Splendor (13 page)

"Hello, Victoria," Sverayov said flatly. "This is my young friend Charles. You may call me Nicholas."

Carolyn's heart beat hard. Had she lost her mind? Should she leave? Now, before it was too late?

Victoria smiled at them both, coming forward, her heavy breasts swinging beneath the thin satin wrapper, her nipples visible beneath it. Carolyn was already blushing. The woman did not seem to have a stitch on underneath. But of course such a woman would not be modest.

"Good evening to you both." She spoke with a childish voice, her mrquoise eyes bright and somehow innocent.

Carolyn wondered how old she was—her womanly body appeared at odds with her expression, which made her seem fifteen. "Claire said you were handsome, that I would like you very much." Her fey smile reappeared. "And she said that you are a real prince!"

Sverayov smiled with amusement. "A very real prince. Shall we show Charles to the other room?" He was no longer looking at Victoria, but at Carolyn. He still had his arm around her. "Charles?"

Carolyn began to perspire. In spite of her own tension, she managed to wonder about Victoria. What if she hated being a prostitute? What if she were fifteen? What if some of her clients abused her?

Victoria came forward, the wrapper parting to reveal that she did have something on beneath it, shockingly black, lace-trimmed stays and pantalets. If Carolyn had thought her cheeks to be aflame before, now they were positively burning. She glanced at Sverayov, only to find him watching her, Carolyn, with very calm golden eyes. Their gazes held.

And in that instant, she forgot the other woman's presence in the room. In that instant, she thought Sverayov had forgotten her, too, for his smile had vanished as he stared at her and his eyes were far too brilliant for comfort. Carolyn almost thought that he was going to reach out to her, Carolyn.

But Victoria broke the moment. "Are you sure you want to watch, Charles?" she asked with a slow, sweet smile. "I don't mind if you stay with us. I've done a threesome before." Her gaze moved to Sverayov. "Maybe the prince would like that best," she said, her tone turning husky. Her small pink tongue actually came out and touched her bottom lip.

Carolyn stared at her, fascinated. And then she looked at Sverayov, who was still not watching Victoria, oh no. He observed Carolyn very intently.

"Charles?" Sverayov asked. "Do you wish to join us?"

Carolyn wet her lips. "No! Really ... I will watch," she managed, incapable of any other reply. But she was now

having grave doubts about her courage to actually go through with this.

Victoria smiled and swished past her, out into the hallway. Carolyn was about to follow but Sverayov gripped her wrist, halting her.

His gaze was brilliant, yet odd. "Perhaps I have been remiss," he said slowly, his eyes moving over her face and lingering on her mouth. Carolyn's pulse tripled. "I feel as if I have become the Devil himself, about to corrupt the innocent. Perhaps we should leave—and find some other sport to occupy us for the rest of the evening."

Carolyn's breasts heaved. She found herself staring at his mouth, wondering what his lips would feel like, how they might taste. Dismayed at her reaction, she tried to tell herself that this was not the time or the place to desire Sverayov—who was not her type of man anyway. And surely he desired the beautiful, childish prostitute. She swallowed. "I want to leave," she said, "but I might never have this chance again." Too late, she realized she had been speaking as Carolyn.

He stared.

A hot, hard silence fell between them.

Victoria reappeared on the threshold of her room. ' 'What are you two doing?" she said in protest.

Sverayov ignored her—perhaps he had not even heard her. "How badly," he said, his tone husky, "do you want to stay—and watch me?"

Carolyn trembled. That was a very good question. "I don't know," she whispered back, her heartbeat deafening in her own ears. "I am very . .. curious."

Sverayov did not release Carolyn's wrist. His gaze darkened. Finally he gestured at the door. "After you... Charles," he said.

Carolyn swallowed, her mouth completely dry now, and she followed Victoria into the adjacent room. Carolyn's eyes widened. Although the room was furnished like a bedchamber, a couch faced the wall, not the fireplace, and there was a window in it. She could see right through the window

into the room where the prostitute would make love to Sverayov. She felt Sverayov come to stand directly behind her—so closely that she could feel his body's heat. Carolyn did not move.

"In her room it is the mirror," Sverayov said softly, from behind, his breath farming her ear.

Carolyn stiffened. Shivers of delicious sensation swept over her.

His palms closed lightly on her shoulders. Carolyn found herself swaying backward, against his hard, strong body. "This is where you would watch me," he said as softly.

Carolyn trembled.

Victoria laughed. Once again, Carolyn had forgotten that she was present. "So clever, isn't it?"

Carolyn nodded, speechless. Abruptly Sverayov released her and stepped away from her. She stole a glance at him. His expression appeared strained, but she could not guess why.

And immediately Victoria moved to Sverayov and pressed against him, gazing up at him. Her wrapper had parted, revealing both bare breasts, in their entirety, which were pushed up against his arm. Carolyn bit her lip.

"Let's begin, my lord." She squirmed against him, smiling coquettishly.

Sverayov did not move. The wriggling woman did not seem to have very much of his attention. "Charles?" he asked.

Carolyn clenched her fists. She did not know what to do. She was confused, so very confused, and inexplicably aroused. Her gaze slid over his face, over his impossibly arresting features, lingering on his mouth.

"What are you both waiting for?" Victoria was cross. "Do you two even need me?" Her hand moved over Sver-ayov's abdomen, stroking small circles there. "If he wants to watch, let him watch. Why don't we go?" She was petulant. And her hand was sliding lower and lower down his uniform jacket. To where it parted over his trousers.

And now Carolyn could not miss the fact that a very

large, rigid line was distending his trousers. She blinked— and stared.

"Let's go," Victoria whispered in Sverayov's ear. Her fingers skimmed his length very blatantly^up to the tip and back down.

Carolyn's heart went wild. She was frozen in place.

Sverayov gripped Victoria's wrist, halting her. "I am afraid," he said evenly, "that this has gone far enough."

He was ending it. Carolyn was ready to collapse into the closest chair. But she could not get the image of the prostitute's hand on his manhood out of her mind. She raised a shaking hand to her eyes, briefly covering them.

Victoria began to protest. Carolyn recovered enough to watch Sverayov hustling her from the room and into her own room. She turned and stared at them through the window. Victoria was angry, fists clenched, and her wrapper had opened completely. Carolyn searched Sverayov's face desperately for a sign that he was even remotely interested in the prostitute, but failed to find anything other than annoyance in his expression. She turned away as he left the room, hugging herself.

She felt as if she had had a very close call.

Sverayov appeared in the doorway. "Let's go." His tone was sharp. His jaw was tight.

Carolyn nodded grimly, thinking breathlessly that this had been a disaster, and tried not to recall her recent experiences. She sidled past him then lengthened her strides, hurrying down the hall and downstairs. He followed her. Unfortunately, she came face-to-face with Madam Russell on the landing below when she was hoping to escape the brothel without seeing a sfhgle soul.

Claire's blond brows lifted. "Charles. Is something amiss?"

"It is late. I must go. I ... am not well."

"You are white. You seem upset." Claire looked concerned—but then she and Sverayov shared a glance. "Can I help? Can I get you a brandy?"

"No. Thank you."

Sverayov took her arm very firmly in his. "Thank you, Claire. I hope to see you again."

Carolyn was guided swiftly outside by the Russian. She gulped in the fresh air. Now she wondered whether he would have stayed with the prostitute if she had not come with him that evening. She flushed. Her heart hammered. The thought made her angry—an emotion she refused to entertain. And the last place she wished to be now was inside his coach. She could still feel his breath feathering her ear, his palms cupping her shoulders, and the length of his hard body against her posterior. And she kept seeing Victoria's milk-white hand teasing the length of his manhood.

"Charles?" Sverayov queried.

Carolyn met his gaze for an instant—and tore it away. "I will take a hansom."

He followed her to the curb. "You cannot find a hansom at this hour of the night." He nodded to the waiting footmen standing by the coach. The door was swung open. "After you, Charles."

Carolyn took a final deep breath of the cool night air and stepped up into his carriage. As he also stepped up, the coach dipped slightly under his weight. They settled onto opposite seats. Carolyn toyed with the soft sable rug, keeping her eyes downcast.

"Charles? You seem very . . . disturbed," he said.

She forced a smile. "I am not disturbed." Oh, but she was. Disturbed and hot and throbbing in places she was just now beginning to understand. And she looked up.

Their gazes clashed. His tone might have been odd, but his eyes were brilliant, mesmerizing. Their eyes held.

"It was a disturbing evening," he said slowly, "for me, as well."

Carolyn could not move. What did he mean? Why could he not speak directly? She could only think how much she wanted him to bend down and kiss her—how much she wanted to feel his mouth on hers, his body against hers. How much she would like to be as bold as Victoria.

His jaw flexed. The night had become hot around them. And suddenly his band lifted.

Carolyn flinched, shocked, as he reached for her cheek to caress her. Her pulse exploded. She forgot she was masquerading as Brighton.

But his fingers did not touch her cheek. Instead, he removed her spectacles. "Your lenses are fogged up." He produced a handkerchief and cleaned them, his gaze on hers. And then he slid the spectacles back on her nose. "Let me take you home," he said.

H(^ Ten ^

"WHERE am I taking you?" Nicholas asked as the coach moved forward.

She avoided his eyes. "I am staying at an inn." She gave him an address two blocks away from her father's bookshop.

Nicholas watched her. He had only meant to amuse himself by toying with Carolyn—a just consequence of her charade. He had wanted to see how far she would go, for he had been certain she would unmask herself before they had.even gone upstairs. But she hadn't. She had remained mute, playing out her hand. And he, Nicholas, had been the one to fold. Carolyn had won this round.

He wondered what she would have done if he had made love to the prostimte. He stole a glance at her flushed face. Would Carolyn have stayed? And watched? He would not. be completely surprised.

Of course, he'd had no choice but to quit the game. It had been glaringly evident that Carolyn was completely innocent—as much a virgin as she was a total amateur as a spy.

"You are staring," she said abruptly. "Have I sprouted horns on my head?"

He had been staring. Because even the ugly stain on her face and hair, and the narrow horn-rimmed spectacles, could not disguise her full, ripe mouth or her perfect little

nose. And her eyes remained huge and vividly green behind the lenses of her glasses. Which were fogging up again.

He was a vastly experienced man. He had been aroused in the brothel—and it had had nothing to do with the prostitute. But where did that leave him? The idea of making love to an innocent woman, even one playing games with him, was at bitter odds with his higher self. He had never even contemplated such a liaison before. But suddenly he could imagine himself and Carolyn engaged in a passionate affair. The problem was, she was far too romantic to survive its demise. He kn^w it, the way he knew the sun must set every night.

He shifted, acutely disturbed. "You have hardly said a word since we left Madam Russell's."

"What is there to say?" This time she held his gaze.

"Why are you so hot?" he asked, the sound softer than he had intended. As if he did not know.

She shifted uneasily'now. "Perhaps we could open a window."

"Did you find the evening educational?" He could not resist.

She was still, rapidly turning crimson. And her gaze slipped over him. "Yes."

His reaction was immediate. And he thought, everyone, eventually, had to grow up. But he still did not want to be the one to shatter her romantic illusions.

"Perhaps," he said, leaning forward, "you will decide that you are ready to return to Madam Russell's—by yourself? I am sure Claire will welcome you now, anytime."

Her eyes, behind the foggy lenses, widened. ' 'Per.. . haps."

He tried not to laugh, imagining that.

"You seem to be good friends with Madam Russell," she said suddenly.

He was bland. "I am. She used to keep an establishment in Paris, years ago. My father took myself and my brother there on several occasions when we were boys."

"You remain fond of her?"

Was she jealous? Oddly enough, the idea appealed to him. "She is a unique woman, sincere, without pretense."

Carolyn squirmed, as well she should. "You know, Sver-ayov, I do not think that you hold women in high esteem."

He was annoyed. "Actually, I hold very few women in high esteem, women like Claire—and can you blame me? Most women want one thing or another from me, and they are not very subtle or genuine about getting it."

She flushed. "Yes," she mumbled. "I can imagine." . He stared at her downtumed face. She was so damnably naive. She could not be a political agent, it was impossible. In that moment, he was certain of it. She had some other reason for her charade, perhaps one as simple as an overwhelming intellectual curiosity which demanded satisfaction. After all, most women were content to remain ignorant, marry designated buffoons, deliver children to their husbands, relinquish their households to a capable staff, and do nothing other than attend galas and soirees. Yet Carolyn was astoundingly intellectual, unusually educated, and obviously carelessly unconventional. She read Abelard, for God's sake. He still could not get over that.