Submitting to His Lordship (27 page)

He sighed. “We would have suited one another horribly. I regret the attention I had to spend upon her. You know not what I would have given to have had that final night with you.”

He took both her hands and brought them to his lips, his eyes shining with anticipation. As the full realization of what he asked, of his feelings for her, sank in, she could barely contain her euphoria. She choked on the intensity of emotions.

“Lord Rockwell, yours is an unfair proposition,” she said, her voice unsteady and cracking. “The jewelry is magnificent, you see...”

He paled.

“But I accept you, of course.”

He grasped her face in both his hands and smothered her mouth with his. She submitted willingly, deliciously to the kiss and returned it with her own fervor. They wrapped their arms about each other as if letting go meant parting forever. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. But most of all she wanted to show him the depths to which she would love him.

“Deana,” he murmured against her lips. “My Deana.”

She would be forever grateful that she had lost that fateful hand at
vingt-et-un
to Lord Rockwell. She wrapped her arms possessively about him, feeling the full smile of Lady Luck upon her.

THE END

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Master vs. Mistress: The Challenge Continues

An Excerpt

SHE HAD LOST. The devastation of it was tempered only by the agitation of desire swirling in her loins, the wetness between her thighs palpable. Greta looked to the bed where Miss Lily lay, her willowy body relaxed and satiated, her fair and youthful countenance bathed in serenity and bliss. With her long, flaxen hair spread over the pillows, Miss Lily looked a lovely nymph and had all the form and manners of the woman who had stolen away Master Damien. Greta was certain she would never again come across a woman who bore such a striking resemblance to her former nemesis. Envy stabbed at her. She resented that Miss Lily had achieved her release while the tension of lust still coiled within her and would require some time to dissipate. But most of all, she lamented that she had lost the perfect submissive prospect.

To Master Gallant.

A man she had never seen before—or noticed, rather. According to Madame Devereux, the proprietress of the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum, where members engaged in forbidden wantonness and indulged the darkest desires of their flesh, Master Gallant had been a longtime member and simply taken a leave of absence in recent years. If he had not chosen to make an appearance this fateful night, she, Mistress Scarlet, with the greater seniority of the members present, would have been able to claim Miss Lily for her own without interference.

Instead, Madame Devereux had to acknowledge that she had no precedent for how she was to award Miss Lily when two members of arguably equal standing wished to claim the same. To resolve the quandary for her, Master Gallant had proposed a duel, of sorts, to determine who could claim the maiden of their choice. Madame Devereux’s agreement had rankled Greta, and she could not help but feel a little betrayed and suspected that the Madame, often partial to handsome men, had been swayed by Master Gallant’s golden locks, rugged form, and charming smile. Greta would have declined the proposal; but she had been without a submissive one for some time, and none of the other members interested her. Nor did she wish to concede to Master Gallant.

Squaring her shoulders, Greta turned to the man. By his fine attire, which he had not changed prior to arriving at the Red Chrysanthemum, she had determined him to be a gentleman of means. His trousers encased long, lean legs, and his coat fit over his square shoulders in tight embrace. Lest his appearance proved a façade, he had wealth and countenance in his favor, and, Greta admitted begrudgingly, skill. Though she had brought Miss Lily to spend first, the cries of the latter at
his
hands had been louder, more desperate, her spasm more violent. They had agreed that Miss Lily would select the winner at the end of the challenge, but Greta knew the victor before Miss Lily, still recovering from her orgasm, spoke.

“Congratulations, Master Gallant,” Greta said.

He removed the remaining ropes from Miss Lily and turned to her in surprise.

“I am sure if the child could speak, she would name you the winner,” Greta allowed.

He bowed at her acknowledgment. He said nothing and simply looked at her, his eyes of greyish-blue crystals still glowing with lust.

Unnerved by his stare, and not yet free of her own libidinous agitation, she bid him good evening and started for the door. If he intended to frequent the Inn, she might have to halt her own visits until she had more command of her senses around him.

“Where are you headed, Mistress Scarlet?” he asked with a faint edge, as if he were speaking to Miss Lily.

Greta turned around, a little perturbed at his tone. “Your pardon?”

“I have not yet claimed my prize.”

Perplexed, she looked over to the bed where Miss Lily continued to lie, perhaps in slumber.

“We agreed that the winner would be awarded the maiden of his choice,” he reminded her.

“She is yours,” Greta responded.

“Ah, but I have not chosen her.”

Greta let out a sigh of irritation. What the deuce did he want? To lord over her with his victory? She met his hard stare with one of her own that he might understand she had no intention of flattering him or indulging him.

“I would have
you
, Miss Greta.”

The floor fell from beneath her feet. Her breath stalled. For several moments, she did nothing but blink and stare at him. He, too, seemed to cease breathing as he awaited her response. And for the first time that evening, he appeared a little uncertain.

When time resumed, her pulse was thrice what it had been before. A part of her thrilled at the prospect of spending a sennight with Master Gallant. In her observation of him, his skills at dominance were exceptional, nearly equal to that of Master Damien, but, at times, possessing a more tender quality. Could she thrill to the touch of a man when she had not done so in what felt like an eternity? She had to admit to being a little flattered that he desired her instead of the younger, prettier Miss Lily. But she, Mistress Scarlet, had not been the arrangement.

We could each of us have a turn with Miss Lily
, Master Gallant had said.
Whomever Miss Lily chooses may then claim their heart’s desire for the appointed sennight
.

“You tricked me!” she blurted upon realizing that he had, indeed, never specified Miss Lily was to be the prize.

“I own it was you I always intended,” he admitted with insufficient shame.

Greta supposed she ought be grateful her anger now overwhelmed all other agitation. She was upset with herself that she had welcomed, in the slightest, the prospect of being with Master Gallant, though it had been years since last she had allowed a man to touch her. But being hoodwinked by this man infuriated her more.

“I wonder how Madame will receive such duplicity from one of her members?” she replied.

He did not relent. “The rules of engagement were simple and straightforward.”

“Hardly! You think I would have agreed to your devious proposition if you had been completely forthcoming?”

Miss Lily began to stir and sat up to inquire, “Have we finished, Master?”

“I intend to take this matter to Madame Devereux and wonder that she would not revoke your membership for your pretty little charade!”

Whirling on her heels, Greta stormed away in search of the proprietress, whom she found in the dining hall partaking of wine, sweetmeats and chocolate. At five and forty, Madame Devereux was Greta’s senior by twenty years but enjoyed wearing the fashion of her own youth because she found the gowns favored by women of the current era too flimsy and consisting of “virtually nothing—one might as well be
en negligée
.” Greta found such a perspective on clothing to be at odds for a woman who supported bold and wanton debauchery.

Looking up from her repast, Madame Devereux assumed an expression of sympathy. “My dear Greta, I would have happily bestowed Miss Lily to you, but I could not say for certain whose tenure here prevailed, and Master Gallant was such a good member in his time.”

“And I am not?” Greta fumed. “Have I not taken Miss Primrose under my wing and mentored her into an exalted Mistress?”

“You had done admirably, and your efforts are much appreciated.”

“Her two submissive ones must provide you a tidy income.”

“Their perquisites have been beyond generous,” Madame Devereux acknowledged as she bit into a large chocolate confection.

“And Master Gallant? Is he as well-endowed and liberal?”

Madame Devereux gave Greta a stern look. “Take care,
ma cherie
, if you mean to suggest that I am one to flout the rules in favor of the heavier coin purse.”

Chastened, Greta replied, “Your pardon, Madame, but what Master Gallant has proposed must surely be unacceptable.”

“I approved his proposition.”

“But he means to claim
me!
He admitted that he had no intention of winning Miss Lily for her sake.”

With unconcern, Madame Devereux sipped her wine. Her nonchalance made Greta wonder if the proprietress had been a party to the charade from the beginning.

“So you will spend a week with Master Gallant,” Madame Devereux pronounced after selecting another confection. “Poor Miss Lily will, no doubt, be disappointed.”

“Poor
Miss Lily
?” Greta cried, aghast.

“You will be the envy of many a member.”

Greta could hardly believe her ears. “You
sanction
this trickery of his?”

“It was very naughty of him but quite clever as well.”

Greta felt her jaw drop. “I protest! I will not acquiesce to his deception.”

“You agreed to the terms.”

“But that was because I thought he sought to have Miss Lily—not
me.
And will he expect that I shall take the role of a submissive? I vow I will not!”

Madame Devereux sighed. “I know not his intentions, but I would you not give me grief on this. The terms had been set, and if you shirk, it will set a very bad precedent here. As a member, you took an oath to follow rules.”

“But—”

“I must have order preserved.”

Greta looked away in anguish, feeling all the dismay of a child who had learnt she was not preferred by her parents. Madame Devereux clearly favored Master Gallant. Greta was almost tempted to quit her membership, but where would she turn? There was no place like the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum. Even if there were another establishment of its kind, would she feel as comfortable there? She would have to start anew...

“I am not without compassion,
ma cherie.
If Master Gallant has no interest in Miss Lily, I will grant her to you at the end of your sennight with Charles.”

“Thank you, Madame,” Greta muttered.

With a heavy heart, she took her leave. She supposed she ought not be surprised that Madame Devereux would cast her support for Master Gallant, but Greta had thought his tactic so outlandish that even Madame would be unable to condone it. Her discontent with the proprietress turned into greater resentment toward Master Gallant.
Mister
Gallant. She would not defer to him. No matter how capable he might be. While it was true that watching him with Miss Lily, his performance not unlike that of an accomplished musician plying his instrument to produce the most inspired effects, had aroused her, and her interest had been momentarily pricked, she had not been with a man, in any capacity, in years. Nor had she any intention of taking on a partner of the opposite sex. But he and Madame Devereux had consorted to force her hand.

Greta pressed her lips into a grim, determined line. She would fulfill her obligation and spend the sennight with
Mister
Gallant, but she would make him rue his decision to claim her.

###

Master vs. Mistress: The Challenge Continues

Coming Spring 2015

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OTHER WORKS BY EM BROWN

Cavern of Pleasure Series

Mastering the Marchioness

Conquering the Countess