Seducing the Master (An Erotic Historical in the Red Chrysanthemum Series) (3 page)

The thought sent her into shivers as she
spent. She eased her ministrations and sighed softly. It would do
for now, but she knew only
he
could truly satisfy her
appetite.

“Thinking again of Master Gallant?”

Sitting up, Terrell pulled her skirts down
past her knees and greeted Sarah, with whom she quartered. Though
the two women shared a room, they could not have come from more
divergent backgrounds. Once married to a baronet, Sarah had been
cast out on her own, along with her newborn son, when she was found
guilty of criminal conversation. With her parents deceased and the
other members of her family refusing to acknowledge an adulteress,
Sarah eventually found herself at the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum.
Now, like Terrell, she received membership in exchange for room and
board.

“Alas, it is proving no passing fancy,
m’lady,” Terrell replied. She always addressed Sarah as “m’lady”.
Having once been a courtesan to a peer, she knew the world that
Sarah had once occupied and the extent of the woman’s loss. She
admired the quiet dignity with which Sarah continued to carry
herself despite her fall from grace.

Cradling her son, now a year in age, Sarah
smiled in sympathy. “I think you could not select a finer man to
bestow your attentions upon. Many men pass through here, but he is
a true gentleman, I think.”

“I’ve no need for
gentlemen
, m’lady,”
Terrell replied with a smile.

“Ah, yes, I comprehend.”

Terrell knew not whether Sarah approved of
her brazen wantonness, but as a member of the Red Chrysanthemum,
the former could not cast stones. She rocked her boy, George.

“I hope he will sleep soundly tonight,” she
remarked as she gazed upon his face with a love that would never
tire.

Terrell rose to look upon the boy before his
mother set him gently on the bed.

“He is a handsome boy,” she said, thinking
that little could compare to the serenity of a sleeping child.

“And the very image of his lordship,” sighed
Sarah as she sat down beside him and brushed the forelocks from his
brow.

“Are you certain?”

Sarah looked down and away. “It is true I
harbored affection for another, but I never broke the sanctimony of
the marriage bed.”

“Yet you were found guilty.”

Sarah pressed her lips into a firm line.
“Yes. Yes, I was.”

Terrell put a hand upon her shoulder. “It is
our lot in life, as women, to suffer.”

“I have my son. That is all that matters to
me.”

They heard a clock in the hallway chime the
hour. Sarah rose to her feet. “Do you not see Mr. Worthington
tonight?”

“He is returned to the West Indies. I am
alone this evening,” Terrell said as she sat back upon her own bed.
The room being small and the ceiling slanted low, standing felt
cramped.

“I envy you then. I am to submit to Captain
Gracechurch.”

“He is a strapping fellow.”

“Yes, and far too fixed upon my breasts. He
nearly suckled all the milk from me the other night, such that I
barely had enough for George. I should head downstairs. The Captain
does not tolerate tardiness well.”

After Sarah had departed, Terrell lay upon
her bed. She did not envy herself the respite and would have
preferred to have a distraction from Master Gallant. As she was in
no position to make requests of Madame Devereux, Terrell wondered
how she might gain an evening with Gallant.
He
could make
the request, for he seemed to be on good terms with the
proprietress.

She would simply have to make him desire her
as much as she desired him.

George began to cry, though he looked still
to be asleep. She went to him and picked him up, rocking him as she
had seen Sarah do many times before. His cries diminished to a
whimper. She rocked him more and whispered “shhh” till he was quiet
and still but for his steady breathing. She could have placed him
back upon the bed just then. Instead, she kept the warm bundle in
her arms and adjusted the linen about him. How strange the
satisfaction from merely holding a babe. Was motherhood so natural
a disposition in her sex that she should feel bonded to a child not
her own? Or was it her own situation, a womb that could only know
emptiness, that imbued such value in that which she could never
have?

Even as a young girl she had marveled at the
little bundles, the ugliest of which could still inspire awe by the
mere proportion of their features. When she was older and nearing
the age when she could conceive, she had worked the plantation
fields alongside Coral, a mother who always kept her babe with her
rather than leave it in a tray beneath an arbour made of boughs
with the others, lying like so many tadpoles, naked to the weather
and mosquitoes, and tended by the grandee. Though the babe must
have weighed upon the mother when she worked in the Great Gang,
spending hours upon the knees to dig holes six inches deep and two
feet long, she refused to be parted. Motherhood, Terrell learned,
gave strength to a woman to endure hardship.

Holding George, Terrell believed she would
have done no less than Coral, though, for better or worse, she
would never be tested. She held George a little closer. A soft
knock at the door drew her attention from the babe. She placed the
boy back onto Sarah’s bed.

One of the maids, Tippy, was at the door.
“Madame Devereux has a gentleman most interested in you.”

CHAPTER THREE

C
harles wondered at the
wisdom of his decision as he beheld Miss Katherine sitting upon the
four-post bed, quaking behind the bedclothes she clasped to her
bare shoulders. It would require more than a sennight to transform
the frightened thing to an eager submissive, but he reminded
himself that, in the same period of time, he had nearly toppled a
veteran Mistress into willing submission.

Nearly.

“Good evening, Miss Katherine,” he greeted
with a bow. He spoke gently, as if to a child. “I am Master
Gallant.”

She blinked long lashes over crystalline
blue eyes and nodded. As Devereux had said, Miss Katherine was
lovely, with long brown locks cascading to her elbows and a
heart-shaped countenance with even features. He preferred the
vibrant hue of Mistress Scarlet’s hair, but he could have landed a
far less comely pupil than Miss Katherine. Nonetheless, he did not
think she could replace Greta in his mind. Especially as this was
the very same room he and Greta had occupied last. With canes,
whips, and paddles lining the walls, it was far too intimidating a
room for a novice like Miss Katherine. He looked to her and
suspected she was completely naked behind the bedclothes. It was
unfortunate, for he would have wanted to install her in one of the
less imposing rooms.

He also would not have her start her
education
stripped to the buff. Lord Wendlesson must have
directed her.

“Do not worry, Miss Katherine,” he assured.
“Nothing will happen this evening that you do not consent to.”

Surprised, her widened eyes grew larger
still. He observed her knuckles to have turned white from clutching
the linen. One would think the poor petrified thing was about to be
burned at the stake. Hoping to impart his composure to her, he rang
for the dressing maid then poured a glass of claret. Miss Katherine
shook her head when he offered her the glass of wine.

“Drink it,” he urged. “It will calm your
nerves.”

Despite her slender frame, it would likely
take more than one glass of wine to settle her, but he kept this
opinion to himself. She moved one hand, still grasping the linen,
to the middle of her chest. With the other, she took the glass of
wine. He cupped both his hands about her trembling fingers and the
glass to keep her from spilling the contents. She stared at his
hands.

“Allow me to assist you,” he said
quietly.

With his hands supporting hers, she lifted
the glass to her lips and took a small sip. She swallowed and gazed
at him with the full force of her large blue eyes. A small
creature, cornered by its predator, could not look as helpless as
she.

“Another,” he directed.

She did as told and took another drink.

“Feeling better?”

She paused, then nodded.

“Let us finish the claret.”

Though she did not shake as fiercely as
before, he continued to assist her in holding the glass.

“Th-thank you, sir,” she said when she had
finished the claret.

Glad that she would not be a mute the whole
night, Charles gave her a smile and set the empty glass upon the
sideboard. A knock at the door indicated the arrival of the
dressing maid.

“Tippy,” he greeted the young, petite maid.
“Please have Miss Katherine dressed.”

Seeing Miss Katherine’s mouth fall open in
fear or disbelief or both, he explained, “I understand your time is
limited this evening, and I will not see you delayed.”

In truth, he felt she would be much more at
ease clothed than naked. After informing her that he would return
shortly, he took his leave and sauntered downstairs to consider
what he was to do next with Miss Katherine. He could barely
remember the last novice he had been with. Most of the women he had
known at the Red Chrysanthemum desired to be here. This did not
appear the case with Miss Katherine.

Upon passing the room Madame Devereux kept
as her office, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. A familiar
voice came from within. In the hall, a young page dozed in his
chair. Though not one to pry, Charles could not resist pausing
before the threshold, attempting to place the voice.

“Fairchild spoke very highly of Miss
Terrell,” said the man. “He would have kept her as his mistress if
he did not fear that his wife would make mischief of the
matter.”

“And you have no such fear?” asked Madame
Devereux.

“My wife passed away two years ago from a
tortured childbirth. Fortunately, my son survived. Alas, my wife
did not.”

Charles could hardly believe it. Sir Arthur
had lost his wife in similar fashion.

“I am sorry to hear it. Your poor wife.”

“I have had assorted female companionship in
the past years, but none have sufficed. Knowing this, and as he is
a close friend of mine, Fairchild recommended Miss Terrell.”

“Your friend has exceptional taste, but I
must have you know that Miss Terrell is in great demand. She is a
rare gem of ebony, you understand, beautiful and more refined than
most blackamoors you’d find.”

“I am prepared to pay a sizable sum for her
favors. No less than a hundred guineas. But I demand her whole
attention. I will not have her whoring while she attends me.”

“Of course! You will have her utmost
devotion!”

“No other man is to go near her. Of that I
must be certain or I’ll not part with a shilling.”

“She is yours and yours alone.”

“Good. Then I will see her tonight if I
may.”

“You are in luck, Sir Arthur. She is
unspoken for this evening—a rare circumstance indeed. I will send
for her immediately.”

The proprietress rang a bell. The page awoke
and scrambled to his feet. Charles withdrew and returned up the
stairs, surprised that a man of Sir Arthur’s standing would dare
patronize the Red Chrysanthemum. He also would never have guessed
the man to have a taste for black flesh, though Miss Terrell was,
as Devereux said, a rare gem of ebony. He was unsure if this
newfound discovery of his shared pursuits with Sir Arthur was good
luck or a poor coincidence. He was not acquainted with the MP well
enough to know how Sir Arthur would react to Charles’ patronage of
the Red Chrysanthemum.

Tippy had just finished attaching Miss
Katherine’s embroidered spring garters to her stockings when
Charles returned. He had rapped upon the door to announce his
arrival, a courtesy a master need not extend, before opening the
door. Miss Katherine quickly pulled her gown to her body to cover
her shift and stays. The blush spread over her entire physiognomy.
Charles considered stepping out, but he had no wish to encounter
Sir Arthur. The two men had been in many meetings together,
especially after Charles’ return from China, but they had no
personal familiarity between them. Even if Charles could call Sir
Arthur a friend, he would hesitate to admit his association with
the Red Chrysanthemum.

Charles turned discreetly to the door to
allow Miss Katherine to finish dressing without his witness. He
wondered that Lord Wendlesson did not provide a mask to Miss
Katherine. It would not have eased her fears, but it would have
provided her some coverage to release her inhibitions.

Many members made efforts to conceal their
identities, and in his early years at the Red Chrysanthemum, he,
too, had donned a mask to hide his countenance. When it seemed
unlikely that he would ever come across anyone he knew, he had
ceased employing a disguise. Madame Devereux was cautious with whom
she granted membership. Though Charles knew money to persuade her,
she had rejected the applications of prospects she considered
unreliable, even ones with ample purses. Discretion, being a pillar
for the viability of her business, was of utmost importance to her.
Members, and the servants as well, did not gossip or speak of the
Red Chrysanthemum outside its circle. Nonetheless, with the
appearance of Sir Arthur, Charles reconsidered the use of a
mask.

“I have but her hair to pin,” Tippy informed
him.

Turning around, he beheld Miss Katherine in
her evening dress. The simple gown with its cap sleeves suited her.
Only the fancy embroidery at the hem and about the neckline
revealed the gown to be less than ordinary, speaking to the wealth
of its owner without ostentation. She reminded him of Miss Lily,
though perhaps not as young as the latter but very much the sort of
fair submissive that would have interested Mistress Scarlet. He had
come across Miss Lily twice since the duel that had won him the
chance to claim Mistress Scarlet for a sennight. On both occasions,
Miss Lily had cast hopeful glances at him, but, notwithstanding her
loveliness, she held little interest for him and would only remind
him of his challenge with Mistress Scarlet. With Greta.