Deliciously Debauched by the Rake (3 page)

Elizabeth regarded the black gown in the mirror. It had arrived just before dinner, along with the scarlet domino and mask. “
Wear these for me, G.
” had been scrawled on the accompanying note.

He must be taking her to Vauxhall. In January. She heaved a sigh. She'd tired of the tawdry entertainments years ago. But the gown was shocking. Intriguing. A bodice gathered at the neck with a fine satin ribbon and made almost entirely of lace, skirts of the sheerest black silk and tied under the bust with gold. He'd even included the skimpiest chemise she'd ever seen and stays which fit her form to perfection. All in black. All in the finest sheerest fabric. The feel of them against her skin was heavenly. Sensual.

Black silk stockings tied above the knee and black satin slippers completed the outfit. Except for jewellery. She chose pearls.

A knock on the door below hurried her along. She threw the domino around her shoulders, fastening the hidden buttons down the front. A clever way of preventing anyone from seeing anything but the hem of the outrageous gown beneath. Thank heavens. Though why bother with the gown, if it was not to be seen? Mask in hand, she rushed downstairs.

The silky gown clung to her legs, brushed the insides of her thighs in a most seductive sensation. She gasped at the shock of it, pausing on the stairs.

Her escort glanced up at her, a wicked smile on his lips. “Ready, darling?” He also wore an enveloping domino. A black one. He looked incredibly dashing.

“Yes.” She sounded breathless. As if she'd run a mile instead of descending the few stairs to the hallway. She slowed her steps, pleased to discover that although the gown still brushed against the bare skin above her stockings, it did not cling quite so much. She held out the mask with a smile. “Shall I put this on now?”

“When we arrive,” he said.

Broom opened the door with an impassive face and they stepped out into the night. It was cold. The wind stung her cheeks. Flakes of snow drifted down, settling on her domino, melting on her face. Would Vauxhall even be open on such a night?

John—no George; she had decided to play his game—handed her into his town carriage. It provided protection from the wind, and there were warm bricks for their feet and an enormous fur lap rug draped across the other seat. He'd thought of everything. The carriage tilted with his weight as he climbed in, then settled on its springs when he sat beside her. He rapped on the roof and the vehicle moved off.

He pulled the rug across them both, tucking it around her shoulders and his, like a soft cocoon. His thigh pressed against hers, warm and solid, and his shoulders seemed to take up more than their fair share of room. For all his gentleness, he was a large man.

“Thank you,” she said.

Vauxhall. There would be ham and dancing and fireworks, and probably a bit of slap and tickle in the back of the box. It would be fine.

His hand rested on her thigh. “Warm enough?” he asked as he stroked small circles on the top of her leg.

“Perfect,” she replied, trying not to shiver at the delicious sensation.

His fingers slipped beneath the domino and now there was nothing but the sheerest silk between her skin and his hand. His ungloved hand, she realized as he fluttered over skin that had been made sensitive by the few steps she'd taken in the gown.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured softly in her ear. His teeth nibbled at her lobe.

Good Lord, he was right. She was as tense as a debutante on her first drive in the park with a man. The tightness flowed away. She leaned against his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his mouth pressing little kisses on her temple, at the corner of her eye, while he caressed her legs. His stroking became firmer, more demanding. She parted her thighs and his hand eased between them, massaging and teasing the bare flesh above her stockings with the slide of soft silk. As his hand moved, the silk brushed her core. A whisper of a touch. Yet not his touch. An illicit, unintentional caress.

Heat bloomed. She gasped. He did not seem to notice, but the torment went on and on, minute by minute. Each indrawn breath became more shallow than the last, and anticipation built. Her heart raced. The feminine flesh at her core tingled and ached for a firmer touch. Tormented by the urge for release, she squirmed on the seat—she could bear it no longer. Then he stopped. She cried out a protest, widening her thighs to give him access to where she needed his hand.

“Patience,” he whispered into the hollow of her neck. “We have all night.”

She didn't want to wait. She burrowed her hand into his lap beneath the throw, felt the evidence of his arousal in the thick swell of his member through the thickness of the domino and his trousers. She stroked his erection as he'd taught her, urging him to finish what he had started. To ease the ache clawing at her insides.

He captured her hand in his with a rueful laugh, brought it to his lips and held it there until she stopped tugging against his greater strength. She glared at him, curling her fingers into claws.

“I like this hellion side of you,” he said.

She let go a breath. “Is this your idea of punishment?”

His face grew serious. “Elizabeth, no. I bear you no enmity. Tonight is for you.”

“Then—”

“Look, we have arrived.”

The carriage turned and slowed.

She frowned. Glanced out of the window. They had not crossed the river. She always knew the sound of the wheels across the bridge and even in her heightened state of arousal, she would have noticed. They had not gone to Vauxhall. “Where are we?”

“You'll see.”

While the coachman brought the carriage to a gentle stop, George tied on her mask then his own. He threw back the rug. The blast of cold air put paid to the heat of desire. She shivered and pulled the domino close around her as he helped her down. It was a large mansion they had arrived at, with towering columns holding a massive marble pediment decorated with cherubs above the front door. It was snowing harder now. The wind tugged at the folds of the domino. Before she could guess what he was about, he swept her up in his arms.

He mounted the steps two at a time and carried her inside a huge door that opened without the need for knocking. He lowered her to the ground, letting her slide down against his body, and heaven help her, the silky fabric began its torment all over again.

A butler, a young man with blond hair and twinkling blue eyes, bowed. “This way, if you please, sir.”

They were obviously expected. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw a footman standing staring out of a peephole set off to one side in the door. That was how he had known to open it.

“What is this place?”

“A brothel,” George said with a wicked smile. “A very select establishment.”

A flitter of fear laced with excitement ran through her body. “Have you been here before?” Oh, dear, was that jealousy she heard in her voice? How could it be, when she'd as good as sent him away? But what if he'd been coming here all along?

“Lord Robert brought me here when we were first on the town. Him and his brother Charlie. Long before I met you. I never had need to come here after that.”

She glanced around. The surroundings were opulent. Marble friezes. Paintings on the ceilings and the walls. For a moment, she didn't quite believe what her eyes were seeing in those paintings. Two men and half a dozen women using their mouths on their male parts with obvious enjoyment. Each male was bound to a pillar, their hands high above their heads and an expression of utter bliss and submission on their faces. “Oh, my,” she said, catching sight of another painting showing women being similarly accommodated by several men.

She stopped. Turned and faced this new incarnation of a man she thought she knew. “Are we going to an orgy?” She didn't sound quite as shocked as she should. And that horrified her.

His eyes glinted with mischief. His lips quirked in a devilish smile. “Would you like to?”

“No.” She sounded too hesitant. As if she actually wanted to say yes. It was all his fault, that toying with her beneath the rug in the carriage—she was still aroused and these pictures had renewed the assault. And the fault of this slithering, sliding gown beneath the domino. “No,” she said firmly.

He smiled more gently. “I'm glad. I am not good at sharing.”

A footman she hadn't noticed until he opened a door bowed and gestured them inside what she assumed must be a chamber, a bedroom for orgies. She glanced up at George. He gave her an encouraging nod.

The doorway did not lead to a room. Instead, they were at the foot of a long flight of stairs.

The thought of climbing up there in this gown was almost more than she could bear. As if he understood, he once more scooped her up. He pressed a swift kiss to her lips and then ran lightly up the staircase. Another footman at the top opened the door and then scooted around them, so he could open a door into a chamber filled with the light of hundreds of candles. Dazzled, she blinked. It wasn't hundreds of candles, because everywhere she looked she could see herself and the stranger she'd thought she'd known reflected back at her. It was a room of mirrors and gilt and, yes, candles, too.

George put her down. He threw his mask and domino on a gilt chair by the door. Beneath it, he wore a shirt of the finest white linen and trousers that hugged his slim hips and well-muscled thighs. He toed off his silver-buckled shoes and immediately attacked the buttons keeping her domino closed. While he relieved her of her costume, she realized that what she had thought was a large marble table on a dais in the center of the room was in fact a bath. The rising steam gave it away. He tossed her outer raiment over the same chair, undid the strings of her mask and took her by the hand.

Unexpectedly, he twirled her around. “How beautiful you look,” he said, his hot gaze searing her skin as it traveled from head to foot in a long, slow perusal. He made her feel beautiful still, despite her advancing age, her loss of the youthful blush that had been hers when they first met. She couldn't help but smile.

He led her to the tub.

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, shaped like a shell, colored a pearlescent pink and surrounded by carvings of frolicking mermaids and mermen. Obviously aroused mermen and very excited mermaids.

She pressed her hand to her mouth to suppress her embarrassed laughter and turned to see his reaction. Startled by the movement all around her, the black swirl of flowing silk caught in mirrors, she gasped, dizzied by the sight. George caught her and held her close against his chest, stroking her back as if soothing a frightened animal. “This is the Venus room,” he said quietly. “There are others. Each devoted to the celebration of a goddess. If this is not to your taste, we can try something else?”

“We are to bathe in here?”

“We can bathe. Or we can ask for a few nymphs and dyads and watch them disport from that couch over there.” The couch in question was raised on several steps and would provide an excellent view into the bath. The whole idea seemed dreadfully wicked. Far beyond her experience.

“Oh, my. Why did I never hear of this place before?”

“You have. This is Madame Jouette's.”

Gentlemen spoke of this brothel with awe in their voices, though never in front of their wives. Wives, who eventually learned of it, dismissed it out of hand as simply another place where a husband could take his pleasure without them. And thank goodness, too, they said. If they knew what it was like, they might not be so sanguine.

“I'm surprised men ever go home.”

“They'd be broke in a week. A night with the girls who work here is very expensive.”

“And if you bring your own woman?”

“It costs twice as much. Come, have some champagne while we consider our options.”

He poured the wine. “To George,” she said, smiling.

“To the most beautiful woman I know,” he replied, toasting her.

The words pierced her heart. He'd always been kind, always respectful of her feelings. Gentle, as if she'd been made of spun glass. And it seemed that in return she had hurt him. One day he would thank her, know it was for the best. She sipped at her wine to cover the pain she felt. The bubbles broke deliciously tart on her tongue. The warm perfumed steam invited. “I think we should stay here.”

A smile broke on his face, making him look more handsome than ever and twice as seductive. “I hoped you would.” He took her glass and placed it on a small table then drew her close. He lifted her chin with his knuckle. A kiss hovered on his lips and she lifted her mouth.

It was all she could have hoped. At first a gentle brush of warm dry lips. A whisper of a kiss. Her blood heated. Her body sprang to life. Not that it had been dead. It had simply been waiting, still quivering from the sensual sensations in the carriage, needing more.

He kissed her slowly and deeply, their mouths melding, their tongues tangling and dancing. She'd kissed this man hundreds of times before, but this time was different. Exciting to the point of madness. And she didn't care. Because this time it must be goodbye.

For his sake.

Strong arms came around her, enfolding her close as if offering silent argument. Large warm hands skimmed her body, the shifting slide of silk reminding her of his earlier caresses, the torment and the desire. She opened her eyes and saw them from every angle, saw what she was feeling, his hands on her back, his lips on her mouth teasing and wooing, his thigh pressed deep between hers sending hot waves of lust through her body. It was decadent and delicious and overwhelming.

Her mind ceased to work as her body pressed against him, arching into him, with the ache of desire, while every touch seemed to set her on fire and make the ache worse.

Breathing hard and ragged, he broke the contact. “Let me bathe you, beautiful Lizzie,” he breathed. “And pleasure you.”

Dumb, unable to speak for the tension of desire gripping her unmercifully, she nodded.