Читать книгу What She Craves - Lacy Danes - Страница 9

Mr. Rupert Roland and Friends Invite

Mrs. Hannah Rosworth to Attend a Masked Evening of Beauty and Sexual Intrigue This Thursday at Nine in the Evening. Costumes are required but please leave all proper clothing and morals at the door.

Mr. Rupert Roland

No respectable lady would consider attending this event. Hannah’s hands shook, clutching the invite as she ascended the stairs to the great manor. She didn’t care. Society didn’t see her as proper. She was an outcast. It didn’t matter that her father raised her to be a proper wife. A lady by all standards. They saw her through suspicious eyes. Eyes that condemned her the moment Simon died and no one but her was there to blame. This was her chance to mingle with those in society who had somehow gained the ton’s scorn.

The event appeared a normal masque. No naked men stood on the stoop. No strange erotic decorations. But she didn’t know what she had expected.

The guests arrived wearing heavy cloaks and masks. The footmen all dressed in the Brummelton livery of red and black. Not a hint of human flesh anywhere. She frowned with disappointment. Inside would be different.

A line of guests at the top of the steps brought her to a halt. How odd. Only one guest or couple entered the manor at a time; then the door would close, reopening after a few moments, allowing the next guest to enter.

Her heart pounded. What lay behind those doors was not a normal masquerade but a sexual one. She gulped. She would enter next into the world of the erotic unknown. Her stomach fluttered and she smiled. Tonight she would learn more than she ever thought possible, with a man she’d thought she’d never see again in her life.

The door opened. She hesitated. Go on, you ninny. Straightening her shoulders, she stepped into a small entry hall, and the doors closed behind her. A single candle lit the small space. Blast, she could barely see.

“Good evening.” A man with dingy hair came out of the shadows. She jumped and gooseflesh pricked her skin.

His cheeks were sunken, and he held out a crooked hand. “Your cloak.”

Goodness, he looked dead. His gnarled knuckles clutched the air as he waited for her to turn. He is not about to hurt you. Give him your cloak. Relax. He is just the butler.

She glanced around the enclosed entrance. No one else resided in the room. Shadows played across the floor, and her knees trembled. Think about Kenny. You will be with him soon.

With shaking hands, she untied the ribbons that held her cloak together. The butler’s bony fingers dug into her shoulders as he lifted the warmth from her body. Ouch. Kenny’s brown eyes…Kenny’s beautiful behind…yes, that’s it, relax.

Maybe this was not the kind of party she thought. No. Just foolishness. Nothing bad could happen to her here. Moreover, she did just see others enter the house. She would not be alone with this strange man for more than a few ticks of the clock.

Shivers went through her body as she stood in a short robe that just skimmed the tops of her stockings. She had searched for hours for an acceptable costume and decided to shorten her Grecian robe and wear a white feather mask. She stood here as Artemis, the Greek goddess of the hunt.

Though Artemis was not particularly pretty, she was strong, and Hannah needed that boldness. Especially now, as she stood alone with the Brummeltons’ eerie butler. Dressed as such a powerful woman made it easier to play the role, to be the huntress, and learn all she could from this event. She hoped Kenny liked the costume. Her hands ran down her curves.

“Your invite?” the man said, and her heart pounded.

Blast it, Hannah, there is nothing to be afraid of. Kenny and Mr. Roland were decent, though a bit wicked.

Wickedness.

She came to learn to be wicked, to pleasure a man. Kenny’s groan as he spilled his seed into her mouth filtered through her mind and she grinned. Without a doubt she would do that again.

She held out the invite, and his bony hands grasped the paper. Smiling, he revealed a mouth with two teeth. Hannah grimaced. Who would hire such a butler? She quelled the urge to flee. Just a few more moments and she would be out of his presence and in Kenny’s arms.

“This way.” He turned and walked to the door that led to the rest of the house. Hannah held her breath, eager to see what lay behind those doors. In her mind, a line of naked men and women waited to pick a partner for the night, and as she entered the hall, Kenny would claim her, wrapping his strong arms about her as she squeezed him tight. Her muscles trembled.

The door opened and deep blackness stood beyond. Not one single candle. How odd. Her shoulders tensed. This wasn’t right. She peeked through the door. At the end of the corridor, golden light streamed into the darkness like a ray of sun illuminating the tiles.

“Where is everyone?” She frowned. There were no naked men. There was no Kenny. Her heart sank to the soles of her feet.

“In the parlor, miss,” came the man’s scratchy voice.

The parlor. Yes, that made sense.

“And why are there no candles?”

“His lordship is away. He prefers us not to waste ’em, and Master Rupert doesn’t mind the dark.” He stared at her from the corner of his eye, and Hannah held still.

Why did this man unsettle her so? Things would get better when she reached the parlor. She breathed deep. The sound of a glass knocking on wood down the hall, followed by a loud laugh, made her breath come out in a rush. Thank goodness. She couldn’t wait to be with the others.

“This way, missus.”

As he stepped into the hall, Hannah rushed close on his heels. Paintings hung in thick gold frames all along the corridor. How she wished she could see them. Art always inspired her. As she stepped into the column of light, she stopped. Beautiful.

A painting of a woman hung on the opposite wall. With black hair loose, she stood in a field of flowers. The wind blew her hair out behind her, eyes closed to the world, arms outstretched as she tried to catch the breeze. Breathtaking. Hannah smiled. She could actually feel the warm breeze tickle her hair, the sun warm on her face. The woman’s mouth formed the most content, happy smile. She seemed truly happy. Hannah sighed. She had never experienced that kind of contentedness in her adult life.

The warm breeze tickled her neck again, and her brow knit. That was real. She turned her face in the direction of the air and jumped at blue eyes behind a black mask, mere inches from hers. A man. His short blond hair shone like a beacon in the dreariness of the hall. A handsome man.

“Glad you could join us.” His calm voice slid down her spine. Her shoulders relaxed. Another person in a mask for the party. Thank goodness. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him.

“W-who is the woman in the painting?” Her voice trembled with each word. Blast, where was her fortitude?

“I’m not sure. She is pretty, though, like you.” His hand reached out past her to the man with no teeth. “Thank you, Guss.”

“Master.” He bobbed his head and disappeared back toward the front of the house.

Hannah stared after Guss, thankful not to be in his presence any longer. Yet, he called this man “master,” and he was not Rupert. “Are you related to Mr. Roland?”

“No.”

“Why did he call you master?”

“Shall we?” The blond man held out his arm to her and she started. He was naked. A red feather covered his phallus and nothing else.

How did she miss that? And how did that feather stay on?

She tilted her head to the side, looking for an attachment. The plume stood straight up his belly in an arc and touched just below his chest. If a feather touched her there, her skin would tickle. However, this man did not flinch as the plume brushed back and forth with his movements. He cleared his throat. “Miss?”

You ninny. You did receive an invite to a sexual intrigue. You are about to see more naked flesh.

There…The feather was secured to his body with leather around his bum. Her fingers itched to trail that thin piece of leather, to touch his firm and dimpled ass. She couldn’t help but stare as her cheeks grew toasty warm.

His long legs, sprinkled with blond curls, flexed as he turned. Beautiful. Glorious. A god. Biting her lip, she forced her head up to meet his gaze and smile. She would truly enjoy this evening.

As she placed her hand on his bare arm, hot male flesh warmed her chilled skin and shook off the last of her unease. Her heart thudded hard as her hand glided up and down his forearm. Fingers lingering, her touch caught curl after curl of the dark blond hair. Umm. She never thought she would feel a man again, and in the last day she had touched two. She grinned. She was wicked to find pleasure in such a situation.

As they entered the parlor, the men in the room stood. Oh my! Her eyes widened, taking in every detail. Twenty guests sat about the room, the men all dressed in the same fashion as her escort, with black masks and red feathers covering their sexes. The women wore some type of scandalous costume and mask, each one different from the next.

One blond woman wore nothing but a red corset and bright red mask. Emma. From the summerhouse. She stood and walked toward them, an easy smile on her face as if she recognized her. Hannah’s heart beat so hard in her chest, her whole body pulsed. Had she seen Hannah watching in the woods? Oh blast. It had been daft of her to do so.

Hannah’s escort held out his hand and gave Emma her invite. She read the paper and glanced at her. “Umm…” Her gaze raked Hannah’s form and her lip quirked.

God, she’d seen her.

“Stay with this one.” Emma glanced back at Hannah.

Feather Man nodded and guided Hannah to a seat.

What did that woman think? She was a peep, an ogler. Oh poppiedust! Who was she trying to fool? She was, and today she discovered herself to be a tad more wicked than she thought.

Feather Man stared down at her and smiled. “What shall we call you?”

“Artemis,” she said with all the strength she could muster. She would not be the proper Hannah this night.

“First time with us, Artemis?”

She glanced up at the blond god. “Yes.”

“Good. We need new blood to feast on.” His eye winked behind his mask and she laughed. Did he mean to eat her? She didn’t think she would mind. How scandalous.

A naked man crawled into the room, and Hannah’s eyes gaped. A tray with a steaming kettle and a large wooden bowl perched on his back. He stopped in front of Emma. She picked up the kettle, poured the steamy clear liquid into a bowl, and stirred.

“My guests.” She waved her hand in the air. “The time for preparing has arrived. Come now and drink my brew.”

“Come.” Her host held out his hand and she stood.

“What is the brew?” Hannah whispered to the blond god who she now stood beside.

“It is a kind of tea.”

“Tea?”

“Yes. To relax you.” A hot finger pushed a curl of her black hair from her face, and she bit her lip at the gentle caress.

“You mean for the blood drinking,” she said, half in jest.

“Yes.” He smiled. “Precisely.”

Hannah approached the man kneeling before Emma, who held out the bowl. The man stared only at the floor. His shoulder, round and muscled, held the tray with ease. How odd that a man would put himself in such a position. To be…a servant? He served Emma and the guests in a primitive form. Like what she imagined a Greek goddess might have owned ages ago before tea carts and clothes. She stared at the human tea cart again. She would take a naked man instead of cold wood any day.

Gripping the bowl in her hands, Hannah raised the brew and inhaled the spicy-sweet scent. The clear liquid smelled of basil and raspberries.

She placed the rim to her lips.

“Take a good swallow,” Emma said.

She drank, the horribly hot fluid flooded her mouth, and her lips puckered at the tangy rancid flavor. Yuck. Her tongue pressed the roof of her mouth, working to expel the liquid, but she managed to swallow. Shuddering, she turned to the next woman, who grabbed the bowl from her hands.

“Good girl,” Emma said.

Hannah tried to smile as her throat tingled. What did she just drink?

“Come,” her escort said. “We will venture to the ballroom.”

“How awful a tea.” Her hand covered her mouth as her stomach rumbled.

“I know. Worse than blood.” His lip quirked.

“Oh good, I hoped blood would taste better.” She grinned.

“Much. You will start to feel the effects soon.”

Leaving the room, he availed himself of a candle from the table before the door. They entered the hall, and she wanted to run ahead to the ballroom, to find Kenny and start turning this night from strange to wonderful.

Her heart beat wildly in anticipation as they entered the ballroom. Warm light poured around a black curtain hung two paces inside the room. She couldn’t see a thing beyond that drape, but Kenny would be there. She was certain.

The smell of sweet smoke filled the air, and her body hummed. Warmth seeped into her veins in a wave of tingles that caressed her muscles and dewed her sex. How wonderfully delicious a sensation, yet strange. Surely her nipples peaked hard beneath her robe because of the brew. Her mind slid into a slight haze and the room spun. She clutched at the hard male arm beneath her fingers, and her breath hitched.

“This way, Armetis.”

He pushed her against the wall and dropped to his knees, pressing his lips to her stockinged leg as if worshipping her. Waves of pleasure pulsed through her. His hands clasped her slippered foot and slid her shoe from it, then he placed her foot on the cold tile floor. Her muscles jumped as iciness crept up her leg. His lips moved against her thigh and heat spread down to her toes. Knees shaking, her hand slid into his hair, gripping his head for support.

“What…What are you about?”

“Preparing you.” His lips curved against her flesh.

“Oh, it is delightful.”

“You may wear only a robe and mask. Nothing more.”

She nodded and leaned her head back against the wall as he raised his hands and undid her garters. Delicate caresses slid her stockings from her body, and her muscles bunched as she groaned.

“How do you like the brew now?”

“Mmmm.”

Moist kisses slid their way up her naked legs to the apex of her thighs. Placing his lips to her curls, his tongue slid out along her slit and back in one slow lick.

“Oh!” She closed her eyes, her sex clenching.

“Anything you wish of me, you need only to ask.” He stood.

I want you to tongue me. No, I want to lick you. Her face grew hot and she nodded. What a wanton she was.

“This way.” He offered her his arm and escorted her to the edge of the curtain.

Naked flesh, both male and female, was everywhere. She glimpsed a breast with a rosy nipple peaked as a man cupped the mound—her breast swelled at the sight—then a bare shoulder blade and a bare ass. Her body tingled everywhere her gaze rested, the images emblazoned in her memory in short little bursts. It was beautiful. Mesmerizing and like nothing she ever dreamed of seeing or feeling in her life. She wet her lips.

From the ceiling hung swaths of dark cloth, which made the room more confined. Along the far wall, more cloth hung to create compartments that housed low mattresses strewn with silken colored pillows. Men and women lounged about the beds, drinking wine and smoking what she imagined were hookahs. Her heart sped and her nipples pebbled hard as she imagined Kenny’s hands caressing her on that mat. Her body trembling as her slit dripped, and he pushed into her. Other faceless hands caressed her. What a scandalous thought.

This room was an erotic, exciting, fantasy world. Masked, one could do and be anyone they wished—the hunter or the prey. She would be bold, strong, erotic, a seductress. Yes. She would do what her body and mind wished without the social strictures society demanded of a female. She would learn what men desired. She would please them.

Her blond god’s fingers tickled her palm; delicious gooseflesh raced across her skin and she shivered. She needed to know what to call him.

“Umm, who shall you be?” Hannah asked.

“Call me Timothy,” he said, and turned her to wander the room. “Prey to all things beautiful.” He smiled.

Prey to me. She could be his huntress. Or his prey.

“There is more to see. Any pleasure you might wish can be found here. What are your deepest desires, Artemis?”

My deepest desires? No one had ever asked her that. Kenny. She wanted Kenny. Kenny possessed a power she didn’t understand. When he touched her, her body did things, felt things, she only dreamed of.

Yes, that was her desire, to pleasure him, to prove Simon wrong.

Her feelings were foolish; she should be running in the opposite direction, but she couldn’t. Rake or not, she wanted his hard prick to sink into her. To writhe beneath him and coat his penis with her juices as he spilled his seed into her womb. She wanted to experience all of this night with him. Touching him, pleasuring him.

He would surely be here—she glanced around the room—somewhere.

“Let me show you what is offered. You may find a delight you fancy.”

Ugh. Kenneth reached up and ran his hands through his hair. The sharp pain in his head beat a tattoo against his skull. What the hell? He moved his tongue and dry flesh scraped against teeth. Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut.

A drug of some sort caused this. One glass of wine never did this to him. He rolled to his side, his muscles aching in protest, and slit his eyes open.

Shit. Pitch-black stood beyond his window. What the hell time was it?

He struggled to sit up. His muscles resisted and lagged in response. Bloody hell. Straining, he flung his legs over the side of his bed and stood. His knees wobbled and his head spun; he sat back down. Damn.

He could hear laughter and groaning through the window. The party was already under way. Hannah. Shit.

The sound of her scream of rapture this afternoon rang in his head and eased a bit of the pain. He would bed her this night. His blood heated remembering the taste of her sweet cream on his tongue. But nothing swelled. He let out a long breath through his teeth and glanced down at his flaccid member. The devil, the drug did more than make his head split.

Emma did this with one of her brews. When he asked for Hannah to be invited, she certainly saw the desire, the pure elation in his face when Rupert said she was widowed.

He closed his eyes and pushed himself back to standing. The world spun, and he forced himself to stay still.

They both would find this situation incredibly funny and too irresistible to pass up. Walker succumbs to a female, a widow. A femme fatale. One of them gave him herb, he knew it. He stepped forward on wobbly legs.

Where the hell was Jerome? His valet always woke him. He staggered to the dressing room that joined his room and flung the door open. Light flooded him. Damn. Pain sliced through his head. Knees wobbling, he squinted and leaned against the doorjamb.

“Jerome?” he bellowed, then winced at the pain throbbing in his head. The door that led to the hall flung open.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I … I’m not well, sir.”

“What the hell is going on?”

Forcing his eyes open, Jerome stood in the same state.

“Bloody hell. Give me my tan robe and black mask.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How much of the party have I missed? Has selection begun?” His fists clenched. Bloody hell, if he missed the chance to bed Hannah tonight, he would go mad. No, he would kill Rupert.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Hurry, man, we have no time to lose.”

His valet came toward him and pulled his shirt over his head with a wince. “The woman you asked about is here. I checked with Guss on the way up.”

Ah, sweet Hannah. He closed his eyes as Jerome held up his robe, and he slid his arms in. She came. Of course she did. He smiled. She couldn’t resist.

Good God, he was going to enjoy watching her as she awakened to what the underworld of society did with their free time. He had to see. Her curiosity, so great, so genuine, amazed him. He wanted to teach her everything he knew.

Now, if he could only get himself to the ballroom before selection and get his prick fit enough to serve her. He looked down. Grr. He may need help with that.