Cavern of Pleasures Trio Page 3

  Her lips curled in a frown, and Vale felt satisfied. “Those are your conditions. Unless you are able to meet all of them, I suggest you think no more of this place. There are other diversions in London that will better suit you, ma petite.”

  He left her to her own thoughts, satisfied there was little chance that she could succeed. But his plan did little to address another concern of his: what had prompted her to come to Madame Botreaux’s—and wish to stay? He thought about their wedding night and wondered if he had offended her somehow. He knew plenty of husbands who would rape their wives and consider it no offense. Surely she would consider him kind for not forcing his attentions upon her? He did not think he could even if he tried. For God’s sake, she was Harold’s little sister. Though she had grown much in the nine years since he had last seen her—no longer a girl but a woman now—he could not resist the urge to protect her.

  They would have to mate as husband and wife at some point. Dunnesford needed an heir, and it was the passing of his father a year ago that had finally forced the matter of marriage upon Vale. He had lived most of his life with little to regard for his father and had joined the army to spite the domineering old man, but his father had surprised him.

  “Forgive me for the poor father I have been,” the former Marquess had said on his deathbed. “I would not reproach you for refusing to honor me with a grandson.”

  For a man who had developed a keen sense of the desires of women, Vale had neglected to consider that his wife had certain needs as well. Lustful needs. For a moment he considered all the young men he knew, but quickly dismissed each and every one of them as an unsuitable partner for Harrietta. He shook his head. What other husband would find himself seeking a paramour for his wife? But he had to find another means to satisfy her. One that did not entail Madame Botreaux’s.

  God, what a bloody mess.

  Chapter Four

  DESPITE THE COOL NIGHT air wafting through the window of her bed chamber, Harrietta felt flush and warm. Her pulse had raced like never before upon leaving Madame Botreaux’s, and though over an hour had passed since she took her leave of Charlotte, her body still felt unable to calm itself. Harrietta could only recall one other time in her life when she had felt such a mixture of intrigue and agitation: when, at the age of six and ten, she had seen Vale naked. He and Harold had decided to take a swim in the lake at Dunnesford one early summer morning. They had disrobed, not realizing she had stolen from the house with the same intention. Hiding behind the bushes, Harrietta had watched Vale strip off his shirt and breeches, baring his arse. She had felt the heat in her cheeks as she admired his naked form before he disappeared into the water, wishing that she could join him.

  Tonight, however, her mind was filled with the image of her “lord” and the feel of his riding crop upon her body. Harrietta shivered. She touched the nipple that he had attended, fingering it until it hardened.

  “How fortunate you are, Harrietta!” Charlotte had gasped when they had returned to their carriage. “To be chosen by his lordship on your first present! But why the pensive look, my dear?”

  “I’m not sure I like him,” Harrietta had answered. There was something oddly familiar about his lordship. As if she had met him before. “I found him terribly condescending. He wanted me to leave the Cavern. He told me I did not belong there.”

  “He must have been testing you. Oh, Harrietta, any woman there would have died to be in your place. You should be delighted.”

  Harrietta had worked her lower lip—a habit her mother had derided as most unbecoming in a young woman. She was quite confident his lordship had not selected her out of desire, but his parting conditions were indeed a test. One that she did not intend on failing. But could she pass his other tests? And what would those other tests entail? The prospect excited and alarmed her.

  “I found the gentleman in the red mask rather interesting,” Harrietta had confessed to Charlotte. Indeed, that man would have been her first choice had she the liberty of choosing. The way he stood, the way he moved indicated power and confidence.

  But there was definitely a thrilling quality to his lordship as well. He was familiar and different all at once. Unlike any man she had ever known.

  She heard movement in the hallway and through the door she could hear male voices. Vale was back? She had expected him to spend the night with his mistress. Perhaps he and the Countess D’Alessio had had a quarrel. Harrietta found herself hoping but then reminded herself that she was not to care what the Marquess did in his private life. They had an understanding not to interfere with each other.

  In the quiet of her bedroom, Harrietta reached a hand down toward her pussy to find herself moist. Purring, she stroked her clitoris with one hand and teased her nipple with the other. She imagined what it would feel like to have his lordship’s crop against her nipple again, imagined how it would feel to have it flicked against the hardened nub. Would the pain be little or large? Would she find it stimulating? She pinched her nipple to test her tolerance, but try as she might, she could not pinch herself hard enough for it to hurt. She needed the hand of another...of a master.

  She fingered her clit more vigorously until she came. Lying in her bed as she absorbed the relief of her orgasm, Harrietta smiled to herself.

  London was a new world to her, and now another was about to open as well.

  “I ENTRUSTED HARRIETTA into your care for one evening—one evening, Charlotte,” Vale began as soon as the butler had shown him into the garden where Charlotte had set up an easel and was painting, “and you took her to Madame Botreaux’s?”

  Charlotte nearly dropped her paintbrush and kept her widened eyes on the canvass. “Who told you?”

  At least her voice quivered with some semblance of guilt, Vale thought. “It matters not who told me or how I came to find out. Suffice it to say that you could not have done worse had you taken Harrietta to a cockfight in St. Giles.”

  Changing her tactics, Charlotte shrugged and resumed her portrait of a naked man. “You asked me to befriend her. If you doubted my ability to play chaperone, you should not have left her with me.”

  The faint breeze wafting through the serenity of the lush garden should have calmed him, but Vale found himself particularly aggravated. Despite the cool air, he felt warm in his embroidered waistcoat and gold brocade coat. “I had no notion that you were a patron of Madame Botreaux’s.”

  “It has been years since I was there,” Charlotte admitted, “but when your wife asked me to take her, I could not refuse. She can be rather persuasive.”

  “My wife requested it?” Vale asked incredulously. “How does she even know of Madame Botreaux’s?”

  Her cheeks reddened. “She saw a painting of mine. One I had done upon my last visit to the Cavern.”

  Vale put a hand to his temple. The fact that Harrietta had prompted the visit to Madame Botreaux’s was not encouraging.

  “You need not fear,” Charlotte reassured him. “She came to no harm.”

  “In the future, you will refrain from taking her to Madame Botreaux’s or any establishment that in the slightest should resemble it.”

  “Hardly seems fair,” Charlotte grumbled. “Wives are expected to sit home with their broidery or some such while husbands gallivant about with their mistresses.”

  “Since when have you ever stayed home embroidering?” Vale returned as he glanced from her painting to the nude model reclining on a bench before the lily pond.

  A grin tugged at her lips. She turned to look at him frankly. “I like Harrietta, Vale. I may even become more fond of her than I am of you—and you know how fond I am of you. If you can entertain your Italian mistress, why cannot Harrietta have her own source of amusement?”

  “She can have all the damn amusement—or paramours—she wants. I take no offense at being a cuckold, but it will not happen at Madame Botreaux’s.”

  He held her gaze until she looked away and mumbled a petulant, “Very well.”

  Vale was unsu
re whether or not to trust Charlotte, but he had other plans to put into place where his wife was concerned.

  THAT MORNING, HARRIETTA awoke and the rush of the evening before quickly returned. Throwing aside her coverlet, she bounded out of bed and rang for her maid. She wondered how she could possibly wait until the evening when she felt such anticipation?

  “Will your ladyship be joining the Marquess for breakfast?” asked Sarah, her new maid.

  “He told me yesterday that he would not be able to,” Harrietta replied.

  The Marquess of Dunnesford apparently sought to spend as little time with his new wife as possible. They had barely arrived at his home in Grosvenor Square before he had cast her upon his cousin and trotted off to see his mistress.

  “What shall your ladyship wear today?” Sarah asked.

  “Anything will do,” Harrietta responded. The daunting collection of gowns, undergarments, headdresses and jewelry made Harrietta’s head spin.

  A knock drew Sarah to the door. It was the Marquess’s valet.

  “His lordship requests the presence of your ladyship at breakfast,” Sarah informed Harrietta upon returning.

  Harrietta sat at attention before the vanity, pleasantly surprised, though she had told herself a thousand times that she cared not what Vale did. Nonetheless, she took more pains with her attire than she was wont to, selecting an elegant chiffon gown with a green sash.

  “Ah, Harrietta,” Vale greeted her in the dining room, “you look lovely.”

  He gave her a kiss on the forehead before leading her to the table. She could not help but feel the kiss was one that Harold might have given her. She glanced over the long table at him and thought how terribly handsome he looked in his gold-embroidered coat and perfectly tied lace cravat. Once again, she felt rather plain in comparison, but even had she the most magnificent gown, she would be considered plain next to her husband, who no doubt should have had a prized beauty as a wife.

  “Did you enjoy your time with Charlotte?” he asked with interest.

  “Very much,” she replied, hiding the sudden flush in her cheeks by staring intently at her plate of eggs and ham. “Charlotte is most agreeable company.”

  “And how did you ladies choose to pass the time?” he inquired casually as he spread butter on his toast.

  “Oh, the idle chatter of women.” Harrietta waved a dismissive hand. “Naught that you would find of interest.”

  “On the contrary, I am greatly interested.”

  His cool grey eyes staring across the table unnerved her.

  “We talked of her paintings,” she answered. “Charlotte is quite skilled with the brush.”

  “Yes,” Vale murmured wryly. “I have seen her artwork.”

  Harrietta wondered if he had ever seen her private collection, but she wanted to turn the conversation as far from herself as possible.

  “And you?” she asked. “Did you pass a pleasant evening?”

  She almost wondered to add with the Countess D’Alessio, but that would have been impolite, especially given their understanding.

  “It was not the evening I expected to have. Did you spend your entire evening talking of art?”

  His eyes seemed to bore into her. Harrietta stuffed her mouth with more ham than she could chew comfortably and made an affirmative sound. It wasn’t exactly a lie if she did not actually speak a coherent word.

  “I shall be ready for the opera tonight early, shall I, that we shall not be late to arrive at the theatre?” Harrietta asked. “I should have liked to have seen a performance with the great David Garrick. I understand he was quite impressive in Richard III.”

  “If you like Shakespeare, The First Haymarket Theatre will have a production of All’s Well That Ends Well. If you wish to attend—”

  “Oh! Very much so!”

  “Then I shall secure a box.”

  He smiled warmly at her, and Harrietta felt if they were not separated by the length of the table, she would have thrown her arms about him.

  “I think there will not be hours enough in the day to see and do all that London has to offer,” Harrietta said.

  “Good. We must attempt every site and every activity your heart fancies.”

  His words took her breath away. She hoped he meant that he would join her in these pursuits, then reminded herself that the Marquess had more important matters to tend to than escorting her about the city. And some of those matters included the Countess D’Alessio, no doubt.

  As if reading her mind, he said, “I have an engagement to attend, a meeting of shareholders at my bank, but I shall leave you in the capable hands of Mrs. Stewart for the day.”

  Mrs. Stewart was the stern housekeeper who had served the previous Marquess of Dunnesford.

  “The library. I saw it yesterday,” Harrietta said to the stout matron during their meeting after breakfast. “It faces southeast and receives such beautiful light, I wonder that lighter colors might not suit it better? Perhaps we can have the curtains drawn daily from the windows to allow more of the sun into the room?”

  “That room has not changed since the first Marquess of Dunnesford,” Mrs. Stewart replied with a defiant lift of the chin. “Bringing in more sunlight would cause the tapestries to fade.”

  “Perhaps we can find another place for the tapestries?” Harrietta asked, hoping her sweet tone would soothe the woman’s disposition.

  It did not.

  The silent frown that prevailed was answer enough, and Harrietta decided not to pursue the matter. She had more important items to attend to: such as finding her way to Madame Botreaux‘s and satisfying the requisites of her “lord.”

  VALE SAT BACK AND WATCHED as Harrietta, perched on the edge of her carriage seat, commented on nearly everything they passed on their way to Covent Garden. Harrietta was not among the loveliest women he knew, but the glow in her face was exceptionally charming. The sparkle in her eyes warmed him—and reassured him. He was convinced that she would not be able to draw herself away from the opera to return to Madame Botreaux’s.

  When the carriage drew up before the stucco façade of the theatre on Bridges Street, her excitement had penetrated him, and Vale found himself looking forward to the performance, though he had already seen Le Nozze. Her response to his suggestion that they take in as much of London as possible had made him feel purposeful. Contrary to Harrietta’s enthusiasm for London, he had become rather bored of the city. The ennui extended to much of his life. The start of it, years ago, was what had prompted him to become a regular at Madame Botreaux’s, but even that establishment interested him less lately.

  “How grand,” Harrietta sighed as they entered the amphitheatre.

  “This must be the new Marchioness of Dunnesford.”

  The voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Vale turned around to see Lovell Elroy. He was with his sister, the Lady Falconet, whose husband rarely ventured into the City. The pair were fraternal twins and resembled one another in all but body shape. Both had golden hair and blue eyes of such brightness that they might glow in the dark. Lovell had a touch of the feminine in his countenance but was still strikingly handsome to the women.

  “Harrietta, I present you Lord Elroy and Lady Falconet,” introduced Vale with reluctance, angling his body as a shield so that Lovell would not think to step too closely to Harrietta.

  “Alexandra,” Lady Falconet supplied. “We women have no need for such formalities.”

  “Harrietta. Though I am known by family and friends as Hetty. Indeed, I am more at ease with it than I am being addressed as Lady Dunnesford.”

  “What a delightful sobriquet,” Lovell remarked.

  Alexandra curled her lips in a broad smile. She reminded Vale of a vulture seeking a kill.

  “Dunnesford,” Lovell addressed Vale, “you will be showing her properly about society, I hope?”

  “We would love to see more of you, my dear,” Alexandra added. “Perhaps you can join us in our box during intermission?” />
  “Perhaps,” Vale interjected upon seeing that Harrietta was about to accept the invitation. “This is but her second evening in London, and many have yet to make her acquaintance.”

  He steered Harrietta away and settled her into their private seats opposite the stage.

  “You do not seem fond of them,” Harrietta observed.

  “And they are not of me,” he replied, adjusting himself uneasily in his chair.

  “Indeed? They seemed quite friendly.”

  “Who could not be gracious toward you, Harrietta?”

  He could tell his response did not satisfy her in the least, but he could not tell her the truth: that he had broken one of the unspoken rules of the Cavern and only his deep friendship with Penelope had prevented his being thrown out. Unless invited, no interference between a master and his submissive was accepted. And yet, after witnessing Lovell flogging his submissive, who was sobbing hysterically, until her skin bled, he could not resist intervening. Lovell had shoved him away and meant to continue his flogging, but Vale had intercepted the lash. With the cat-o-nine tails wrapped about his arm, Vale had wrenched it from Lovell’s hand. He remembered well the hatred in Lovell’s eyes.

  Harrietta did not pry, and Vale was reminded that he was often surprised by her maturity.

  The curtain lifted, and Harrietta was enraptured. If she leaned any further forward, she might tumble out of the balcony. It pleased him that she took such pleasure from the show, and she smiled her gratitude toward him between acts. As rich as the set and the costumes were, and as exquisite as the music was, Vale found himself more absorbed in his wife than in the opera. Years had passed between them, and she was at once the girl he remembered and a woman he did not recognize. Last night had been the first evidence that she might not be wholly pleased with their marriage. He had assumed that, given her lack of beauty and dowry, she would have been, well, grateful to be his wife. That apparently was not the case. He wondered what else was still to be revealed about this little wife of his.