Master of Pleasure (28 page)

He slowly shook his head. “No. If a bleeding lip and a boat on water offends you so easily, I really don’t stand a chance. You’ll never love me. Not in the way I need you to.”

She dragged in uneven breaths. “You aren’t making any sense. You aren’t—”

“Nothing about me makes sense, Leona. No one knows that more than I.” He let out a harsh breath. “Go to bed. Don’t…don’t let our argument taint what we shared tonight. When I’m ready, we’ll talk another time. Because I can’t do this right now.”

“But—”

“Go,” he insisted. “I need the rest.”

Knowing he was pushing her out, she tried to steady her voice and keep it from cracking. “Are you certain you don’t need any laudanum?”

“Quite.”

She felt herself inwardly breaking. Even if she did face her fears and get on that ship, whatever did he mean she wouldn’t be able to face
him
? She was so confused.

Unable and no longer wanting to even think, she choked out, “I do love you. You’ve been close to perfect up until now. To not only me but Jacob. I only wish you’d trust me more. Despite what you think, there is really only one thing keeping us apart:
you
. Whatever you’re not telling me, whatever it is you’re hiding, please know I’m strong enough to take it. Trust that. But I can’t hold a weight you plan on carrying all on your own. You have to trust me, Malcolm, if we are ever going to push past this. If you feel
anything
for me, and I know you do, I’m asking you to trust me.”

He said nothing.

She dragged in a breath, knowing he was pushing her away. “I wish you a good night.”

His voice softened by more than a touch. “Good night…pigeon.”

The raw softening of that voice and endearment wasn’t enough to kill all doubts or the fact that he still had told her nothing. She hesitated, waiting for him to say something. Anything. When he didn’t, she turned and quietly closed the door, feeling as if she were closing it on her heart.

Days later, early morning

On the doorstep of James Zachery Thayer

Malcolm wanted to go in, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t. By going in, and seeing his brother, he would be changing the one thing he had always fought to be: his own man. A normal man. A man who didn’t share the same face or the same desires with…another.

After countless minutes ticked by, Malcolm finally turned away from the door. He hobbled against the tightly bundled cloth that bound his healing wound in place beneath his trousers and sat with a wince on the top stone step facing out toward the street of a quiet neighborhood in London belonging to the middle classes.

Much like him, James had learned to live in modesty. Their father had instilled it into them.

Leaning forward and fully stretching his one leg for comfort, Malcolm propped up the collar of his morning coat, pulled out his prayer book from his pocket and let out a breath, paging through Latin words that in that moment made no sense. His faith wasn’t what it needed to be. He couldn’t keep pushing the entire world away. It was going to kill him.

The door behind him creaked open, making him pause.

He didn’t have to glance back to know who it was.

Malcolm’s chest tightened as the door closed and the towering figure of his brother casually hunkered down beside him, bumping his large shoulder into his.

“Dorothea told me you were in London,” James said. “I was hoping you would come by.”

Malcolm closed his prayer book, tightening his hold on it to inwardly draw strength from it, and veered his gaze to his twin.

Ice blue eyes with piercing concern and gruff features that mirrored his own right down to everything but the scar, angled closer. “I’m sorry about the way we parted,” James admitted.

Malcolm shrugged, trying to pretend it was nothing. Even though it was everything.

James grabbed Malcolm’s face and shook it. “I know why you did what you did, damn you. Dorothea told me everything. And you’re a better brother than I. And I…I appreciate it. I was far too young to be responsible with what I wanted to share with her. Dorothea and I have always been close. Almost closer than you and I, which is unacceptable. I’ve pushed boundaries I shouldn’t have touched and I’m admitting it. I’m more responsible with what I am. You’d be proud.”

Malcolm tugged him close and tightened his hold, letting out the breath he felt he’d been holding since he was eighteen. “I thought about you so damn often.”

“I thought about you every single day. Your voice was the one that always pulled me away from doing things I knew you would have never approved of. You were always the better half of us. And I thank you for that. I’m not doing half of what I used to. I found my level of…normal. And I’m happy with it.”

Dragging himself away, Malcolm sighed. It would seem thirteen years had finally knocked some sense into his brother. “What about the pistols you and she play with?”

James smirked. “Were you spying on us?”

“Maybe.”

“Your version of maybe is always yes.”

“Maybe.”

James rammed his elbow into Malcolm, making Malcolm wince. “Someone over on Charlotte Street told me you’re going to that school everyone is talking about. The one Madame de Maitenon is opening. Are you?”

Malcolm groaned and tapped the closed prayer book against his forehead. “I’m supposed to be starting in a few days thanks to a Persian prince who thinks he owns more than Persia. How did you— Are you telling me people know?”

“Only the ones who take a keen interest in Madame. Be careful. You’re not like these other men. She won’t be able to help you in the way you think.”

Malcolm eyed him. “She already has. I’m here because of her.”

James paused. “What do you mean?”

Malcolm smoothed a hand over his prayer book before tucking it back into his pocket. “She told me the only way I was going to be able to face what I am is by accepting what I am. And I’ve decided she is right. I’m done fighting it. Prior to going to the monastery, you told me I would never be anything but what I already am. And you were right. This is who I am. I have to accept it.”

His brother slowly grinned. “I like being right.”

“I know you do.”

James smacked his hands together and let out an astounded laugh. “I don’t believe it! After all the nagging you put me through for years and years and— Do you have
any
idea what this means? Jesus Christ, you and I are going to take over the Whipping Society and burn London to the ground. We’re going to—”

“No. No, no, no. Keep sweet Jesus and your society out of this. There will be
no
burning of London. I leave in a few weeks.”

“
Annnnd
…it’s back to boring.” James puffed out a breath. “I thought you wanted to be a fellow earl of the lash? I thought—”

“I do. But…” Malcolm hesitated. “It’s a touch complicated. I basically plan to get married to a woman who is
nothing
like your Dorothea or the people you associate with. Leona is…she is incredibly passionate and well-grounded and stunning and everything I could ever want her to be, but…she isn’t our sort of passionate, if you know what I mean. I will have to either entirely give up what I am and hide it over the course of our marriage or altogether risk losing her. Neither of which are an option. So the question is…what happens next?”

Those dark brows went up. James gaped. “You’ve bloody
involved
yourself with a milk-and- water female? Are you
fucking mad
?”

Cringing, Malcolm offered, “She has more milk than water.”

James smacked him hard upside the head.

Malcolm winced, accepting the reprimand. He deserved it. “Ow.”

“
End it
,” James bit out. “She won’t ever accept you and you’ll be miserable for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?”

Malcolm glared. “I’m already in love with her, damn you. So avoiding misery really isn’t an option.
I’m already miserable
!”

James muttered something with the shake of his head and shifted against the landing they sat on. “You always were a ponce.” He sighed. “How far have you tried to take her tolerance of pain?”

A snort escaped Malcolm. “Not very. I bit her damn lip and her hand and got reprimanded both times. She isn’t even
remotely
interested.”

“Are you certain?”

“Quite.”

James puffed out a breath. “You won’t be able to train her. She may tolerate a few spankings here and there, but…these milk-and-water females like their pleasure in the guise of too much honey and not enough blade. Which means you’ll have to focus on getting her to deliver all the pain. Is that something you’d be willing to work with? Are you fine with that?”

Malcolm rolled his tongue inside his mouth, knowing he had
always
preferred receiving pain more than giving it. It wasn’t a loss. At all. “I’m more than fine with it. You damn well know that. Better to receive than to give, I say.”

“Good.” James patted Malcolm’s knee. “You still have to train her lest you end up dead. We had one of those last week.” He let out a low whistle. “It made the newspapers, which miffed Mrs. Berkley to damn pieces given he was part of the club and made us look like— This fucking moron took on a milk-and-water female prostitute and when he forced her into stabbing him in the name of pain, she panicked and darted out of his house so damn fast, she left him tied to the bed. He bled out in less than four hours before anyone could find him. You don’t want that.”

“Uh…no. I don’t.”

“Exactly. You may want to start your girl with techniques that don’t involve any marks, bruises or blood. Then scale the wall from there and see where it takes you. A little at a time. I myself don’t actually specialize in soft play, so you’re going to have to get advice elsewhere.” James smirked. “Maybe at your so-called…
school
? Madame knows soft.”

“That woman knows more than soft. Have you met her?”

“No. I only know what Mrs. Berkley wags at me. What was she like?”

“Brilliant. I liked her.” Throwing back his head, Malcolm stared up at the cloud-ridden, grey sky that threatened to release rain. “Madame mentioned I needed to wait for the perfect moment to reveal myself.”

James wrapped an arm around him and jostled him. “There is no perfect moment. Not given what we are. Spend a lot more time with her. Get her to feel more comfortable with the idea of her giving you pain and then…
hit her
.”

Malcolm paused.

James chuckled. “Not in that way. You know…with the news.”

Malcolm sighed.

Later that afternoon

The best cure to keep one’s mind fully occupied was to scrub the very floor she was tired of walking on. It was dirty, anyway. Leona dipped the large rag into the tin bucket, splashing soapy water across the parlor floor, and hitching up her skirts to allow better movement, slapped it onto the wooden planks she earlier swept.

She then scrubbed and washed and scrubbed and washed, scooting her way across the length of the floor, only stopping on occasion to dip the filthy rag back into the soapy water and start again.