not be for long.
The earl grunted, his eyebrows drawn together as if he were struggling with a difficult mathematical problem.
Ceres paused in her ministrations. “Now, sir?” she asked, pitching her voice low.
At the sound of a second grunt, Ceres rose, turned her back and unfastened her pants. It wouldn’t do to have Lord Regan notice she was missing his favorite requisite equipment and lose his will. He was here with a group of friends and appearances were everything.
Ceres had already oiled her back passage. Back to, she slid herself down on Regan’s hard prick slowly until she rested in his lap. He was buried as deep within her ass as he could go. Eden watched Ceres’s face slacken and her eyes go dark.
“Ah. God, but you’re tight. Hot.”
“God’s got nothing to do with this, my lord. You feel so good. You fill me to the brim.” As Ceres spoke, her voice husky, Regan’s hands grasped her slender hips and drew her up, then down. Their dance was slow, deliberate. Ceres wrapped one arm behind her, holding the earl’s head as he passed his own hand down her flat chest to her belly. To preserve his fiction he didn’t stray any further south than her navel. When at last he spent himself, he cried, “William! William!” which bothered Ceres not at all. She merely turned in the direction of the peephole and gave Eden a wink.
Chapter 10
Mattie had dissolved once more into tears at Hart’s blistering questioning. Juliet was doing her best to calm the girl and had become quite weepy herself.
“Hart, that’s enough. It should be clear to you she knows nothing.” Juliet had arrived home from a very pleasant card party to discover her house in an uproar. Hart in all his travel dirt had terrorized Eden’s maid because Eden had gone missing.
“I’m sure she’ll turn up, or get word to us. She’s probably just visiting a friend. I admit, it’s careless of her not to notify us—”
“It’s been hours since anyone’s seen her,” he snapped.
“She asked me for ribbon,” Mattie sobbed. “And a paper of pins. Black buttons. We had a lovely time walking the shops and stopped for a warm apple turnover. But we weren’t gone long!”
“Mattie, dear, go wash your face and see if you can help Suzette do something. You’re excused.” Juliet shot Hart a quelling look.
“I know I’ve been a brute. There’s a reason.”
“There’s always a reason, or you men think there is. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation.” Surely Eden would not have been so foolish as to try to visit her wayward maid. Juliet didn’t want to tell Hart that she had even discussed a bawdy house with the girl. “I wonder. She had written to Lytton’s. The employment agency, you know. Perhaps she went there and has been hired.”
“Oh, God. This is all my fault.” Hart ran a hand through his disordered hair.
“Now, you know she expressed a desire to get a job. And the woman she was to work for, Mrs. Stoker—no, Stryker—is out of the country. Eden was quite distressed. I told her she could stay here as long as she liked—”
“Oh, but she couldn’t. I’d forbidden her,” Hart said bitterly.
“What do you mean? What have you done, Hart?”
“I don’t have time to explain now. Where is this Lytton’s?”
“I wager they’ll be closed at this hour.” She watched him fly down the stairs, then rang for her butler.
“Gerrard, could you please find out who took Miss Emery’s letters? Send them up to me.”
In a matter of minutes Robert and Steven were standing before her. They were brothers, both tall and well favored. Steven had the potential to rise to butler someday, Juliet thought. He had presence even now. Robert, on the other hand, was terribly shy and stuttered over the simplest sentences.
“I am wondering. Did Miss Emery receive replies from her letters?”
Robert nodded his head in the affirmative. He’d waited in Mrs. Brown’s kitchen, which looked no different from the kitchen of any superior household he’d ever been in. There had not been an inch of ankle or bosom to be seen, just a French chef who had barked at a very scrawny kitchen boy and a cluster of maids who were too young to diddle. The room had smelled delicious, though, and he’d eaten three flaky rolls waiting.
Steven spoke up. “The business was shuttered for lunch when I got there. I left the note in the postbox.”
“Did Miss Emery speak to either of you? About her plans, that is?”
Both men said no. Even if he could get his blasted tongue around the words, Robert was not about to tell his mistress he’d told Miss Eden how to get where he’d been. He’d be fired on the spot. And anyhow, she wouldn’t have gone there. She was not that sort at all.
Hart came back within the hour. He needed a drink. Hell, he needed an entire bottle.
Eden was still gone. Mattie had told Juliet only her black cape and reticule were missing from her wardrobe. It was dark. She was a stranger in London. Almost anything could have happened to her.
At least she couldn’t be ruined, Hart thought wryly. His uncle had already seen to that. He washed in the guest bedroom that had been prepared for him and readied himself for Juliet’s onslaught.
He found her in her overly Egyptian drawing room, gazing like a sphinx.
“I thought we’d dispense with formality. I’ve
ordered dinner to be sent in here.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I am not either. It is difficult to think of one’s stomach when one has lost one’s houseguest, but my cook will be a crosspatch if all her efforts go to waste. You’d better tell me.”
“It’s not my story to tell.” And it was far too sordid, he thought. He had to protect Eden’s reputation, even from his aunt, whose compassionate understanding might be strained by such depravity. “I made a mistake with Eden. I was hoping to rectify it.”
“And you rode hell-for-leather to apologize to her.”
“Yes. And to ask her to marry me.”
“Marry!” The shock was evident on her face. “Her mother grew up on a farm, you know. She made a point of telling me.”
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