Simply Shameless (15 page)

He glared at her and headed for the door. "I'll be on my way, then."

She waited until he almost reached the door. "My lord?"

"What is it now?" He turned reluctantly as she got to her feet.

"Could you possibly open that drawer beside my bed and take out the things inside?"

He slowly exhaled. "Why can't you get them yourself?"

"But you are closer, my lord." She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "You do not need to bring them to me. Just place them on the bed."

"Oh, for God's sake ..."

He yanked open the drawer with such force that the contents ended up on the carpet.

Helene kept smiling as he bent to pick them up. Her book of erotic sexual positions had fallen open, so he couldn't fail to see what she read before she went to bed. Her thick pink marble diletto looked awkward in his big hands. She imagined him using it on her and found the idea strangely arousing.

"Just put them on the bed, my lord." He obeyed her, his face impassive, his hands steady.

She blew him an airy kiss. "Good night, and remember I'll expect to see you at six in the morning. Meet me in the kitchen."

"Good night, madame, and good riddance."

His final words were muttered under his breath as he marched toward the door and slammed it shut behind him. He-lene let out her breath. Baiting him was a dangerous game, but she needed to test his limits, find his weaknesses, and work on them to send him packing. She had learned one thing: His marriage had been difficult. She scolded herself for the small twinge of satisfaction that thought gave her.

With a sigh, she wandered over to her bed and picked up her book to study the complicated sexual position portrayed in the engraving. What a shame it involved two women. Philip would never agree to that. In the past, if his interests hadn't changed, he'd been more interested in men. Helene closed the book with a snap. That was definitely something to consider in her campaign to oust him from her business.

Tomorrow night would belong to Philip. How would he repay her for her deliberate attempts to rile him? Anticipation rose in her and she smiled. At least she couldn't complain that she was bored.

Philip escaped down the hallway and then realized he had no idea where to go next. His cock and balls ached so badly that he wanted to scream. Damn Helene for playing games with him, and damn that ridiculous agreement he'd made. He should've just put her flat on her back and fucked her the moment he'd gotten into her room.

"Can I help you, sir?"

He stared into the face of Sean, the Irish footman he'd met earlier.

"I'm fine, thank you, but I'm still a bit uncertain of the layout of the house. How does one get to the peepholes on the second level? Madame was going to show me them but had to retire."

There was no flicker of surprise in Sean's gaze or any hint of condemnation.

"That's easy, sir. Take the back stairs up to the next floor, and look for a white door in the middle of the hallway that doesn't have a number on it. That's where you enter the passages, sir."

"Thank you, Sean."

"You are welcome, sir. Have a good evening."

Philip found his way up the stairs and emerged into the silent corridor, his heart thumping hard, his cock now painfully engorged. After a quick look around, he opened the unmarked door and slipped inside. Despite his fears, the narrow passageway was well lit and high enough to let him stand upright. He also noticed that above each peephole was the number of the corresponding room beyond. How efficient, how just like He-lene.

He pictured her creamy skin, the moment when he'd revealed her corset and the hard pink tips of her nipples thrust through the lace. Despite all their years apart, he still wanted her. With a stifled groan, he made his way along to the peephole marked number ten. It was open and he leaned forward, trying to adjust to the new view of the room and the two people on the bed.

The golden ropes tied a naked, dark-haired woman to the bed by the wrists and the ankles, her legs spread wide. A man dressed in elegant gray evening attire stood over her, his gloved hands busy caressing her flesh as she writhed against the bonds. Philip swallowed hard as the man shifted his position, allowing Philip an excellent view of the woman's sex.

Philip rested his brow against the wall and ripped open his breeches. His shirt and underthings were soaked with precum, his balls high and tight against the base of his swollen shaft. The man in the room also unbuttoned his breeches and knelt between the woman's legs.

Philip held his breath as the man slid his hands under the woman's buttocks and began to fuck her. Philip worked his own cock into their rhythm, matched the man's grunts and groans with his own. After about ten hard strokes, Philip came. The man on the bed continued to move, lifting the woman into his thrusts, his buttocks tightening and relaxing with each forward motion.

Despite having come, Philip kept his hand wrapped around his cock and continued to watch. Had they heard him vicariously sharing their pleasure? Had the thought that someone watched them excited them? Or perhaps they didn't care, too engrossed in each other to notice anything other than the delights of the flesh.

The man groaned, went still, and collapsed over the bound woman. She kissed the side of his neck and nuzzled his ear as he shuddered and writhed against her. Slowly Philip withdrew his hand from his breeches and took out his handkerchief to wipe the evidence of his lonely passion from his fingers. How pathetic was he? Reduced to watching complete strangers couple to reach sexual completion. No wonder Helene found him so amusing. With her vast sexual experience, his humiliating lack of practice must be all too obvious.

Philip shoved the handkerchief down the front of his ; breeches and roughly cleaned himself. Despite his efforts, his damp buckskin breeches would cling to his shaft, showing all the other guests at the pleasure house exactly how he had enjoyed himself.

Not that he cared what they thought of him. He cared only that he'd allowed Helene to raise his sexual passions to such a height that he had to find release or die.

As he rebuttoned his breeches and slowly straightened, he couldn't resist one last glimpse through the peephole. The man lay tied to the bed now, his cock already erect, and the woman straddled his chest. Philip felt an answering twinge in his own shaft and forced himself to step away. Pleasuring himself once showed a severe lack of self-discipline.

Twice would make him as depraved as the others who flocked to fuck here.

As he made his way back to the door, he thought about Helene. Wondered if she was reading her salacious book and pleasuring herself with that monstrous dildo. His cock hardened in a single rush. Damnation, he was beginning to feel like his fifteen-year-old self again, constantly erect, terrified that his parents and schoolmates would notice and laugh at him. Despite the abrupt nature of his dismissal from England that year, he'd been almost relieved when his father had sent him overseas. At least in India, he'd been able to understand and deal with his budding sexuality.

He paused to readjust his damp breeches. He'd wager he was the only man leaving the pleasure house with a still-hard cock. Helene wouldn't be happy about that at all. He slammed his hand against the panel and pushed the exit door wide, no longer caring if anyone saw him. How dare she be so comfortable with her brazenly sexual nature?

Surely she should have some shame or remorse for the path she had chosen?

Philip consoled himself with the thought that his next night would be spent in Helene's bed. Perhaps it was time to turn the tables on her, tie her to the bed and do what he wanted to her. He smiled at the salacious thought as he descended the main staircase and waited for a footman to retrieve his hat and gloves. The ornate clock chimed once and he winced. He had only five hours before Helene expected to see him again, and he was already drained. He still had letters to write to explain his continued absence from the estate and his children.

He tipped his hat to the butler and stepped out into the light drizzle. His rented house wasn't that far from the pleasure house, so he decided to walk. Strangely enough, the thought of returning to win a wager against Helene was far more invigorating than delving into the complex administration of his new position. He had a lifetime to acquaint himself with Sudbury Court and its tenants and only thirty days with Helene to sort out...

He paused at the curb to look both ways and then took a

shortcut across the square. What did he need to sort out with Helene? A woman from his past, a woman so far removed from him socially that to be seen in her company would subject him to the kind of gossip and innuendo he'd striven so hard to avoid during his marriage?

Soft rain gusted into his face, and he licked his lips. He'd lost himself somewhere. After his carefree existence in India and his ; weekend with Helene, something had gone terribly wrong. Was he a fool to believe he was redeemable? He jammed his hat down on his head. Thirty days with Helene was the perfect opportunity to find out.

Chapter Twelve

checked his pocket watch as he clattered down the slippery stone steps into the basement of Helene's house. The outer door stood slightly ajar, so he squeezed past the stacked baskets of fresh produce and five live hens in a flimsy wire cage. He hadn't anticipated his journey would take so long. To his amazement, even at this unlikely hour of the morning, the streets had been packed with tradesmen, farmers, milkmaids, and assorted children running around to God knew where.

The narrow hallway contained a coal hole, a door marked CELLAR, a laundry room, and another door, which he opened. A warm blast of air laced with the delicious scent of baking bread hit him in the face, and he slowly inhaled.

"Ah, there you are, Philip."

He blinked and looked around the large busy space. Since when had he given Helene permission to call him by his given name? A rotund woman, whom he assumed must be the cook, stood guard over the range. Two maids swept the floor and a third sat at the pine table. He stared again at the woman seated at the table. It was hard to recognize the fashionably dressed

Philip, social butterfly of a few hours earlier. Helene's blond hair was covered by a plain lace cap. Her spectacles were set firmly on her nose. Even he recognized that her dress was at least ten years out of fashion.

"Madame Helene?"

She nodded and gestured for him to join her. He took off his hat and gloves and laid them on the bench beside him before taking the seat opposite her. Helene's hands clasped a thick earthenware bowl filled with chocolate; beside her lay a plate on which resided the remains of a chocolate croissant. . "Would you like some breakfast, Philip?" "If we have time, madame; I am already late, and I would not want to keep you waiting."

She shrugged and sipped at her chocolate. "I haven't finished yet myself."

She turned to speak to the cook in rapid French. He watched, fascinated, as her tongue darted out to lick a drip of chocolate from her lower lip. Just like that, he was hard again, wishing her mouth would lick other things, wondering about the night they would share together if he survived his first day.

The cook placed a croissant in front of him, followed by a bowl of chocolate. He smiled at the cook, who didn't smile back.

"Thank you."

Helene watched as he took a mouthful of warm flaky pastry and slowly chewed.

"Madame Dubois makes the best croissants in England."

He nodded his agreement, too intent on eating to worry about his manners. Another croissant appeared, and he ate that one too. By the time he was finished, Helene was on her feet and tying an apron around her waist. Philip rose, too, and put his bowl and plate in the sink.

She looked up at him. "Are you ready?"

He shrugged. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Bon, then we will proceed."

He followed her out a different exit, which took them into the main part of the building.

She started up the stairs, and he followed her, pausing to catch his breath as they moved inexorably upward. On the final landing she paused, waiting for him to catch up. He struggled to breathe normally.

"What exactly are we doing, and why are you dressed as a servant?"

She regarded him seriously, her blue eyes huge behind her spectacles.

"I like to walk through all the rooms of the pleasure house every morning. It gives me a sense of how things are and what needs to be improved."

"You do this every day?"

"Of course."

"And why do you dress like this?"

"Most of my clients don't see servants, unless they want something, so for all intents and purposes, I can remain invisible if I happen to bump into someone. And, occasionally, I can discreetly aid any client who has forgotten to leave." She paused and laid her hand on his arm. "I didn't show you the third floor yesterday evening. It is the most extreme of the floors and not for the faint of heart. Perhaps you should wait here."

He pointedly removed her fingers from his sleeve. "As I said before, madame, I wish to see everything this place has to offer, not just the parts you deem suitable. I'm perfectly capable of dealing with anything you dare to show me."

She sighed. "Then if you wish to accompany me, I must have your word of honor that nothing you see or hear on this floor will ever be divulged to anyone outside this establishment."

He tried to see her face more clearly in the gloom and failed. What on earth was she hiding from him? His stomach clenched, whether in fear or anticipation he couldn't tell.

"I give you my word."

Helene opened the door and stepped into a narrow corridor lined with black-painted doors. Candle sconces lined the uneven walls; spoiled red wax had dripped and hardened on the bare wooden floor.

"What is in these rooms?" he whispered.

"The most extreme of sexual delights or your worst nightmares, depending on who you are."

"Can we look?"

Helene gave him a considering stare. "We are here to make sure that everything is running smoothly with our business, non} It is our responsibility to make sure that everything is in place." She slowly opened the first door.