Love Redeemed (4 page)

Following his instructions, she placed the tip of his penis at her opening and sank down his hard length. The stretching sensation alone drew her near the edge. Orgasm would not be far behind. Seated on his cock, she stopped and waited to see if he might tell her what to do again.

“Now, rub yourself against me here.” He placed his hands on her hips and showed her how to grind against him. “Then you can rise up and slide down again. You’re in control.”

She did as he showed her, reveling in both the feel of his body and the rare experience of having a man take care of her, see to her pleasure. She continued to grind her mound against him creating tingles that rippled out from her sensitive nub.

“Here, now bring your hands to your breasts.” His voice hitched. “That’s it. Make yourself feel good.” He surveyed her while he reached back down between them to rub against her clit.

His free hand clutched her hip and encouraged her grinding. The feeling of fullness was exquisite as she rode him in earnest. Pinching and rolling her own nipples while he watched with a heavy lidded gaze, the stirrings of her climax twined through her. He groaned. “Beautiful. You are so bloody beautiful.” The sweetness of his words caused the first crack in the armor of her heart.

Then the world as she knew it bent and twisted as wave after wave of pleasure overwhelmed her senses. Her body clutched him, gripping and releasing in spasms around him. He pumped into her twice more then pushed her off him to spill his cum on his stomach. She watched his body arch up off the bed as he stroked his cock. Replete, they lay side by side on the bed, until she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Four

Serena awoke in a strange bed in a strange house. The sun streamed in through the windows cheerily showing, to her dismay, morning had arrived. She should have left hours ago. Madame Marchander would be furious if she knew Serena had not returned from her night off. A glance over her shoulder showed Brennan still slept. They remained nude from when he had woken her sometime in the dark of night to make love for a third time.

The strong planes of his face were peaceful in repose, yet not boyish in any way. She bit her lip finding it difficult to slip from the bed, but deep inside the knowledge she had to leave before he woke up took root. There were too many questions, too many conversations, all of which could reveal her lies. Calling herself a fool, she slipped from the soft Egyptian cotton sheets, so like the ones she slept on at The Market and yet different for the fact they graced his bed. Her feet sank into the plush rug beneath as she looked for her clothes. In rumpled heaps on the floor lay her chemise, corset, and dress. Her stockings were strewn nearby, so it did not take long to set herself to rights. She eased the bedroom door open and ducked back into the room when a maid walked by carrying a stack of sheets. Alone again, she darted out of the door and down the hall to the stairs. Another short dash downstairs and to the study yielded her shoes.

Feet shod and reticule in hand, she forfeited her wrap in the name of a quick and anonymous escape. Since the butler was absent, she headed out the front door and found herself on the sunny street with people strolling by. A glance down at her wrinkled dress, a hand on her head, and the shocked stares of the ladies passing by illustrated her shameful appearance rather well. Tipping her chin up and refusing to be cowed, she stepped down on to the sidewalk and turned left. The Market was not far of a walk.

***

Brennan rolled over and reached out for Serena. His hand came up empty and caused his eyelids to pry open. The crisp morning sun invaded his sleep-drugged mind leading him to wonder where she was. He sat up and called softly. “Serena, love?”

Beyond his cracked bedroom door the hustle and bustle of his staff going about their daily routines filtered in. Why was his door ajar? Certain he had closed it when they came upstairs; he climbed out of bed and looked at the floor. Her clothes were gone. The pit forming in his stomach told him she had gone too. The sinking sensation gripped his belly and nauseated him. He pulled on his trousers and a robe so he could step out into the hallway. Downstairs, he went to the study and found her shoes and reticule gone as well. He sighed, but reminded himself she must have left to sneak home. She was not a woman who could stay out without consequences.

Nor was she a woman to be able to sleep with a man without ramifications. A moment of panic seized him. Was he ready to marry anyone? After dinner, he’d intended to offer marriage until she distracted him with the notion of going upstairs. He stopped to reflect over their time together. He had enjoyed their conversation as much as he enjoyed making love to her. The truth was he would have preferred to court her and get better acquainted, but his cock had taken over and done all his thinking. He knew what he had to do. He’d known it last night. “Green,” he summoned his butler.

“Yes, sir?” The poor man stood shifting from one foot to the other as thought the floor was too warm to stand upon.

“Have my phaeton brought around. I need to go out.” Brennan turned and ran up the stairs taking them two at a time.

***

A few hours and a special license later reality dawned. He had no idea where to find his bride. He decided to go home. Surely her family would call on him once they realized what had happened. He sat in the study watching the time tick by. The first few hours he had been nervous and fidgety as he waited. He argued with himself back and forth about why he should or should not marry her. In the end, he acknowledged he knew little concerning her, but something about her spoke to him. She belonged to him.

By dinner, when no relatives had appeared demanding he do right by her, he grew utterly ornery. Andrew showed up at midnight to see why he had not appeared at the club. Brennan had become downright drunk and had no desire for company.

“Get out, Andrew.” He sat sprawled in his chair behind his desk.

“What happened to you?” Andrew dropped onto the sofa and extended his legs.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a blasted thing has happened to me. That’s what.”

“What’s wrong with nothing?”

“Everything.” Brennan poured himself another brandy.

“Everything is wrong with nothing? I am not sure I follow.” Andrew yawned and stretched.

“I bedded her and nothing happened.” Brennan tossed back the contents of his glass. “No knock on the door, no angry father. Nothing.”

“Well, I’d say you escaped and be happy! You can’t mean you wanted to be caught in the parson’s trap, can you?”

“No, not wanted, but prepared. I am ready. Even got a special license so I could make good.” He rose and waved the useless piece of paper in the air as he headed for the brandy decanter.

“What an auspicious result. Any chance you’ll see the girl again?” Andrew sat up, concerned.

“Not bloody likely,” Brennan mumbled.

“Then you’re in luck! You had a nice tumble with the trollop. Be grateful for escaping the shackles.”

Anger surged through his alcohol-muddled brain as he stumbled toward his friend. “Don’t talk about her like that, you sodding bastard!” Brennan swung at Andrew and missed. Face planted in the cushions of the settee, Andrew’s weight settled on top of him.

“Are you quite done? I would prefer it if you left my handsome face arranged as it is.”

Struggling with his friend, the last thing Brennan remembered was muttering a no before exhaustion and alcohol took over and darkness consumed him.

***

Serena had been happy with her life before she met Brennan Whitling. Nothing seemed as rosy as it had before. The Market was heaven compared to the brothel her mother worked in until the pox took her. Left alone at thirteen with very few options available she’d known she could do better than Gran’s bawdyhouse. She went in search of a good quality place to auction off her virginity. The Pleasure Palace, run by Madame Richmond, had seemed very elegant to a poor little girl who wore rags. At least until Madame Marchander offered her a position at The Market as a live-in girl. That was when she understood what elegance was. For the first year she did not go near the customers. She had to learn to pass for a lady in order to command a man’s attention. Eager and smart, she absorbed everything she needed to succeed.

Six years later, she did not regret her choices so much as her lack of them. It had been a month since she had dinner with Brennan, and still she struggled to find contentment in sex with anyone. She went through the motions, but the small bit of pleasure she once found eluded her. It had become a problem, and she did not quite know what to do. She could not go to Brennan and tell him who she was.

A knock on her door drew her attention. She opened it to find Miranda standing there with a dress in her hands. “Madame sent me up with this dress for you.”

“For me? Why?” Serena looked at the jade-green silk and dredged up a modicum of excitement about it.

“She’s noticed you are not yourself lately. She thinks a new dress might cheer you up.” Miranda shrugged and held out the beautiful gown.

Serena took it and fingered the sleekness of the material. “It is beautiful.”

“I suggest you wear it and do your best to act like you are happy again. Madame is not cold, but I am not sure she would understand you pining for a man. In particular, one you saw in secret.”

“I know. I will push past this. I promise.” Serena attempted a smile, hugged her friend, and hung the dress on a hook by her armoire.

“Good. It should be busy tonight; you’ll enjoy yourself more if you try to pick your spirits up.” Miranda turned and shut the door on her way out leaving Serena alone again.

Her friend was right. The time had come to let go of an impossible dream and return to reality. She would never be Mrs. Brennan Whitling.

***

Either hunting for Serena or drunk, Brennan searched high and low for her, but came up with nothing. Not one of his associates or their wives knew of Miss Serena Freemont. She was a ghost, a phantom, a figment of his imagination. He slumped into his desk chair again and swallowed a slug of brandy. The alcohol helped to stop the wild imaginings he concocted in his brain. He imagined her snatched on the way home from his house and carried off by some villain, dead in a gutter at the hand of a footpad, or clad in rags selling her body for a swig of gin in the stews. But worst of all, he envisioned her sitting in her drawing room as though nothing changed and he never existed.

Andrew had given up on him and his sister refused to receive him in his drunken state the few times he had stopped by. Therefore, he was quite surprised when his best friend sauntered into his study and proceeded to sit down as if nothing were wrong.

“Hello there, old chap.” His friend grinned.

Brennan should have known something was up his friend’s sleeve when he showed up. “What is it? I am not really up for company at the moment.”

“Oh, I think maybe you will change your mind after you hear what I have to say.” He glowed with an unsettling giddiness.

“Why is that?” Brennan took another drink.

“I have two tokens to the most exclusive brothel in London. The Market.” He tossed one of the large, gleaming coins in the air.

“What good is a brothel to me?” Brennan slumped lower in his chair. How could he even be sure he could get a cockstand anymore? The damned redhead had ruined him for all other women.

“Come on, we’ll find you a woman who can put the other one out of your head. A good grind and you’ll be back on your feet.” He stood up and walked out of the study.

Brennan sighed. Maybe the time had come to give up the hunt for Serena. Half hoping his friend might be right about replacing her with another woman, he followed him into the night. A short drive later they were at the door of a sedate, stodgy-looking home. A small brass plaque, bolted on the front, had four numbers on it matching the address on the tokens.

“Remember to keep the mask they provide on at all times. It’s the house policy.” Andrew knocked.

“Seems rather silly.”

“Well, not everyone would want it known they frequent this place; bad for the business of politicking.”

They entered, presented the passes to the man at the door, dropped their requisite masks into place, and soon found themselves in a salon full of stunning women. Even Brennan could not deny his interest in the ladies on hand.

Despite their beauty, he was not prepared to tup one of them. Spying one of the liaisons standing around, he asked if they had any redheads. The man nodded and disappeared behind a tapestry. A very elegant older woman appeared a few moments later with her bosom all but tumbling from her bodice and her shrewd green eyes assessing everyone and everything. She approached him with a warm smile gracing her still beautiful face. “Good evening,
Monsieur
. I understand you requested a redhead?”

“I did. I have a particular fondness for petite redheads.” Brennan hoped this might help get him moving.

“I believe I have just the girl for you. Philippe, please take him to the Green Room.” She nodded for him to be led upstairs. Following the bewigged liaison, he walked down a hallway and into the aforementioned room. The walls were a pale sage with a multicolored rug in the middle showing a mélange of sage, emerald, olive, and a little brown for balance. The furniture had all been done in variations of the colors found in the rug, as were the bedspread and sheets. There could be little doubt why they called it the green room.

He looked at the sheets closely, then the drapes. Fingering the sumptuous fabrics, he experienced envy for the lucky man who had this textile account. No expense had been spared on the luxuriousness of the fabrics adorning The Market. A soft knock at the door interrupted his examination. He turned as an all too familiar redhead entered the room. “Serena?” He stripped the infernal mask from his face and still could not credit what his own eyes told him. She was here, in a brothel.