Lord Ashford's Wager (21 page)

“I suppose that makes sense,” said Mark after a moment. “He would be questioning Ashford further and reporting to Lord Barrand. No forays into any other parts of the city?”

“Only to a bawdy ‘ouse that night, m’lord,” said Drabble with a leer, a wink, and a sniffle.

“Did he appear to be on business or, ah, pleasure?”

“Oh, Oi would say pleasure, m’lord, from the time ‘e was in there. Or else ‘e were doing some werry intense questioning, hif you know wot Oi mean.” Drabble drew his sleeve across his nose and Mark looked at him in distaste.

“And he doesn’t suspect he is being followed?”

“ ‘E ‘asn’t twigged me, m’lord. Nor will ‘e. Oi told you. Oi was good.”

“So you did. Well, back to the Garrick’s Head, and we’ll meet tomorrow night at the same time.”

* * * *

Gideon was in the same corner with his actor friends when Drabble slipped back in and took a place at the bar. Gideon got up to leave a little earlier than the night before, and was almost to the door before Drabble realized he was leaving. He hoped he wouldn’t attract any attention from the barkeep as he slopped his almost-full tankard down and left before getting his change.

He was just in time to see Gideon heading off in the same direction as before and assumed he was going back for another night of whoring. But Gideon passed Mrs. Doyle’s and kept going. It was ten minutes later that he stopped across the street from an obviously better class of house and stood for a few minutes, as though trying to decide whether to go in or not.

Drabble watched from the shadows. While Gideon was standing there, the door opened and a customer was shown out by a very authentic-looking footman. Drabble didn’t make the connection immediately. It was only when Gideon stepped across the street and spoke to the young man that it clicked. Footman. Young. Could it be this Jim? Could Naylor have found him and was he keeping him hidden for some reason? Drabble was tired and tempted to go home. But what if he weren’t Jim? Lord Fairhaven wouldn’t hire him again. And he could be wrong. Maybe he needed to do a little more research. Maybe, he thought, fingering his money, an hour or two in bed with one of the girls could be considered part of his job.

He waited fifteen minutes and then went up to the door and knocked.

* * * *

Gideon had planned to get Jim into Mrs. Spencer’s parlor and question him first, then decide what to do about the rest of the evening. But Mrs. Spencer was coming out of the parlor just as he got in the front door. This evening she was dressed in purple silk that clung very satisfactorily, and she acknowledged Gideon with a smile.

“Have you decided to shift your loyalties, then, Mr. Naylor? Or is this visit business, not pleasure?”

“A little bit of both, I hope, Mrs. Spencer. May I speak with you privately?”

She hesitated and then said: “Of course. Jim,” she called, “send any customer to Carrie to sort out.”

“Yes, madam.”

Gideon followed her into the parlor and waited for her to sit down. She didn’t.

“What can I do to help you, Mr. Naylor? Answer more questions about Jim? Or tell you about my young ladies?”

Surely Mrs. Blisse Spencer’s face was a most intriguing one, thought Gideon. Once again, her smile barely widened her eyes, but her mouth—ah, that mouth! He should be questioning her and Jim, he knew, but he couldn’t ignore the lushness of her lips.

“Actually, I have a question or two for you, Mrs. Spencer, but perhaps that can wait.”

“Ah, so you are interested in one of my young women. Do you like them innocent or experienced, Mr. Naylor?”

“Oh, experienced, Mrs. Spencer. I am not one who is attracted by enacted virginity, nor do I approve of the practice of deflowering young girls just in from the country,” he added, trying not to sound too hard. It was easier to do that, he thought to himself with a grin, than to keep another part of himself soft in her presence.

“Nor do I, Mr. Naylor. Some of my girls are young, but they are the ones who have come to me from the streets and from abusive employers or customers. I am not one of those who serves up children, I assure you. But now that we have established that you like some experience in a woman,” she said with a practiced smile, “tell me if you prefer blondes or brunettes.”

“Brunettes, most definitely. In fact,” said Gideon, looking at Mrs. Spencer’s black hair, “I most appreciate the darkest hues. Although it is rare to see a natural raven-haired beauty.”

Mrs. Spencer looked at him shrewdly. “Well, I am afraid I have no black-haired women here, Mr. Naylor. But I do have a very lovely nut-brown maid.”

“But the more I think about it, the more I realize how my heart is set on black,” Gideon replied, gazing innocently at Mrs. Spencer’s hair.

“I see. I am afraid I am the only black-haired woman in the house, Mr. Naylor, and I am no longer available to customers.”

Gideon moved closer. They really were almost of a height, he thought ruefully, and their eyes were almost level.

“That is a great disappointment, Mrs. Spencer,” he said, reaching out and lightly touching a wisp of hair that had worked free of her Psyche knot.

“Is it.”

“Indeed, yes.” Gideon let his hand follow the hair down the line of her jaw until his fingers were near her mouth. He let his little finger gently trace the curves of her upper lip and Mrs. Spencer let out a small sigh.

Damn the man, she thought, he drew her right in, just as he had drawn Jim. He didn’t force, this Gideon Naylor, he just let the stillness he created do the trick. She hadn’t been with a customer for over five years. Unfortunately, that meant she hadn’t been with a man for that long either. Not that she had missed it. Not that she had ever enjoyed it, except for the years that she had been with her protector.

“I don’t suppose that I could convince you to relax your policy for one night,” whispered Gideon, his finger lingering on her lips.

“I might consider giving you an hour, Mr. Naylor,” she whispered back.

Gideon lowered his face and gave her a gentle kiss on the mouth. “Good.”

As they left the parlor, Mrs. Spencer told Jim that Carrie was in charge for the next hour or so and led Gideon up the stairs to the room she had once given to Jim. She turned away from him and started to undress matter-of-factly, but Gideon placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to him for another, this time, longer and deeper kiss.

“No need to be so businesslike,” he whispered.

“But it is business, Mr. Naylor.”

“It is good business to please the customer, Mrs. Spencer. And it pleases me to please you.”

“A novel concept in a whorehouse,” she said, with a low, shaky laugh.

Gideon’s fingers were gently untying the tapes of her gown, and the cool and self-possessed Mrs. Spencer shivered as he brushed her neck and spine.

He let her dress fall to her waist and gently cupped one breast, his thumb circling her nipple as he kissed her once again.

This time she responded naturally and hungrily, and as they stood there kissing, Gideon undid the rest of her gown and let it fall to the floor. Mrs. Spencer wore no underslip, and Gideon reveled in the soft flesh that pressed against him. She lowered her hand to his trousers, but he forestalled her, turning her until he had her back to the bed, and then lowering her onto the coverlet.

Gideon did not turn away as he undressed, and Blisse lay there watching as he slowly undid his trousers. His manhood sprang free. He stood there, a very satisfying figure of a man despite his lack of inches and receding hairline. He lay down beside her and, leaning on his elbow, ran his fingers up her thighs and then between them, letting the caressing fingers brush the triangular thatch of hair, which was light brown, not black. Gideon smiled at her.

“Just as I guessed. Your hair is a little too black to be natural, Mrs. Spencer.”

“At least it is still abundant, Mr. Naylor,” she replied, her fingers tracing his hairline.

“Touché,
Mrs. Spencer.”

“My name is Blisse.”

“And mine Gideon,” he answered, stroking her with his fingers until she lifted her hips to meet him.

Her hand reached down to him and he said: “No, you have spent enough years pleasuring men,” and he knelt on top of her, moving himself up and down where his fingers had been, until she was moaning beneath him. Only then did he slip inside her, stroking her gently at first and then forcefully, holding himself back while he reached down and added his subtle fingering to the music he was making on her body. It was only after she climaxed in a series of shuddering gasps that he let himself experience his own release.

They lay locked in each other’s arms for a while, neither wanting to break their closeness with words. Finally Gideon gently stroked her hair back from her face and said: “You are very appropriately named, my dear.”

“Ah, yes,” she replied bitterly, turning away from him. “That is what the first man said.”

“And who was he?”

“Our vicar. Yes, he said it was like experiencing the bliss of paradise. For him, you understand,” she added ironically.

“Gideon continued stroking her hair. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Did you not tell anyone?”

“Who would have believed me? No, our vicar was the younger son of a viscount, happily married with three children, and I was the local shopkeeper’s daughter. His wife caught us. I was locked in my room with no food for three days. When I wouldn’t ‘confess’ my sins, my father beat me and threw me out. I came to London and you can guess the rest. It is not a very original story.”

Gideon leaned down and kissed her neck. “No, I have heard variations of it from the likes of Annie and Grace. How did you come to own your own house?”

“I was lucky to have been taken into a high-class house when I was in my twenties. I met a man—a gentleman. Another younger son. He became my protector for four years. When he finally married, he gave me a parting gift so that I could set up on my own.”

“You loved him?”

“I loved him, the more fool I.”

“I don’t think it foolish,” said Gideon.

Blisse started to sit up. “I believe our time is up, Mr. Naylor.”

“Gideon. Must you leave?”

“I’m a good businesswoman, Mr. Naylor.”

“Gideon.”

“Gideon.
I must get back downstairs.”

“But Carrie seems like such a competent girl,” he said with a grin, grasping her wrist gently. “And I am, after all, a paying customer. Surely it is good business to ensure that I, er, come again. I am beginning to like it here very much. I will miss Grace and Annie—”

“I have a girl who would make you forget them, Gideon. She is young and fresh. I will make sure you get Nancy when you return.”

“But as I told you, I prefer experience.”

“Well, then, Carrie would be just the thing,” said Blisse, trying to stand up, but Gideon would not release her.

“No,” continued Gideon, in his mildest tones, “I prefer older women.” He pulled himself up so that he was sitting behind her, his legs on either side of hers. He let go of her wrist and his hand sought her out again. She arched her back against him and he nuzzled her neck while he brought her to an excruciatingly slow and pleasurable climax. She relaxed against him for a moment and then, pushing him back on the bed, took her hand and stroked him rhythmically until he thought he would burst. And just before he did, she lowered herself down on him so that he climaxed in seconds inside her sweet, warm darkness.

They slept in each other’s arms, and when Gideon awoke, he lay there, looking down at her. Her black hair was down around her shoulders and her face was, for the first time since he’d met her, at one with her mouth: relaxed and tender. Gideon had never had a woman he hadn’t paid for and never a woman he had loved, for Mary had let him do no more than kiss her. Grace and Annie were sweet, they genuinely liked him, but ultimately—they were all business. No money, no time with them.

Blisse Spencer was all business too, so why had this felt different? He looked over at his coat, lying crumpled on the floor. He should slip out of bed, put his money on the table, and be gone. And if he were smart, never come back, no matter what he had told her.

But he didn’t want to pay for this. He wanted to pretend it had been real desire between them, not just the usual transaction between whore and customer.

Blisse stirred in his arms and opened her eyes. For a moment or two they were unfocused, and as innocent as he expected they’d been at fourteen. Then, as she remembered where she was, they grew hard. But before she could say anything, Gideon spoke.

“I know. It is late. You are a busy woman. But I have a proposition for you.”

She looked puzzled.

“I find that I wish to pretend that this afternoon was real…that is…that we were only a man and a woman who desired each other. I do not want to pay you.”

Her eyes opened wide. “Now, before you become angry, hear me out. I will come back some other time and pay you double for Carrie or Nancy or whomever you choose. Will that be satisfactory?”

“How do I know you will come back, Mr. Naylor?”

“I can only give you my word.”

“Very well,” she replied, with no expression in her voice. “I will trust you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Spencer. And now I must be going.” Gideon got up and dressed quickly, looking back only once. Mrs. Spencer lay there, looking up at him with those hard eyes of hers. He must have been a fool to think there had been anything different about this coupling. He must have sounded a right fool just then, telling her his feelings. He tucked in his shirt, thrust his arms into his coat, and muttering good-bye, was gone.

Blisse Spencer lay there. Her eyes had softened remarkably as soon as Gideon shut the door. Could he truly have felt what she had? A coming to life of what she thought was dead forever? Of course not. She was being ridiculous. She was an aging whore. She was good. She’d never denied that. She’d convinced men more times than she could count that her desire was real. Obviously she hadn’t lost her expertise, for she’d just done it again. He’d realize that and not return. Or come back asking for Carrie or Nancy. Not Blisse Spencer with her dyed black hair and foolish heart.