Darker Than Love (12 page)

Clarissa took his phallus in a gentle clasp. ‘
Quid pro quo
,’ she agreed softly.

Madame Jane’s did not open until eight o’clock. It was late afternoon and a group of whores were putting their final touches to some new performance.

They were in one of the salons, deep within the bowels of the building. The room had few windows and those that existed were screened with heavy green drapes, ruched and tasselled with gold. Lavish gilding and scrollwork was in abundance. It edged panels on the cream walls, swirled thickly around long mirrors, and twisted the lines of every chair and couch. Louis Quinze: vulgar but very popular.

A gallery lined with private booths ran along two sides of the room. Lord Marldon, in his office at one of the furthermost corners, stood at the small window, looking down on the rehearsal. The show was called, apparently,
A Tale of Love in which Venus rises from the Sea and meets the Nymphs
.

‘Venus’, swathed in flimsy lengths of blue and green,
stood within the curve of a papier-mâché shell, affecting a pose. One hip was thrust out, one hand was laid to her breast, and her languishing gaze was set low. Her wheat-coloured hair streamed down her back to her waist. Fluttering about her were the ‘nymphs’; chiffon of brown and yellow hues wafted as they moved. A man in a frock coat sat watching sternly, his arm resting on a table. Another was seated before the pianoforte, his back to the tableau vivant, playing a lugubrious air by Liszt.

Slender fingers reached out to Venus and the fabric began falling away, a wisp of sapphire, a wisp of jade. The woman was majestic, motionless, as the veils slipped from her. Her nudity emerged gradually, strong sensuous curves and flawlessly pale skin. When she was naked, she stepped out of the cloths frothing at her feet and moved forward. Venus had risen and she was shaved.

Her pubis was a bare swell divided by a carmine split, and the nipples of her full, handsome breasts were wantonly rouged. The nymphs, half-crouched, slid a multitude of hands up and down her gleaming white thighs. Venus threw back her head and began gently rotating her hips. She swept a caress up over the small pout of her belly then circled fingers around the globes of her bosom. She fondled the dark crimson tips, teasing them to puckered crests.

Below, a hand edged up towards the pendulous lips of her vulva. Venus widened her stance, allowing fingers to move within the plump flesh. She shivered and ground her loins with rising urgency. Her mouth parted and her face slackened with arousal that was clearly not assumed. The pleasuring nymph crammed her fingers into the cavern of the woman’s vagina. With a jerking arm she thrust upwards, again and again. The pianist crashed dramatic low notes and Venus writhed, her breasts lifting with deep, heaving sighs.

‘What price are we selling Moselle?’ asked Marldon without turning.

‘Twelve shillings a bottle,’ came Madame Jane’s quick reply.

Beneath, Venus was running delicately about the room, stretched like a cross with a nymph supporting each arm. They moved with light-footed grace, whisking the naked woman before an imaginary audience. Ripples of diaphanous chiffon trailed after them, and the music fluttered, shrill and fast.

‘And champagne?’ he enquired.

‘The same, my lord.’

Venus was brought to a halt before the chair occupied by the watching man. She swayed provocatively before him and planted one foot on to the table. Her sex was open to the man’s gaze. She fondled her breasts in a licentious display before her hand drifted down to her parted thighs. She slithered two fingers along the glistening scarlet furrow then dipped them into her gaping passage. She drove into herself, her speed increasing. Her pumping fingers shimmered with her secretions and she panted wildly.

‘Put it up to fifteen,’ said Marldon, striding over to his desk. ‘Profits are down.’

Madame Jane huffed and her plump cheeks flushed with indignation.

‘They’ll never buy it,’ she protested. ‘It’s expensive enough as it stands.’

Marldon threw her a sharp glance and at once she acquiesced. He drew his leather armchair up to the table and ran a meditative eye over the open ledger. He flicked back the lid of a silver box and took out a slim cigar, clipped it and set it to his lips.

‘Well?’ said Jane with undisguised testiness. ‘What do you think of our new show?’

Marldon lit a match to his cigar. The tip glowed red as he inhaled. ‘Medici will be turning in his grave,’ he said, releasing a cloud of smoke.

‘Bah,’ she snapped. ‘One day they will perform something and you will declare it superb.’

He turned a page of the ledger. ‘That I very much doubt,’ he said, idly scanning the figures. ‘Leave us now, Jane. And close the curtains.’

‘
Non
,’ said Pascale, stepping from the gloom. ‘My lord, I cannot stay long. It is impossible. I am on an errand to buy ribbons. I will be missed.’

Marldon looked at her contemptuously. ‘With the curtains open,’ he began, ‘I can see the chandelier stem. It is annoying me. Do not flatter yourself, Miss Rieux. I tired of your charms long since. You grunt too much.’

Pascale scowled at him as Jane set a taper to the gas brackets, drew the curtains and left.

‘Well?’ said Marldon, resting his cigar in an onyx ashtray and leaning back in his chair. ‘I’m waiting.’ A thin plume of smoke wreathed upwards into the dimness.

Pascale moved to stand before the desk, her hands clasped at her waist.

‘Miss Longleigh is in love, my lord,’ she declared. ‘I heard her say it to the maid. And it is as I suspected – with the artist.’ She looked at him, smirking with pride.

Lord Marldon leant forward and steepled two fingers below his chin. A sweep of hair fell across his brow. In the haze of smoky gaslight it hung there, a raven’s wing, shimmering blue-black. His dark eyes narrowed with malicious intent and a calculating smile played on his lips.

‘So the girl’s in love, is she?’ he said. ‘How quaint.’

He fell into a contemplative silence. His head nodded gently and his fingers rubbed over the strong bump of his throat. Pascale, save for a slight wringing of her hands, stood perfectly still.

‘And tonight?’ he asked, reaching for his cigar. ‘Where does she go?’

‘Tonight, my lord, she will go dancing at Cremorne.’

‘Delightful,’ said Marldon. ‘I think I shall take my bride early.’

* * *

It was a velvet-black night but Cremorne Pleasure Gardens were ablaze with light.

It was as if the stars had tumbled from the heavens to nestle in the scattered trees. The open-air dance floor, encircled with ornate ironwork arches, was as elegant as a birdcage. And those who danced there, thought Gabriel, were exotic birds. Trapped.

He muttered something to his companions about trying his luck in the shooting galleries and sloped away. They’d detained him too long and Clarissa would be growing impatient. Discretion was not easy but it was vital. Society gossip spread like wildfire, and when Lord Marldon was your adversary it was folly to take too many risks. But, away from the crowds, under the canopy of darkness, they could be alone together.

Gabriel wound his way past candlelit supper booths, marquees, marionette theatres and freak shows. Above the noise of orchestras, of soft applause, of the music of a hurdy-gurdy, and laughter, voices called out: ‘Step this way! Step this way!’ ‘Sherry Cobblers at sixpence!’ ‘Buy my sweet cherries!’

Further beyond, away from the hubbub, were the more sedate areas of ferneries and groves. The arbours and leafy avenues would be in deep shadow and there they could embrace in the thick protection of the trees and the night. Gabriel quickened his step.

It was costing him all his willpower to keep Clarissa’s honour. Her beauty, and the passion with which she took her pleasures, aroused him beyond belief. They’d shared only a few intimate moments, but the last time he’d allowed his prick to hover, nudging, at the entrance to her sweet, hot vagina. She’d pleaded with him to take her. And, so easily, he could have done. It would have been a split second’s thought, just one deep thrust. But, somehow, he’d restrained himself.

Clarissa could relieve him in other ways. Sometimes she used pleasuring hands; at other times her wet, mobile mouth. Her tongue would flutter delicately about
his shaft and her firm sucking lips would drive him to blissful heights. It was not the ultimate fulfilment they both craved, but for now it had to suffice. They must wait until her father returned and then, perhaps, maybe, there was the remotest of possibilities that their union would be sanctified.

Gabriel was far less hopeful than Clarissa but he would not give her up. If necessary they could flee the country together and live in poverty.

Quick breaths and light footsteps hurried towards him. An urgent hand grabbed his wrist and he swung around.

‘What have you done to Clarissa?’ demanded Lucy.

Gabriel shook himself free and stared at her in confused aggravation. ‘I’ve done nothing to Clarissa. What on earth do you mean? Has something happened? Christ, is she hurt?’

Lucy glared at him. ‘No, you fool. But I have suspicions which make me uncomfortable. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. I asked you to seduce her a little, prepare her for Marldon, and I fear you have taken things further. I sincerely hope the pair of you are not falling in love. Things could get awfully complicated. And I, for one, would not wish to endure the wrath of Lord Marldon.’

‘In love?’ scoffed Gabriel. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lucy. Since when have I been a man to fall in love?’

‘You do it all the time, Gabriel,’ she said waspishly. ‘You fall in love with a melody, a flower, with … with raindrops in a spider’s web. And then you fall out of love. Where is she? Do you have a tryst in the avenues?’

‘She’s gone home,’ he said, thinking quickly. ‘She was tired.’ Lucy was the last person in the world he wanted to discover the truth. She didn’t exactly gossip: she simply shared secrets. As did many other people. And he did not relish the idea of his secret being shared with the Earl of Marldon.

Lucy eyed him distrustfully. ‘Then where are you
going? Why, it looked to me as if you were making for the trees.’

‘And yourself?’ he teased. ‘Out here all alone, Lucy? There must surely be someone awaiting you. Why else would you leave the delights of the dance floor?’

Lucy smiled brightly and her chin tilted in defiant pride. ‘Lieutenant Gresham,’ she said. ‘He’s quite a gentleman, actually.’

‘You have the principles of Messalina,’ Gabriel replied with disapproval only half-feigned. ‘Still trying to make Sir Julian jealous?’

Lucy pouted. ‘Well? Where are you going if it’s not to meet Clarissa?’

‘Mrs Singleton,’ he said. ‘Excuse my indelicacy, but I’m merely going to take a piss.’

Lucy flounced away. As if taking Clarissa under her wing wasn’t already enough trouble! She had devoted herself to ensuring the girl was kept apart from Marldon. And now it looked as if she might have to do the same where Gabriel was concerned.

She drifted across the lawns towards the crowds and found a group of friends to chatter with a while. Lieutenant Gresham would have to wait; she was in no mood for him now. Gabriel and Clarissa were in love, she was sure of it, and the whole thing was becoming too much of a responsibility.

She had utterly debased herself at Octavia’s ball, just to prevent Clarissa from meeting the earl. Marldon had humiliated and shamed her. He had forced her into innumerable acts with the watching men, so obscene that even Julian had looked disgusted at some points. And this was the thanks she got. If she did not care so much for her cousin and Alicia she would wipe them clean from her mind and leave Clarissa an innocent at the mercy of a monster.

‘Ah, here comes Sir Julian now,’ piped up Miss Thorpe. ‘Didn’t I say he was looking for you?’

Lucy excused herself and went to meet him, wanting his company more than anyone else’s. The two of them strolled among the flowerbeds: tranquil parterres and crunching pathways lit softly by gas lanterns. Julian listened patiently to her grievances. When she had finished she felt a great deal better.

‘Forget about them,’ said Sir Julian. ‘I can see only one good thing to have come of this affair so far, and that is that it’s made you cross. And, when you’re cross, your breasts heave and quiver so deliciously.’

Lucy paused by a cascade of rocks and ferns, and turned to him with a seductive smile. ‘Why, I don’t think you’ve heard a word of what I’ve been saying,’ she chided.

‘Oh, but I have,’ he replied. His eyes, made deep blue by the shadows, twinkled mischievously. He dropped his gaze and stared deliberately at the bulging shelf of her bosom. ‘I have a remarkable ability to concentrate on two things at once, Mrs Singleton. However, it was not listening to your complaints which has made my cock so hard.’

Excitement arrowed to Lucy’s groin. She loved it when she aroused him with the slightest thing.

‘Then perhaps a stroll in the avenues would ease the swelling,’ she ventured.

‘Of that I’m sure,’ said Julian. ‘But I would far rather have you sprawled naked before me, groaning with abandon. I fear a few dark bushes would not grant me such a privilege.’

‘Then I shall take you home,’ she cooed. She felt a pang of regret that she was wasting an opportunity to pique him with tales of the lieutenant. But, she decided, she could always invent something if she felt so inclined. Her lust was for Julian now, and Julian alone. And, besides, she ought to make the most of him while he was in London. His ailing wife could summon him at any moment.

‘And Clarissa?’ asked Sir Julian, wearily dutiful.

‘Oh, she’s already left,’ said Lucy. ‘There’s no need to wait.’

‘Delightful,’ he replied, raising his forearm. ‘Then home it is.’

‘On one condition,’ breathed Lucy, wrapping her arm around his and sidling close. ‘Which is that on the way there, in the back of the hansom, you will allow me to suck your prick.’

‘I shall ask the cabman to drive very slowly,’ replied Sir Julian.

Clarissa was lost. ‘The sixth avenue,’ Gabriel had said. But it depended on where you started counting and what you defined as an avenue. She’d ventured part way down a rough track and a broad walkway, but to no avail. And she had seen no sign of him either. ‘Five minutes,’ he’d said. But much more time than that had elapsed.