A Marriage Most Scandalous (Scandalous Ballroom Encounters Book 2) (3 page)

Sheridan did not know specifically what services she provided, but rumors of men who hired her to lay with both them and their wives abounded, along with other scintillating whispers he’d never paid much attention to. As he stood in the vestibule, inclining his head to her in greeting, he thought of her in his massive four-poster bed, a writhing, moaning Cecily between them. A fresh surge of blood filled his cock. He bit his lower lip to suppress a groan and tried not to stare.

It had become bloody hard not to. She stood tall, with endless legs showcased by the high-waisted gown clinging to her every curve. A lithe and lean figure, with breasts that would fill a man’s palms and hips that would, as well. Her skin glowed an exotic, olive shade, and her dark, sable hair had been cut in a short, fashionable style to frame her face in loose waves. She wore light cosmetics—rouge stained her lips red, and kohl made her brown eyes even more dark and fathomless.

“Gentlemen,” she purred in a deep, lightly-accented voice.

No one quite knew where the Madame came from, but tales of her background varied. She was Italian—no, Greek—no, half English, half Egyptian. Her father had been a merchant—no, an exotic sultan—no, a duke who had borne her illegitimately with a foreign princess. Whatever the case, that accent of hers only added to her appeal.

“Welcome. I am Madame Petra. What’s your pleasure this evening?”

Sheridan kept his eyes on the Persian rug beneath his feet while his friends placed their orders. Tristan and John liked to share, redheads their favorites. Madame Petra knew just the girl, and placed them in the care of a maid who would take them to her.

Bartholomew was greedy, and never shared. In fact, he often overindulged, the reason why the Madame had sent him off with a second maid to a pleasure room where three whores would await his delight. Shooting him a devilish grin, his friend left him standing there in the hall, with only the Madame for company.

She studied him in silence for a long time before speaking. “You do not wish to be here, do you?”

Her soft, low tone surprised him. He started, glancing up at her with undoubtedly bloodshot eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” he slurred.

She took his hand and lifted it, eyeing his wedding band. “You are a newlywed. Your ring shows no sign of age and you have the dazed look of a disillusioned husband about you.”

He glowered at the Madame. She proved too perceptive by half, and her nearness set him on edge. The only woman he ever had such a visceral attraction to was Cecily. It must have been the brandy, he decided, and the sensual atmosphere of the brothel.

“What business is it of yours?” he snapped, snatching his hand away.

Instead of responding with irritation, she folded her hands before her and kept her cool eyes fixated on him.

“It is my duty to ensure that the men who patronize this establishment leave happy. What can I do to make you happy, Lord …?”

“Cranfield,” he supplied. “And I am not disillusioned. I love my wife.”

She inclined her head and pursed her inviting lips. “I can see that you do. Your friends cajoled you into coming here because they can see you are sexually deprived. You need stimulation that your wife does not provide.”

His hand shot out to grasp her arm in a bruising grip. She flinched, and if he wasn’t mistaken, shivered a bit in his hold.

“I will not stand here and talk about my
wife
with a
whore
.”

Despite his insult, she lifted her chin and fixed him with a haughty stare.

“I go by ‘Madame,’ if you please, my lord, not ‘whore.’ And we do not need to talk. I can see quite clearly what you need. Follow me.”

She turned and began to walk, with his hand still wrapped around her arm, forcing him to let go as she sashayed toward a darkened corridor.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, his voice coming out a bit gruff. He hated that this woman inspired such lust in him when his beautiful wife waited for him at home. He hated the fact that no matter how wrong he knew it was, he wanted so very badly to go wherever she led him.

She turned and smirked at him, her eyes dancing with amusement. “There is a way you can enjoy yourself here without being unfaithful to your wife. Don’t you wish to know what that is?”

Curiosity, it had been said, killed the cat. And so, too, was he led toward absolute destruction by his own inquisitiveness.

Where they went, he soon discovered, was a darkened hallway. The narrow corridor lay shrouded in blackness so thick, he had to hold his hands out and feel his way along. He could hear her breathing and the swish of her skirts as she preceded him.

“Here we are,” she murmured, her voice no more than a whisper.

He halted, his every muscle tensing when he brushed against her. The soft swell of her bottom fell against his crotch, the friction causing a primal reaction. He bit back a groan and fought the urge to lift her skirts and bend her over right there in the dark hall. A sliver of light appeared, slicing through the darkness. It shone on Petra’s face when she turned toward him, the dark eyes assessing.

“If a man cannot touch, he is always free to watch,” she purred. The light increased as she swung open a door and preceded him inside. “Follow me.”

He obeyed, and found himself in a small but opulent chamber decorated in sensual shades of red. The plush carpet beneath his feet, oversized furniture, and scent of jasmine served to further enhance the comfortable, downright sexual feel of the room.

She turned to face him, hands clasped behind her back. Candlelight caused her dark hair to gleam and brought out golden flecks in her irises.

“Sit there, if you please,” she murmured, motioning toward a large, plush armchair just behind him.

Eyeing her warily, he backed into the chair and sat.

She crossed the room, took hold of a sheer, red curtain, and pulled. She moved from one end of the room to the other, using the curtain to block his view beyond it. The candlelight glowing on the other side cast a few shadows against the gossamer fabric.

She turned and gave him a glance over her shoulder. “Enjoy yourself, my lord.”

One hour earlier …

Cecily studied her surroundings with wide-eyed curiosity. The room she’d been ushered into appeared as opulent as any in a Grosvenor Square townhouse; yet, she remained aware that she stood in a house of sin.
A brothel
. Her parents would suffer an apoplexy to know it.

Yet, she resolved to succeed in her quest for sexual fulfillment within her marriage. After leaving Penelope’s house that afternoon, she’d contemplated the best way to go about it. She couldn’t very well sit Sheridan down and tell him she’d been displeased with his performance in bed. Besides, she doubted she could ever find the words to properly express how, even though she went unfulfilled, she still loved him.

Thus, her plan to accost him at Madame Petra’s bordello. When his friends had come to invite him out for a gentleman’s evening, she’d been thrilled. She might have been an innocent maid at the end of last season, but she knew this sort of evening typically ended with the men adjourning to a house of sin. If what Penelope had told her proved true, Sheridan would be looking to ease his urges at a place like this. If she knew her husband, Madame Petra’s would be his establishment of choice. The first son of a viscount would be accustomed to the best of everything, and that included whores.

Whore
. The word sent a little thrill down her spine when she met her own gaze in the gilt mirror. Reflected behind her was the decidedly sensual bedchamber with its massive, mahogany four-poster bed dressed with black curtains and red tassels. The silk robe she wore concealed the scandalous attire she’d been given. The deep, wine color of the material enhanced her coloring—bringing out the golden hue of her hair, deepening the tone of her blue eyes, and calling attention to her smooth, alabaster skin. She wore cosmetics for the first time, and found she liked their effect. Dark kohl enhanced her eyes, and rouge invited attention to her lips.

Observing her appearance, she thought absently of the woman who’d aided in her transformation. She’d only come prepared to speak with the Madame and perhaps enlist her aid concerning Sheridan. A few months ago, she’d never have thought someone like her existed, or that she’d ever have need of her services. Yet, here she stood, several thousand pounds poorer. However, the Madame had come highly recommended. If she couldn’t help them, no one could.

She hadn’t expected for Petra to be so warm and kind.

The Madame had ushered her into a private sitting room, where she’d promptly rung for a pot of chocolate and tray of assorted cakes. In the plush, comfortable surroundings of the room done up in shades of black and gold, Cecily had felt instantly at ease. When Petra had urged her to tell her the problem, she’d told her everything—her and Sheridan’s whirlwind courtship and hasty marriage, as well as the troubles they’d experienced in the bedchamber.

“I love my husband, Petra,” she’d said, fingers wrapped tight around a mug of steaming chocolate. “I just want …”

The Madame had moved from her chair across from her and settled onto the loveseat by her side. They’d sat so close, their thighs had brushed, and Cecily had felt the first fluttering of attraction for another woman. It had both frightened and excited her as she’d gazed up from her cup to find the Madame scrutinizing her with dark, fathomless eyes.

“You want passion,” Petra had murmured, reaching out to pat Cecily’s knee.

It was madness to wish the woman would trail that hand higher, caressing her thigh. Yet, Cecily had found herself wishing for it fervently. What was happening? Attraction to another female was something she’d never experienced before. What would her husband think of such a thing?

“Yes,” she’d whispered, trembling as Petra took her cup and set it aside.

The Madame had taken one of Cecily’s hands in both of hers. “There is nothing wrong with that,” she insisted. “Nor is there anything wrong with you for wanting those things. Women are passionate creatures, despite the quiet, dowdy mice men try to make of us. We simply have to show your husband the truth.”

She’d bit her lower lip nervously. “Could
I
be a passionate woman? I have never had the chance to discover whether or not I could be.”

With a soft smile, Petra had released her hand and reached toward her. Cecily had stiffened and gasped, but hadn’t pulled away as Petra began removing the pins holding her hair securely at the nape of her neck. Lock by lock, her hair fell loose, tumbling down her back. Petra had stroked the strands, her eyes seeming to soak in every detail of Cecily’s appearance. The fact that Petra was so beautiful should have intimidated her. Yet, she’d become acutely aware of the fact that the Madame’s gaze became appreciative the longer she gazed upon her. She’d liked what she saw.

Once her hair fell loose, the Madame had stroked it, trailing her fingertips through the strands, then lower over the column of her throat. Cecily’s pulse had raced as her heart thundered in her chest. She’d been taken by surprise when Petra had leaned toward her and swiftly covered Cecily’s mouth with her own. Her muffled gasp had melted into a sigh as soft, feminine lips had molded to her own.

Cecily had returned the kiss, never doubting her actions for a moment. Petra’s mouth had felt light and sweet, so natural, against her own. It had made her feel bold and desirable … wanton. Petra had traced the side of her face with one fingertip, then caressed lower, hooking the digit in the neckline of her gown. Cecily had shuddered when the fingertip had brushed one nipple, causing it to blossom and harden.

Pulling away, Petra had given her a cat-like smile and licked her lips.

“I think you’re doing yourself a disservice,” she replied. “You’re already a far more passionate creature than you, or your husband, even realize.”

The door to Cecily’s right opened, jarring her from the memory, and she turned to find Madame Petra. Her face heated as she remembered their shared kiss.

“Are you ready?” the woman asked, her lightly accented voice a soft purr in the candlelit room.

Cecily turned to face her, fingers fumbling with the knotted belt of her robe. “I hope so. Do you think he will come? Perhaps I’ve misjudged him.”

The Madame gave her a little half-smile—just the slightest curve of her plump lips. “He will come, and when he does, you will be ready for him.”

She gave herself another cursory inspection in the mirror. “I do hope he will enjoy it. I’d hate to think that he will be angry or disgusted with me.”

The Madame stepped forward and took one of Cecily’s hands in hers. “You love your husband, don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

“Your willingness to do everything to please him has made that evident. Do not worry, sweet Cecily. We will give your husband a show he is not likely to forget. Then, we will help him to unlock the animal in him just waiting to be freed.”

She shivered again, her nipples going hard against the silk of the robe as the image of an animalistic Sheridan tearing her clothes from her body and ravaging her played through her mind.

She could hardly wait.

“Remain here,” Petra said, releasing her hand and turning to leave. “I will return once he is in place. And stop worrying. You look beautiful, and he will be pleased.”

She then found herself alone again, with nothing left to do but wait. The seconds seemed to crawl by, and as they accumulated to minutes, she fought anxiety. The risk she’d decided to take could result in the fulfillment of her wildest fantasies … or it could cause her to lose the man she loved. Nothing left to do now but hope the first result would come true. There could be no other outcome.

The things the Madame had instructed her to do—to allow Petra to do to her—had caused an embarrassing blush to heat her face. Yet, they also intrigued. Oh, she must be a wicked creature if such things could tempt her body and mind. If her husband found her wickedness pleasing, then she had nothing to be worried about.

If not … no, she would not think of that now.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but by the time Petra returned, it felt as if she’d been waiting for hours.

The Madame’s eyes glittered with excitement. “He is here,” she whispered. “Are you ready?”

Her heart began to pound, and she feared the thrumming of her pulse would choke off her air supply. She could not respond with words, so she nodded.

“He is just through this door.”

Before she could think, Petra had taken her by the hand, leading her through said door. They entered a chamber similar to the one they’d just left, decorated in the same sensual hues. Cecily’s held breath released on a sigh of relief as she noticed the sheer, red curtain cutting the room in half. The shadow of a man seated in a chair fell against the fabric, dark and mysterious.

Sheridan.

She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes, fighting to remain calm. She did this for him—for them.

Petra grasped her shoulders, causing her to open her eyes. The woman stood close, so near their bodies almost touched. The hands on her shoulders felt soft, gentle but firm. Her fingers stroked over the silk-covered shoulders, and her breath caressed Cecily’s cheek. She pulled her, leading her closer to the curtain, until their silhouettes appeared against the fabric.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered. “He cannot see your face yet, and I won’t let him until the right moment. Enjoy yourself, Cecily. I intend to.”

She obeyed, allowing her eyelids to fall and her breath to escape her lungs in a slow exhale. She stiffened when the other woman’s hands came to the knotted belt, but forced herself to relax as it loosened. The silk fell away from her body, teasing her skin as it went. Heat rose in her cheeks when she was revealed to the gaze of the other woman, wearing far less clothing than she ever had in front of another person other than her husband. The lingerie she had on was nothing a respectable lady would ever own, making them perfect for this clandestine encounter.

A black corset cinched her waist, accentuating the flare of her hips and thrusting her full breasts upward. A pair of black stockings covered her legs to mid-thigh, tied with vibrant, scarlet bows. Her only other clothing consisted of a pair of black mules. She wore nothing else—not even a pair of drawers. Her hair fell past her shoulders in loose waves.

She felt Petra’s fingers stroking her locks, trailing down her shoulder. A fingertip traced her collarbone, then the valley between her breasts. Her hand found one of the exposed globes and squeezed. Cecily gasped, excited by the little tremor that the palm caused against her nipple.

Disappointment stabbed her when the hand fell away, but when she opened her eyes, she saw where that hand had gone. Petra had started undressing, loosening the fastenings of her gown down the back. The front of the garment sagged, then fell away. In a whisper of satin, it pooled at her feet. She wore nothing beneath it.

Cecily’s eyes widened and shock parted her lips. The woman proved even more beautiful nude than fully clothed. Envy stabbed low in her belly. She’d always been ‘pretty’, but this woman embodied all that sensuality entailed. Sex and passion in human form. Long limbs framing a sinewy body ripe with curves, her olive skin offset by the triangle of dark curls covering her mons. Dark brown nipples, large and round, drew the eye.

She snuck a peek at the curtain, finding their shadows perfectly outlined there. So similar, yet so different—one long and sinewy, the other round and lush with curves. She could hear Sheridan’s breath hitching on the other side of the curtain, feel his eyes on them through the fabric.

Petra reached for her, pulling until their bodies rested flush against each other. Another soft sigh escaped her lips at the feel of the other woman’s soft curves against hers. Their nipples brushed and hers hardened even more, becoming painfully taut. Petra’s hand cupped the back of her head and she lowered hers until their lips met. The other woman’s tongue caressed the seam of her lips and she parted them, meeting it with her own.

Petra moaned, wiggling against her and causing the most intriguing friction. She reacted instinctively, wrapping her arms around the other woman, allowing her fingers to sink into soft, pliant flesh.

If what Petra had told her about the tastes of men proved true, the picture they made would stir Sheridan. Hell, she grew aroused by the sight of Petra’s olive skin against her porcelain, the feel of the woman’s soft thighs against her own, their breasts touching, their nipples brushing.

She could never have imagined another woman could provoke her lust her so.

Petra’s hands cupped her breasts and lifted them, kneading softly at first, then with increasing pressure. Cecily moaned, arching her back, offering them up at a better angle. She grew wet between her legs, and an insistent throbbing began deep inside.

“You have beautiful tits,” Petra murmured, lowering her head to taste one. “So soft and lush.”

Her mouth was warm, her tongue gentle and slow as it circled one pink nipple. The dark beauty ran her tongue from one breast to the other, lapping them, nipping at them with her teeth, teasing them with soft, slow sucks. The cries of pleasure echoing from the ceiling were wild, increasing in pitch as the suckling pulls of the mouth around her nipple caused an answering throb between her thighs.

Behind the curtain, she registered movement and the rustle of fabric, Sheridan’s ragged breathing and low murmur of appreciation for what he witnessed. She closed her eyes and imagined him freeing his cock from his breeches and stroking it with a strong, firm hand. She’d seen him do it once, when he hadn’t realized that she’d walked into his dressing room. After watching for a few moments, she’d left the room, desire causing her cunt to ache so badly that she’d yanked up her skirts and pleasured herself to the image burned on the back of her mind. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that stroking the little button buried within her intimate flesh, what was called clitoris, could bring her satisfaction. She’d longed to feel her husband’s hands there.