Wicked Desires (Wicked Affairs, Book One) (4 page)

“If you want my opinion, the man is in love with you. Nothing else would prevent a man from fucking my whores, not while they are naked and in the very act of intercourse. Nothing, madam.”

“Love? That’s not what I call love.”

“Perhaps you are denying him his rights?”

Clarissa slammed her glass on the table and stood up. “Me? I throw myself at him. This very night, I had my mouth on his cock and he rejected me. Denying him? He’s the one who denies me.”

“Hmm.”

Alice leaned back in her chair, her glass settled on her stomach. Her lips puckered again. “How long has it been since he made love to you?”

Clarissa melted at the humiliating admission. “Over a year.”

Lord, what was her life coming to that she spilled the secrets of her marriage to the local bawdy-house madam? It was bad enough that Anne knew some and suspected more about her relationship with Michael.

“You’re several years younger than the earl?”

“No. Only six.”

“How old is he?”

“Forty-one.”

The madam hummed again, nodding her head and smiling. She looked like Mother Goose, only she sold sex instead of spinning nursery rhymes.

“We had a perfect marriage. He loved me. He
loves
me! I don’t understand and he won’t tell me what’s wrong. Really, I have to go home.” Clarissa stood, her legs weak and unresponsive.

“Lady Dunnaway, calm yourself. Please stay seated. I’ll see that you are home in time.”

Clarissa recognized that Alice DuPuis was a consummate manipulator and a skilled abbess, yet Clarissa complied, since she could see no other way of solving her problem. The woman seemed too matronly and kind and honest to be a threat, and perhaps she, more than anyone, understood men in the most base and meaningful way.

Finally, Alice spoke. Clarissa sat up to listen, believing that her happiness—her life, her existence—was at stake.

“Just so you understand, I’m offering these suggestions in a purely mercenary capacity. You will pay me if you accept, just as the earl will continue to pay me.”

Clarissa nodded.

“The earl seems devoted to you and you seem interested in pleasing him. Perhaps we could come to an arrangement whereby you are the woman in his room.”

“I’m sorry?” Clarissa had heard her correctly, and even though she’d seen enough tonight to cause blindness, she still gaped at the madam’s suggestion.

“Of course, you’d be alone with the earl. I believe I could work up a sufficiently erotic tale about my newest French whore to keep the earl unsuspecting for a few weeks while you, shall we say, entice him? You are French, are you not?”

“
Oui
, on my father’s side.”

“Perfect.”

“Why would I do such a thing? Michael obviously finds a satisfaction here that I cannot provide.”

“Men change. He’s gotten older. Perhaps he is worried about keeping you, satisfying you. Perhaps his taste in entertainments has changed and he is worried he will hurt or offend you. The children are gone. He has a little less stamina. A little less hair.”

“He does not! He has perfectly fine hair.”

“I think you understand what I’m trying to say. Men put a lot of stock in their virility. It’s a blow when they discover they aren’t the stallions they thought they were.”

“My husband is quite virile. Obviously it is his appetite for the unusual, as you suggest.” She bit at her fingernail. “And perhaps he is bored with me now that I’m old and done bearing his children.”

Alice smiled. “Somehow that seems to me to be the least of your worries.” The madam allowed her appraising gaze to wander over Clarissa’s figure. “I think you look as good as some of my best whores.”

Clarissa gasped. “Madame DuPuis, I take exception to your statement.”

“Calm yourself, Lady Dunnaway. We have to look at all of your assets if you are to win your husband back.”

“I haven’t said I would agree.”

“Do you have a choice?”

“Yes.”

The calculating madam smiled again. “Yes, go home to your empty bed and worry whether the next time he visits he will have the same restraint. That he won’t give in to those base urges that cause men to cheat on their wives and lose fortunes. You are right. It’s a chance you can take. He’ll surely come home to you tonight and stay for good.”

“You mock me.”

“No. I’m trying to help you.”

Choices seemed nonexistent. But even if she agreed to the madam’s plan, how could she be sure Michael would take her? She could be discovered. Ruined. And how would she untangle the mess? Because eventually, no matter how discreet she was, he would find out. Some things could not remain a secret forever. And after eighteen years of marriage, Michael would eventually put the puzzle pieces together.

“What would you have me do?”

“He likes particular things… Things you’re going to have to learn to enjoy or at least not fear.”

“You mean I’ll have to put that…that thing inside of me?”

“It’s extremely pleasing, Lady Dunnaway. I’m surprised you haven’t tried it before now.”

Clarissa arched a brow. “I had a husband who provided those services.”

Alice stood, round and sturdy. Her rosy cheeks gave away the pleasure at which she said, “We’ll need to return to the rooms in a few minutes.”

“Why?”

“Your husband has a voracious appetite for the unusual, but fortunately for you, not the cruel. Did you not know?”

She was finding out. What would she see now? The earlier activities still played in her mind.

“Are we in agreement?”

Clarissa nodded. She couldn’t say the words.

“Come. I have a few things for you to try. And I will have some appropriate clothing made for you. Should we say in a week’s time you will return?”

Another nod.

“He likes red and black. And stockings.” And apparently a good many other things she’d never heard of or imagined. “And I have a birthmark at the base of my shoulder blade.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

Clarissa felt the faint stirrings of sickness welling in her stomach. She’d just agreed to participate in the worst sort of debauchery. Was she out of her mind?

She glared at Alice DuPuis. “How much will it take to keep other whores away from him?”

Chapter Three

“Where have you been?” Michael demanded as she stepped inside the mansion. With a wave of his hand, Michael dismissed the lone footman keeping watch at the door.

Clarissa forced herself to look at her husband. Suddenly everything was so much clearer. The madam had been right about a few things. She had even encouraged Clarissa to arrive home later than Michael. She said he needed to think very seriously about the woman he was married to and what better way than with a little jealousy, a little doubt?

The receding echo of footsteps had faded.

“I was out,” she said.

“Out? With the VanLandinghams?”

“No. I’m tired, Michael. I’m going to bed. So unless you wish to join me, I will see you in the morning.” She lifted her skirts and took the first step.

Michael grasped her arms. “Where have you been?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

He shook her. “By God, I will not share you.”

“How can it be sharing when you don’t have me to begin with?”

Michael backed her against the wall. His mouth came down hard on hers. She fought him for a few minutes, struggling in an attempt to excite him.
Anything
before she followed through with the plans to which she had agreed.

“You’re my wife. I won’t have you gallivanting around town without a proper escort.”

“Fine. I’ll find a sturdy footman to accommodate my needs… For an escort. Then there will be no cause for concern.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

Clarissa had little cause to celebrate, even with his hand on her breast and his lips so close. She could smell the alcohol and a faint trace of his cologne. And then, the subtle whiff of sex still clinging to him after his night at Madame DuPuis’.

She’d seen more than she ever wanted to see, and a week from tonight, she would be one of the principal actors.

He softened and bent to kiss her again. He traced his fingers along her jaw and slid them through her hair. His forehead touched hers. “If this is your way to punish me for not… My God, Clarissa. Don’t do this to me. It would kill me if you took a lover. I know I haven’t been able to— Please, just say you’ll give me a chance to make this right.”

“Make it right tonight.” She slid her hands over his shoulders.

“I can’t.”

She hardened her resolve. She wouldn’t beg. “Then we have nothing else to discuss.”

She turned away and mounted the stairs. The whole evening seemed like a nightmare. In her hand, she carried the proof of still more heartache to come. She could never enjoy those things. Even if it was with her husband.

Still, she couldn’t deny the incredible rush of want she’d felt watching the intercourse. She convinced herself that it was her desire for her husband that facilitated such feelings, that she would not have enjoyed it otherwise.

Inside her room, she locked the door to the hallway and the door to Michael’s room. A small decanter of brandy required her attention before she could bring herself to experiment with the toys Alice had provided. She’d never had so much alcohol to drink in one day, but she gulped another half glass of the soothing fire.

Clarissa disrobed completely and found a light, soft rail that had always made her feel sexual and beautiful. If she didn’t face it now, while the heat of determination rode her, she might never face the task.

The bed was already turned down, a plush top cover and several pillows piled high for her comfort. She should just get in and pull the blankets over her head.

Her friend, Anne, was wrong. Clarissa wasn’t a prude, but she’d come to doubt her desirability.

The small clutch Madame DuPuis gave her sat on the edge of the bed. Opening the clasp, she peered in and saw several small items, but the two that she wanted were nestled in protective flannel casings. One was bigger than the other. Madame DuPuis had encouraged her to try the smaller one first.

If she didn’t do it now, she knew she would lose her courage altogether.

She washed the thing—she couldn’t even say the word—and then plunked it on the bed, watching it roll toward a small indention. The glass was smooth but cool, and shaped so like a man’s cock she had to remind herself what it really was.

Her tall cheval mirrors would do. She lifted one and placed it beside her bed. Clarissa wanted to see everything, but then decided her chaise lounge would be better. She carried the mirror again, angled it and then placed a second mirror adjacent to the first.

A sequined mask lay in the bottom of the clutch. She plucked the sparkly object from among the toys and fitted it over her eyes. With a deep breath, she lowered her rail, picked up the dildo—there, she named it—and strolled toward the chaise as if she’d practiced this a hundred times.

She knew she wouldn’t enjoy it. Tense and unsure, she climbed on to the chaise.

On her back, she spread her legs.

She rubbed herself first and then positioned the dildo. The size didn’t intimidate her. It was much smaller than Michael.

Relaxing, she took a deep breath of air, closed her eyes and slid the dildo inside.

The smooth slide made her gasp and her eyes popped open.

She lifted her legs and then pushed deep, holding it inside her while it warmed. She closed her eyes and imagined Michael doing this to her, with her. A chance look in the mirror reflected a woman she did not recognize. The mask. The decadent naked pose with the dildo deep inside her.

Not the prude Anne declared her. Nor the fragile, dignified countess others perceived.

A woman seeking her own pleasure. That’s what she saw.

She dared move it. Biting her lower lip, she understood better now.

Her heart beat hard against her chest as her arousal spread, much like it had been with Michael so many months ago.

Another slide and push.

Oh, yes.
She pulled her legs to her chest and started working in earnest. There was pleasure. Her body heated and she let her mind roam. Michael inside her. Michael holding the dildo. Michael moving the hard smoothness inside her until she screamed out her pleasure.

The rapid rise of her near-climax shocked her. She pulled the dildo from her body and lay panting.

She’d been close, so close she’d almost shrieked.

Only one thing was worse than what she was doing and that was having Michael or her maid catch her doing it. She calmed herself when she remembered the doors were firmly locked.

Rapid ideas formed—sensual, sexual ideas—no doubt fueled by the past hours of entertainment at Madame DuPuis’ whorehouse.

She flung herself from the chaise, throwing the mask aside and marched across the room to dig inside the parcel. The second, larger dildo gleamed. It was heavier and made of some sort of metal. She padded to her washstand and cleaned both of them, determined to do all of the things she’d seen tonight at Madame DuPuis’.