Darkness In The Flames (34 page)

Verity laid it on the bed and pulled out a pair of slim black satin breeches, followed by an elegant pair of tall riding boots made of shiny leather and polished to a glow. Beneath these was a small leather mask, not dissimilar to those of the Midnight Shadows. Black evening gloves completed the ensemble—with one exception. Coiled neatly at the bottom of the chest, softly shining and neatly polished, was a whip.

*~*~*~*

Nick paced the floor and raged silently. Isolde had manipulated him into a position where he could not refuse her and he wasn’t happy with the notion. Not happy at all.

“Don’t you love the night, Nick?” She’d been staring from the window into the darkness. “So enticing. So mysterious. I hate to sleep and miss it.”

Nick had to agree. “You’ll get no argument from me there, Isolde. Unfortunately, during my travels in Europe, I…contracted an ailment. It’s left me with an unpleasant reaction to sunlight. Therefore I have become almost a night-dweller. It’s kept me solitary in my habits.” He chuckled wryly. The story was quite plausible and explained so much about his odd needs. His listeners never knew how close to the truth it was.

“Really?” Isolde’s eyes opened wide. “How sad, Nick. And yet how lucky you are to be able to fully appreciate the shadows and nuances of darkness.” She leaned toward him, deepening the valley between her breasts and running her tongue over her lower lip. Her eyes were brilliant in the candlelight. “I love darkness. I love the excitement of not knowing what lurks in the shadows.”

The invitation wasn’t subtle. Nick remained silent, unsure of what exactly was in the wind—or in this case, Isolde’s mind.

She seemed to reach a decision. “I think I know you well enough to discard the proprieties, Nick.” She closed the distance between them and lifted her hand to his cheek. “I’ve thought of you. Often. I’ve told Gawain of our—
dalliance
, shall we say.”

“You have?” Nick watched her carefully.

“Oh yes. Gawain appreciated my recounting of your skill.” She ran a finger down over his chin and tapped it. “Gawain and I have a rather unique relationship. One I’d like to explain in greater detail. And I know he’d enjoy making your acquaintance. Would you do us the honor of joining us in a little while? For some—
conversation
? Perhaps some wine?”

It had been beautifully phrased. A polite invitation on the surface—no more than that. And yet beneath the surface…Nick sensed an undercurrent of something dark. And for him, that was quite an unusual occurrence.

He’d been helpless to turn it down, out of practice at such delicate social maneuvers. He realized he’d not missed that sort of game at all. But here he was, caught once more in its coils. And not feeling very pleased about it either.

Isolde had suggested he refresh himself in his room and then join her and Gawain in their suite within the hour. It was a suggestion he’d found himself acquiescing to, in spite of his private reservations and it was a suggestion that had brought him to a large set of double doors at the very end of a long passage.

Clearly the FitzAdamses liked their privacy, since their suite of rooms occupied the wing farthest from the habited portion of the massive residence.

When the door swung open in answer to his knock, Nick could see why.

It was uncannily like a scene from a fifteenth-century painting Nick remembered seeing in Europe. Candles wavered in the draft from the door and their light flickered over a huge and shadowy salon. But no salon he could remember had been furnished or used in quite this way.

In one pool of light was a tall man, whom Nick assumed to be Gawain FitzAdams, master of the house. He was quite nude and flashed a friendly smile as he stood with one leg resting on the shoulder of another naked man. Behind him a second servant—for what else could they be?—slapped FitzAdams’ arse, swift and hard blows that jarred him a little and made him laugh. It was a strangely high-pitched giggle, interspersed every now and again with a moan as the man between his legs sucked his cock with great enthusiasm.

Across the room was the mistress of the house, Isolde. She was also naked. But Isolde was manacled to the wall, her limbs stretched to their limits by shining and well-formed chains. Her backside bore marks witnessing punishment that had already been administered.

As Nick stepped into the room, the overwhelming smell of something herbal assailed his nostrils and made him catch his breath. It was a smell he recognized—also from his travels in Europe—and when he caught a glimpse of Isolde’s eyes he knew he was correct.

She’d drugged herself and probably Gawain too. They both looked aroused, tensely attuned to the erotic savagery of the moment. Isolde rattled her restraints to attract his attention. “Hello, darling.”

She nodded at a maidservant standing awkwardly off to one side. The woman quickly unfastened the manacles and Isolde strolled casually to Nick, completely unconcerned about her nudity.

“Ignore Gawain. He’s having fun.” Her comment preceded a moan from her husband. He was now bent over a sofa with one man fucking his ass and another fucking his mouth. Clearly Gawain FitzAdams took his pleasures in a slightly different style to those Nick preferred.

“And you?” Nick watched Isolde. “Are you having fun?”

“Pain is pleasure and pleasure can be pain, Nick.”

“Really?” It was a question that he didn’t need to ask. He knew the answer all too well, but from a perspective different to that of his hostess.

“Oh yes. I’ve been lucky. I’ve found someone who knows how to administer just enough pain to bring me the utmost pleasure.”

Gawain screamed shrilly from his corner, distracting them, as his playmates spanked him again and continued to fuck him.

Nick raised an eyebrow and turned back to Isolde. “Clearly you’re not speaking of your husband.”

She lifted one white shoulder in dismissal, not even turning to survey the little party going on by the sofa. “That weakling? I should say not. He serves a useful purpose in our relationship, as do I. We both get what we want out of it. Except for one particular area…”

“Sexually.”

Isolde nodded. “Yes. So we make adjustments. We take our pleasure together still, like any married couple.”

Gawain shrieked once more as he swayed and thrust his cock into his manservant’s mouth.

Nick wrinkled his nose. “Not quite like any married couple.”

“You’d be surprised.” Isolde’s tone was wry. “But I suppose you are right. Not every couple explores their pleasure quite the way we do. And yet no one is harmed. Is there damage here? No. Simply the pursuit of delights in the way that suits us best.” She let her hand rest on Nick’s chest. “And I’m hoping you might be persuaded to assist.”

“Assist with what?”

Nick fought to keep his face expressionless. He’d been to many places and seen many things, but few matched the unpleasantly decadent eroticism of the scene before him.

“Assist with
this
.” Isolde beckoned and a tall woman stepped from the shadows.

Nick gulped down a gasp of shock. He immediately recognized Verity Chandler—her brown eyes were blazing through the slits in the leather mask across the upper half of her face.

But it wasn’t her
face
that drew his gaze. Her body was magnificent!

A black corset cinched her waist to improbably tiny dimensions and made the most of fine breasts that swelled dangerously near to the edge of a boned platform. Her nipples peeked coyly through a small ruffle of lace, a rosy shadow against ivory skin. Tight black trousers encased legs that were long and slim, ending in riding boots polished to a glassy shine and finished with small jangling spurs.

She wore no jewelry, just a pair of long black leather gloves. Her hair was unbound, tumbling in unruly waves around the whiteness of her breast. She looked like an Amazon princess at first glance.

Then he noticed what was in her hand. Lying comfortably across her palm was the smoothly carved handle of a very long and lethal-looking whip.

“Let’s show Sir Nicholas what we do, shall we?” Isolde turned to Verity and glared at her. “Do it right this time. I don’t want marks on my shoulders.”

Verity dipped her head in response. “Very well.” She flicked the whip, just a slight movement of her wrist, but so skilled that the tip cracked in the stifling air of the room.

“Good.” Isolde stood against the wall, facing outward this time, reaching for the manacles and simply holding the chains. “Make me come, wench. There’ll be a bonus in it if you do.”

Nick stepped back, watching Verity closely as she moved to stand before Isolde. He could tell when she visually assessed her position and shuffled back a foot or two. He concurred—she had an excellent eye for distance.

Even knowing what was coming next, Nick jumped as Verity flicked her whip and caught her mistress’s nipple fair and square.

Isolde cried out. “Yes.
Oh God
—yes
. Excellent
. More.”

Verity repeated her maneuver with the same result, dappling Isolde’s breasts with flicks from the very end of the whip. Nick had chance to observe that never once did she break the skin. There were red marks where the lash had landed, but there was no blood.

Truly this woman was very skilled. Almost as skilled as…

What were the odds? That within such a short time Nick would meet two people equally skilled in the use of a whip? Unobtrusively he studied Verity Chandler, drawing parallels with the “Hermes” he’d met the previous night.

Was it possible? Could the leader of a band of highwaymen be a woman?

A few more lashes later, Nick knew the answer. The technique was unmistakable and his supposition was cemented by the aroma coming from the woman herself. Verity had a unique scent that Nick had only sensed once before, briefly. Last night in the cellar. He’d noted it at the time but paid little attention to it.

An interesting blend of lavender and cinnamon wafted from her hair. It would have been undetectable to another, swamped by the odiferous fumes of the drugs Isolde and her husband were using. But in the cloying heat of the room, Nick smelled it. And found himself captivated yet again by the whip-wielding beauty who was so much more than she appeared.

Isolde gasped. “Near. So near. For God’s sake, Chandler. Finish it.” Her hips were grinding forward against nothing, her mound and thighs glistening with juices as she climbed to a pain-induced peak of delight.

Verity lifted her hand, but Nick caught it. “Allow me.” He took the whip from her fingers and gently pushed her aside. “Tonight you need not be the instrument of her climax. ‘Tis time she learned what pain and pleasure can really do.”

Verity sagged a little and nodded. “Very well.” She stepped back into the shadows as Nick raised his hand and turned from her to look at Isolde.

“Are you ready?”

Isolde whimpered. “Make me come, Nick.”

“Of course.” Nick saluted her with the whip then shook out the length and lashed her, a solid blow that curled around a thigh and caught her right on the pussy.

Isolde screamed.

Chapter Five

Verity wanted to scream too.

When Nick had walked into the suite she’d wanted to die as well, or at least disappear in a little puff of smoke. But in reality, she’d known she would have to face him.

What surprised her was the look of appreciative heat in his strange gaze. The eyes that were almost black had lit with odd flames as he’d looked her over, lingering at the lace barely covering her nipples.

She’d known the tiny buds had hardened even as he’d stared. She was so sexually aroused by this man it was ridiculous. It was getting worse as he dominated Isolde.

Carefully positioning his blows, Nick was forcing Isolde’s excitement to a fever pitch, flicking the whip around her pussy and her nipples and even finding places in her armpits and on her thighs that made her squirm with pleasure.

She was getting wetter, her legs shining as her liquids cascaded freely. The herbs in the air probably helped too, although Verity knew they were best inhaled directly through the strange Oriental pipe both FitzAdamses used before their
sessions
.

Gawain was subsiding, sated, in the arms of his two attendants. She’d long since stopped being horrified by anything those three did. No longer was she shocked or embarrassed at the sight of male genitals, nor was she stunned at the inventive ways the lord of the manor found to release his seed. It was as if this suite of rooms contained a different world, a world where sexual desires had deviated to a warped and vicious place of pain and perversion.

Isolde’s cries had become formless whimpers and her hips were thrust forward, flagrantly inviting the lash of Nick’s whip.

And he was good.

So good that Verity ached for the same treatment. Ached to be hurt like that, cautiously punished until her flesh boiled and her pussy exploded.

Tears bleared her vision and she quickly blinked them away, appreciating the little twist to Nick’s wrist as he laid the lash onto Isolde’s red nipple with more force than she was expecting.

She whimpered again, eyes unfocussed and rolling a little now as her orgasm approached.

Verity knew the signs. But this was one night when she’d not have to stand and watch her mistress reach the ultimate pleasure.

A pleasure that was denied Verity.

Oh certainly she could leave and find satisfaction with her own hand in the privacy of her own room. At the beginning, she’d done just that. But it was a hollow feeling, tainted by distaste for Isolde, Gawain and the sexually deviant atmosphere they relished.

It was as if by bringing herself pleasure, Verity was sinking to their level.

Eventually, even the idea of reaching orgasm had lost its appeal.

Until tonight. Until Nick Blaine’s eyes had found hers, until his hand had picked up that whip and until he’d stared at her breasts.