Lord Savage (7 page)

“A harem scene will be presented,” Lady Carleigh announced with relish. “In which
the latest Circassian captive must please her pagan master to win his favor and his
mercy to preserve her life.”

She clapped her hands, and the tableau began. The man sank back onto a pile of pillows
on the floor, the picture of indolence. The woman struck a brief, dramatic pose, her
arms arched over her head to display her thrusting breasts, and then began to move,
slowly, slowly.

She let the music dictate her movements, her torso twisting sinuously and her painted
breasts quivering like ripe fruit on a tree. Still she kept her hands raised, twitching
her head to make her hair spill like a fall of pale silk along her back.

Every motion emphasized the exaggerated roll of her hips and buttocks through the
silk, and each step of her small white feet sent her gaudy jewelry jingling across
her bare skin like another kind of music. In theory her dance was meant to entice
the man, but she was aware of her larger audience, too, artfully turning and twisting
to include every man and woman in the room.

Fascinated, I leaned forward on the bench. I couldn’t deny that the music and the
dancer were seducing me as well, and I felt the beguiling rhythm curling through my
blood and deep in my belly. The costly dress that I’d earlier thought to be so revealing
now seemed as heavy and dull as a nun’s habit, and part of me wished I could throw
it off and dance with the same freedom and abandon as the woman before us.

The music quickened, the drum more insistent. The woman threw back her head and kicked
one foot high in the air, arching her back impossibly far.

I gasped. As the woman kicked, she revealed that her silken trousers were completely
open both in front and in back, offering a provocative glimpse of her private self.
What made her nudity all the more shocking was that she’d been shaved clean, revealing
every detail of her full-lipped sex. Another kick, another glimpse, glistening red
and wet.

One of the gentlemen swore loudly, unable to contain himself.

Could the woman have painted herself there as well? I wondered. At once I imagined
the lubricious process of sitting before a mirror with legs spread wide, and the tickling
sensation of a brush and paint gliding over my own sex. Or was the dancer simply so
aroused by the dance that she’d blossomed like an open rose?

I’d certainly never shown myself in such a state to my husband, Arthur. If I’d ever
managed to become so visibly aroused, he would have been appalled.

But what if I looked like that to Lord Savage?

I stole a glance at him sitting beside me, curious to see his response to the woman’s
performance. He sat with his head resting on his bent arm and his gaze intent and
focused.

But he wasn’t looking at the performance. He was watching me.

My cheeks flaming, I looked quickly away, back to the dancer. He’d accused me before
of being a voyeur, and I’d denied it. Now he had the proof that I enjoyed watching
others, yet I found I did not care.

No, it went far beyond that: I was glad of it. For him to prefer to watch me watching
(oh, it was so tangled!) and to concentrate on my reaction rather than on the lewd
entr’acte was in itself wildly exciting, and enough to make my heart race even faster.

Yet, soon I was drawn back into the performance. For the first time the woman dropped
her arms, and came to dance directly before the man on the cushions. Still shimmying,
she bent her knees and parted her legs so that the open trousers fell open to bare
her completely. She slid her hands over her hips and the juncture of her thighs, her
fingers framing her seductive core. She arched close to the man, offering herself
as blatantly as was possible.

“Enough,” the man barked, quickly rising to his feet as the woman sank down to crouch
on her heels. “Down!”

The woman shook her hair back over her shoulders and knelt before him. With deft fingers,
she opened his trousers and drew his cock and balls free of the crimson silk. He was
already erect, and his sizable cock eagerly sprang forward into her fingers. She parted
her painted lips and took his cock into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked
him deeper.

The man closed his eyes and groaned with pleasure as he rocked his hips against the
woman’s mouth. He tangled his dark fingers into her pale hair to hold her head so
firmly that she couldn’t have pulled back even if she’d wished it.

I watched it all with breathless fascination. I’d heard whispers of this act, knowing
it was practiced by the French, but to see it performed—ah, who would have guessed
it would be so exciting?

How full the woman’s mouth must be, even into her throat, and yet she greedily sucked
harder. I tried to imagine how the man’s cock must taste, how it must fill her mouth
and press against her tongue. How powerful in turn the woman must feel, to be able
to give this man such obvious pleasure!

The man was clearly approaching his climax, his eyes squeezed shut and his face contorted
as his hips jerked more rapidly. I knew the pair were players hired by Lady Carleigh,
yet this was not pretend. This was
real,
passion straining for release, and I could not look away. My own body was on fire,
too, my breasts tight and my quim so wet and aching in sympathy that I surreptitiously
pressed my thighs tightly together, hoping for some sort of relief myself.

Then, suddenly, everything changed. The man pushed the woman away and his rigid cock
slipped free from her mouth. She bent down meekly at his feet with her head bowed,
her hair falling around her face like a veil, and he shoved aside her hair to uncover
the wide jeweled necklace.

He fumbled with the necklace, turning it around her throat until he found a loop that
was part of the design, and then from his sleeve he withdrew a length of chain and
fastened it to the loop. The woman was chained like a dog, the glittering necklace
now a leashed collar, and she looked up at him like a dog, too, still crouching and
waiting for her master’s command.

“Kneel,” he ordered curtly, and without hesitation the woman turned about on her hands
and knees. Her hair briefly tangled in the leash, and impatiently the man wrapped
the chain around his hand and snapped it back, jerking her head with it and making
her yelp with pain. Apparently that was what he desired, for then he let the chain
slack.

Swiftly she lowered her shoulders to the floor and raised her hips in the air, the
open halves of her trousers sliding apart to reveal the perfect white moons of her
bottom with her pouting, wet sex below. Yet, despite how the woman must have suffered,
she was clearly aroused, her breathing so ragged that her whole body shook as she
waited for the man’s final assault.

I was shaking, too, not only with the shock of what I was witnessing but with the
excitement it roused within me, forcing me to clutch my hands together in a tight
knot in my lap to keep some manner of self-control.

How had I never known of such things? Why had I been kept so blindly innocent?

The man paused, breathing hard as he studied the woman’s shameless presentation before
him for a long moment. Surely he would take her now, I thought; she was nearly begging
him to do it. Surely he would plunge that gleaming, purpled cock into her, and give
them both what they wanted.

But instead he raised his hand and struck the woman hard across her offered bottom
with the flat of his palm, so hard that he pushed her forward across the floor. Again
he struck her, and again after that, the blows flying until her once-pearly skin glowed
fiery red with the marks of his hand.

Only then did he fall upon her, twisting the chain around his wrist to hold her steady
as he drove his cock into her greedy core. After so much delay, neither of them could
last long, and over the music the woman’s frenzied cries rose higher and higher until
they reached a crescendo of need. When at last she spent, she screamed with her release,
her whole body bucking and shuddering from the force of it. That was enough to fetch
the man as well, who with his final thrust collapsed atop her, writhing together as
she wrung the last drop of seed and pleasure from his cock.

Even before they’d finished, the audience began to applaud, with many of the gentlemen
coming to their feet with cries of “brava, bravo.” It was, I thought, exactly the
same display of genteel approval that they’d grant the performers in an opera or a
play on the London stage—not that a performance like this one would ever grace the
boards at Covent Garden.

The couple slowly untangled themselves and rose to their feet, their hair and costumes
plastered to their sweaty bodies as they took their bows hand in hand. As the woman
curtseyed before Lady Carleigh, the opening in her trousers again slipped open, showing
her partner’s seed as it trickled wetly down her thighs.

Yet, for me, the spell of the performance was still not broken. My entire body felt
on edge and unfulfilled, the tension almost unbearable as those around me laughed
and chatted. I forced myself to take a deep breath, to swallow, to relax, to try to
calm both my racing heart and the ache of desire within me.

Slowly I opened my clasped hands. My fingers were numb for having been so tightly
clenched, and my palms were marked with white half-moons from my nails.

Finally I dared to look again to Lord Savage.

He was smiling. Smiling at
me
.

He didn’t say anything, nor did I. His smile spoke more loudly of desire than words
ever could, and anticipation raced through me.

“I hope you enjoyed my little entr’acte, Mrs. Hart,” Lady Carleigh said cheerfully
beside me. “Those two are wonderfully accomplished, aren’t they?”

“Yes—yes, they are, my lady,” I stammered, turning toward the viscountess. “It was
most enjoyable.”

“I am so glad,” Lady Carleigh said. “Especially because that is only the beginning
of our evening’s entertainments.”

Gracefully the viscountess rose, clapping her gloved hands twice for silence, and
all her guests turned toward her.

“Very well, my dear friends,” she began. “Half of you are already well aware of our
next divertissement, and half of you are not, being newcomers to Wrenton. For your
benefit, I shall explain.”

She smiled, letting the anticipation build.

“With so many delightful possibilities for companionship in our company,” she continued,
“we have over time devised an amusing way to make the selection a bit easier. It’s
also a way for you who have visited here before to welcome those who’ve not yet had
the, ah,
pleasure.
”

Several of the guests laughed knowingly at that.

The viscountess merely smiled again.

“To begin,” she said, “I ask that all of you lovely first-time guests—as well as those
of you who have chosen to play that role again—return to your rooms. There you’ll
find entertaining costumes that I’ve had designed especially for you, my newest guests.
I ask that you change your attire, and return to us here as soon as possible. Go now,
my dears; the sooner you’ve changed, the sooner our charming festivities, our little
game, will truly begin.”

I rose, at last beginning to recover from the performance.

“Are we to have a masquerade, my lady?” I asked. “If I’d known, I would have brought
my own costume. I’ve a most splendid one, a Russian fantasy by Monsieur Poiret.”

“I’m sure you do, Mrs. Hart,” the viscountess said easily. “Poiret does make beautiful
things. I’m afraid the costumes I’ve provided won’t be nearly as magnificent, but
it is the only way to ensure that everyone is properly provided for. Otherwise there’s
always one or two guests who forget to bring a suitable costume of their own, and
thus are left out of the Game.”

I nodded. I understood the wisdom of the viscountess’s thoughtful plan, but still
I wished that I could have worn my own costume, enticingly covered as it was in crystal
jewels and swirling gold embroidery. Nothing the viscountess provided could rival
it, and there would have been no doubt I’d have captured Lord Savage’s attention.

“Now, my dears, if you please,” the viscountess continued. “Return to your rooms.
Your maids and manservants will be waiting to assist you in changing, and then hurry
back!”

“Yes, Mrs. Hart,” Lord Savage said, smiling still as he leaned back against the bench.
“Do hurry back. I’m not very good at waiting.”

That was all the incentive I required. I rushed up the stairs to my room, eager to
see the costume that Lady Carleigh had provided. The viscountess was known for her
extravagant taste, and I was sure the costume would be exquisite, even if it wasn’t
by Poiret, and tightly laced, too. The viscountess did know how to dress herself to
please gentlemen, and I was reassured by that. How could I not be, with Lord Savage
waiting impatiently for me?

But when I entered my bedroom, the costume lying on the bed for me made me gasp with
dismay.

It was the simplest of garments, a long shift of sheer white silk, untrimmed and without
sleeves, and made to slip over the head without any fastenings.

“Simpson!” I called, and the maid appeared instantly from the dressing room. “Simpson,
her ladyship said she’d sent me a fancy dress costume to wear tonight. Where is it?
Or at least where is the rest of it?”

“That is the costume, ma’am,” Simpson said. “And that is all of it.”

“This?” I plucked the costume from the bed, holding it up. The silk was so sheer that
I could see right through it—as would everyone else. “I cannot wear
this.
It won’t even cover my corset!”

“It’s not supposed to, ma’am,” Simpson said, her face impassive. “You’re not to wear
a corset, nor anything else. Just the costume, ma’am.”

“Nothing?” Appalled, I stared at the filmy silk in my hands. By comparison, the costume
of the dancer I’d just seen was propriety itself. “I might as well parade myself naked
as to wear
this.
”