Hart looked reluctant, but he dropped to a chair and fidgeted with a cuff.
“I shall consider your offer, but it is Flora who must make the ultimate decision. If she does not want you as her protector, I shall not force her.”
“I don’t want to be her protector, damn it. I want to marry her.”
“Then it is even more essential she agrees, is it not? I was under the impression you and she had a falling-out.”
Hart’s voice rasped. “What has she told you?”
“Only that you advised her to prostitute herself. Thank you for recommending my house. I expect her to be a great success.” Perhaps she was going a bit too far, but Mrs. Brown was enjoying making the young baron squirm hugely. It was not as though he would ever seek her custom again after today, so she felt no need to flatter him. He’d be a fool of the first order to seek comfort anywhere but in the arms of his wife.
“I didn’t understand. My uncle—”
“Yes, yes. While you were off winning wars, Ivor was busy losing his soul. You mustn’t blame Flora.”
“Eden.”
“As you wish. Eden has alluded in only the barest way to what befell her. Do you know your uncle’s history?”
“Bits and pieces.” And he didn’t really wish to know more. But he knew he was doomed to sit in this fairy-tale room with Iris Brown while she lectured him.
“He was always conventionally wicked, he and your father both. Then he noticed the fourteen-year-old daughter of his neighbor in Mayfair. They had connecting gardens, you see. By the time he was done with her, she had opened her legs for him and all his cronies at that club he belonged to. At his direction, of course. The girl was quite mad and would do anything he asked. Anything. There was a bastard child—a little girl, I believe—but I couldn’t swear for a fact that she was Ivor’s. The scandal was hushed up, and she was married off at sixteen to some rich old cit who was thrilled to get a viscount’s daughter with an astronomical dowry. I’m afraid marriage has not mended her ways.” She mentioned the name of one of the most notorious women on the fringes of the ton. “And she was certainly not the only girl who fell victim to him, just perhaps the most famous. I hear she still has your uncle’s nude sketch of her in her boudoir.”
Hart felt sick, not merely from last night’s overindulgence. He remained silent, the drumming of Mrs. Brown’s words enough noise for now.
“Your uncle bestowed his membership to my house upon your father after he was banished from town, you know. Charles was very informative, explaining all the prurient details of your uncle’s disgrace. He seemed to think it was all a great lark, a bit of nonsense, though he was very happy to be in possession of my entry card. I was reluctant to admit him after recognizing what Ivor was capable of, but your father was not nearly as proficient in debauchery.”
“Thank you, I suppose,” Hart responded wryly. “While I find my family’s history with the Pantheon fascinating, I have no wish to expand upon it. I know everything I need to, and I know Eden has to leave here.”
“As I said, it must be up to her.”
“No.”
Mrs. Brown was startled by the violence of that one syllable.
Hart got up and slowly paced the room. “I’m afraid she won’t leave. I don’t believe she cares what happens anymore. She’s—she’s lost her way.”
“And you truly think you know what path she should be on? You are very young to be so sure. My girls are extraordinarily happy here. I see to it personally.”
Hart bit his tongue. He didn’t think Mrs. Brown would appreciate his opinion of the possibility of happy whores. True, her goddesses were lovely and accomplished, but they could make no claim to be leading normal lives. But he was not here to argue morality. “Then why did you write me to tell me she was here?”
“I overheard Eden speaking to one of the maids after our interview. She has some feelings for you. I thought it might be a kindness for you to be her first gentleman.”
“First and only. How much?”
Mrs. Brown named a figure.
She aimed high, an exorbitant amount really, but Hart would have met any price she decreed.
“I’ll arrange for the funds to be transferred tomorrow. In the meantime, will she be safe here? It will take me a day or two to ready things for our marriage.”
“I am a woman of my word. You will be in possession of the agreement, and her services will not be offered to any other gentleman until you collect her. I’ll find something else to keep her busy. Is there anything in particular you would like her to be instructed in for your pleasure? She may as well avail herself of our expertise.”
“Lord, no! She’s had enough of that. She knows too much already.”
“That makes you a very fortunate man, Lord Hartford. Don’t discount her talents. It is not every new bride who can come to the marriage bed with such preparation. But you know,” Mrs. Brown reflected, “I believe her sexual history was entirely devoid of love and affection. Your uncle was incapable of such feeling, and whatever she thought she felt at first came from the heart of a foolish child.”
“Trust me, I know exactly how he manipulated her. I don’t judge her.”
“I should hope not. But you once did.”
Hart flushed. “The most egregious misjudgment I ever made. I’ll spend the rest of my life atoning for it.” And it was not solely out of guilt and honor that he wanted to get Eden away from here, although they played a part. Hart wanted Eden as a woman, as a lover, not merely as a family responsibility. From the first time he held her, she had etched herself into his consciousness. There was no logical explanation for the driving force he felt to have her. He had fought against it long enough.
Mrs. Brown rose. “Very well then. We have a bargain.” She extended a soft white hand to Hart and he shook it. “I shall wait to hear from you. I do hope I’m doing the right thing. Eden has suffered enough.”
Hart could only nod in agreement.
Flora was unaccountably nervous. It wasn’t as if what she was going to do was new. Cocks were cocks, some larger, some smaller, some even bent, the girls had said and laughed. They had made a grand party of her initiation night, spending much of the afternoon drinking a bit and teasing. There were thirteen girls altogether—a baker’s dozen, laughed Athena, a tall brunette with a naughty mouth and the tiniest natural waist Flora had ever seen. Athena was excused partway through the festivities when a member of Parliament came to the door before the sun had even set.
Flora was assured that most of the gentlemen kept more regular hours, coming from their dinner parties or clubs somewhere after ten o’clock in the evening. Artemis preferred them foxed—“they’re so much quicker that way”—so she could get back to her gothic novels or in bed with her lover Vesta if she were not busy.
But after a few days’ observation, Flora knew that the girls were invariably busy all night, even until sunrise. Mrs. Brown encouraged stringent hygiene routines; even so, the girls were expected to service several customers a night, unless one paid a rather vast amount for the privilege of exclusiveness. Each girl had two evenings a week off from being on her back—or wherever a gentleman wanted her—one for her private amusement, the other to entertain the men waiting to get upstairs. Sexual congress was not required for the latter, but frequently there was a great deal of physical contact that stopped just short. The two girls on “parlor patrol” often had their hands full and their mouths busy with kissing and saucy conversation. Dinner and drinks were on offer for those who requested them. That left ten girls upstairs. Mrs. Brown kept a schedule that Wellington would have envied for its orderly routine. Each girl knew precisely what her duties were and where they would be performed.
Flora had taken the merest sip of champagne, but had given the girls free rein over her toilette. Although she had been taught how to enhance herself, she was relieved that other hands applied the sensual lines around her eyes and lips for her first night. Dressed in a sheer yellow robe embroidered w
ith green ferns, she wore a crown of silk leaves and yellow roses in her wavy dark hair. Her body had once again been dusted with golden powder, her nipples and vulva dabbed with gold-flecked cream. When she looked in her bower mirror, she scarcely recognized herself.
There was no trace of bushy-browed Eden, no anxious girl waiting to feel the sting of the rod. In her place was Flora, a vision of honeyed seduction. The girls had assured her no man would be able to resist her, and Mrs. Brown had said she’d especially arranged her first gentleman for her as an exclusive. He would arrive at eleven, and Flora was expected to do just as he asked for the duration of the evening.
Eden had nodded. She was prepared to be obliging. For the first time in her life she was surrounded by gaiety and frivolity. She had friends. Mrs. Brown ran a well-ordered establishment. If a girl could not get along with her peers, if there was jealousy or pettiness, her contract was broken and she was free to seek other employment. The kitchen, staffed by two fussy French chefs, was open all day and night and stocked with tempting dishes fit for the regent’s table itself. Exquisitely fashioned clothing, although more or less transparent, was provided at no cost. There were the latest books and newspapers to read in the upstairs sitting room, for Mrs. Brown prided herself on the intelligence of her girls.
Tonight would not be so bad. Eden could bear it. She might even enjoy herself. She wanted to. Needed to. It was essential she move beyond the hopeless dream of Hart. Beyond the orchestrated evil of his uncle. She had a year to drive both men far from her thoughts. After that—
Eden wondered if she would become a rich man’s mistress. That seemed to be the goal of all the goddesses, to be set up in their own little houses with plenty of pin money. She’d heard tales of other girls’ successes, how Mrs. Brown was ever so helpful in placing them in love nests scattered throughout the kingdom. Her generosity benefited her, too; her patrons expected variety, so it would not do to see the same girls year after year. Fortunately for Mrs. Brown, there were plenty of desperate young women who viewed employment at the Pantheon as preferable to starving or scrubbing floors.
Eden was not here because she was afraid of hunger or hard work. She was afraid of feeling. Of feeling anything. She was obviously a very poor judge of men. She had given her body to Ivor as a resentful, romantic child and look where that had led her. If she hadn’t been so needy, she never would have believed one word from Ivor Hartford’s lying lips. His nephew was vastly different—a good man, too good. Hart wouldn’t lie, but would throw the ugly truth back at her. He unsettled her anyway and inflamed her skin.
But then he’d measured her and found her wanting.
She was as much a fool as she’d been at eighteen. It was time to detach. No one would get near her heart again. She would soon discover if her physical needs were met by the cream of English society. After the past several days’ observations, she rather doubted it. But no matter. She had a roof over her head and other girls to ease her loneliness. She was beautiful for the first time in her life. She would simply take one night at a time.
Hart walked down the well-lit hallway, paying close attention to the carvings on each door. He was looking for a basket of flowers and fruit. Flora’s bower. Beyond that door, Eden would be waiting for him.
What would she do when he entered her room? Would she smile in welcome or wish him to the devil? He had her contract in his pocket, so she was free, no matter what she did. He hoped she would consent to marry him, but if not, she need never submit to any man again.
He stood before the door and tapped softly. The cello voice within said, “Come.”
The room was subtly lit by well-placed candles. Rose perfume filled the air. Reclining on a tufted chaise was the most exquisite harlot Hart had ever laid eyes on. Her eyes were downcast, but her sheer robe was parted to reveal pearlescent skin and the extraordinary adornment on her mons Venus. Her rouged lips and golden nipples promised endless satisfaction.
Without a word or a glance, the vision rose, then fell to her knees in supplication.
As he had last seen her. Only now, there were no tears, just a wicked, practiced little smile.
“Please get up, Eden.”
Her eyes flew up to his face in shock, her mouth a silent O.
He extended his hand to her, but she refused it. To touch him was impossible, yet she must.
“Why have you come here, my lord?” she asked, wondering that her words could sound so even and dispassionate.
“I have come for you.”
She shrugged. Such a casual gesture, meant to impart indifference. Within, her heart beat erratically. “Well, you have found me. How may I pleasure you this evening, Lord Hartford? I recollect you were not in favor of fellatio on the last occasion we met. I am completely at your disposal. You need only ask and I shall be pleased to provide the solace you require.”
Hart shut his eyes for a moment, as if he couldn’t bear to see her, hear her, like this. It was time he faced her reality. She felt as though she had lived in this hellish room for years.
“Eden, please. We must talk.”
“Very well. I am obliged to give a gentleman precisely what he wants. If all you want is conversation, I am sure I can manage it.”
She rose with a grace and coolness she didn’t feel and returned to the chaise. She had spent considerable time earlier arranging the folds of her robe just so. Now she was acutely aware that she might as well be naked. She noted that Hart didn’t know where to look and was presently staring at the hideous wallpaper. Good. She hoped he was as uncomfortable as she was. The sooner he left, the sooner she could begin this new business. If he had paid Mrs. Brown so he could lecture her on her shortcomings, she supposed she’d just have to sit still and listen. She removed her silly crown and examined her painted nails.
He finally turned to her. She hoped he found her so desirable that he felt dumbstruck. Her mirror had told her there was no trace of the prideful, miserable young woman of Hartford Hall he’d last seen. She leaned back in relaxation so he would think he was with the most celebrated whore in London.
There was no place for him to sit but the bed and a spindly chair at the dressing table. He chose the bed, looking disadvantaged at once. “Come here.”
She gave him a sultry smile, one she had perfected during the past days spent confined to her room. She could see its instantaneous effect. “I thought you merely wished to talk, my lord.”
“I do. But I want you close.”
She glided across the room. They’d taught her how to walk, a sensuous, effortless flow. She knew she radiated carnality, but she was not about to blush. Hart quickly pulled off the coverlet and wrapped her in it. She raised an eyebrow, but sat on the edge of the bed, waiting.
“I found the book.”
Eden’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t trust herself to speak, nor could she bear to listen to the disdainful diatribe that was sure to follow.
“I wanted you to know it’s been destroyed. I’ve been assured it was indeed the only copy, so you have nothing to fear from it. Or me.” He reached for a hand, but she slipped it beneath the blanket.
She straightened her spine. “When your uncle died, I stopped being fearful. I stopped feeling anything, really. But thank you for your effort.”
“Words cannot express how I feel about what he did to you.”
Eden nearly smiled. She’d somehow acquired a white knight. “Are you sure you read the whole of the book, my lord? I was every bit as guilty as he, right from the first.”
“No! Don’t think that. You were not the only girl he corrupted. He was evil.”
Eden shook her head. “I have had years to think on this, Hart. I am not sure you can ever understand. I loved your uncle.”
“No! A girlish infatuation—”
“Hear me out,” she interrupted. “I was eighteen when I gave myself to him. And make no mistake, it was entirely voluntary. He did not rape me. I was as eager for him as he was for me. Many girls that age are marrie
d. I had—feelings. My mother was always ill and we couldn’t go anywhere. I was angry at her. She didn’t—she couldn’t—” Eden sighed. “I was longing for something. I didn’t even know what. Your uncle made my life bearable at first, exciting. I burned for him.”
Hart shut his eyes. This was not what he wanted to hear, but she’d make him listen.
“It started conventionally enough, but then he tested me to see how far I’d go. He was not disappointed. I went far, Hart. Deeper than you can imagine. Or perhaps not. You’ve seen the book, after all. One thing led to another. If I could endure one thing, I could endure two. Or five. Or twenty-five. It’s true he threatened me with reprisals against my sister, but I think now they were just empty words. He knew I needed to hear them so I would have no objection and do his bidding. They gave me an excuse to reveal my true nature.”
Tempting Eden Page 18
