Read The Price of Desire Online
Authors: Leda Swann
Tags: #Fiction, #Erotica, #General, #Romance, #Historical
The Price of Desire (19 page)
A small table was brought to them laden with treats to eat and glasses of champagne. A few other couples joined them before most of the gaslights were dimmed, leaving only the center of the room illuminated. There was polite applause when an elderly man carrying a string instrument entered the lit part of the room, sat cross-legged on a cushion and started playing.
“That music is unlike anything I have ever heard,” Caroline whispered. “The sound is completely different than English music. Is all Indian music like this?”
“Indian music has as many forms as western music, but this music is typical of the Bharata Natyam.” As he spoke, he poured her a glass of wine and offered her a plate of dried figs.
She accepted the proffered glass and, taking a fig, nestled contentedly into his lap. “Tell me about the dance we are about to see.”
“The dancer, or
patra,
as they are called in India, will not perform a set pattern as English dancers do, but will tell a story with her body. Every movement she makes is part of this story, even those with her hands and her eyes.”
“It sounds complicated.”
“It is very beautiful. But this dance is difficult in that it has two faces. It has both graceful, feminine movements and strong, masculine ones. A good
patra
is able to express both equally. Anjali Kinra is reputed to be an accomplished
patra,
of this dance in particular. I hope her performance will please you.”
Their discussion was interrupted by the dancer herself gliding out onto the rug that was the stage. A slight young woman, she wore a dress of the deepest purple trimmed with shimmering gold thread. Despite her small stature, she nonetheless had a strong air about her—a graceful power of toned muscle that only a dancer could have. The tips of her fingers were painted red, and about her ankles she wore a string of tiny bells that tinkled softly as she moved to the center of the rug.
The musician finished his warm-up piece and paused as the dancer assumed a starting pose, arms high in a graceful arc with fingers splayed, legs in a solid stance.
With a small flourish, the musician began to play and the dancer moved her body sinuously in time with his playing.
As the dance progressed, Dominic kept one eye on the performance and the other on Caroline. He was pleased to see her totally captivated by the music and dance, champagne forgotten and warming in her hand. “The first parts of the dance were to the Hindu god Ganesh, seeking blessing,” he whispered in her ear. “In this center piece the dancer is speaking with her hands and body, telling of love and of her longing for a lover.” He had requested this particular dance because of its meaning, hoping she would understand what he was trying to convey to her.
In reply, Caroline simply snuggled closer to him.
The dance progressed to its ending where the lovers, both of whom were played by the dancer, were finally united. The yearning and ecstasy were so clear to him, the emotion she projected so powerful, that his eyes misted over and a lump formed in his throat. It always impressed him deeply when a good dancer was able to play both parts so convincingly and seamlessly.
As he quietly raised a handkerchief to his eyes, Caroline looked up at him, and he saw her eyes had also welled with tears.
Holding her close, he yearned for this moment to last for eternity, with Caroline in his arms and feeling such raw emotion that she could not hide behind her usual veneer of polite obedience.
The dancer’s work completed, she held her final pose, an attitude that expressed so well how he felt. He was speechless that she could read her audience so well, to dance to their emotion. Though all the best dancers of Bharata Natyam trained for years at their craft, never before had he witnessed such empathy in a performance.
The music stopped and the audience stood and clapped and cheered. With reluctance he released Caroline as they also stood, expressing their appreciation at the performance.
As he stood, he felt the moment was lost forever. How could he ever make plain to Caroline his feelings to the same depth the dancer had?
He was in love with Caroline. That was the only explanation for the empty feeling he felt inside whenever he made love to her, whenever he sat beside her, so close and yet so far away. For him, their relationship had gone beyond that of a successful businessman and his mistress. Whenever he touched her, he was making love to her.
Her feelings, he knew to his cost, were a good deal less complicated. He paid for the pleasure of loving her, and she allowed him to do so. She was a courtesan, a woman who sold her body for profit. Of all men, he had the least right to complain about it. He, and he alone, had made her what she was.
What a fool he had been not to marry her at once, when she was still so dewy-eyed and grateful to him that she would have given him anything he demanded of her. Why had he demanded only her body? Why had he left her heart in her keeping?
Was it possible to touch her heart anymore? Or had she already encased it so deeply in the ice of disillusionment that no man would be able to thaw it out?
Money would buy her favors. He should know—he already purchased and enjoyed them all. But he didn’t want such a meaningless exchange anymore. What was the use of possessing her body if her heart and soul were untouched? Such pleasures were empty imitations of the real thing.
No, he did not think her heart could be bought with mere money. It was too precious for that. He could pay the price of her desire, but what would the price of her love be?
The dance had made it clear to him that he wanted more than sex from Caroline. He wanted to win her heart. Sugar and Spice, though a delightful house to visit, was not the place to think of anything but fucking. Not that he had any problem with thinking only about fucking, but he sensed he would never win Caroline’s heart that way. Her obedience, yes, but that was no longer enough for him. He wanted her affection, her devotion even. There was so much more to her than a body to pleasure and to be pleasured by. He needed to touch her more deeply than he had so far, to touch her soul. As Mrs. Bertram had rightly guessed, he wanted her to love him.
He resolved to take her away from Sugar and Spice and show her that he prized more than her enthusiasm in the bedroom. “Come for an excursion with me tomorrow.”
Caroline’s face brightened at the suggestion. Clearly she was genuinely pleased with his proposal. “Where to?”
He liked to see her smile. “I thought we could go to Torquay. It is a pretty seaside town, and not so far away as to make the journey a chore. We can walk along the pier together arm in arm, looking at the fishing boats. Eat ices in the sun, and a good dinner of fried fish and oysters at a local inn. Do what any courting couple would do.”
She shook her head. “It sounds very pleasant, but you have no need to court me. You know that I am yours for as long as you want me.”
His wanting her was not in question. He needed her to want him in return, to burn for him as he burned for her, to miss him when he went away and to look forward to his return. “On the contrary, I have every need to.”
Caroline sighed happily as they walked arm in arm along the sand the very next morning. “It’s been an age since I have visited the seaside. Papa used to take us to Brighton when I was young, when Mama was alive. After she died, he never cared for seaside holidays anymore. Without Mama, he did not seem to want to do anything.”
His arm tightened on hers as he turned to look at her. “What did you like best about Brighton when you were a child?”
A dreamy smile crossed her face. She didn’t need to think about the answer for even a single moment. “The Punch and Judy shows.” She’d watched them in utter fascination—the grotesque puppets with their jerky movements and colorful clothes, Punch with his hooked nose and truncheon, and Judy in her voluminous nightgown, and Toby the dog. Though they were only puppets, they had seemed so real, so much larger than life. “I loved Punch and Judy.” Even the puppet master with his cheerful call of “Roo-ti too-i” had proved an irresistible attraction, one that could beckon her from miles across the sands whenever she heard it.
Dominic grinned to see her enthusiasm for a childish puppet show. “Then we shall find one for you before the day is out.”
She hardly heard him, her attention having been caught by the sight of a gentle brown donkey with big sad eyes standing on the sand, a halter around its neck. Letting go of Dominic’s arm, she hurried over to stroke its velvety nose.
“Donkey rides just two shillings,” the man holding it by a rope attached to the halter called out to her. “You won’t find a better price or a sweeter-tempered donkey in all of Devon.” He gave the donkey a couple of rough pats on its hindquarters and it shook its ears mournfully back again. “See what a lovely nature she has, ma’am. Call me a liar if she ain’t the quietest, most placid creature in all of England. A perfect mount for a lady like yourself.”
She shook her head, not wanting to spend two shillings on such a piece of frivolity as riding a donkey. “I just wanted to pat her. She’s such a pretty thing.”
Dominic nuzzled into her neck. “Don’t you want a ride?” he whispered into her ear. “On such a lovely donkey?”
“It’s two whole shillings,” she said quietly.
“The lady wants a ride,” Dominic announced to the donkey’s owner. Before Caroline could protest, he stepped forward, picked her up around the waist and lifted her onto the donkey’s back, where she sat in an awkward sidesaddle.
He tossed a couple of shillings to the donkey’s master, who caught them in the air and tucked them away into his waistcoat pocket. “That’s the spirit, sir. Nothing’s too good for a lady, now, is it, sir? We just live to make their lives happy, eh?”
Caroline clung to the pommel of the saddle as the donkey started off down the beach, its master leading her by the halter. She’d never been on the back of a donkey before, or a horse, either, for that matter. Though her father had always kept a carriage, the horses were carriage horses and not suitable for a lady’s mount. Living in London as they did all year, there had never been any opportunity or any reason for her to learn how to ride.
The donkey’s gait was lumpy, her body shifting from side to side as she walked. Gradually Caroline relaxed enough to loosen her death grip on the saddle. Though she felt as if she was perched precariously on the top of a moving mountain, she began to enjoy her ride.
The donkey’s owner led her along the sands, though the crowds of people enjoying the sunshine on the beach. The water sparkled a silver blue in the sunlight. White-capped waves broke in the shallows and slithered up onto the sand, turning its pale yellow a deep, wet gold. Seagulls wheeled overhead, cawing in hoarse voices and occasionally diving down to pick up tasty scraps of food discarded by the holiday makers. A brisk breeze blew the ribbons of her bonnet into her eyes, and she let go of her grip on the saddle to brush them away.
Down the beach they plodded before returning to where Dominic waited. “Yer wife’s a natural there, sir,” the man said as Dominic took her around the waist again and lowered her to the ground. “A regular horsewoman. If she does that regular-like, she’d be able to join the hunt and go leaping over fences after foxes in no time. No time at all.”
The egregious flattery made Caroline laugh as she took hold of Dominic’s arm once more. “I don’t think so. But thank you for the ride.”
The donkey’s master tipped his hat to her and gave her a saucy wink. “You’re welcome, ma’am. Come back another day, do.”
A brass band was playing on the pier, the shrill notes of the trumpets carrying through the clear air like the sound of a bell. They wandered over the sand together and went to listen. Dominic bought a couple of ices and they ate them as they walked.
“I feel like a child again,” Caroline said, licking up the last drops of her strawberry ice. “On a bank holiday by the seaside. Nothing to do but enjoy myself paddling in the ocean, and nothing to worry about beyond whether I could hide the wet ruin of my stockings from the eagle eye of my mother.”
“My fondest memories were of my holidays up in the mountains,” Dominic said. “I suppose they were like your seaside in a way.” He kicked idly at a stone with the toe of his boot as they walked along. “When the summer sun grew too fierce and the city was like the inside of an oven, my mother would pack us all up and take us to the mountains for a couple of months, until the worst of the heat had passed. It was cooler there.”
Caroline’s forehead creased into a frown. “I thought all of India was hot.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “It was not quite England-cool, but the sun did not beat so fiercely, and we were able to escape our amah and play outside without baking. That was where I first met my wife.”
“Maya.”
“Yes, Maya.” He shook his head as if to dispel the memories her name brought back to him. “But enough of her. Let’s go find that Punch and Judy show I promised you. There will be one somewhere around, for sure, on a warm day like today.”
In a quiet corner of the park next to the sand, and away from the noise of the brass band, they found the red-and-white-striped Punch and Judy show they were looking for. As they walked up, the puppet master finished the show to a round of cheers and the clatter of pennies from the spectators.
Caroline’s face fell as he pulled the green baize curtain shut and the children drifted away in all directions, like ripples from a stone cast into a pond. “Never mind,” she said, tugging on his arm, urging him away from the tent. “It will be an hour or more before he sets up again. We can always see one another day.”
Dominic could feel the disappointment radiating from her, though she did not voice a word of complaint. Stepping up to the puppet master, he pressed a couple of golden guineas into the man’s hand. “My wife would very much like to see your show.”
With a payment such as that, the Punch and Judy man was only too happy to set up his theater again.
Out came the puppet master’s assistant, the bottler, banging on his drum and playing on the pan pipes to draw another audience.
Her face beaming with delight, Caroline took possession of a beach chair and leaned forward to watch. Another group of children dragging parents or nursemaids by the hand materialized out of nowhere and gathered around, sitting cross-legged on the sand, their eyes wide with excitement.
Out came Punch swinging his little puppet stick and making a puppet fist. Judy in her nightgown and nightcap toddled out next, with a crying baby in her arms.
Punch complained about the noise, but the baby would not be pacified.
Thwack
on the head of the baby went his stick. “That’s the way to do it,” Punch cried out gleefully as Judy ran away, the baby’s cries having been silenced.
Out came Judy once again, brandishing a rolling pin at Punch. Round and round the stage they chased each other, until
thwack
went Punch’s stick on her head. “That’s the way to do it,” he called out as she dropped to the ground.
The doctor came to visit her, but
thwack
went Punch’s stick on his head, and he, too, fell to the ground.
Next was the policeman puppet, chasing Punch around with a truncheon in his hand. Round and round they went until finally the policeman rapped Punch smartly on the head with his truncheon and Punch fell to the ground as if dead. The policeman dragged Punch off to jail and locked him up in a cell.
Out came the hangman to see Punch hanged for his crimes. “That’s the way to do it,” Punch called out in his shrill voice as he thwacked the hangman on his head and ran away laughing.
Old Nick came to fetch Punch away to Hell for his crimes, but not even the devil himself could stand up to Punch’s stick.
Thwack
went Punch’s stick on the devil’s head, and Old Nick fell to the ground, vanquished by the triumphant Punch.
“Hurrah, hurrah, I’ve killed the devil!” Punch cried, clapping his hands together and dancing around the stage.
Dominic could not help laugh along with the rest of the spectators. Punch was so outlandishly silly, and his actions even more so. And most of all he laughed to see Caroline so happy, so engrossed in the action that the reserve she always showed with him melted away to nothing.
Their trip to the seaside was proving a success. That piece of her that she kept hidden, the part of her that concealed what the real Caroline was thinking and feeling, was slowly coming out of hiding and revealing itself to him. For the first time he felt that he was beginning to get to know the real woman behind the mask she wore every day.
He wasn’t even sure why getting behind her mask had become so important to his peace of mind, but somehow or other it had become the driving force in his life. He was no longer content with her lush body and her obedience to his every whim. He wanted to get to know her soul.
Caroline lingered in her beach chair until the show was well and truly over and the puppet master had finished packing away his stage. Reluctantly she rose from her chair and took his arm once again. “That was quite magical. It was a real Punch and Judy show, with Punch thwacking everyone on the head and running away laughing, just like I remembered it from my childhood when Mama was still alive.” She reached up on tiptoe and quickly planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”
He would pay a hundred puppet masters for the sake of one of Caroline’s kisses given to him so freely. Though she was always ready to fulfill his every desire, it was seldom she volunteered a sign of affection of her own accord. Her usual reserve made this kiss doubly precious to him.
Just as they were wandering away from the tent, a group of gentlemen stumbled by in striped trousers and top hats, laughing and talking among themselves with great noise and gusto.
One of them cried out to Dominic in recognition. “Mr. Savage, old boy, what are you doing in Torquay?”
Dominic stiffened at the sound of the voice, recognizing it instantly despite the slur. It was Henry Thackeray, an acquaintance of his from the City, and obviously not as sober as he could be.
The whole group of them weaved their way over to where he stood arm in arm with Caroline.
“Meet my friends, Savage, old boy,” Thackeray cried. His voice slurred a little from the drink and his gait was decidedly unsteady. “Edward Bartles, you know him I’m sure. He’s a big man in the City. Just like you, eh, Dom.”
Dominic did know him, by reputation more than anything. He was said to hold a grudge for less cause and for longer than any other man in London. And Bartles bore him a grudge for walking out of his dinner party with so little ceremony. He nodded his head brusquely. “Bartles.”
Bartles’s eyes narrowed in dislike. “Savage.”
“And Sir Oliver Pickering. He comes drinking with us for all that he’s a knight ’cause he ain’t got two guineas to rub together, eh, do you now, old Pickles?”
“It is true I find my estate rather encumbered at present,” Sir Pickering replied gravely, spoiling the gravity of his words with a loud hiccup.
“And old Warning here. An old friend of mine I haven’t seen since my school days. I met him here quite by chance. That’s why we’re celebrating so early in the day. You want to come join us?” He turned to the rest of his group. “Old Savage should join us, eh? The more the merrier, I always say.”
With the exception of Bartles, the others assented loudly, with cries of “Bring him along” and “There’s enough gin for twenty more.”
Dominic shook his head. “I’m afraid I will have to pass on your invitation. I have a lady with me.”
Thackeray peered owlishly at him and blinked several times. “By Jove, so you do. I didn’t see her there. Your servant, ma’am.” And he executed a tipsy bow.
“I didn’t know you were married,” Bartles said slyly, his face a picture of malice. “Congratulations must be in order, I presume.” He doffed his hat with a sarcastic flourish. “To you and your lady wife.”
Caroline’s hand tightened convulsively on Dominic’s arm but she did not speak.
“May I introduce you to Miss Caroline Clemens,” he said tightly.
Sir Pickering swept his hat off in a courtly bow. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, fair lady.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” This from Mr. Warning.
Thackeray was less politic in his appreciation. “What a stunner.”
Bartles took her hand and held it a fraction too long for politeness. “The late Isaac Clemens’s daughter, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you since your father passed away. Where have you been hiding yourself?”
Caroline pulled her hand away from his grip, wiping it surreptitiously on the fabric of her gown. “I have been in mourning for my father.”
“Ah, I see. Of course you have been,” Bartles said, looking from her to Dominic with a calculating glance, taking in his possessive air and the fine cut of her gown, his voice as smooth and slippery as slime.
If Bartles said another word, Dominic thought, he would punch the man in the face and start a brawl on the spot. “Now, if you will excuse us. Miss Clemens and I have some business to conduct.”