ThePleasureDevice (11 page)

Thoughts of Helena and his rather eccentric employer
occupied Nicholas to distraction, and thoughts of his father and why he
possibly wanted to see him plagued him until his stomach turned. Did the earl
want to make him his heir? It was the very first time in his life Nicholas
actually wanted such a thing, and he wanted it because of her, to guard her and
shield her from the likes of Dr. Christopher.

To love her with his entire being until the end of time.

Of course it was possible his father merely wanted to mock
him, to let him know another, more deserving heir had been chosen.
Unfortunately, the earl was like that sometimes.

Such vexatious worries made the ball at Lord and Lady Quimby’s
rather tiring. But Lavinia had insisted he attend. “You need to keep yourself
in the game, Nicky,” she had said. “Who knows, you might find someone you like.”

But it was the same as every other fashionable ball. Young
ladies dressed in elaborate confections of ruffles, ruching and lace, their
necklines cut low so men young and old could get a glimpse of their wares,
their pretty smiles flirtatious and beckoning, their waists nipped dangerously
so partners could get an entire hand across the back, producing a sense of
ownership and power.

After a while, it just got boring.

To be sure, he danced with some very lovely young ladies,
taking the opportunity to surreptitiously glance at cleavage, feeling feminine
bodies move under his command in the waltz. To be sure, he became aroused at
all the attention. But it was his body’s normal reaction. His cock would have
gotten just as hard had he been at a brothel.

Then there was Helena. Unobtainable, beautiful Helena. While
he was dancing with the light-footed Penelope Hardcastle, he saw Helena having
the most awful go of it with William Peel—who was too young and rather gangly
but must have been the heir to something, otherwise why would Helena be dragged
across the floor like a sack of flour in his arms? Nicholas swore he saw her
look at him with a plea for help.

There was no garden at the Quimbys’ Belgravia mansion—well,
nothing to hide in at any rate. But the house was large, going several stories
up. Which was where, it seemed, guests flocked to get a breath of fresh air.

Nicholas slipped through the throng of guests, out of the
ballroom, and up to the third floor, passing several men and women going up and
down the stairs. As if abiding by some unspoken rule, no one looked at or
greeted any other. It created an air of licentiousness and possibility.
Nicholas chuckled to himself. Whatever was he to find on the third floor?

It was purposely poorly lit, faces only shadows, colors
faded into grays. He realized he was in a bedroom wing. Well, so be it. He
could use a nice wingback chair in a gentleman’s bedchamber after standing for
hours on end.

Nicholas tried the handle on a door. Locked. Of course. He
wondered what he would have done had the door not been locked and he had walked
in on a fornicating couple. He was feeling so puckish he probably would have
joined them. An unlocked door surely was a sign of welcome to such debauchery.

As Nicholas approached the next room, a young man dashed
out. He moved along, assuming the fellow had already satisfied both himself and
whoever remained behind.

He tried the next room. Open. He peeked in. It looked empty but
it was difficult to tell as it was almost completely dark with only a bit of
moonlight glowing through the windows. The light revealed the coveted wingback.
Nicholas entered, then closed and locked the door behind him. There certainly
was no rule that a man could not be in one of the bedrooms all by himself, was
there?

He glanced out the window at the night before settling in
the chair, groaning as he felt his body relax into the stuffed cushions.

“Dr. Ramsay?”

He jolted up to standing at the sound of the familiar female
voice.

“Miss Hardcastle?”

“Y-yes.”

There was a tinge of shame in her response, as if she had
been caught in a compromising position.

Oh what a fool I am!
He really should have asked
aloud if the room was empty before entering. Now it seemed he would have to
make absolutely sure he and Penelope Hardcastle left separately and at such an
interval as to avoid scandal.

“I didn’t expect you,” she said quietly. “I had thought you
above this sort of thing.”

Christ!
“Miss Hardcastle, are you here for an
assignation?” he asked incredulously.

She remained silent for a minute before answering. “Yes.”

It was really beyond comprehension. Penelope Hardcastle
fornicating with an unknown stranger in a dark room? And yet the thought was
surprisingly arousing.

“Look, Miss Hardcastle, I had no idea there was something
prearranged here. I came upstairs to sit in a comfortable chair and catch my
breath. The garden here is really too small.”

She giggled, then stepped forward into the shaft of
moonlight. “Then I was right about you. I had hoped at one point, but you are
so honorable and polite that I realized it was never to be.”

Nicholas had never really studied her. Now with the soft
light through half-open diaphanous curtains he saw how remarkably pretty she
was. Her dress was cut provocatively and perfectly to suit her feminine
attributes. A man would be a fool to not take the opportunity as presented. So
his stiffening cock reminded him.

“Do you do this often?” he asked, then shook his head in
dismay. “I’m sorry, I’m just somewhat surprised. Of course I assumed you were—”

“A virgin?”

“Miss Hardcastle, Penelope, this is most embarrassing,
really. I do not know what to say.”

She bit her lip and approached, reaching for his hands.
Nicholas swallowed hard as she took off his gloves, slowly, one at a time,
dropping them onto the arm of the chair.

She stood on tiptoe and brushed his lips with the most
delicate of kisses.

It was his undoing. He pulled her to him and pressed his
mouth to hers, devouring her, as she tore off his jacket and waistcoat.

“Nicholas, it means nothing, believe me,” she whispered in
his ear. “It’s just a fantasy. I’m not interested in marrying you. We’ll keep
this our little secret.”

Christ but his cock was hard. “I haven’t done such a thing
as this in years, Penelope.” His body reminded him of how exciting a furtive
encounter could be.

She led him to the bed, bent over the edge and lifted her
skirts.

Between the tops of her stockings and the flounce at her
waist she was naked.

“Where are your drawers?” he blurted.

She giggled. “Over there with my fan and gloves, silly.”

He unbuttoned his fly and slipped off his suspenders to
lower his trousers, only realizing then how excited he was. And as he
unbuttoned his drawers, how utterly rash. He was a doctor. He knew better.

“Penelope, should I pull out?”

“Oh yes, I think so, please. I wasn’t able to put in a
pessary.”

She wriggled her glorious butt at him. In a second, he was
embedded in her warm, wet cunt.

“Oh God,” he groaned.

Her muscles fluttered around him, gripping him tightly as he
pulled out, releasing and flexing as he pushed in. She was most definitely not
a virgin.

“Faster,” she mewled.

He obliged. Her first orgasm was quickly followed by a
second, then, astonishingly, a third.

Nicholas was stunned at how practiced the young lady was. He
found her clit.

“Oh yes, please,” she begged.

As he massaged the tender pearl her breaths became moans,
growing louder and louder.

It would simply not do.

He grabbed his handkerchief and stuffed it in her mouth. She
looked at him in surprise, her face quickly softening to lewd accession.

Nicholas slammed into her as his finger brought her to
climax, her screams muffled by the handkerchief and the mattress. Her heated
passage clenched so tightly he could barely pull out.

But pull out he must, as she had made quick work of him. He
wrenched her head up, grabbed the handkerchief, and spent into the hot, damp
cloth with a satisfied groan.

Penelope stood up, adjusted her skirts, walked to where she
had left her clothes, then dressed quickly and quietly.

Nicholas hastily jerked his trousers back on. He was
speechless, but surely something should be said. “Penelope, that was fabulous.”

She went to him and put a gloved finger to his lips before
kissing him sweetly. “Thank you, Nicholas,” she murmured.

And then she left.

Nicholas fumbled nervously, searching the floor for the rest
of his own discarded clothes. In his wildest dreams he would have never have
thought such a thing would have transpired with such a polite young woman.

The sound of the door opening startled him. His heart jumped
in his chest before crashing back down into his stomach. He was utterly spent,
physically and emotionally. There was simply no way he could go through that
again.

It was a woman, that much he knew from the rustling of silk
and crinoline. She strode in purposefully as if she herself had been looking
for an unlocked door and a wingback to settle down in. As she drew nearer he
sensed her subtle perfume lingering in the air, a scent that his cock
recognized before his brain.

Oh God. No. It simply couldn’t be.

* * * * *

As she strode toward the wingback Helena thought the empty
bedroom was oddly humid, the windows peculiarly cast in a dissipating haze of
steam. Then she felt a presence. A man’s presence. She stopped short.

“Hello?” she called out meekly.

“Helena?”

It was him. Her heart leapt to her throat.

“Nicholas?” she croaked gleefully.

She watched as he ran to the door and locked it.

“Whatever are you doing?”

“Locking the door.” He grabbed her hands. “Helena, you
should not be in here.”

“Because you’re in here?” she asked plainly.

“Well, yes.” He raked his hand through his hair nervously. “And
what are you doing on the third floor anyway?” he scolded.

“I went to the ladies’ retiring room on the first floor and
then I decided to explore,” she began defensively. “There were so many people
going up and down the stairs I thought there was nothing wrong with it. I was
just looking for a little respite before I was expected back at the ballroom.”

He shook his head. “I apologize. Of course your reasons are
un-censurable. But, darling, I don’t want anyone to find you in such a
compromising position.” He exhaled, his expression twisted, trying to think
what to say. “You see, the third floor is where guests go to have illicit love
affairs.”

“Oh.” She should have been completely scandalized by such a
notion, but she was far more enthralled that such things happened at formal
occasions.

Nicholas led her to a window as if to consider how he could
manage her escape, but seemed to realize how foolish that was.

In the pale moonlight, she gazed from his worried expression
down to his untucked shirt bunching where his suspenders met his trousers. His
half-dressed appearance suggested a recent adventure of sorts. “Then did you
just have one?”

“One what?” he asked distractedly, reconsidering the window.

“An illicit love affair.” She relished saying the words
aloud. She could never talk like that in front of anyone but Nicholas.

He glanced down at his state of dishabille, then regarded
her apologetically. “Helena, please believe me,” he implored. “I came here as
innocently as you did, to find some peace away from the crowds.” He looked
away, abashed. “But I found someone here, someone I knew, someone I liked.” He
brought her hands to his lips and kissed them as he gazed at her. “It was base
and contemptible. I hope I have not lost esteem in your eyes.”

“Was it wonderful?” she asked eagerly.

Nicholas was taken aback by her response. “I—I suppose it
was, rather.”

“Oh, how romantic!” She wandered over to the wingback and
flopped down into it, his gloves falling from the arm to her lap. “I wish I
could do something so wicked,” she lamented, smoothing and straightening the
kid leather. It simply was not fair that others could be so free.

He knelt at her side. “Helena, you should never have to do
such a horrid thing! Your husband…” He faltered. “Trust me, your husband will
worship you. You will find all the love and romance you’ll ever need with him.”

Your husband
… Helena didn’t even know who he was
going to be. Tears welled in her eyes. How could she possibly love a man she
did not even know? Meeting Nicholas in third-floor bedrooms sounded like a much
preferable life. The tears were insistent. She wiped her cheeks, staining her
gloves.

Nicholas jumped up. “Darling, what is wrong?” He pulled her
out of the chair and led her to the bed. “Sit with me. Talk to me. Tell me what
is bothering you.”

She sniffled as she sat on the mattress. “Do you have a
handkerchief?”

“No,” he responded brusquely. He slipped off his suspenders
and offered the hem of his shirt. “Please, use this,” he said gently.

She wiped her eyes and her nose, pulling the shirt up as she
did so, revealing his torso little by little until she had completely forgotten
about her tears and was simply staring at his stomach. She had never seen a man
unclothed before and the sight was affecting her in an unexpectedly physical
way. “May I touch you?” she asked quietly, unable to quell the awe in her
voice.

“Yes,” he said with a yearning quiver.

Nicholas lay back onto the mattress and Helena knelt next to
him, gazing at his uncovered flesh as she nervously removed her gloves. She
touched him tentatively, finding his skin marvelously soft and excitingly warm,
then glided her fingers over the taut muscles of his abdomen, through the fine
hair of his chest. He responded with moans and sighs, encouraging her,
emboldening her, compelling her to bend down and kiss his bare flesh, his hot
belly burning her wet lips. His throaty growl provoked her to lick, his exhaled
blasphemy incited her to outline tiny circles around his trembling navel with
her tongue before following the trail of downy hair to the waistband of his
trousers.