Her Husband's Harlot (15 page)

The
footman slid open the viewing hole.

Helena
peered inside and gasped.

"
Amour
,
dearie, the most premium lot of it you ever saw. Just like I said." Mrs.
Bell looked at Marianne, her thinly plucked eyebrows raised.  "What is
your flavor today?"

"Crimson
for me," Marianne said. "White for my friend."

"Here
you go, then." From a basket, Mrs. Bell withdrew fabric masks of the
specified colors and handed them to Marianne and Helena, who took hers with
uncertain fingers. Seeing Helena's hesitation, Mrs. Bell laughed. "Go on,
luvie. It won't bite you."

"What
is it for?" Helena asked, as she tied the gold laces behind her ears.

"To
let the others know what kind of
amour
you're looking for. Keeps the
guessing out of the game. Let me take your coats, and enjoy yourselves a time,
miladies."

The
footman opened the door, releasing a swell of voices and music.

On
the threshold of decadent debauchery, Helena felt her determination teeter. She
gripped Marianne's arm. "I do not know if I can do this."

"Fustian,"
Marianne whispered back. "You said you wanted to win your husband back.
There is no better place in London to learn the art of seduction."

Desperation
warred with a lifetime's upbringing. On one side of the battlefield, Helena could imagine her mother and Lady Epplethistle. They both wore horrified looks and
were emphatically shaking their heads. On the other, there was Nicholas—dangerous
and irresistible, he stood alone, his eyes smoldering with sensual promise. His
mouth took on a wicked curve, and he crooked his finger toward her.

Oh,
Nicholas ...

Helena
stepped inside, and the door closed behind her.

"You
have acquainted yourself with the Nunnery. The only difference here is that only
the best
ton
is permitted entrance," Marianne said. "Mrs. Bell
is more of a stickler than the patronesses at Almack's combined. Believe me, I
had to submit to several inquisitions before my subscription was accepted."

Helena's
gaze flitted over the opulently dressed masked women circulating about the room.
"You mean those women are not courtesans?"

"They
are duchesses and countesses, perhaps even a princess or two thrown in,"
Marianne said. "All here with one purpose in mind: to seduce a lover for
the evening. That is why we are here. There is no better place to learn how to
seduce a man."

Helena
swallowed. "And the masks? What do the colors signify?"

Marianne's
lips curved. "Not to worry, dear. White means you are here to observe
only."

"And
red?"

Marianne's
smile took on a feral quality. "Perhaps there is more than one purpose for
our visit."

Marianne
led Helena in a slow promenade around the room which, by Helena's reckoning,
was similar in size to Almack's. But that was where the similarity ended. Mrs.
Bell's establishment was the farthest thing imaginable from a genteel assembly.
Decorated in a vivid red and orange Oriental motif, the room catered to exotic
fantasy. The strings of paper lanterns overhead shed a muted, seductive glow. Along
the perimeter of the room, alcoves sheltered by painted bamboo screens and curtains
of raw silk provided customers with the privacy to indulge in their heart's
desire. Spicy sweet notes of sandalwood and cinnamon mingled with the musky
scent of pleasure.

Helena
felt her senses whirl.

"Marianne,
may we sit down?" she asked unsteadily.

"Over
there." Marianne gestured to a chaise longue situated next to an enormous
potted palm.

Helena
sank gratefully onto the maroon and gold brocade. Her relief was short-lived,
however, when she saw that Marianne remained standing.

"I
will return in an hour's time," her friend was saying. "Observe and
learn, Helena, if you wish to win your husband."

"Marianne,
don't leave—"

But
Marianne had already melted into the melee.

With
a huff, Helena leaned back against the cushions. After a minute, she slid a
furtive glance around her. Once one got past the impropriety of it all, the
scene was really quite ... fascinating. Caroline's batting of eyelashes was child's
play compared to the flirtation happening here. Eyes widening, Helena observed a woman dressed head to toe in scarlet. Every movement the woman made—from
the parting of the lips to the caress of the necklace at her bosom—seemed
imbued with secret meaning.
Sexual
meaning that held her partner in a
thrall, bound to her as if by invisible strings.

With
a renewed sense of purpose, Helena sought to learn all she could. She attempted
to decipher the meaning of the masks. On a nearby settee, a woman wearing a
pink mask sat next to her companion. He was feeding her berries from a glass
dish. When the fruit's juice dribbled down the woman's chin, the man leaned
over and leisurely licked up each sweet trail. The woman sighed. The man
reached for another berry. The game continued, with no touch between them save
soft, nibbling kisses.

Other
lovers had bolder diversions in mind. On the dance floor, a pair in red masks
moved in a shockingly sensual rendition of the waltz. As Helena watched, the
male cupped his partner's bottom and lifted her against him. He allowed her to
slide slowly downward, her flesh pressed against his. This clearly aroused them
both: their mouths tangled fiercely before they departed the dance floor. In
their haste to reach the privacy of an alcove, they nearly collided with two
purple-masked women holding hands.

Not
all the secrets of the masks revealed themselves so easily. Helena puzzled over
a couple standing by the refreshment table. The man sported no jacket, only a linen
shirt worn open at the neck. His black waistcoat matched his tightly fitted
black leather breeches, which, to Helena's mind, made for a rather odd choice
of evening wear. Even stranger, he held a black leather strap, the end of which
was attached to the collar worn by the woman beside him. His mask was black,
hers yellow. As Helena watched, the man held up a glass of champagne. When he
tugged on the strap, the woman's lips parted obediently to receive the
sparkling liquid.

"Might
I share this seat with you?"

The
male voice jolted Helena into awareness. She shifted her gaze upward to see a
man smiling at her. His hair stood in ginger-colored tufts above his white
mask.

"I
apologize if I startled you. It is only that my legs grow weary from all the
standing. As you can see, the other seats are occupied."

A
swift glance around the room confirmed his words. Helena had no choice but to
nod. When the man sat down next to her, she inched closer to the opposite end.

"Fine
evening, what," he said in a cultured voice.

"Yes,"
she replied stiffly.

She
did not want to make polite conversation. She did not want to be sitting next
to a stranger. Her brain searched feverishly for the correct etiquette in such
a situation. As usual, Lady Epplethistle's advice came up short.

"Do
you come often, then?"

"No."
Please go away
.

"I
do," he said. After a silence, "I've often wondered what the ladies'
entrance is like."

"I
beg your pardon?"

"Where
you ladies enter this fine establishment. We gentlemen employ the walking stick
shop on the street behind. Devilishly clever, isn't it?" At Helena's blank
look, the man laughed. "A place to purchase a hard rod, what."

Helena
felt her cheeks flame.

"Personally,
I come to watch all the fucking." Suddenly, his breath burned against her
ear. "Have you seen what happens in the alcoves?"

Helena
shot to her feet and walked away as quickly as she could without running. Palm
fronds whipped her face as she stumbled forward. Pulse hammering, she wove
through the throng of laughing people. She pressed desperately on, her head
turning back now and again, fearful of any flashes of orange hair. She came
upon a row of alcoves and, spotting an unoccupied space, darted in. She yanked
the silk coverings closed behind her, her heart galloping in her chest.

Several
minutes passed before her pulse steadied. She regained enough of her senses to
realize that she ought to look for Marianne. It was then that she heard the sounds.
Low and throaty, the very music of seduction. On legs that trembled, Helena walked toward the wooden screen that separated her alcove from the one beside it. The
panel was painted with knots to resemble a row of bamboo and affixed with
exotic images of birds and flowers. Amongst the white plumage of a crane, Helena noticed a slight gap in the wood. She pressed her cheek against the cool slats.

She
glimpsed the profiles of a dark-haired pair sitting upon on a divan. Both the
man and the woman had their upper faces hidden behind scarlet masks. At first
glance, the two appeared to be conversing, but there was an intimacy about
their postures which gave Helena pause. She saw that the woman held a
long-stemmed rose between her white satin-covered fingers. With a husky laugh,
the lady caressed the flower over her décolletage; the crimson head fluttered and
dipped over the generous mounds. When one petal detached and drifted into the
bodice, she sent her companion a coy look.

The
man obliged immediately. Encased in fine dark leather, his hands came to cup
her breasts, squeezing, kneading in such a way that had her sighing. Then he
touched inside the bodice, and his actions there made the woman gasp and bite
her lip. She dropped the flower, her hands going around her partner's neck.
Their mouths collided in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss that went on and on. When
the man finally broke away, he nuzzled the woman's ear. Whatever he whispered
sent a flush up the slender column of her neck. With a throaty giggle, she gave
a nod. His eyes gleamed behind the mask as she rose ... then sank to her knees
between his legs.

Shameful
arousal flooded Helena. She knew she shouldn't be watching, and yet she couldn't
detach her gaze from the unfolding action. The woman parted her lover's
trousers, a hum leaving her as she removed his engorged flesh. With an elegant movement,
she encircled the girth with her fingers. Helena's breath caught at the sensual
play of snowy satin against the darkly-veined phallus. The contrast was
strangely, wholly erotic. And the way the lovers were looking at one another
...

How
she longed to see that same desire smoldering in Nicholas' dark eyes. To make
him want her, to
burn
for her ... Desperate, determined, she pressed
closer against the screen.

The
woman had bent her head. She was carefully tonguing her lover's cock. Heat trickled
through Helena's veins as she followed the languid path of that small, pink
organ over and around the flared head, below the crest, up and down the shaft. The
woman was clearly savoring the task—much to her partner's appreciation. Groaning,
the man slid his gloved hands into her chestnut curls, scattering plumes and
pins. His hoarse commands escalated in volume.

Deeper.
Suck me, love. Ah, yes, let me fuck your lovely mouth.

His
hips were arching in a steady, smooth rhythm that drove him deeper and deeper
into his lady's kiss. She made eager little sounds around his cock, seeming to
have no difficulty taking him in this manner. Her forehead glazed with
perspiration, Helena took note of the woman's hands, how one circled and pumped
the base of the shaft, while the other played with his heavy stones. 'Twas a concerto
of hands and lips moving in sensual unison. The man growled a sudden warning,
pulling his lover's head away from his groin.

God's
teeth, I'm close ...

The
woman looked up at him with adoration and lust in her gaze as she continued to handle
him with firm strokes.
Spend for me, my darling. Shower me. Your seed feels so
exquisite upon my breasts.

The
man groaned. He worked his hips harder and faster, shoving his rampant manhood into
the woman's grasp. The scene was so debauched, so wildly titillating that
Helena felt her intimate muscles clench in response. Her pussy gripped onto the
memory of Nicholas' cock, the stretched, almost too full feeling of his flesh
driving into her.
Her entire body throbbed with heat. The hardened tips
of her breasts strained against her bodice, and moisture flushed from her
center.

I'm
coming, love. Take it, feel me
—

With
a shout, the man erupted, his seed spraying upon his lover's bosom. When he
finished, he sagged against the cushions, his chest still surging. The woman
touched her finger to her jaw and caught a stray drop. She brought her satin-covered
finger to her lips, licked the tip, and smiled.

Exquisite,
my lord
, she told him.

He
gave a husky laugh.
Have a care, wife, or you'll stain your gloves.
Taking her hand, he peeled off the pristine material. A wedding band gleamed on
the delicate fingers he brought to his lips.
On second thought, devil take
the damn gloves
—
I'll buy you a drawer full if it comes to that.