Master of Pleasure (22 page)

Malcolm puffed out another breath and scrubbed his head with both hands, knowing it had started a long time ago. In his youth. He and his brother only ever had each other. His parents were too damn occupied with their social lives to bother with two boys who needed far more attention than even God was willing to give.

He was about nine when he accidentally slammed the door on his fingers. He’d done it many times before, but something was different about it that day. Although he had cried, he was fascinated with the way his heart had pounded and the way his fingers had trembled as the pain ebbed away, giving him peace. So he placed his fingers in the door and slammed the door on them again. Harder.

It had been a little too hard, and he wailed loud enough for all of England to hear. The governess scurried over and yanked him onto her lap, kissing and kissing his fingers and begging him not to cry. In between those full-lipped kisses, which she
never
bestowed on him, given she was usually too busy yelling or spanking him, he realized the pain had been well worth the reward.

He’d been obsessed with the power play of pain ever since.

A breath escaped him. “I think I was young when I purposefully started slamming doors on my fingers,” he admitted. “It was the only time the governess ever gave me the attention I wanted. Even worse, I fancied myself to be in love with her. So I went out of my way to…hurt myself. My brother liked my approach and started doing the same. Only he wasn’t using doors to slam his fingers. That was mere – pardon the expression – ‘child’s play’ for him. He was obsessed with breaking glass, and we basically competed with each other to see who the governess would run to first. Blood won out over bruised fingers every time, so I had to get more creative. The governess eventually figured out what we were up to and stopped responding. So despite our love for her, we…got her dismissed. We soon had a new governess every Season doing the same damn thing. Our parents never thought anything of it. They were too busy with their lives and thought we were merely being boys. It wasn’t until our mother died some of those habits changed, seeing our father was more intent on interacting with us.”

Madame de Maitenon traced a finger across her bottom lip in thought. “What you are describing goes far beyond sibling rivalry. How is it your brother shared your same tendencies for pain? That is unusual. You are two separate people with two separate desires.”

Ha. “In the eyes of the world, yes, we are two separate people, but James and I have always viewed ourselves as one. He is my twin. And he is very much the darker half of our darkness.”

Her eyes widened. “
Mon Dieu
. Twins. I understand.” She rounded him, searching his face. “Your scar is rather prominent. Was that done during your attempt to gain attention?”

He snorted. “No. I was never
that
stupid when it came to getting attention. The forceps sliced my face at birth. I almost died.”

She continued rounding him. “Were you born first?”

“Yes. Although one wouldn’t know it. James always sought to lead. Always.”

“And do you still associate with your brother? With this James?”

He rolled his eyes. “I prefer to stay away. I’ve learned to live a life separate from his.”

“Why?”

“James is overly comfortable with the idea of hurting not only himself but others. There isn’t a line he won’t grip or cross. He isn’t…mean-spirited, but…he expects everyone to kneel to him every time, no matter what it is. Even if it isn’t safe. Whilst I? I’ve learned to enjoy more of a…oh, I don’t know…a softer approach. I don’t like to impose on others. Especially women. They’re…
delicate
. You can’t just…rough them up and leave marks all over their bodies. I also can’t ask them to return the favor, because I know they would think I’m touched in the head. So I’ve avoided it, because I’ve always wanted women to like me. Not dread and fear me. I already dread and fear me. I don’t need them doing it for me.”

Her mouth quirked. “You are fascinating. What is even more extraordinary is you are unaware of how special you are. Very few men who have your tendencies can exercise
such
control over their minds and bodies as to will themselves to lead a chaste life. You should be very proud. The respect you have for women is to be commended. Applauded.
Hailed
. It is rare.”

He slowly adjusted his waistcoat, utterly baffled. “Applauded?
Hailed
? Madame, I am
admitting
that I enjoy pain and that I want a woman to enjoy it with me. How the hell is that to be commended?”

She held up a hand. “You are looking at yourself through the eyes of society, Lord Brayton. Not through your own eyes. Society’s definition of what is and is not acceptable is a guideline, and oftentimes, is an overly strict guideline that prevents us from respecting what we know to be true.”

Leaning in, she delicately tapped his shoulder. “I was worried this was going to be complicated, but it is rather obvious this is merely about teaching yourself to be comfortable with your tendencies. You need to accept them and safely apply them. Nothing more. Once I assist you to fully embrace what you have long denied, I foresee nothing but rainbows in the sky.”

He stared at her. There had to be something wrong her. Maybe the French Revolution made her bloodthirsty. “You plan to help me
embrace
it? Are you…
mad
? I’m trying to get rid of it. I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation. I don’t see rainbows when I look at Miss Webster. I see crops.”

She smiled. “I am well aware of that. Unfortunately, I am no magician. I cannot erase your tendencies and neither can you. It would be too much
aggravation
to try to dig out something that has always been attached to your heart since childhood. It would murder everything you are and have come to be. Pain and pleasure are the two things that remind us we are connected to our bodies. Give yourself permission to think of yourself as being so overly connected and that is why you take pleasure in both. The more attainable method of approaching this is not to murder everything you are but to
live
with what you are. Which means…you must share your fantasies with Miss Webster and explore them.”

He choked. “Explore my— Share my— She would run.”

“Then let her run. For that is how you will know she is not the one. Honesty is the first step to intimacy, Lord Brayton. If what you share with this woman is real, she will do her best to understand and embrace not only you but your fantasies. And when and if she does, you will learn how to negotiate your fantasies against hers. You will negotiate what sort of pain
you
want and let her negotiate what sort of pleasure
she
wants.”

He paused. “I can do that?”

She laughed. “
Mais oui
. When in bed, there are no limits as to what defines pleasure as long as both sides agree.”

“I…
Truly
? So you mean as long as she agrees to what we’re doing, we can…”

“Yes. As long as she agrees. There is nothing wrong with what you desire as long as she understands and accepts your desire.”

He straightened. “Well, how the hell do I get her to do that? What do I have to do? What do I have to do to get her to—”

“Calm yourself, Lord Brayton. Calm. That is not up to you. That is up to her.”

He swiped his face. “Then this is where it ends. Because she will think there is something wrong with me.”

“No. There is nothing wrong with you. ’Tis very important you understand that. There is nothing wrong with you or what you want from Miss Webster.”

A wave of apprehension gripped him. “That is a lie.”

She glared. “I never lie.” She reached up and flicked his ear. “Are you not listening? There is nothing wrong with you or what you want from Miss Webster.”

And he thought Muslims were crazy. The French apparently were, too. “My moral ethics don’t appear to be same as yours.”

“Set aside your distorted way of thinking. You are a gentleman who knows how to exercise the one thing few men do:
control
. How else do you think you remained a virgin all these years? By being an irresponsible rake who tortures women?
Non
. You understand pain is something that needs to be respected. Which is
very
important when you embark upon playing with pain. You are compassionate and therefore will not be a danger to yourself or whatever woman you wish to involve yourself with. You must simply learn to give yourself permission to share your desires with another. That is all.”

He paused. “How can I impose such dark desires on a woman who has a child and seeks to lead a normal life? I can’t. I…what I would be asking of her wouldn’t be…
normal
.”

She tilted her head. “What defines normal in this world, Lord Brayton? The real question here is whether you can take this woman into your bed and apply
your
definition of normal. Intimacy is the only time when we are able to be real with those we love. And if you cannot be real with her in bed, knowing the world is not even watching, when
can
you be real? Never, I imagine. You are simply wasting not only her time but yours. Do you understand?”

The more he listened to this woman, the more he realized he had been looking at his life the wrong way. Just as his brother had always told him. Because it didn’t matter what the world thought when he was in the arms of a woman he wanted to be with. All that mattered was that the woman in his arms remained there
willingly
.

He swallowed. “So how do I tell her? How do I tell her what I am and what I will expect from her without scaring her?”

Madame lowered her gaze to his hand and wagged her fingers. “Show me your hand.”

He held out his right hand, displaying the scars marring his outer hand, palm and fingers. He felt awkward. He’d never had a woman ask to look at his hand. He usually wore gloves to prevent them from seeing what he had always considered his shame.

Taking his hand, Madame turned it over, inspecting all of the scars with a dainty squint. “It certainly has seen its share of pain. My Andelot had hands like these.”

“Andelot?”

Her features tightened. She slowly released his hand and averted her gaze. “He was like you,” she murmured. “Only…he was dedicated to solely giving himself pain. I was too young and too scared to understand him in the way I understand things now.” She was quiet for a long moment. “Does the rest of your body look like your hand?”

He flexed both hands. “Unfortunately. Although it was hardly my doint. When I went to the monastery my body became unrecognizable. I don’t like looking at it. It’s too much. Not at all what I wanted.”

Her features softened. “Show her your body and do not allow
poom-poom
to happen when you do it. For you cannot do it as a means of seduction or you will scare her. Do it as a means of unveiling the truth by explaining to her what it is she is seeing. It will have a more profound effect and will reveal her true heart. You need a woman willing to accept who you are, because it
is
who you are. Do you understand?”

Panic gripped him, realizing something. “What if –
and I’m overreaching here, so don’t judge me
– what if she
agrees
to be with me? What then? I’d be unleashing things I never— What if I hurt her? What if—”

“You will not hurt her.”

He glared. “How the hell do you know that? You don’t.”

A pert sigh escaped her. “Prince Nasser tells me you are a religious man, who believes in God, and that you always rise to the occasion of helping others, even at the cost of yourself. Not even normal men can claim that much. Take pride in knowing that even while you explore your darkest desire, your
compassion
will be the light to pull you away from the darkness every time.” She leaned in. “Your
compassion
is what helped you end that kiss that
almost
made you pull her tongue out of her socket. Am I right? Did you rip her tongue out?
Non
. You did not. You stopped yourself. Why?
Compassion
. That is all you need to ensure she will be safe. Because you will keep her safe.
Oui
?”

It was like a heavenly golden light
finally
glittered from above and shone down on what he always thought to be nothing more than darkness. She was right. She was…right.

Malcolm crossed himself in honor of God for finally speaking a truth he could understand. He hadn’t recognized that in himself until she said it aloud. For while yes, when he kissed Leona, his Leona, and submitted her to his desire and his need to give her pain, he hadn’t forced her to continue with it. Her pain become his pain and knowing it, that gave him the power to stop, which had
always
been his greatest fear. Not being able to stop.

But he had. He put Leona’s well being before his darkest desire.