Too Hot For A Rake (30 page)

A smile played on her lips as the dowager leaned back on her pillow and closed her eyes. “Shut the door on your way out, you scamps, before I catch a chill.”

In Waverley’s chamber, their honeymoon nest, at least until it was time for them to leave for London, Helena slid her hands into her husband’s trousers.

“What are you doing, you wretch?” His eyes held mock surprise.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want to make love to my husband. You said yourself that it’s perfectly legal now. And I have the special license to prove it. I assure you, I’m ready to ravish you.”

“Are you? I hadn’t noticed.” He swooped her up into his arms and carried her to his bed.

“Aren’t you going to put me down?”

“Of course.” He laid her gently on the bed.

“Where are you going,” she asked when he turned toward the door.

“To tell the servants to disappear.” He opened the door and looked out, surprised to see no one. He closed it and locked it.

Helena laughed as he came toward her. “There’s no one here but me, lover.” She reached for his neck cloth with one finger and pulled him toward her. “I’ll show you.” She teased his lips open and explored him deep with her tongue.

“One kiss and I’m hard. Where did you learn such a trick?”

She looked down, grinned and took his hand. “Let’s not waste any more time, my wicked rake. You have a duty to perform.”

His lips twitched. “Duty? What do you mean?”

“You must consummate our marriage.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

He laughed. “Haven’t I already done that?”

“I mean legally, as man and wife. Can we have an orgy?”

“Ordinarily orgies require more than two people, but I’ll think of something special for my bride. Are you ready?”

Her breath hitched at the thought. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take off your clothes. Slowly.” He took a seat on a chair near the wall, tilted back on two of its legs and folded his arms across his chest.

She loosened the ribbons of her gown and exposed one breast. “Shall I close the drapes first?”

“No. An orgy isn’t an orgy unless we think someone is watching. Go on.”

She exposed the other breast.

“Try for a bit more lust, if you please.”

She licked her lips and moaned.

“Better. Proceed.”

Her gown slid to the floor.

“No chemise? Promising. Remove your shoes and stockings one article at a time. Not too fast, mind.”

“When does the orgy part begin?” She lay down and kicked off one shoe.

“It’s already begun, or haven’t you noticed?”

She kicked off the other shoe. “How can I tell?” She rolled down one stocking, arched her foot and slid it off with the toe of her other foot.

“You have only to view my…er…equipment.” His chair fell into place and he rose. “See?”

“Indeed I do.” She raised her arms over her head and stretched. “Will you be so good as to remove my other stocking, dear rake?”

“With pleasure, lusty wench.” He rolled it down and removed it, covering her leg with tantalizing kisses. She gasped when his tongue licked her toes. He looked up. “Seems you really are ready for me.”

She rose to her knees. “No. First you must disrobe for my pleasure. Slowly, my rake.”

“You are the very devil of a temptress, my love. I’m so hard, I may not be able to lower my trousers.”

“Oh, good! Let me help.” She sat on the edge of the bed and pushed his trousers past his knees. Her tongue found his member and he groaned.

“Not. So. Fast.”

She grasped his buttocks and took in more of him. He stopped her long enough to remove the rest of his clothing. “Lie down and let the orgy begin!”

He pressed her flat on her back and spread her thighs to examine her treasure.

“For heaven’s sake, Desmond. Why have you stopped?”

“It’s my orgy, too. I have a mind to admire my new possession.” He kissed her thigh and she moaned.

“Make love to me.”

“How? Like this?” He kissed her other thigh.

“Oooh! Yes, like that. Do it again.”

He laughed and ran his tongue from the inside of one thigh to the other, stopping where he knew he would elicit a stream of moans from his passionate bride.

“Orgy be damned. I want you now, husband.”

“With pleasure, wife.” He entered her easily, for he was hard and she was wet.

She arched her back to meet his thrusts, the rhythm steady like music, albeit silent yet thunderous.

He stopped to study her face.

“Why have you stopped?”

“I want to see if you are ready to fly with me.”

She raised her head to suck his nipple. “Try me.” She grasped his buttocks, and when he resumed, she moved to his rhythm.

Her spasms helped him to climax with her at the same time. He roared like a triumphant lion, rolled over and panted from the exertion.

“That was fun. I’ll have another orgy at once, if you please.”

“At once? Are you trying to kill me, wife? Another orgy at once may well cripple me for life.”

She laughed, as he’d intended. “In that case, I’ll let you have a bit of a rest first.” She hopped off the bed.

He clasped his hands behind his head. “Where are you going, wife?”

“Fancy some cold chicken?”

“Have we any wine?”

She returned with a platter of fried chicken and a bottle of red wine Rabu had hidden at her request. “I couldn’t carry glasses.”

“No matter. We’ll drink it from the bottle.”

She handed him the wine and sat cross-legged on the bed. “Not bad for our first orgy as husband and wife.”

“But not the last, my lusty raven.” His eyes devoured the dark-eyed beauty who was now his wife. When he leaned toward her and licked her breast, she raised her eyes in surprise.

“What did you do that for?”

A wicked grin stole across his face. “Just removing a piece of chicken. I refuse to share you with anyone or anything. And certainly not with chicken, my darling.”

A slow grin filled with mischief crept across her face. She picked up the wine as if to drink but deliberately missed her mouth and allowed the dark red liquid to trickle down her breasts. The wine collected in a puddle between her thighs. “How clumsy of me. Just look at what I’ve done. Won’t you help me clean it up?”

He removed the bottle of wine from her hand and the plate of chicken and placed them on the bedside table. “I thought I married a prim and proper lady, gentle Helena. Who’s the rake now, I wonder?” His tongue lapped up every drop of the wine.

“No longer shall you be known as
le roué Anglais,
” my love.” Her hand found his rising member.

“No? I rather liked that name. It set me apart from the ordinary. How do you plan to change it?”

“Easy, wicked marquis. I shall call you
mon roué Anglais.
Never fear. You shan’t have to surrender your customary role as a rake, for I mean to keep you enslaved with a lifetime of splendid orgies.”

Le Chabanais, a famous brothel in Paris (1878–1946), took its name from its location not far from the Louvre, at 12 rue Chabanais. Many wealthy investors bought shares in this profitable enterprise. Understandably, these gentlemen insisted upon anonymity.

The entry hall led a client through a bare stone cave and the bedrooms were exotic replicas representing various styles: Louis XVI, Japanese and Moorish, to name just a few.

The Prince of Wales, who became King Edward VII, was the brothel’s most famous client. “Bertie” (in an article in 2004, the
Times
referred to him as “Dirty Bertie”) preferred a bedroom that carried his coat of arms and contained a tub filled with champagne large enough for the obese prince and his ladies. Guy de Maupassant preferred the Moorish room when he visited.

Toulouse-Lautrec, also a well-known client, painted sixteen tableaus for Le Chabanais. These survive and are now in private hands.

The Nazis appropriated Le Chabanais for use by their officers and Nazi sympathizers during the occupation of France in World War II.

Today, the Museé de l’Erotisme in Pigalle displays a loveseat used by the Prince of Wales in its exhibitions. In 2003, BBC Four produced a documentary (
Storyville—Paris Brothel
) that contains footage of Le Chabanais.

I haven’t found any evidence that Le Chabanais rented rooms by the month, but this is a work of fiction and my rake needed a place to live.

—P
EARL
W
OLF