THE DEVIL CHASED away the daylight as Constantine urged his
horse to take him far from his responsibilities and into the
arms of willing debauchery. He thundered down the lane,
running away from his guilt and toward the distant manor
house outlined by the falling sun.
His heart pounded as it always did when he rode, keeping
time with his mount's hooves upon the earthen road beneath
them. But it was more than just the thrill of being free
that filled him with anticipation. Today he had made a
decision. Tonight he hoped to forget. Constantine crested
the rise and slowed his horse to a trot as the remote manor
house loomed before him. The place had no name but was
widely known for its warm welcome. What else could you
expect from a bawdy house perched high on a hill?
He swung off his mount as two liveried footman hurried
toward him, one intent on his horse, the other upon him.
"Your name, sir?"
Constantine experienced a pang of uncertainty, then
brushed it aside. "Lord Grayling."
The bewigged footman bowed deferentially. "Welcome to
the House, my lord. If you'd be so kind as to come this way,
Mrs. Cohen will be only too happy to accommodate your every
need this evening."
It wasn't Mrs. Cohen's accommodation Constantine
required, but one of the younger courtesans in her employ.
Perhaps they could banish the memory of his late wife from
his mind, along with his part in her death.
Once inside, the footman took his riding crop, hat,
gloves, and caped coat away, leaving him free to stroll
about the elegantly appointed lower hall unimpeded. Spartan
but elegant. So far the rumors were true. Mrs. Cohen had
been much sought after in London during her youth, but as
age had lessened her appeal, she'd retired to the
countryside to groom others for men's pleasures. He'd never
met her, but the stories of her establishment were legend.
They said a man could buy any pleasure for the right price.
Before he'd gone too many steps, an older woman long
past the first blush of youth, but still lovely, appeared.
"Mrs. Cohen?"
"My Lord Grayling. What an unexpected surprise. Welcome
to the House."
Constantine was well prepared for this adventure. He
reached into his coat pocket and handed over the expected
funds. "A token of my appreciation."
The madam's expression eased into extreme friendliness
and another footman appeared with a glass of wine balanced
upon a gleaming silver tray. "You must be thirsty from your
long ride. I trust your journey was uneventful."
"It was," he assured her, unsurprised that she knew he'd
traveled some distance to arrive here. He wouldn't be
shocked to learn the woman knew the location of every
gentleman of consequence within a fifty–mile radius of
her establishment, as well as the state of their pocketbook
and their love life. She was in the business of providing a
service where it was most needed.
Constantine took the glass and sipped. A remarkably fine
vintage filled his mouth and he nodded. "Perfect."
The madam sent the footman away and gestured to an
adjacent room. "I think you will find exactly what you
require in this direction. Dark or pale, full–figured
or slim. The House prides itself on ensuring a gentleman's
pleasure."
Constantine nodded. He was tired of spending his nights
alone with only his guilt for company. He was weary of
mourning the life he had lost.
At the threshold of the saloon—a room soaked in
red velvet and supple limbs—he saw the ladies of the
night reclined in shimmering, half–undone gowns as
they listened to the strains of Bach adequately played by
another of their number. A few gentlemen, some with vaguely
familiar faces, graced the room, all engaged with willing
women perched upon their laps.
The scene was one he had viewed before his marriage but
found little pleasure in now. He wasn't one for public
spectacles. Private pleasures were all he desired tonight.
It was simply a matter of choosing a face with an appealing
body and then losing himself in desire.
He scanned the room, searching for a face and form that
would inspire him and satisfy his hunger. A leggy blonde sat
alone and unoccupied for the moment. The madam noticed the
direction of his gaze and provided her name. "Solange."
A rare jewel. Constantine doubted names held any
accuracy in this place. With any luck she'd be willing,
pliant, and easy on the senses of a man who'd come for
distraction. He'd begin his quest there.
He strolled forward and limpid eyes flowed over him,
caressing without touching. A prelude to intimacy to come.
Her lips lifted into a smile as she rose to her feet,
gliding toward him with smooth steps. When she held out her
gloved hand, he kissed the back as if she were a dear friend.
"Welcome," she said, her voice soft and easy on the ears.
Constantine smiled in response. "Grayling."
Her hands touched his arm in a gentle caress, luring him
toward her body, attempting to beguile, subtly at first. The
smallest whisper of anticipation coursed through him.
Perhaps a rare jewel would be enough? Perhaps Solange could
provide the pleasure he sought. Yet even as he formed that
thought, another filled him. Solange was lovely, but would
she provide him with the challenge he craved?
Would she bend to his will completely, allow him to
satisfy his needs even if it left her wanting? Would she
dare to complain about his selfishness? There was no way to
predict the outcome.
What Constantine missed most was the chase of love and
passion. The hunt and claiming of victory. He'd had that
once, so he knew what he missed and wanted tonight. A woman
whose passionate nature could keep pace with his.
Solange leaned close to whisper in his ear. "Shall we
sit and listen for a while, my lord?"
Constantine didn't particularly care for the music, but
the performance would give him time to consider whether
Solange would suit. "Of course."
She grabbed his hand and guided him toward an empty
corner settee. Constantine followed her and after he'd sat,
allowed her to press another glass of wine into his hand.
While he sipped, Solange's nimble fingers stroked the top of
his thigh. But the soft touches failed to arouse. That
whisper of desire he'd felt at first sight had vanished as
if it had never been. Constantine cursed under his breath.
After a short period, Solange turned her attention from
the pianist and caught his eye. Her hands glided up his
inner thigh to tease him with the promise of later
pleasures. As she leaned close to nuzzle his neck above his
cravat, he realized nothing had changed. He was no more
aroused by her touch than he had been when he'd set off for
the brothel that evening. Even when her fingers skimmed his
chest and then tangled in his hair, he had no reaction
whatsoever. The gentle kisses she bestowed to his jaw were
persistent, but not enough to arouse. If he got her to the
bedchamber, he feared neither one of them would be happy.
Constantine concentrated on everything else but what she
did. Solange's ministrations had not banished his wife far
enough into the past to allow him to lose himself in the
moment. He wanted to forget he'd loved his wife. He wanted
to banish the guilt that haunted him.
He glanced beyond Solange's shoulder to see who else
lingered in the room. He'd choose another. Someone he hoped
had enough mastery to cure him of his longing for the
perfect life he'd lost.
There were three other unattached women in the room, but
as he inspected them, they failed to stir him any more than
Solange had. Perhaps he should have gone to London when
Rothwell had suggested it. A few weeks of debauchery in the
company of a trusted friend might have been better than the
pleasures afforded by this private country house. It was
just his luck that his situation prevented him from visiting
the capital just now.
A flutter of pale skirts caught his attention as a
slight woman paused in the doorway of the saloon. A slim
figure appeared, deep black hair carelessly tumbling around
her head as if she'd stumbled from bed and could just as
easily return to it. She claimed his complete attention and
he couldn't look away from her whiskey–brown eyes.
Their eyes held as the plunking of the pianoforte dimmed.
Small limbs, perfect skin, and a smile that wasn't the
least sincere.
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