Читать книгу Being Wicked - Lacy Danes - Страница 7

She wished someone would have told her at that age what a messy thing marriage was. Grace narrowed her eyes at the group of young women who stood at the corner of the dance floor and blushed at the eligible men of the ton. White dresses, with satin bows, blushing cheeks, and batting fans. She rolled her eyes.

“Lady Wentland, may I interest you in a glass of lemonade?” The laughing note of deep, polished English purred by her left ear.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Well, Markus, only if it has a hefty shot of…what is it you call it, spirits?” She turned her head to see the deep blue gaze of her late husband’s best friend, Lord Brummelton, slide down to her breasts and stare with the knowledge of exactly what they tasted like.

Warmth crept across her breasts and she swallowed hard. Her insides squirmed and she shifted in her seat. She hated the way the men her husband had introduced to their bedroom stared at her outside that sphere.

“Indeed, spirits. They are serving claret.” His hand rose and his knuckles grazed the curve of her elbow. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I am heading to an event. A one-night ordeal. One I know you will enjoy, dear Grace. There will be people in attendance that you have not seen since Oscar’s death.”

She closed her eyes and heat spread through her…a one-night ordeal. It echoed in her mind, and as she opened her eyes, all the people in the room changed. The blushing girls in the corner slid into images of dancing girls dressed in barely anything as they teased and pleasured the men of the ton.

A warm longing slid down her arms and she held in a sigh of nostalgia. There was a part of her that had indeed enjoyed her marriage. Oscar had shocked her senses with futtering that she never knew had happened among her peers…or among anyone.

Markus’s finger slid to her wrist and the images evaporated, like snow on a hot stove.

“I am uncertain, Markus. This is the first proper ton event I have attended this season.”

“Grace.” His eyes hardened with unrelenting determination. All of her husband’s friends had that look when they believed something was right. How they all possessed the same expression, she had no idea.

She glanced down at her hands and then back at the tame and staid men and women chattering about nothing of any importance to her. After Oscar’s death, she had longed to find a normal man. She desired to find a way to live out the dreams of her youth, married to a respectable man, but…She glanced through her lashes at the gentleman who stood two feet from her.

Lord Sutterley. His corseted waist and padded calves were obvious to everyone in the room. She cringed. Never would she end up with him. He fidgeted with his mustache as he glanced at her from the corner of one eye. Images of his mouth between her legs, and that mustache tickling her thighs as he licked her sex, made her stomach roil and she squeezed her legs together. No! Never!

She gazed back to her hands. The truth…a chill ran down her spine. The truth was, there was no reality in her childhood dream. Or the fantasies she used to share with her brother and their dear friend, Winston, in their youth. The idea of what they had all thought this world would hold simply was not steadfast, no matter how much she wished the illusion so.

She would not find what she longed for here or anywhere, but she could not, would not, end up in bed with Markus again, either. Not that he was untalented in that sphere.

The memory of his body pressed up against hers from behind, sweat from hours of long, intense futtering pooled between them, as he brought her to spend again and again. His arm muscles tightened about her, his fingers pinched her breasts. These memories wet her pussy on lonely nights. Markus was delightful. The problem was simply that…well…she promised herself she would have a different life and Markus was at the top of the peerage in what was Oscar’s world.

She turned back to face the handsome black-haired man who had futtered her more times than she could remember as her husband watched from his chair. That damned chair!

Markus’s lips curved up into a smile that said he knew he had won. “Thinking about the chair again, are you?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Very well, Markus. Which of the mistresses is holding the event?”

“Emma. She has been asking about you.” He winked.

“Dear Emma.” Her lips curved up into a smile as images of Emma and Markus’s brother Rupert futtering in the hall at one of his famous parties filled her mind. Emma’s legs wrapped tightly about Rupert’s waist, her head thrown back, as he bit her neck and growled. Her small hands slapped and clawed at Rupert’s back as he kissed her and thrust her against the wall, stealing her breath away.

Slick moisture tingled Grace’s cunt and she rocked her hips backward in the chair, squeezing the walls together to relieve the blooming ache in her pussy. Stop, Grace. Stop thinking about your wild longings. “I have not seen Emma in well past a year. Is she quarreling as frequently with Rupert or has he moved on?”

“Rupert is now devoted to Cora. You will meet her tonight. When will you get past your stubborn thoughts on what you need, and go with what your desires tell you, Grace? I have never seen a woman more like a mule than you.”

The icy, firm tone of his words slid like oil down the center of her back and between the globes of her bottom. Indeed, she was stubborn. The image of a mule pulling back against the ropes as Markus pulled and pulled quirked her lips up. She looked up into his eyes. The same intensity that shone in his eyes every time he caressed her cheek after they had futtered shone back at her—a gentle caring mixed with a firm determination.

She sighed. He was right. At the very least, she did long to see all of her friends again. She swallowed and stared back at the proper women her age that sat and laughed, talking about bonnets, and ribbons, and all the false things they pretended mattered.

“I will go, but only if you put me in my cups on the way.”

He held out his hand to her and she wrapped her fingers around it and stood.

He stared down at her. “No problem, Grace. I have plenty of spirits in my coach, as you are well aware.”

Indeed, he always had something in his carriage to soften the girls he brought to his home before they arrived. She hoped he had some of the chamomile and anise-flavored liquor that let down her inhibitions and pushed forth the longing to be bold and futter.

“Indeed, Grace. I know what kind of spirit you wish, though I do not think it wise going where we are. You should have your wits about you. You have not been touched since…” His jaw set firmly and his brows pulled tight together in a scowl.

“Precisely why I need to be touched, Markus. You want me to let go and follow my desires. Help me, but don’t expect me in your bed.” She cringed slightly as the words left her mouth. That was entirely rude, Grace. Naughty girl. Markus doesn’t deserve the backlash of disappointment that swirls in your life. “Pardon, Markus.”

“There is no need to slap me, Grace. I know you were only with me for Oscar.” The muscles of his forearm tensed. “Much as I was.”

Indeed, she was well aware of why Markus bedded her at the beck and call of her husband. Markus was indebted to Oscar and came whenever Oscar called. Chills touched the back of her neck and she forced that part of her husband’s memories away from her mind. She didn’t need to remember him that way.

Grace stumbled from the carriage and straightened her skirts. Wonderful, Grace, now everyone will assume you are in your cups. She smiled to herself. Well, she supposed she was a bit tipsy, but far from making a spectacle of herself.

Markus smiled at her. “I see the herbs in the wine are working well.”

“I am relaxed, and a bit awakened—that is all, Markus.” Why did she always feel like she had to prove to everyone that she was fine? She frowned. Why couldn’t she simply let go and be what she was? Vulnerable, unsure of herself, and, well, a bit daft. Enough of that, Grace. You have strong qualities, as well as your vulnerabilities. Was that true? Her brow pulled tight. She supposed that was. She simply needed to find out what those were and force them to the surface.

“Aroused, eh? I am glad to hear it, Grace. You need to remember what it is like to touch and be touched.”

Grace sighed. Indeed. That was precisely why she had allowed Markus to talk her into this situation—this event she could pretend at.

She walked up the wide sandstone steps to the newly constructed manor house, which stood on the border to Chelsea.

The outside appeared to be a normal manor. Straight lines and perfectly spaced windows all cued up in rows across the front. A soft glow of candles radiated from the windows, where peering in was welcome by any who wished to see.

The inside was different. Anything but proper. As everyone in this set knew, this home was filled with the latest trends, as well as oddities. The owner was a wealthy Danish man who let the house for an extended visit to the capital and had taken a fancy to Emma.

Grace sighed. Emma did capture everyone’s attention; so no surprise, she now resided in this masterpiece. Emma’s petite stature and beautiful fair hair made her a sight to behold, but her many, many carnal talents kept the men at her side. All of Grace’s encounters with her had been filled with passion and expertise. Emma’s passion certainly came from all of the tutoring Rupert bestowed on her.

Though many said Grace was the one who drew attention—a talent she never wanted or had—she feigned it well.

She closed her eyes. A thud then a stifled cry, came from the right of her. She turned her head as her eyes shot open.

A young lady pushed to her knees and scurried into the bushes at the side of the house.

Grace hesitated. Did she witness a woman, a lady, jumping from a carriage? What was that woman about?

“Everything well, Grace?” Markus’s fingers firmed on her elbow and he propelled her up another step toward the great rose carved doors.

“I’m fine, but I need to use the washroom.”

“Very well. It is down the hall on the right side of the house, filled, I am sure, with all kinds of interesting things for you ladies to relieve yourselves in.” He smiled a full-tooth smile at her. “I will let you know what room Emma has you settled in, when you return.”

The right side of the home was the side where the young woman scurried into the bushes. Grace stepped into the house and turned toward Markus. He reached up and untied the ribbons about her throat that held her cape in place. The footman grasped back and lifted her cape from her shoulders.

She spun around. The entry dwarfed anything she had ever seen. The dark wood floor gleamed, and before her in the center of the space stood an enormous staircase. Intricately carved of deep rich wood, the stairs were the centerpiece of the room, which led to the second floor.

This home was indeed meant to impress. She headed to the right of the staircase and through the open door to the back half of the first-level rooms. Spotting two doors—the one to the right, with a red ribbon tied on the handle, and the one to the left, with a blue ribbon—she sighed and hoped. Red ribbon meant caution; it was a public place to futter. Blue was the retiring room.

She pushed open the door with the red ribbon to the right and entered the room. The smell of jasmine perfume and rose petals filled her senses and she glanced around. The room was beautiful—soft gold velvet chairs sat on blue carpet, gilded mirrors hung all about on cornflower blue walls. In the middle of the room was a large oval seat with a carved gold wood tree in the center. From the tree, straps of leather hung.

In her mind, she was pushed down on the gold velvet seat…. Her hands were pushed back against the wood tree and the leather straps tied tight about her wrist as a man, with gold hair, bit her neck and breasts. His hands spread her thighs wide as his rough fingers slid up her soft skin heading toward her core. She closed her eyes and moaned, savoring the fantasy.

Her nipples tingled and pebbled hard beneath her corset. She pulled her shoulder blades together and pushed her hard buds against the fabric. Tendrils of pleasure, as if from the wooden tree itself, curled about her body, tightening about her ribs, restricting her breath. Her pussy clenched and she panted. Her sensual desires pulsed alive and raged within her. The intensity of her need shocked her.

Grace, you need to straighten yourself up. No, what she needed was to futter. The herbs in the wine had taken full hold, but the act would have to wait. Something was amiss with what she had just witnessed. Though the herbs may have conjured that vision, she bit her lip. Doubtful. The herbs intensified lust, not conjured up escaping ladies. She forced her eyes open. Where was that fleeing woman?

The room stood empty. She walked to the only window in the room and drew back the covers. Pitch-black darkness stared back through the windowpane. She could see nothing.

Grace sighed, and the door to the room pushed open. A young woman, with mud spattered up her skirt, slid into the room. Her gaze darted around.

She came into the house? Grace’s eyes widened. She would never have held the level of gumption to enter the home of a known courtesan at this woman’s tender age.

“Good evening.”

The young girl jumped.

“All is well, no need to fright. I sighted your flight from the carriage. I was actually looking out the window here”—Grace pointed to the window behind her—“to see if I could find you.”

The woman stood stock-still, eyes the color of a deer’s soft brown fur fixed on Grace.

“All is truly well. I do not believe anyone else saw you. May I help you?” Grace stepped forward toward the girl. “Truly, I will not harm you.”

The young woman bit her lip. “I was not expecting to be here. I followed my brother.”

Grace nodded. “I will not ask his name. This is a party filled with anonymous encounters…that may turn into long-term endearments.” Endearments involving more than one, usually. Grace held back a frown as she reached the young woman’s side. “If you wish to blend in, your attire will not do.” Grace raised her hand and touched a strand of black hair that hung in a curl down the woman’s cheek. “You will need a mask, especially if you decide to partake in any of the goings-on. You cannot have someone find out you are of class and breeding.”

The young lady sucked in her breath. “How did you know that?”

Grace’s lips turned into a smile. “Your clothes…” Grace ran her finger along the well-made muslin on the woman’s arm. “Your hair…” She wrapped the onyx strand around her index finger. “The way you walk. It is all indicative of a lady.”

“Who are you?”

“I am a woman who was once like you—a young lady of breeding and class with no experience in the world. My proper name is not important. Please simply call me Grace.” Grace inwardly cringed that she just offered this woman her Christian name. Since everyone else here knew her as such, why should this girl call her something different?

The young girl glanced around the room, then at Grace. “What kind of event have I arrived at?”

“I hope it will be an event of education for you. You are at a ball for the underbelly of all of London. This is one of Emma Drundle’s Cyprian events.”

“Oh! Oh, no!” The doe brown eyes of the petite woman closed and reopened, glossy from tears.

“All is well.” This young woman feared for her reputation. Grace’s heart ached for her, but she deserved an education of what life was truly like before all her dreams shattered. She deserved to be educated about the enjoyment that could come with this kind of life.

A tear fell from the young woman’s eye. Grace dragged the tips of her fingers along the woman’s cheek and caught the petal-soft drop.

The strange girl squeezed her eyes shut. “My brother is here. This is all a big blunder. What is he doing?”

“I know exactly how you feel. If you do wish to stay, I will help you to understand. Everyone here is not evil or bad. When I was your age, I was married off to a man who was twice my age. An important man in society. I had no clue about what marriage was. I had dreams of what life after marriage was filled with, and it was all wrong. What people had filled my head with was…” All rubbish. She couldn’t very well say that. She glanced at the young woman’s fisted hands. “Let me show you. Do not give me your real name, but what shall I call you?”

The woman looked down at Grace’s belly and bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

“Very well, I will give you a name for the night….” Grace trailed her finger along the young woman’s chin and lifted her head so her eyes met Grace’s. “You will be Veronica for tonight…Miss Veronica.” Grace rolled the name off her tongue and winked at the young girl.

“Oh, I can’t play t-that part…. I—I—am not like that. I—I have…” The young woman’s face turned a beautiful shade of red.

How delightful. The men here were going to devour her. Literally. She needed to prepare her for such an outcome. “Have you ever kissed a boy, Veronica?”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, Veronica.”

“Oh…um” Veronica looked down at her shoes and reached up and twirled a strand of hair about her finger. “Once.”

“Delightful, was it not?”

“But it is not right unless you are wed. Isn’t it?” Her huge brown eyes snapped up to Grace’s again.

“I realize this is a lot of information for you to absorb, but we need to get you masked and veiled and ready before someone walks in here and sees you.”

Veronica sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, dear.”

“Come with me.” Grace held out her hand. “I will get you turned about.”