Seducing the Master (An Erotic Historical in the Red Chrysanthemum Series) (5 page)

“You would do well to please him,” Madame
Devereux had advised. “He is willing to pay quite generously for
your company.”

“And more for my cunnie?” Terrell had
replied with amusement, knowing full well it was not conversation
the men sought with her.

“Impish girl. Take care you are not the
sauce-box with him. I do not gather he is a man given to drollness,
but his temperament is of no consequence. For the amount of money
he has offered, I am certain you will suffer his shortcomings. It
is not the largesse the Edeltons pay for Mistress Primrose, but it
is more than satisfactory. More than satisfactory indeed.”

Terrell could not resist a stab of envy.
Mistress Primrose, a newer member of the Red Chrysanthemum, had
landed herself two gentlemen of the
ton
. Mistress Primrose
had a Negress for a mother, but her heritage was mildly apparent,
her skin tone being darker than most Englishwomen but lighter than
many a mulatto. Taken in by her grandfather, Mistress Primrose had
also been raised with some breeding. The death of the grandfather
had forced her into her current circumstance, for the rest of the
family wanted little to do with her. Nonetheless, she had had
advantages that Terrell had not.

But Terrell intended to have those
advantages, and men like Sir Arthur were the means to improving her
lot in life. Studying the man, she had to agree with Madame
Devereux’s assessment of his humor. She also agreed it made no
difference. The man could be her salvation, her means to a better
life than her current occupation at the Red Chrysanthemum. Her
previous hope, Mr. Worthington, had said he would make her his
mistress. Instead, upon receiving poor news of his plantations in
Antigua, he had returned to the West Indies with no promise of when
he might revisit England.

“You are indeed a lovely girl,” Sir Arthur
observed, his gaze settling at the swollen orbs above her
décolletage.

He sat close beside her upon the settee, his
knee touching her skirts. She suspected he wanted to waste little
time before flinging himself upon her, but she would not have it
so. She had no intention of lifting her skirts to the man upon
their first encounter. He had to make more of an effort to gain
access to her cunnie. The more he worked, the more valuable the
objective became. The more he yearned, the more the sought-for
would fulfill. She wanted him to be painfully cognizant of how much
he wanted her.

He leaned toward her till she almost felt
his breath upon her. “You are hardly a day over twenty, I
gather.”

“Are you partial to younger women?” she
asked, pinning him with her gaze.

“I am partial to you, Miss Terrell.”

She took a deep breath so that her bosom
heaved. His gaze returned there.

“You flatter me, Sir Arthur.”

“You are worthy of flattery.”

He reached a hand, large for a man of his
size, toward her breast. But she slid away from him.

“You are in some haste, Sir Arthur?”

He looked surprised and disconcerted but
quickly composed himself. He smiled, but there was neither warmth
nor amusement in his countenance.

“You expect I am paying for conversation?”
he scoffed.

“La, sir! No one comes to the Red
Chrysanthemum for talk, lest it be of the criminal sort.” She
sauntered behind the settee where he sat and draped a hand over his
shoulder. “By our membership here, we are kindred spirits, seeking
divine corporal pleasure, all manner of pleasure, by testing the
limits of our flesh.”

He grasped her hand and turned it up to kiss
the inside of her wrist. “I confess to being surprised. You are
quite well-spoken for a blackamoor.”

“I’ve spent a great deal of time in the
company of fine gentlemen such as yourself.”

His grip upon her hand tightened, as did his
tone. “Let us not speak of these others. When you are with me, I am
the only man you need concern yourself with.”

“As you wish, Sir Arthur. I will only say
this: that I have learned a great deal in my time at the Red
Chrysanthemum, and if you will allow me, I will guide you on the
most memorable exploration of arousal, unlike any you’ve ever
experienced.”

To her relief, he released her hand. He
turned to look at her. “You set lofty expectations, Miss
Terrell.”

She leaned over so that he could view the
fullness of her breasts. “I am confident of meeting them—but only
if you acquiesce to my guidance.”

“You wish to lead?” he asked, his gaze
devouring her décolletage.

“I understand that a man in your position
may not be accustomed to following, but I assure you, you’ll be
pleased with the results.”

She straightened, taking her beautiful
breasts from view.

“Very well,” he said. “I will indulge your
wish, but know that I am a man accustomed to having his
expectations met in a timely manner.”

Pleased, she walked past the settee and
settled herself in a tall armchair opposite Sir Arthur, tossing one
leg over the arm of the chair. He eyed the exposed length of her
lower leg. She pulled her skirts to her thighs.

“For tonight,” she began, “when you’re
returned home, I want you to think on me. Recall my vision.”

She reached above and grasped the back of
the armchair with both hands. “Think long and hard of me as you
fondle your prick.”

He raised his brows.

“There is no need for shame, sir. All men be
guilty of self-pleasure, be they archbishops or kings.”

“Careful, Miss Terrell. You speak
heresy.”

“It is a natural urge in grown men—and
women.”

Dropping one arm, she slid her hand from her
thigh to her skirts, then beneath her skirts. She beheld his eyes
widen.

“Do…do you?” he asked hoarsely.

“Do I pleasure myself? Do I fondle myself
with wanton abandon?” She closed her eyes as her fingers skimmed
the flesh hidden beneath her skirts. She opened her eyes. “Why,
quite often, Sir Arthur. Perhaps it would please you to imagine my
hand at my cunnie while you stroke your cock.”

The veins in his neck stood out. He moved
from the settee and sat himself upon a footstool before her. “What
need have I to address myself later when I can satisfy myself
now?”

She stayed him from throwing himself upon
her by pressing her foot to his chest. “Because we desire to double
your pleasure tomorrow.”

“What if I prefer satisfaction sooner?”

“You said you’d indulge me and give me leave
to take pleasure to its greatest heights. Your appetite for me will
grow throughout the night. Imagine how your gratification will be
magnified when you are finally allowed to feast.”

He paused in thought. “Then we are not to
engage at all this evening?”

She slid her foot lower, to his abdomen.
“Have you ever roasted a pig?”

“Is that a genuine question?” he responded,
disconcerted.

“A pig, roasted long hours in its herbs and
juices, will produce a most tender meat, succulent and full of
flavor. Perhaps you have partaken of such meat and noted how it
melts in your mouth, how it delights the senses.”

She moved her foot to his tented crotch.
“Tonight we begin the roasting. Tomorrow we enjoy the rewards of
our patience.”

He stared at her slender foot, pressed
beside his obvious erection, then spoke in a slow and menacing
tone. “If I find you mean only to tease me, Miss Terrell, you will
rue having done so. I am not a man to be trifled with.”

Unnerved by his threat, she, too, stared at
his crotch so that he might not notice any apprehension in her
eyes. Men like Sir Arthur unsettled her. They gave themselves the
outward appearance of refinement and forbearance but were as
capable of brutish behavior as any coarse ruffian.

Determined not to be cowed by him, she
gathered her wits and carefully withdrew her foot. “I’ll not
promise that you will enjoy every minute of our time together, but
the greater the pain, the greater the pleasure. There are many
forms of ecstasy, and I would show them all to you, Sir
Arthur.”

The veins in his neck throbbed and he looked
unable to swallow.

Like a queen upon her throne, she gave him
her hand to kiss. “Till tomorrow, Sir Arthur.”

He stared at the hand but eventually took it
and pressed it to his lips.

“You’re an intriguing wench, Miss Terrell,”
he said after releasing her hand. “For your sake, I hope you can
make good on your promise.”

She wanted to point out that she had made no
specific promises to him, but decided not to chance his vexation
whilst he seemed inclined to comply with her terms. He stood, gave
her a stiff bow, and departed. She did not realize, till after she
heard the door close behind her, that she had been holding her
breath.

Her hand wandered back beneath her skirts.
She would have liked nothing more than to lust after Sir Arthur and
enjoy all that she intended for him. He had a mature, square jaw, a
fine figure with broad shoulders, but his manners were too cold and
left her with much disquiet. She caressed herself, trying to dispel
the frost left by Sir Arthur, and her thoughts quickly turned to
the one man who could arouse her with ease.

Master Gallant.

CHAPTER FIVE

B
racing himself, Charles
Gallant turned to face the man who had called out to him. Sir
Arthur, perhaps the last person he would have wished to see at the
Red Chrysanthemum, had descended the stairs and now stood but a few
yards from him.

“I thought it was you,” Sir Arthur said,
pressing the tip of his walking stick into the floor, an indication
that he would not, as Charles had hoped, continue on his way.

Charles bowed. “Sir Arthur.”

“I must say I never would have expected to
find you here,” the MP said with what seemed to be mild amusement.
“You struck me as somewhat of a puritan.”

Not wishing to appear discomfited, Charles
squared his shoulders. “Alas, I must disappoint you.”

“Not at all, Charles. It is a relief, in a
manner. An unwed man who boasts no mistress, not even an opera
dancer, prompts suspicion of an unsavory and unlawful nature.”

Charles decided not to disclose the fact
that many a molly possessed membership at the Red Chrysanthemum.
Sir Arthur had perhaps seen Miss Katherine depart the room and,
from that, deemed Charles’ proclivities the acceptable sort.

“Is this your first visit here, Sir Arthur?”
Charles inquired, as if they were easily at White’s or Brooks’s
instead of a bordello that would have made a hellfire club
blush.

Sir Arthur looked about them, but they stood
alone in the hall. “It is, but I own it shall not be my last. As
you know, I am a widower, and it is only natural that I should seek
the companionship of the fair sex.”

Charles inclined his head in
acknowledgement.

“Being without a wife is quite the
unexpected hardship. It is worse than being a bachelor, for a
husband grows accustomed to having, well…you understand.”

“I understand you miss your wife,” Charles
replied with tact.

“Yes, indeed,” Sir Arthur said with
disinterest. “Well, while I can choose to court women of our
society, I find such associations fraught with tiresome
complications. I presume you feel the same.”

The membership of the Red Chrysanthemum was
not without its women of breeding, a few superior even to that of
Sir Arthur, but Charles understood that Sir Arthur sought a woman
with whom he could both engage with and dispense of with ease. He
did not wish to confirm Sir Arthur’s presumptuous inference that
the two men shared anything in common beyond the fact that they
stood in the same hallway.

The appearance of a third party drew both
their attention. Though Charles welcomed the interruption, the
Viscount Wendlesson, dressed in the togs of a dandy, reminded him
too much of Damien Norrington.

“Master Gallant, you wished to speak with
me?” Lord Wendlesson inquired. He looked at Sir Arthur.

“I shall take my leave then,” Sir Arthur
said to Charles. He bowed and went on his way.

“Lord Wendlesson,” Charles greeted and
turned back into the room.

Lord Wendlesson followed. Once inside, the
man began an unhappy pacing.

“Katherine tells me—it would seem,” he
began. “She said very little occurred in her first lesson.”

Sensing the man’s vexation, Charles went to
the sideboard and poured a glass of the same claret he had offered
Miss Katherine when she had occupied the room earlier.

“I do not comprehend,” said Wendlesson. He
stopped and looked at the various accoutrements displayed upon the
walls. “You did not introduce the flogger? I understand the cane
might be too much for a novice, but perhaps the crop or the
paddle?”

Charles presented the wine to Wendlesson,
saying, “I did not touch your wife.”

“You did not…?” Wendlesson replied, his
countenance twisted in confusion. “Did you place her in your rope
bondage?”

“I did not. We conversed.”

“Conversed?” his lordship exclaimed,
flabbergasted. “What the devil are you about, sir?”

“That is what I mean to speak to you
of.”

“I do not pay you to converse with my wife,
sir.”

“If you insist upon compensation, you pay it
all to Madame Devereux. I refuse to take a penny in the matter. I
have agreed to instruct your wife as a favor to Joan.”

He wanted to make it clear to the viscount
that he was under no obligation to him.

“This is a claret from Gascony. Madame
Devereux has family there still. You will find it a near perfect
claret,” Charles said, presenting the wine once more to Wendlesson,
who required it as much as his wife did.

“You toy with me,” Wendlesson accused,
refusing the wine.

Charles did not respond to the ridiculous
accusation. “The purpose of my undertaking has nothing to do with
you. My instruction is for the benefit of Miss Katherine—Lady
Wendlesson. She is the subject that concerns me.”