ToLoveaLady (25 page)

“No, of course not!” He downed the rest of the drink. The room was too warm. Too much perfume, too much exposed female flesh. He couldn’t think straight.

Estelle took his empty glass. “Come this way, my lord.”

The three women led him to an ornate dining room. The table was laid with fine china and silver, crystal wine goblets and silver candelabra. His astonishment must have shown on his face. “I have never forgotten my taste for fine things, my lord,” Madame said. “I may not be accepted among the upper echelons of society, but that does not mean I do not enjoy the best life has to offer.”

She motioned for him to sit at the head of the table. Fifi poured wine, and a serving girl delivered a silver tray laden with rare beefsteak and perfectly browned potatoes.

His appetite, which had vanished upon entering the parlor, returned with a vengeance. As he ate steak and potatoes, the women kept his wine glass filled, and entertained him with talk of their plans for a grand opening the following night.

“Estelle will sing, and Fifi will give one of her famous recitations,” Madame said. “We also have a new Victrola, which will no doubt prove entertaining.”

“Do you really think those sorts of ‘entertainments’ are the real reason people will come to see you?” Charles asked as Fifi refilled his wine glass.

“Not the sole reason, no,” Madame said thoughtfully. “But you would be surprised, my lord, at what a difference such refinements make. If a man wants only sex, there are other, certainly cheaper places for him to find it. I have found if you offer more — pleasant surroundings, a chance to see and talk and listen to a beautiful woman, to enjoy a feminine atmosphere, if you will — if you can do those things, you will be assured of repeat business.”

“Many men here, where there are so few women, are very lonely,” Fifi said. “Sometimes I think they would be just as content to pay for an hour of conversation.”

“Most of them want talk
and
action,” Estelle said.

“And we are here to provide both,” Madame said.

“What about Sheriff Grady?” Charles sliced another bite from his steak. “He’s determined to shut you down.”

“Fairweather itself may have ordinances to keep us out, but elsewhere in the county, the sheriff has nothing with which to charge us. As long as we do not make trouble, he will have a difficult time convincing a jury to put us out of business.” She sipped from a glass of wine. “Besides, I do not think it is the law that Sheriff Grady defends so vigorously. I think he has a personal grudge against our profession.”

“Grady has personal grudges against a lot of things, including the English.” Charles sipped his wine. “How do you overcome something like that?”

Madame waved her hand. “The sheriff is no more than a pesky mosquito to me. I do not worry about him. Especially not tomorrow, when there will be so much else to see to.” She smiled. “You see why we had to invite you for this evening. Later, there will be no free nights for us.”

The wine and good food had lulled Charles into lazy relaxation, but now he remembered the postscript to the note Madame had sent. “What do you have to discuss about Cecily?” he asked.

“That will come soon enough.” Madame pushed back her chair. “Are you finished with your meal? Did you enjoy it?”

He pushed his plate away. “Yes. It was delicious.” The wine had been exceptional also. He must have consumed half a bottle and had reached that state of euphoria that precedes true intoxication.

Madame extended her hand. “May we ask one last favor of you, my lord?”

He smiled. She really was an enchanting woman. “Anything, Madame. I am at your service.”

“There is a chest of drawers upstairs that needs to be moved. But it is too heavy for us to manage ourselves. If you would be so kind?”

Move furniture? They had plied him with steak and wine in order to get him to move furniture? He chuckled. “I’d be happy to help.”

He followed her up the stairs, down a long hall to a room at the end. “The chest is in here.” She unlocked the door with a key that hung from a ring at her waist. “If you could just move it over next to the door to the adjoining room.” She went and stood by that door.

The chest was large, but not as heavy as he expected. With a minimum of grunting, he managed to maneuver it across the rug and over against the opposite wall.

“
Perfecto
!” Madame clapped her hands and beamed at him. “Thank you so much. Now, there is just one other thing.”

One hand still on the chest, he faced her. “And what is that?”

“Only this, my lord.”
 

To his astonishment, she strode into the hallway and shut the door firmly behind her. He heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. “Stop!” He hurtled across the room and threw himself against the door. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Trust me, my lord. Tomorrow you will thank me.”

“I’ll thank you to stop this nonsense and let me out right now!” he bellowed, but already her footsteps were retreating down the hall.

He tried the door again, but the lock was new and held firmly. The door too was solid, refusing to budge when he once more threw himself against it. He sagged against the doorframe, frustration and confusion filling his mind in equal measure. What was the meaning of such treatment from a woman who had only moments before been a congenial hostess? Did she mean to hold him for ransom, or for other, more nefarious purposes?

“Charles? Is that you?”

He thought at first he was hearing things. The voice that addressed him sounded so much like Cecily. He scanned the room. He was alone. Unless she was hiding beneath the bed. . .
 

Before he could reach the bed to look under it, the voice came again. “Charles, it is you!
 
I can see through the keyhole. I’m right next door.”

He hurried to the door between the two rooms and pulled it open. Cecily tumbled into his arms.

But she was not the Cecily he was accustomed to seeing. This version wore a wine velvet dress that was more adornment than concealment for her body. And when had Cecily grown so voluptuous? he thought, staring down at the ivory mounds of her breasts almost spilling into his hand. His fingers convulsed against the velvet, aching to touch her more intimately. “Charles, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Reluctantly, he set her from him. Her hair was loose around her bare shoulders, her cheeks flushed, eyes dark. She looked like a woman ready for a lover, or perhaps one who had just left a lover’s bed. A sickening thought slammed into his gut. The note Madame had sent — something about Cecily. Had her friendship with the prostitutes gone so far she’d decided to become one of them? He touched her shoulder, her flesh cool against his warmth. “Why are you wearing this dress? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I!” She clutched the skirt of the gown and looked down at it. “I came to have tea with Madame and Fifi and Estelle, and afterwards, Estelle asked me to help her measure the hem in a dress. I put the dress on and she went down to get pins, and the next thing I knew, I was locked in that little room.” Relief flooded her face as she looked up. “But now you’re here and we can go home.”

He shook his head, trying not to let his own relief show. Of course, that had been panic talking, to think that Cecily would ever consider such behavior. “Madame invited me to dinner, then asked me to help her move that chest. Now I’m locked in, too.”

“But why?” Cecily stared at the door. “Why would they imprison us this way?”

“I don’t know.” He pulled Cecily close once more, wanting to comfort her. “But she said I’d thank her in the morning.”

“Then they mean to leave us here all night.” She laid her head on his shoulder and he smoothed his hand down her back. He felt the bones of her corset beneath the velvet, and then, the unaccustomed softness of her bottom, with no padded bustle or layers of petticoats to disguise its exquisite shape. His response was immediate and obvious. A gentleman would have stepped back and attempted to preserve both his modesty and that of the lady with him, but Charles was no gentleman tonight, and he was beginning to see Cecily as more than a lady.

She raised her head to look at him, and his attention focused on her lips, soft and inviting. . .
 

“What should we do?” she asked softly.

A half-dozen answers flashed through his mind. They could call for help, or attempt to climb out the window, or sit up all night talking about anything and nothing. Or they could yield to the temptation that had grown between them each day, a temptation he had grown weary of fighting.

“I think I should kiss you,” he murmured, and then did so, gently at first, then with more passion as she leaned into him, her hands clutching at his collar, drawing him closer still.

She smelled of roses, and sunshine, and musky velvet. He caressed the fabric of the dress and thought of the greater softness of her bare skin. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman, yet some shard of sanity still prevailed, reminding him this was no woman of the streets for him to take at his pleasure. This was Cecily, a lady, his betrothed, who deserved to be approached as such.

Marshaling his weak will, he set her from him. “I think you should go back in the other room,” he said.
 

She was still breathing heavily, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes dark with desire. He shut his eyes against the sight, while every fiber of his being screamed to draw her to him once more.
 

“No, Charles.”

“Go to the other room,” he repeated, fists clenched at his sides. “And lock the door.”

“No.” He opened his eyes as her arms slipped around him again. She shaped her body to his, and looked into his eyes. “I don’t want us to run away from each other any more.”

She kissed him again, a soft caress of her mouth against his own. Her tongue flickered across his lips, teasing, inviting.

Defenses crumbling, he surrendered, drawing her to him, pressing hungrily against her, making sure she felt the strength of his arousal. He wanted no doubts about what she was asking of him.

She responded with a sigh, and writhed against him, not with the practiced movement of a seductress, but with the innocence of one trying to ease an ache in the only way available. Yes, she was ready for him, but he’d have to go slow. He’d cut off his hand before he’d hurt her.

He kissed her again, a deep, lingering caress. The finest wine had never tasted so sweet, the most expensive satin had never been so soft. He lingered over her mouth, memorizing each curve and dip of her lips, reluctant to leave the delight of her kisses. But his desire drove him onward, seeking more. As they savored the taste of each other, he brought one hand up to her breast. He shaped his palm to her soft curves, then grazed the pebbled tip with his fingers.

With a rush of breath, she drew back. He jerked his hand away and steeled himself for cries of indignation. Instead, she surprised him by grabbing both his hands and placing them firmly on her breasts. “I’ve been wanting you to touch me there,” she whispered, a blush sweeping up her neck and across her cheeks.

“I can do better than that.” Slowly, carefully, he undid the buttons down the front of her dress, then folded back the fabric to reveal the swell of her breasts over the top of her satin corset. Deftly, he unfastened the laces, and peeled the corset away, leaving only her shift, the darkened tips of her breasts showing through the fine lawn.

She started to peel the shift away as well, but he stopped her, and bent to suckle each breast in turn through the fabric, so that both the fabric and his tongue abraded the sensitive tips. She gasped and thrust against him, clutching at his back. Her desperate cries served to urge him on. He began to unfasten the rest of her garments, while she fumbled for the buttons of his shirt.

“Shhh. There’ll be time enough for that later,” he soothed, pushing her hands away.

Her undid the last fastening on her skirt, and shoved it to her ankles. She was left standing before him in damp shift, stockings and drawers, a delectable sight indeed.

“What are you staring at?” She folded her arms over her chest.

He took her hands and drew them to him. “Only the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

They kissed again, and he allowed himself the luxury of exploring the feel of her: the smooth set of her shoulders, the straight line of her spine, the gentle swell of her hips and the firm curve of her bottom.

She broke the kiss and looked up at him, a coy expression on her face. “Why am I the only one with my clothes off?”

He gave her a look of mock offense. “You wish me naked, madam?”

She giggled and nodded.

He stripped off his clothing in record time, pausing at his undergarments to grin at her, but not stopping there. In a matter of seconds he was standing before her naked. “As you see, there can be no doubts about my feelings,” he said, looking down and smiling.

She covered her mouth with her hand and stared. “I. . . I never imagined. . . “She shook her head, eyes wide with apprehension.

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.” He rushed to gather her close once more. “Come. Let’s get the rest of these things off you and we’ll lie down on the bed.”