Seducing the Master (An Erotic Historical in the Red Chrysanthemum Series) (2 page)

“His wife, though shy, is a lovely little
thing. She may make you forget that other one.”

He said nothing. He had tried to forget
Greta by throwing himself into his work, and his efforts had not
gone unnoticed by his employer, the Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs.

“We need to elect you to Parliament,
Gallant,” Sir Canning had said to him the day after Greta had left
without forewarning. “I could have you appointed my
Under-Secretary. From there, well, opportunities await.”

Sir Canning implied that if he should
succeed The Duke of Portland as Prime Minister, the office of
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs would then become available.
The prospect of becoming a member of parliament, let alone a
cabinet position, had long been Charles’ wish. His own father had
tried three times, unsuccessfully, to win election to Parliament.
Like Canning, the senior Gallant and former Whig had even allied
himself with the Tories when the Whigs fell out of favor, but,
whereas Canning found success, the senior Gallant always came
within a few votes shy of winning a seat.

“I have spoken of you to Sir Arthur,”
Canning had added, “and he is agreed that you would make a fine MP
for the borough of Porter’s Hill. He indicated he might support of
your candidacy.”

Which meant that Charles had as good as won
the election, for Sir Arthur, himself an MP, owned nearly half of
the tenements in Porter’s Hill, purchased with gains from his heavy
interests in the East India Company.

Shaking his head, Charles faced Devereux
once more. “Even were I keen to undertake the task, not everyone is
receptive to the distinctive predilections here. For me to make a
determination of her tolerance for the various elements, especially
pain, requires more time than a sennight. Nor can I, when all is
done, fully impart my knowledge of her capacities to the husband,
which is why it is preferable that he assume the role of mentor to
begin with. I am not training a sailor, who, once he learns the
ways of a seaman, can sail on most ships and be captained by
anyone.”

Trying a different tactic, Devereux
challenged, “Do you doubt your abilities?”

He pressed his lips into a line. In truth,
he did. If he had not overestimated himself, if hubris and jealousy
had not overwhelmed him, he might not have agreed to that fateful
challenge with Master Damien. He might not have lost Greta.

As if worried she might have planted the
seeds of doubt, Devereux hastened to say, “I have full faith and
confidence in you, Master Gallant. You possess a rare and perfectly
balanced quality: a firm and imposing hand coupled with a
gentleness that comforts the fair sex.”

“You are eager to satisfy this Lord
Wendlesson,” he said after studying the proprietress.

She shifted beneath his gaze. “Lord
Wendlesson is an influential gentleman who will become the Earl of
Berksdale. He is also exceptionally generous.”

Charles gathered that the man’s offer of
compensation had extended to Madame Devereux as well. He looked at
the bright fire crackling in the hearth as he considered whether or
not to assist Joan out of friendship and against his better
judgment. Only recently returned to the Red Chrysanthemum, he was
unfamiliar with Lord Wendlesson.

She interpreted his silence as a refusal
and, heaving a large sigh, said, “For this favor, I would relieve
you of further obligation to me.”

Looking up, he raised his brows.

“Your service with me would be concluded,”
she affirmed.

“Servitude. Let us call it what it is.”

Devereux stared at him. “Very well. The word
has a nice depraved ring about it. If you can satisfy Lord
Wendlesson, your indenture with me would be at an end. You would be
free to resume your membership with all its ordinary privileges and
liberties.”

He inhaled deeply. As much as he had
reconciled himself to submitting to Madame Devereux, he wanted the
freedom. If he did not have to attend to her requests, he could put
more of his attentions toward his election to Parliament. Although
the support of Sir Arthur would all but guarantee victory, Porter’s
Hill was not a pocket borough, and Charles would take no outcome
for granted. He was determined that Porter’s Hill would have in him
a fair and dedicated representative.

“I accept,” he said to Madame Devereux.

She beamed. “Your success in this endeavor
will benefit us both!”

“Miss Katherine is expected shortly,” she
added as she observed the clock above the mantle. “She has but an
hour, for Lord Wendlesson expects to stop here upon returning from
his evening at White’s.”

“He wishes me to complete instruction within
a sennight and gives me but an hour of her time? I hope I will be
afforded longer on our next occasion.”

“I fear Miss Katherine cannot leave the
house till her mother has gone to bed.”

“Then I cannot have her ready within the
sennight.”

“You must try. Lord Wendlesson saw your
performance with Miss Greta and was quite impressed with how you
handled her. He will accept no one else for his wife’s instructor.
If anyone can succeed with Miss Katherine within the constraints
provided, it would be you, dear Charles.”

“I will see her tonight, but I will have a
word with Lord Wendlesson to temper his expectations before
proceeding with any further education.”

Devereux sighed. “If you must.”

“I insist upon it.”

“Perhaps it is wise to do so. You may be
able to persuade him to give you more time. I think—I hope—you will
enjoy your assignment. I had your interests in mind, too, when Lord
Wendlesson and I conferred. It will relieve any preoccupation you
may still have of
her.
I am quite convinced that we have
seen the last of Mistress Scarlet. Alas, she is a great loss to the
Red Chrysanthemum.”

He straightened. “Have you…have you heard
from her?”

“No. And I have come to know her well in all
these years. The fact that I have received no correspondence from
her, it is certain she means not to return. Now, aside from
Mistress Primrose, you are my greatest asset.”

Devereux lamented the absence of Greta but
without the depth of grief he would have expected from someone who
claimed to value Mistress Scarlet with such gravity. Knowing Joan
to favor pragmatism, he did not dwell long on her lack of emotion.
Bowing to the proprietress, he took his leave to prepare for his
evening with Miss Katherine. He now had reason to approach the
assignment with more enthusiasm, and he did not dismiss Devereux’s
belief that the activity would stay his mind from thinking overmuch
of Greta.

As he descended the steps to the second
floor, he came upon Miss Terrell at the bottom of the stairs. The
nubile blackamoor blocked his path. Her attire was reminiscent of a
milkmaid from the prior century, with the corset worn above the
garments. Her shift or chemise barely comprised a décolletage, and
her supple bosom seemed ready to burst from its confines. The
petticoats and skirt rose to her calves, displaying trim ankles,
and she wore no shoes at all.

His gaze fixed upon her mouth, remembering
that he had kissed those succulent lips and tasted Miss Greta upon
them.

“Master Gallant,” she greeted with a smile,
revealing remarkably white and even teeth.

He was unsurprised that she was genuinely
happy to see him. She had made it quite evident during his public
display of Miss Greta that she was interested in him.

“Miss Terrell,” he replied with a bow,
lifting his gaze from her mouth to her large, round eyes. Against
her ebony skin, they appeared uncommonly bright.

He expected her to move to allow him to
descend the final step, but she remained where she was, pinning him
with her stare. He was reminded of a panther stalking its prey.

“Do you stay the evening, Master Gallant?”
she asked.

“For an hour.” He moved to demonstrate his
intentions of proceeding, but still she did not budge, as if she
would like nothing more than to have him walk into her. “I am
expected.”

She raised her sculpted brows. “Indeed? By
whom? I thought Miss Greta no longer with us.”

He must have frowned or tightened his jaw,
for, sensing her error, she quickly followed by saying, “Who is the
fortunate one tonight?”

“A new member. Miss Katherine.”

Having answered her, he made another move,
but instead of standing aside, she leaned in toward him. He already
stood a head and a half taller, and the step elevated him such that
she looked him straight in the stomach. She tilted her head, and he
felt himself caught in her glimmering gaze.

“Perhaps you would entertain a replacement?”
she inquired, lowering her gaze to the buttons of his waistcoat so
that he could behold the thickness of her lashes.

She was lovely for a blackamoor, though he
found her hair far too curly and unruly. Her confidence in her
seductive qualities, however, greatly enhanced her allure. He felt
a primal response to her nearness. The scent of some form of pomade
that she applied to her hair wafted through his nose.

“I could not,” he replied.

“There would be no charge. For you, I give
of myself gratis.”

She looked up once more at him, those plump
lips beckoning. His blood pumped more forcefully in certain parts.
He would not mind another kiss, but he knew not her age.
Unacquainted with Negro features, he feared she might be too young,
though she carried herself with the wantonness of a mature
strumpet.

Her lips parted and slowly her tongue
emerged. The tip of it grazed his button. An image sprang to mind
of that supple mouth wrapped about his cock, and he had to,
literally, shake the vision from his head. When her tongue
retreated back into her mouth, he took the final step, sweeping her
with him as he went, and pinned her to the wall, more harshly than
he intended.

“A generous offer,” he said to her, “but one
that I will have to decline. For now.”

He knew not why he added those two last
words. Perhaps her proximity—he could feel her curves beneath
him—had him rattled. Perhaps he meant to soften the blow of his
rejection. He should not concern himself too much on the latter.
Miss Terrell had admirers aplenty.

Abruptly, almost as if he feared he might be
ensnared by her charms if he tarried, he released her and continued
on his way without a backward glance.

CHAPTER TWO

H
er heart still at a quick
palpitation, Terrell watched Master Gallant till he disappeared
down the hall. She closed her eyes to more fully evoke how it had
felt to be pressed against the wall by him, his warm, hard body
hovering over hers.

Ever since she had witnessed his mastery
over Mistress Scarlet, she could not rid her mind of him. Over and
over, she had recalled how his lips had felt upon her own, how
gently he had taken her mouth, as if savoring the sensation,
compelling her to do the same. She knew it was the taste of
Mistress Scarlet upon her that he sought; nonetheless, he had not
hesitated to kiss her, as she thought he might do if he possessed
an aversion to blacks.

She had never been kissed like that before.
Least ways, not by a member of his sex. She liked that his lips
were not as thin as others of his kind. She did not often care for
the act of kissing, but his kiss had made molten the stirring in
her loins. For an Englishman, he was certainly handsome, with a
slender nose and golden locks that sometimes fell over a wide and
distinguished brow. Perhaps it was his travels—she had heard he had
been in the Orient for some time—but he was not nearly so pale as
the other men of gentle society.

Though she deemed him superior in form and
countenance, she considered herself too practical to fall for a
pretty face if he had no other qualities to recommend him. A comely
visage was often accompanied by tiresome dispositions and a general
lack of skill about the bedchamber, perhaps because their easy
beauty made them lazy and lacking in motivation to improve their
abilities.

Master Gallant showed no such indolence. His
performance had aroused her like no other. The man had triumphed
over the stoic Mistress Scarlet. Mistress Scarlet, of all people!
In her time at the Red Chrysanthemum, Terrell had never seen that
woman receive a man, let alone beg him to make her spend. Why
Mistress Scarlet would then quit the Red Chrysanthemum mystified
Terrell, lest the woman was ashamed of her submission. She should
not be ashamed at all to submit herself to such a fine and skilled
Master. The manner in which he had bound Mistress Scarlet in rope
had been exquisite. Terrell greatly desired to have her own body
trussed in such fashion. How she had envied Mistress Scarlet her
position, bent over the table with Master Gallant’s cock pounding
into her.

Even now, she could feel heat and moisture
gathering between her legs. She climbed the stairs to the room she
shared with another female member. The Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum
was an uncommon place. It was part exclusive club, akin to one of
those hellfire societies, and part bawdy house. But it was home. In
exchange for room and board, she received membership and was
expected to satisfy the patrons who had not brought their own
partners to play with.

Entering her room and finding it empty,
Terrell threw herself upon the bed and lifted her skirts to find
her mons.
Lord
, if she could have but one night with Master
Gallant… She would allow him to do anything to her. She
wanted
him to do anything and everything to her. Though she
had not seen him at the Red Chrysanthemum till recently, he had
wielded the flogger upon Mistress Scarlet with great
proficiency.

Closing her eyes, Terrell imagined Master
Gallant applying the flogger to her thighs, her breasts, and her
buttocks. She rubbed herself harder between the legs, dipping two
of her fingers into her wet folds and agitating the digits against
that naughty little nub. She would have him bury his cock in her
cunnie and work her into a frenzy, as he had done to Mistress
Scarlet, then she would have him claim her arse.