Seducing the Master (An Erotic Historical in the Red Chrysanthemum Series) (4 page)

Charles took a seat in a stiff wooden chair.
The room’s furnishings all tended toward the stark. Comfort was not
the prime function. He watched as Tippy arranged Miss Katherine’s
soft, flowing tresses. Miss Katherine kept her gaze steadfastly to
the floor. Her profile presented a most pert and charming nose. He
reminded himself that this was another man’s wife he looked upon,
and if Lord Wendlesson was as influential as Devereux said, he
would do well not to forget. He shook his head at himself. Perhaps
he had been hasty in taking the bait. The assignment was fraught
with hazardous complications.

But, if he succeeded, he would be released
from his servitude. He suspected Devereux would make him service
the mollys whenever possible. That he was partial to the fair sex
mattered not to these men. Quite the contrary, his preferences
seemed to titillate them, his overt declarations doing nothing to
stem their attempts to flirt with him. Though he had no deep
aversion to buggery and could find arousal with his own sex, he
much preferred the softness of women. He enjoyed the breasts, the
supple derrieres, and the moist heat between their legs.

“May I be of further service, Master
Gallant?” asked Tippy when she had finished.

Miss Katherine stayed where she was, staring
at the ground, one hand clasping the fingers of the other.

“Yes, I should like a bowl of confections,
the ones Madame favors,” he replied.

Tippy looked horrified. “The
chocolates?”

“Yes.”

“They are among Madame’s most prized
possessions. She is not known to share them with anyone.”

“Yes, those chocolates,” he said,
undaunted.

Unconvinced, Tippy did not move and only
furrowed her brow.

“I believe she will have good reason to part
with a few. Thank you, Tippy.”

Though still doubtful, the maid could do
nothing but curtsy and attempt to execute her directive.

“Would you care for another glass of
claret?” he asked Miss Katherine after the maid had departed.

“Yes, please,” she said in a small
voice.

He rose and went to pour her a glass. Not
wanting to send her home in a state of inebriation, he did not fill
the entire glass.

“Please, sit,” he said before handing her
the claret.

She sat down, her back more rigid than the
chair. She took a hearty sip. He took the chair beside her.

“Felicitations to you on your recent
nuptials,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“When was the happy occasion?”

She stared into the claret. “Eight days
ago.”

Eight days
, Charles wanted to
exclaim. Wendlesson was more impatient than he thought.

“Miss Katherine, I hope I will not
disappoint you, but as you are a complete greenhorn here at the Red
Chrysanthemum, I intend nothing but a conversation this
evening.”

She glanced at him. “I should not be
disappointed, sir, but my lord Wendlesson—my husband—”

“I will address your husband, but I cannot
begin your instruction without first appraising your knowledge and
experience of the venereal.”

Crimson bloomed in her cheeks, and she took
a hurried sip of her claret.

“And you need not speak if the subject
greatly discomforts you,” he added. “Here, at the Red
Chrysanthemum, we employ a word that, when uttered, signifies you
no longer wish to proceed. It keeps you safe. Have you a favorite
word that we could use for such a purpose?”

She shook her head.

“What do you enjoy, Miss Katherine? Knitting
purses, reading poetry, perhaps?”

“I enjoy playing the harp, sir.”

He tested the word upon his lips. “Harp. A
lovely instrument. Have you a favorite composer?”

“Jean-Baptiste Krumpholz.”

Damnation, that would be harder to say than
“harp”.

“How about ‘Jean’?” he proposed. “When you
wish to cease and desist, you will pronounce the name of your
favorite composer.”

“Cease and desist what?”

“Anything. For tonight, I mean to ask you a
series of questions you may find intrusive and offensive. If you
wish me to cease my queries, you need but speak your safety
word.”

She knit her brows.

“I will stop only upon your utterance of
‘Jean’. The word is distinctive, you see. More ordinary
exclamations can cause confusion and may not speak to your true
desires.”

“I see.”

“Try it.”

“Pardon?”

“I must know that you can and will employ
your safety word when needed. If you cannot speak it in a relaxed
state, will you do so under duress?”

She stared at him it seemed, for the first
time, with curiosity.

“Jean,” she pronounced.

“Louder.”

“Jean.”

“Very good.”

Tippy returned and presented him a small
bowl. He looked at the two pieces in the bowl and shook his head at
the parsimonious allotment.

“Thank you, Tippy. That is all.”

After the maid had departed, he turned to
Miss Katherine. “Here. You must try one. They are exquisite.”

She looked as if she ought not, but reached
for one of the confections. He watched her place it cautiously into
her mouth. Her countenance lit up.

“Oh,” she gasped. “It is wondrous.”

He nodded. “Mrs. Harsthorn here at the Inn
makes them from time to time. She is elderly and does very little
for Madame these days, but she will always have gainful employment
while she can produce these chocolates.”

“I have only tasted chocolate in cakes and
rolls and drinks before.”

He offered her the other piece.

“Will you not have one, sir?” she asked,
astonished.

“I am not long returned from China, where I
spent a good long year. My appetite for sweets has faded as a
consequence.”

“Do they not partake of sweets in
China?”

“Not in the way we do. Our consumption of
sugar would astound them.”

She eyed the last piece with obvious
interest.

“Please,” he urged, and was gratified to see
her take the chocolate and enjoy it.

“Thank you,” she said when she was done.
“This Mrs. Harsthorn would do well to open a confectionery or sell
the chocolates alone.”

“Yes, she would.”

They shared a smile.

“Tell me, how did you come to marry Lord
Wendlesson?” he inquired.

“I think our families have talked of our
marriage for years.”

“Were you delighted when he proposed?”

To his relief, Miss Katherine smiled and
nodded. His task would have been much more knotty if she were not
partial to her husband.

“Forgive my prying, but it would help if you
could provide me a sense of your wedding night. And I pray you be
as candid as possible. I render no judgment and inquire merely to
ascertain the extent of your knowledge.”

She blushed. He waited patiently for a
response.

“My husband was gentle, if that is the
answer you seek,” she replied.

“It is, if it is the truth.”

Twirling the stem of her wineglass between
thumb and finger, she nodded.

“Was it painful at first?”

“It was all,” she cleared her throat.
“pleasurable. Only when he, ah, mounted did it hurt.”

“Did the pain fade with successive
encounters?”

She nodded.

“And the pleasure? Did that remain?”

Again, she nodded.

Encouraged, he asked, “Did you spend?”

“I think I did. Perhaps a little.”

“You did or did not. There is no mistaking
the paroxysm that takes hold of your body when you spend.”

She pressed her lips together and furrowed
her brow as if in deep concentration.

“Did all yearning dissipate afterwards?”

“I tired from the exertion. As did his
lordship.”

“Who tired first?”

“His lordship. Yet, I wonder… He did not
seem pleased. I think—I fear I must be a disappointment to him. Do
men—are they—do they expect to spend at each encounter?”

She spoke so softly he could barely catch
all her words, but he was certain he heard the faint tones of
sorrow. He took the empty glass from her and replaced it with his
hand, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“You are no disappointment, Miss
Katherine.”

She looked into his eyes. “I wish to please
my husband. I fear, if I do not, he will seek the arms of another.
My cousin told me that men need venereal fulfillment as much as
they require food and water.”

“A quaint exaggeration. Every man is
different. Lust, in any man, can change by the season, by day, or
by hour. But, first, we must address
your
pleasure.”

“My husband’s pleasure is my pleasure.”

There was a knock at the door, and the maid
on the other side announced that Lord Wendlesson had arrived and
awaited her ladyship downstairs.

“I fear our time is at an end,” he said.

“Have I—Have I failed the first lesson?” she
inquired, bewildered.

“Not at all. I only wish we could have had
two hours instead of one.”

Charles opened the door for Tippy, who had
her ladyship’s bonnet, cloak and gloves.

“Allow me,” he said, taking the articles
from the maid, “and please inform his lordship that I wish a word
with him.”

“I know that I must have done poorly
tonight,” said Miss Katherine after Tippy had left, “but I will do
better the next time we meet. I shall not be as nervous, I think. I
promise.”

Her eyes pleaded with him before she lowered
her gaze. Despite the lack of familiarity between them, he lifted
her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“I have no expectations of your
performance,” he assured her. “I do, however, wish to address those
of your husband. That is all.”

Releasing her, he placed the cloak about her
shoulders. She said nothing as he handed her the bonnet next, but
when she had finished putting on her gloves, he thought a question
to be pregnant upon her lips.

“You wish to speak, Miss Katherine?”

“Will you—when I return next—will you always
be the instructor?”

“I cannot say for certain.”

He did not elaborate that it would depend a
great deal upon the outcome of his conversation with Lord
Wendlesson.

“I hope—I hope it will be you.”

She bobbed a quick curtsy and stepped from
the room. He watched her depart with some grimness. He hoped, for
her sake, that Lord Wendlesson proved a reasonable fellow and that
he could continue in his capacity as her mentor. Her desire to
please her husband was a good start as far as motivation. By
stoking her own eros, Charles could add even more incentive for
her, but she was still very much a neophyte. If he were a harp
instructor, it would be akin to teaching her a sonata when she had
only just learnt scales.

He was about to turn back inside the room
when he heard his name called out. He paused, as did his heart. It
was not the voice he wished to hear.

With great reluctance, he turned back around
to face Sir Arthur.

CHAPTER FOUR

T
he gentleman rose to his
feet at her entry, hunger burning in his eyes as he gazed upon her.
Accustomed to seeing the flare of lust in his sex, Terrell kept her
composure, but there was something unsettling in the man.

She could not place her unease, for she had
never seen the man before or knew anything of him save what Madame
Devereux had told her. Perhaps it had to do with the manner in
which his arousal
gleamed
, not merely glowed, in his eyes.
Though he was comely enough, his features being improved by his
superior grooming and the stylish attire he wore, his expression
reminded her of the vultures that circled above the cages back in
Kingston, where runaway slaves rotted behind bars and beneath the
smoldering sun.

“Miss Terrell,” the man greeted with a slow,
deliberate bow.

His tone did nothing to warm and improve his
disposition. She should not be surprised that he felt no need to
win her over. He had paid for his privileges. Nevertheless, she
would dictate the terms of their engagement.

“Sir Arthur, is it?” she replied, crossing
her arms before her, aware of the disparity between their apparel
and their stations in life. Sir Arthur had the outward appearance
of wealth, for in addition to his finely tailored clothes, he
carried a jewel-encrusted walking stick and a pocket watch hung
from his waistcoat on a golden chain. She, like a common servant,
wore her corset over her gown, the skirts reaching only to the
shins to reveal her trim ankles and bare feet. She had a decent
muslin that she rather enjoyed wearing, but the men preferred her
inferior garments. She believed that they wanted her to look the
part of a slave. Within the law, one could sink no lower than lying
with a blackamoor, and that titillated them.

“Your humble servant,” he said with another
bow.

He had pretty manners. These men often did.
But their politesse faded quickly in the sack. She glanced about
the room. It was the finest one in the inn, save for the chambers
of Madame Devereux. He stood amidst plush furnishings in the
seating area. Behind him was a four-post bed complete with canopy
and the inn’s better bedclothes. The implements of the inn’s more
wicked and coarse activities were stowed discreetly in the armoire
and sideboard. A fire crackled boisterously in the hearth though
Madame often waited till summer had fully passed before allowing
such vibrant fires.

“Please,” he said, gesturing toward the
settee.

His tone indicated the word to be more
command than invitation, but she took her time, as if contemplating
her choices. She saw the quick flicker of displeasure in his
physiognomy and decided to sidle over to the settee. She had no
reason to upset him. He was more handsome than the corpulent Mr.
Worthington, perhaps equally full in the purse, and as a Member of
Parliament, likely more influential. He certainly carried himself
as if he were a man of great importance.