Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

Marguerite had sucked his cock, and yet he had no idea how to please her. Anthony stared up at the embroidered brown bed hangings. Devil take it. He’d have to ask for help.

“Is that you, Miss Marguerite? Are you looking for your mother?”

“Good evening, Judd.”

Marguerite smiled at her mother’s butler as he gestured for her to come farther into the warm homely kitchen of the pleasure house. In truth, her mother was the last person she wanted to see. Helene had a gift for knowing exactly what Marguerite most wanted to hide, and she had plenty to conceal at the moment.

“Madame is away at her other house tonight. Do you want me to send her a message?”

“No, don’t disturb her. I just came to see my sister.”

Her mother rarely left her business to spend time at the townhouse with her husband, Lord Philip Knowles, the twins’ father. The last thing Marguerite wanted to do was interrupt their evening together. Although Philip was involved in the establishment, she knew he was often frustrated by Helene’s insistence that they keep their marriage secret. And if she sent a message, Marguerite knew her mother would always come.

“Miss Lisette was in the main salon with Captain David Gray. Do you wish to go up to the pleasure house or shall I ask your sister to come down to the kitchen?”

Marguerite swallowed hard. “No, I’ll go and find her.” She hesitated by the door. “I don’t suppose you have a mask I could borrow, do you?”

“Of course, my lady. I’ll go and find you one. Do you have any preference as to color?”

By the time Marguerite was masked and following Judd up the stairs, her heart was pounding. One never quite knew what one might encounter at the pleasure house, and she had become such a prude. To her relief, the main salon seemed relatively quiet, the guests more inclined to relax and eat than partake in an orgy.

She saw Lisette’s blond head at one of the tables and headed in her direction. Her sister wore an impeccably cut cream satin gown that emphasized her slenderness and displayed her bosom to advantage. The man sitting next to Lisette immediately rose to his feet and bowed. Marguerite gave him a distracted smile and wondered why Lisette was spending her valuable time with him. He seemed far too ordinary to warrant her sister’s capricious attention, and rather old. She judged him to be in his early thirties, if not more.

“Lisette.”

“Marguerite, what on earth are you doing here?”

Marguerite frowned and glanced pointedly at her male companion. Lisette shrugged. “It’s all right. This is my friend, Captain David Gray. He’s known Maman forever and is completely trustworthy.”

“Ma’am.” Captain Gray bowed and then turned to Lisette. “Perhaps I should go and mingle for a while.”

“All right, but don’t forget to come back and talk to me later.”

“Of course, Miss Delornay.”

Marguerite watched him walk away and then turned to Lisette who was still smiling. “He seems like a nice man.”

“He is. Why do you make it sound like a criticism?”

Marguerite sat opposite Lisette in the chair David had vacated. “He just seems a little old for you.”

“Old for me to what?”

“You know what I mean.”

Lisette wrinkled her nose. “Marguerite you are such a prude. David is my friend, not my lover. I think he prefers men actually, but it is difficult to say.” She touched Marguerite’s hand. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I wanted to ask your advice.”

“Mine? Are you feeling quite the thing?”

Marguerite scowled and lowered her voice. “If you are going to laugh at me, I’ll go.”

Lisette made a presentable attempt to straighten her face. “No, I promise I’ll listen. How can I help?”

“I need to see how a woman pleasures a man.”

Lisette’s mouth dropped open. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lisette!” Marguerite hissed. “I need you to show me a room where I can watch a woman making love to a man, and you mustn’t breathe a word of this to Maman.”

“As if I would.” Lisette frowned. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am. You and Christian were the ones who told me to get out more!”

“Yes, but . . . you seem to have progressed rather more quickly than we anticipated.” Lisette elbowed Marguerite in the ribs. “Anthony Sokorvsky must be some kind of fertility god.”

“Oh, be quiet. Can you help me or not?”

“Of course I can.” Lisette got to her feet, bringing Marguerite with her. “I know the perfect room. Come on.”

Anthony slipped into the main salon of the pleasure house and looked cautiously around. To his relief there was no sign of Madame Helene, Lord Minshom or his brother. At least he might be able to conduct his business with a modicum of decorum. If such a thing was possible. He groaned inwardly.

“Anthony?”

He turned and found Peter Howard smiling at him.

“Good evening, Peter.” Anthony gestured to the quietest corner of the room. “Thank you for coming.”

Peter settled himself in a chair and studied Anthony for a long moment. “You sound very formal. Is something wrong?”

Anthony stared at his brother’s best friend, a man he respected immensely. A man who had suffered the worst life could throw at him, and yet had not only survived, but found love.

“I need your help.”

Peter’s blue eyes narrowed. “Of course, anything.”

Anthony looked desperately around the crowded room. “Is there somewhere else we can talk?”

Peter got instantly to his feet. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He led Anthony into one of the more private rooms on the second level and shut the door.

“Now what is it? Are you in trouble?”

Anthony leaned back against the door. “Not the kind of trouble you might think, but I do need some advice.”

Peter’s charming smile reappeared. “And before you ask, I promise I won’t tell Val anything.”

“Or Madame Helene.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“Just promise.”

Peter shrugged. “Of course. Now how can I help?”

As he struggled to find the right words, Anthony started to pace the room. “I want to seduce a woman.”

“So?”

“I want to do it properly.”

Peter looked puzzled. “Then find an experienced woman here at the pleasure house and perfect your skills.”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“What do you mean?”

Anthony stopped walking, his back to Peter, and closed his eyes. “I’ve never bedded a woman.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Anthony swung around to glare at Peter. “I’ve never had sex with a woman. How the hell am I supposed to make sure she enjoys it, when I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing?”

Peter’s stunned expression made Anthony want to run and hide.

“But you’re twenty-five.”

“And I was raped by a man when I was barely twenty.”

“God, Anthony . . .”

He tried to smile, to laugh it off. “I’ve fucked a lot of men though, or should I say, they’ve fucked me, so I do have some experience.”

“Excuse me for asking this, but is there a particular reason for your sudden desire for a woman?”

Anthony scowled. “My reasons are my own, but why shouldn’t I have sex with anyone I want to?”

Peter hesitated, his calm gaze on Anthony’s. “You know there is no shame in admitting you prefer men. You don’t have to bed a woman to prove something to Val, your family or, most important, to yourself.”

“Why does everyone assume I prefer men? When have I ever expressed a preference?”

Peter examined his fingernails. “People assume things, and the fact that you’ve never been seen with a woman perhaps explains it.” He looked up. “And the fact that you’re twenty-five and have only fucked men.”

Anthony stared helplessly at Peter, his hands fisted at his sides, his heart racing along with his thoughts. How much could he reveal about the change in his feelings, about his doubts about everything he’d once believed true about himself?

“Recently I realized that I no longer enjoyed being sexually humiliated.”

“By Minshom?”

“By anyone. I realized that I wanted to try to find out what I want, not what I am told I should like or forced to participate in.”

“There’s nothing wrong in that.”

“Thank you. It’s taken me long enough to work that out. But I have now, and I intend to try to find out for myself.”

“You do know you might not like what you discover?”

Anthony looked up, saw the understanding on Peter’s face and shrugged. “You mean I might realize that I do need pain to enjoy sex and really prefer men?”

“That is a distinct possibility. Some might say that your choices so far have actually been the right ones and that you are simply fighting your true nature.”

“Would you say that?”

“No, I’d tell you to go out and experiment, to find out what you truly desire and embrace it, whatever it may be.”

Anthony swallowed hard. “Thank you, Peter.”

Peter nodded slowly, his face once more calm and thoughtful. “Then we need to find you an experienced and discreet woman.”

“Yes, that would be helpful.”

Peter got up. “Will you stay here while I go and inquire if the lady I’m thinking about is available this evening?”

“Of course.”

After Peter left, Anthony sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. That had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. He hadn’t told Peter that he tended to avoid women, afraid that they’d laugh at his inexperience or, worse, that he’d somehow hurt them with his perverted lusts. Marguerite was different somehow. Her gentleness combined with her acerbic French pragmatism intrigued him.

He wanted to touch her intimately, to see her body convulse in the throes of passion, to strip away the artifice and understand what made a woman’s love different from a man’s. His cock stirred at the thought, and he glanced at the door, wondering whether Peter would actually come back after all or just leave him to stew.

The door opened and he shot to his feet, smoothed back his disordered hair. Peter was smiling.

“I’ve found the perfect woman. She’ll make you wear some kind of leather mask to conceal your identity.” He shrugged. “She doesn’t like to know whom she’s fucking, and she loves to play the dominant role. I didn’t think that would bother you at all.”

Peter’s matter-of-fact explanation made Anthony want to groan. Apparently his sexual tastes were known to more people than he realized.

“That sounds perfectly acceptable, Peter. Thanks for your help.” He swallowed hard. “Shall we go?”

“Stop crowding me!”

“I’m not.”

Marguerite glared at Lisette, who walked ahead of her in the narrow viewing passageway between the rooms on the second floor.

“Why couldn’t we just go into one of the public rooms off the main salon and sit down? Why does it have to be here?”

Lisette turned to face Marguerite. “Because what you need to see is far more intimate than that, and there is a woman on this floor who specializes in training men to perform at their sexual peak.”

Marguerite sighed and followed her sister to the next viewing station. She had to assume Lisette knew what she was doing, but she still felt apprehensive.

“Of course,” Lisette whispered, “if you want to try it for yourself, I’m sure I could persuade David to lie down and let you crawl all over him. It might be fun.”

“No, this is fine, thank you.”

Lisette nudged her. “Coward.”

Of course she was a coward; who could doubt it?

Marguerite leaned against the wall and peered through the small mirror right into the room. A woman dressed in a black lace corset, stockings and high polished riding boots paced the room. She carried a thin whip that she constantly slapped against her thigh. Although not in her first bloom of youth, she was a magnificent creature. Auburn hair piled high on her head, milk-white skin and a lush bosom to drive men wild.

Marguerite looked down at her own average breasts. Not only was the woman beautiful, but she radiated confidence, something Marguerite had lost and desperately needed to rediscover if she wanted to get anywhere with Anthony. And she did want Anthony—his lack of aggression and innate honesty appealed to her. He offered her a chance to make up for the mistakes of the past, to rediscover the sexual being she was meant to be after the distortion of her marriage.

“Look,” Lisette whispered. “Here he comes . . .”

Rather like horse blinkers, the leather headgear which covered the top half of Anthony’s face and his hair also constricted his side vision. Anthony focused on the woman in front of him, which wasn’t a hardship since she was a vision of formidable female beauty. A lush redhead clad in leather and lace, a whip in her hand and a frown on her face.