A Shimmer of Silk (3 page)

"Do it," she said softly. "Do as Luc
has
instructed you. Let us finish this performance."

"This is for them." He waved the candle in the
direction of the silent crowd. Faces appeared and disappeared as the flickering
light crossed them. "Later it will be for us."

What?
Her cunt contracted and for
the second time in minutes. She felt the long forgotten gush of arousal fill
her channel.

"Concentrate." Luc must have realized her attention
had wavered, and brought it back. "Five minutes, that's all. Then we are
gone."

He was right. Deborah walked to the angled bench placed at
the front of the stage and stretched out. Her body was tilted to enable the
audience to see everything.
Behind her Oliver stood, the
candle in his hand.
Next to him, the ever-vigilant Luc waited.

She nodded. "Ready." As Luc spoke to the audience,
explaining the rest of the act, she turned her mind inwards, slowed her
breathing, and took herself to a place where what was about to happen wouldn't
register. It was the only way she could cope.

"Later, I will show you how arousing it can be to experience
the soft path of the wax caressing your body. Bring the sting of pain and change
it to the sharp shard of pleasure. Now, I do as I am asked."

****

Oliver speculated what was going through her mind as she lay
on the bench, her body stretched and her face devoid of expression.

"Do it," Luc said. "For the love of God and
De…her, do it now. Do not make her wait. That is cruel."

He was not a cruel man. Even as he wondered what Luc had
been going to say, when he had stopped mid-word, Oliver held the candle high and
watched. As if in slow motion the tiny tears of wax dripped and hit her skin.
To him it was a caress, a bite of pain, which would morph into a swell of pleasure,
and a hint of things to come. A gift he could give her. If he thought they had
the chance.

"Another." Luc was insistent.
"As
we discussed.
Now.
While she
is within herself."

His phrasing intrigued Oliver. Nevertheless, he tipped the
taper once more, and created the patterns they had agreed upon. By now his
peers were cheering, the sight of her soft flesh covered in the ribbons of
cooling wax a turn on to all those there. Even if it was not their own
preference, each could appreciate how something so misunderstood, and called
deviant by many, was so necessary to others.

In one way it seemed an aeon before Luc indicated he was
done.
In another scant seconds.
He handed the stub of
the candle to Luc and took his bow, before he turned to the woman still supine
in front of him. With what the watchers would see as theatrical, he bent his
head. To all intents and purposed he was offering a soft kiss to her neck. In
reality he moved and nipped her earlobe. "It is over. Come, make your bow
and let us take you out of here."

It was a relief to see her eyelashes flutter. Her eyes
cleared and she blinked several times, as if coming from a trance to reality.
Oliver looked at Luc who shook his head in a reassuring gesture.
So this is the norm? I have a lot to learn.
He realized he wanted to know everything about this woman. What made her tick,
how she lived … and loved. How they would love. First he had to help her get
through the next few minutes. He replayed Luc's words in his mind.
"Once you finish, we move quickly to
get her away. One
acknowledgement,
and she must be out
of here. I will tidy later."
 
Now
he took one of her arms, as Luc took the other, and helped her to her feet. The
cobweb tracery of wax clung to her skin, like a lover, and led a pathway down toward
her breasts. Without conscious thought, Oliver ran his hand along one shiny pathway.
As he stopped his fingers just above the top of her shirt, the crowd erupted.
There were shouts for more, and Luc held up his hand.

"Dear
sirs
, 'tis always better
to finish wanting more than wishing for less. We bid you goodnight."

That was Oliver's cue. He lifted the still dazed woman into
his arms, and followed Luc to behind the rear curtain.

"Where now?
I have a room."

Luc laughed. It held no humor. "I'm sure you
do,
monsieur. So do
we
.
This way."

We?
Oliver was
taken aback how that one word was a knife thrust of pain into him. He had accepted
the woman he held was for him. She
had
to feel the same. He would brook no opposition. With a grim expression, so
alien to his normal demeanor his acquaintances would be hard put to recognize
him, he trailed after Luc.

Chapter Three

The room he found himself in was in a part of the house he
had previously not visited. He thought it was in Felton and Araminta's private
quarters which were in an adjoining building, conveniently linked. Even though
his own apartments were nearby, those areas were somewhere he had not ventured,
past the salon and dining room. The couple valued their privacy.

"Put her on the bed, and I will take over." Luc
spoke with an abruptness that had not been present earlier.

Once again as he obeyed, Oliver wondered about Luc's
relationship to his partner.

"Deb? It is over, no more. Never, enough is
enough." Luc was rubbing her hands. The worry on his face convinced Oliver
that Luc was concerned, not as a lover, but perhaps as a brother. There was
love in his eyes, but no gleam of arousal.

"Deb? Is this my lady's name?"

Luc looked up from where Oliver had rested her.
"Your lady?"

"My lady.
Do not argue, or demur. I
know not why, but one look and I accepted it was true. She is mine.
In every way.
Our road may be long, it may not be
straightforward, but 'tis our road. Problems and worries we will solve
together. You will not stop me Dalmain; that I promise you.
Deb."
He emphasized the word.
"Deb is mine."

"She is called Deborah, and is my sister in everything
but blood. Indeed there may be shared blood; who knows? We do not." It
seemed Luc had accepted him—or had he—for he continued, "I will say to you
now, you harm her, and my knives will no longer be used to entertain, or even
maim. They will be used to kill.
You.
Slowly."

Oliver nodded. "If I harm her, you may do so with my
compliments. She may think herself hurt, but everything we do will be for us. That,
I promise you."

Had Luc picked up on his meaning?
Evidently
so, for his eyes narrowed.
"Lord Callender, think on before you
show her the lifestyle you follow. What to you may result in pleasure may fill
Deborah with abject horror. She may not have been affected by the terrors as
many others, but she was a small child when rescued from the tumbril and taken
to safety.
If this half-life can be called such.
Her
nights are filled with fear, with half remembered sights and sounds.
The sense of a loss of love.
We survived; many did not, her
parents included. Is it any wonder our lives have ended like this, challenging
ourselves, taunting our past?"

Put like that, it gave pause for thought. "Then I hope
to help her banish her demons. What about you? Who will help you?"

Luc rolled one shoulder in a Gallic gesture of 'who knows'.
"Help my beloved Deborah, my lord. I will help myself, and perhaps one
day, I also will be complete. When…" His voce trailed off and he shrugged.
"Ah well, what do you want me to do?"

"Stay here." It was Deborah who answered him. "Lord
Callender will be ever the gentleman I am sure." Her eyes dared him to
dissent. "I am also sure he has an apartment we can adjourn to, and I am equally
certain there is a system of safety in place.
That I will
ascertain from our host."
She stood, walked none too steady toward
Luc, and took his face in her hands.
"Truly, my love.
It is as it should be. I sense this. Now you can do as you must. Follow your lead
and I will pray for you."

For one moment, Oliver thought Luc might dissent, but after
a strained silence, he dipped his head.

"God be with you."

"And you." Her lips scarcely touched Luc's before
she straightened and turned to Oliver.

The look of anticipation, of hope, and something
indefinable, seared him. A swath of heat cut through his body, sending his
senses onto high alert, and his cock stiff with hope. He had to have her, and
soon. His prick was so rigid, one tap and it would snap, one stroke and it
would release its treasures. He wanted neither yet. The sharing of each other
was to be sipped and savored, not gulped. When he came, wherever and however,
it would be after she had experienced her own sweet climax. That was a promise
he made himself. Even if their first time was conventional and lacked the
trimmings he so loved, it would be memorable.

"My lord?"

Ah, for the time she says
those words in a different way.
He held out his hand. "Come." Oliver turned to
Luc who hadn't moved. "Ask my Lord Dalrey for anything you need, I will
cover it."

The thump to his stomach would have been so much worse if a
split second of awareness hadn't enabled him to clench his muscles. Without
that, the intense discomfort would have been so much worse. As it was his
breath left him with a whoosh, and the swift splinter of pain made him grit his
teeth.

If a look could inflame him, the one she shot in his
direction did just that. He rather thought she meant it to wither; however his
body reacted in the opposite way.

"I, my lord, cannot be bought. We have earned our wages.
We need nothing from you. If you think you are purchasing my time and my body…
pah
, you are mistaken. Our time together will end before it
begins. Go and find yourself a demi-monde."

Deb," Luc
said,
his voice
gentle. "He did not mean it as that. He is offering to help me, I believe.
And if I need help, I will remember. Thank you, my lord."

"'Tis true.
I would never insult you so.
All we do will be because we want it.
As partners.
This is my promise and my oath, spoken in front of a witness. Do you want me to
write it, have it signed?"

She looked from him to Luc and back again. Her gaze
penetrated his soul, and for the first time in his life, Oliver felt judged and
wanting.

"No," she said as his nerves screamed their
tension to him. "No, if Luc is happy, so am I." Her tone suggested
she was anything but. "Shall we go?"

****

It was one thing to agree to accompany Oliver; it was
another to do it with insouciance and style. Deborah hung onto her composure by
a thread. One word out of place, one unaccustomed challenge, and she feared she
would fall to pieces. But deep inside her was an excitement she had never felt
before. The recognition of hope and arousal that she sensed would over come any
negative feelings, or doubts, within her.

He took her hand and tucked it into his as they walked along
a brightly lit, deserted corridor. There were no doors to break the flow of the
walls, just lamps at regular intervals. "We will see no one unless you
wish it. My apartments are
mine
alone. Nevertheless,
Felton knows you are with me, and I have given him my word, as I did to Luc, we
will do nothing without your acceptance. I promise you this also. Our life will
be ours. Not for us anything others want, it will be as we desire." He
stopped suddenly and pulled her into his arms.

His cock pressed against her quim, and Deborah's breath
hitched. Her mouth was dry, as she felt her juices run. It seemed preferable
not to look
down,
for she was sure the pantaloons she
wore would show the marks of her excitement. As Oliver's lips touched hers, she
opened her mouth and let his tongue in, to mimic the act she knew they would
enjoy later. As he thrust, she couldn't help but grind her cunt against his
prick.

Oliver lifted his head. "Soon, love. You taste of
nectar."

He tastes of hope.

Within minutes she was standing in a small entrance hall.
Deborah looked round her, hoping to get an idea of the preferences of the man.
It was bland, almost conventional with cream walls and a pale green a chaise set
next to a drum table against one wall. The only splash of color was a bright
gold and red cushion thrown carelessly to one end of the chaise. Oliver had
evidently picked up on her puzzlement.

"This is for servants to deliver food etcetera.
For visitors to wait in and for us to pass through as swift as we
can.
Are you ready? If not now is the time to say so. You can pull the
rope and a servant will escort you to your room."

Her
stomach was churning but with
excitement not fear
. The shivers she felt were those of anticipation,
not worry.