The Viscount's Pleasure House (Irresistible Aristocrats Book 1) Page 3

  “Where I’m from is of no consequence. I wish to discuss something of importance with you, and I’ve little time.”

  He glanced at the clock. “Actually, your time is up.”

  “Oooh!” Her fists clenched at her sides. “Do you delight in always being difficult?”

  He grinned, entertained. “Yes. Always.”

  She narrowed her gaze and sucked in a breath. Once more his own breath caught in his chest as he watched her breasts rise, then fall. Full and heavy. Even the misshapen black dress couldn’t conceal their shape from his practiced gaze.

  Noticing where his eyes focused, she glanced down. “Damn you, this is more difficult than I believed. My informant said you were open to business arrangements. That you didn’t create unnecessary difficulties.”

  “Not any longer.”

  “Excuse me?” She frowned again and once more, he enjoyed it. “Not any longer for what?”

  Leaning forward in his chair, he pressed his face closer to hers. “I now delight in creating difficulties.” He smirked. “Take. Off. Your. Gown.”

  She jumped to her feet. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. I said, undress. If you expect me to make some sort of bargain, I need to inspect what you’re offering.”

  “My lord, you’re talking at cross purposes. Again. To deliberately disconcert me. I’m not offering my—” Fists clenched into the folds of her skirt. “I’m not offering that sort of bargain. My friends and I need your help. Your … expertise.”

  “Ah. You want me to entertain a group of you.”

  “No! I don’t want that at all.” One booted foot stomped on the carpeted floor. “Oooh! Stop putting words into my mouth.”

  “Mmm. Nasty temper. See, I learn a little more about you each minute we’re together.”

  “In everything I was told, nobody explained you were so exasperating. A gentleman who delights in tying my mind in knots.”

  “Who’s been telling tales about me? And what did they say to entice a country mouse to leave her haystack and scurry to my fireside in the dead of night?”

  With a whoosh, she sank back down into the chair across from him, frustration and need warring on her face. “My two friends are having difficulties. With your wide experience, we feel you’re the ideal person to assist us. To broaden our education. In exchange for your help, I shall provide you with information regarding your mother and two sisters. Proof they are living in a region of England that your investigators previously searched but didn’t locate them.”

  He rose to his feet. “The last person offering that sort of information was telling lies. All that so-called lady offered was her body and frankly, a romp in bed with another deceitful aristocrat didn’t interest me. Although, she did promise five of her very best friends would join us for the week.” Her eyes opened wide, very wide, and her question was an astonished squeak. “Five?”

  “Yes, sadly, some higher class of ladies want to invite all their friends to test my stamina. There’s a reason they called me the Virile Viscount.”

  “You mean … You … “ She fluttered fingers at his groin area. “You and six ladies?”

  “Yes, on one memorable occasion. But only because I needed money to buy extra shares in a new railway venture. I did enlist assistance. From friends, from staff.”

  She audibly gulped. “Staff?” Another adorable little squeak.

  Sweet, refreshing. His country mouse brazenly invaded his house and pretended sophistication, yet failed to comprehend real levels of depravity.

  “Oh yes, my lady, I employ several large, and well-endowed, footmen at my estate.”

  She nodded with such enthusiasm that her odious hat bobbed. “That’s why we must attend one of the parties at your house. I’ve heard it called your Pleasure House.”

  “Naïve little lady, have you any inkling of the events taking place at those weekends?”

  “Of course.” Her proud little nose tilted higher. “You hold orgies.”

  “Held! I’m finished with having visitors to the Pleasure House.” He laughed without mirth. “In the past, bored gentry paid me well for their dreams.” He ticked off the numbers on his fingers. “Husbands escaping eagle-eyed wives. Rakes who’ve sampled every whorehouse in town. Green lads with money in their pockets and randy cocks in their pants. And then, of course, we’ve the women.”

  The red in her cheeks heightened. “What do the women want?”

  “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  She looked him in the eye and nodded, bravely determined.

  “Ladies want to scream aloud upon having their orifices filled by a colossal cock. A prick standing proud and erect from the bulging balls of a gargantuan footman. Rather than the tickle of a drooped appendage from an aged husband.”

  He expected shock, but remained undecided if her expression revealed horror, intrigue, or arousal. He wanted her to turn tail and scamper away.

  “Even though women partake of quick screws bent over settees three nights a week with well-used rakes, these oh-so-proper-ladies crave the thrill of savoring all three of those men at their leisure. Without worrying if the library door is locked.” He gave a growl of disgust. “Or if their innocent daughter sees Mama with her skirts tossed over her head and her pussy being ploughed by Papa’s younger brother—”

  “Enough!” She held up a hand. “It’s easy to envisage how being surrounded by depravity disillusions even the most hardened rake. Still, it fails to explain why you stopped.”

  He waved a negligent hand. “Simple. I no longer needed the money. More importantly, I no longer enjoyed it. The women look the same. With and without clothes. Plus there is my hard-and-fast rule.” He grinned. “There. Are. No. Watchers. Not at all.”

  Her golden brown eyes opened wide again, like glowing full moons. “No-no-no watchers.”

  Her high-pitched voice made him smile, even while his breathing quickened and his mouth dried. “No, only participants. Even if I was willing to open the house, you’d need to participate in the group romps.”

  “Gr-gr-group romps?” She faltered over the words, sounding unsure, quivery.

  “Orgies! If you comprehend Greek or Latin terms better.”

  She squeaked again. He hid his smile. He rather liked her tiny mousey noises. Idly, he wondered if she made them in the throes of passion, as she was about to climax. Or would his little mouse become a full-throated screamer? A sudden desire to know wracked him.

  His long dead appendage moved behind the placket of his pants. Twitched once, again, and again. Unbelievable. A whore’s large bosoms had fallen into his lap and not a single jerk stirred his pants. Yet this dowdy woman stirred his cock into eagerness and demanded attention. Stunned, he glanced down, expecting his prick to be peeking out, eager to catch a glimpse of the femme fatale creating this phenomenon. In this position as he leaned over her, his groin was level with her face. Or more accurately, her mouth and soft pink lips. Did she know how to use them on a man’s arousal to suck him into oblivion? Would she do it if he asked?

  Dozens of other nameless women would jump at the chance. He didn’t think she’d be one of them. Not yet. Perhaps she could be persuaded another time. No, he certainly wouldn’t contemplate any other time. She would be dispatched tonight, before his mind went where it shouldn’t, and his traitorous body followed.

  She started to stand, but his arms trapped her. Her breasts bumped his chin. From his elevated angle, he peered down her gaping bodice, exposed when she leaned forward. His glimpse confirmed her breasts were indeed full and ripe, a woman’s bountiful gifts.

  Before he tempered his wayward tongue, he asked, “Do you have children?”

  Pain flitted across her face. “No, I’ve never been blessed with them.”

  “Mmm. But you were married?”

  “Yes, I’m a widow.” “Recently?”

  “Two years ago. Not that it matters to the business at hand.” She peered up at him. “Why did you ask about childre
n?”

  “Because you’ve such magnificently lush breasts. They’re made for suckling babies. And made for men’s mouths.”

  “Oh!” She grabbed at her bodice to tug the sides together. “You’re no gentleman to be peering at my bosom.”

  “You’re quite correct.” He shrugged. “I make no pretense to being a gentleman. And yes, my pretend prim princess, the flush on your cheeks tells me you’re woman enough to be flattered because I think your breasts are so succulent that I long to draw them into my dry mouth. To take a long drink.”

  Whack!

  “Ouch! That hurt.” He rubbed the throb in his cheek where he was sure he carried the print of her hand. “Good,” she snapped. “I intended it to.”

  “Why? If your husband didn’t tell you every day of your married life that your breasts are magnificent, he was either blind or a fool.” She slumped back into the chair, dropped her head, stared at the floor. A tense silence followed. “So,” he probed with ruthless determination, “which was he? Blind or a fool?”

  “His eyesight was perfect.” “Ah, a perfect fool then. But now, it’s truly time you departed. Before your reputation is compromised. Residents in my square resented my inheriting this house three years ago. Many still loathe me for residing here and lowering the tone of this exclusive area. They watch my house like hawks and report my comings and goings to the gossip sheets.”

  “Why would they bother?”

  “Because I’m an upstart in the eyes of many. I didn’t make my fortune in the time way of titled families, by inheriting it. My father left huge debts, whereas I’ve worked for every penny.” He gave a disgusted snort. “The Pleasure House began it. Then, by using my God given intelligence, I invested well and now reap the results. That doesn’t sit well with men who’ve never lifted a finger to pour their own brandy.” He gave a self- derogatory laugh. “Nor with women who treat people who perform any sort of task other than attending social events as of lower intelligence.”

  “I’m not bothered over my reputation. Few people know me in London. Even fewer are interested in my movements.”

  He studied her, frowned. “What about your family?”

  “My family, such as it is, only cares about one thing.” He raised a questioning brow. She shrugged, her feigned indifference not hiding her distress. “My money. And how quickly they may get their hands on it.”

  “Ah, I see.” With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her to the door.

  Before they reached Perkins, she halted and turned to him. “Please, call upon me tomorrow morning. At least meet my friends. Hear their stories.”

  “You haven’t consented to give me your name.”

  She smiled, a real one at last. “From what I know of you, my lord, you intend having my carriage followed home. By morning, you’ll know not only where I reside, but who I am.” At his look of surprise, she added, “Do you deny it?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Madam, you’re a refreshing delight to a man’s jaded palate. I mistook you for the normal spoiled bitch invading my privacy on a whim or a dare. However, you’ve beaten me at my own game. Yes, I’ll have your carriage followed. And yes, by morning, I’ll know everything about you.”

  Pretty white teeth worried her bottom lip, turning it the color of a ripe tomato, red and succulent. His neglected groin tingled, tightened. He needed to be careful around this particular lady, or she’d assuredly best him. In bed and out of it. Assuming she ended where he was already sure she was headed. Where he wanted her. Sliding undressed between his sheets.

  “Then, Hawkesbury, I wish you goodnight.”

  “Pleasant dreams, my lady.”

  Bending, he intended kissing the fingers of her gloved hand but at the last second he changed his mind and tilted his head. His lips brushed her cheek. Soft as velvet and smelling of freshly picked garden violets. In surprise, she turned toward him.

  Unable to resist the temptation, he brushed a butterfly-light caress over her lips and hovered, a scant breath away, before pulling back without succumbing to his raw need to taste her fully. The tension between them sizzled as heatedly as the air in a train driver ‘s cabin. He swallowed hard, fought for control. After several long moments, he stepped back and released her into Perkins’s care.

  He dallied in the anteroom after she departed, giving orders to Johnson to follow the lady’s carriage. Her assumption was quite correct. He’d have done the same for any midnight visitor. However, he’d take special care to discover all her secrets. His black clad lady, the one bargaining with his family’s future, resembled a multi-layered flower he yearned to unravel, one layer at a time, until the bud inside blossomed.

  Ah, yes! Her auburn hair draped across his red silk sheets, across his naked body, would be incredible. A tightening in his groin made him reach down, check. Unbelievable! A hard-as-a-rock throbbing arousal greeted him.

  His long dormant body had surged back to life.

  Chapter Three

  Grosvenor Square … West End of London

  Lady Chrissie Wellsby halted her pacing before the richly curtained bay window and groaned. Pulling aside the decorative swath of expensive peach fabric, she peered past her portico to where the square thronged with people and transportation of every sort. The noises she normally found soothing deafened her today.

  She covered her ears to block out the ringing bell of the penny postman and the rattle of the wheels of the omnibus, but nothing helped. To her frustration, she couldn’t sight a dark-haired viscount striding with his long-muscled legs toward her door so instead she muttered and fretted. Terrified he’d come, petrified he wouldn’t.

  “He’s not coming,” she said, speaking over her shoulder to her friends.

  The two ladies, both beautiful, both very proper, both putting their uttermost faith in Chrissie’s ability to solve their problems, observed her every movement.

  “I prayed I’d be able to convince the viscount, but his mistrust of women runs deeper than I realized. Hawkesbury thinks I tried to cheat my way into his house, or into his bed. He believes I’m cut from the same cloth as all those other women who have fed him lies about his family in return for some sort of gratification.” She nibbled on the corner of a fingernail. “And slapping his face mightn’t have been prudent.”

  “No, possibly not the best way to gain his attention,” Gillian said in a dry tone.

  Her friends, and closest neighbors from the country, had followed her monotonous progress back and forth across the Westminster carpet for the past hour. All three of them suffered shredded nerves.

  Giving a small squeal, Chrissie tightened the hand already constricting the curtain fabric and then announced, “Oh, merciful heavens, he’s here. The notorious Viscount Hawkesbury is standing outside my door.” She spun around to her friends, patted her already tidy hair, smoothed down the folds of her gown, wrung her hands. “Now, behave … behave naturally. As if … as if … we engage a male sex instructor every day of the week. As if we’re in total control of the situation.”

  “Even if we’re terrified?” Anna’s eyes were a wide-eyed plea.

  Gillian, Countess of Eagleby, reached across to pat her friend’s trembling knee. “Anna, all will go according to Chrissie’s plan. Remember, we’ve discussed this. I know you’re worried, but this man, this experienced viscount, is the only one who can help us. With his tutelage, we’ll be well equipped to see to the physical needs of the men in our lives.”

  Lady Wellsby faced the double doors of her receiving room as her butler pushed them open. She swallowed, hard, as she realized the Virile Viscount lived up to his reputation. Heaven help them all. Despite the lateness of the hour when she’d departed his residence in the neighboring square, the man had looked fresh, and groomed to perfection. So strikingly male, so tall, so wide, and so commanding a presence, he stole the air out of her lungs, and out of the room.

  She smoothed her sweaty palms down the sides of her morning gown—a canary yellow to a
chieve a cheery mood—for a third time. She needed a chance to catch her breath and slow her racing heart. Her butler announced him in a slow and formal voice while she composed herself to step forward, to greet him without shaking. When Nichols withdrew, she performed the required introductions to her friends.

  “May I present Miss Anna Smith, who is to be married to Captain Leonard Blythe of the Queen’s Guards?” Anna dipped a curtsy and the viscount bowed from the waist.

  “May I also present the Countess of Eagleby?”

  “Ah, Eagleby and I were friends many years ago, as young bucks around town. I’d heard that he married. My felicitations.” He dipped a formal bow before Gillian, whose face turned as white as a wash-day sheet, until Chrissie feared she’d faint.

  When Hawkesbury studied her with the same intensity, her cheeks heated, excitement surged through her veins like heated steel, and she fought the urge to fan her face. The man’s eyes were far too knowing, his gaze too searching, too delving.

  “So, the mystery deepens.” He turned to address Gillian. “Perhaps I was misled, but I believed Eagleby to be a happily married man. Yet, as a married woman and a new mother, you’ve joined your friends in their little misadventure. Might I ask why?”

  Gillian looked up at him, wide-eyed. “When … when I told Chrissie—”

  “Chrissie?” He looked at her with one haughtily raised brow.

  “We’d no chance to become properly introduced last evening. Nevertheless, I assumed your underlings scurried around in the middle of the night discovering everything about me.”

  His mouth opened an inch, pleasing Chrissie, as she imagined few people managed to surprise the shrewd viscount to the extent he displayed loss of control. He dipped his head and grinned, a dazzling transformation, until, with mounting horror, she watched her two friends twitter, smile, and fall under his spell. Oh, good heavens!

  No wonder women spoke of him in awe-struck tones, or snuck into his house like thieves at every opportunity. Inwardly she groaned, knowing her behavior to be no better. She appeared as another lady of low morals, hounding him for his erotic experience.