One Indulgence
Loose Id Titles by Lydia Gastrell
ONE INDULGENCE
Lydia Gastrell
www.loose-id.com
One Indulgence
Copyright © September 2014 by Lydia Gastrell
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Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
eISBN 9781623004743
Editor: Larke Butler
Cover Artist: April Martinez
Published in the United States of America
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
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Dedication
To all my friends around the world, who have introduced me to things I never would have encountered in my “real life,” and who have led me to question things I was once so stupidly certain about, you are my continued inspiration.
Chapter One
The Request
London, 1807
He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Was he really doing this? He had read many novels and stories in which people liked to convince themselves that they were sometimes dreaming when they were awake, that the poor decisions they were making weren’t really happening, but it was all such nonsense. This was happening, all right. He was finally—
finally!
—going to do it.
“You understand, my lord, that this is an unusual request.”
Henry Cortland, Earl of Brenleigh, snapped his head up and felt the blood run from his face. He regarded Madam Dorlet sitting on the sofa across from him. She was in her forties, perhaps, with a gentle elegance and modesty of dress that seemed drastically out of place for her profession. Her voice was level and assured, like the no-nonsense dialogue of a governess.
“But I…” he began. “I was led to understand that you… That is, that your establishment here does…”
“Forgive me, my lord, if I gave you a false impression. Of course I
can
provide the service you are requesting, and I have done so before for other gentlemen. I merely want you to understand that it is uncommon, and I therefore cannot assure you that there will be any, shall we say, takers for your request. Gentlemen who utilize my rooming services usually have an understanding among themselves beforehand.”
Other gentlemen, those of a
certain persuasion
, knew of each other and were confident in arranging encounters. He, however, knew nothing. Henry twisted his hands in his lap and hated himself for it. He was acting like a nervous wreck, something not at all typical of him. Except in situations like this. Oh! Who was he fooling? There had never been a situation like this. Never.
Not even once.
“Allow me to suggest again, my lord,” Madam Dorlet continued, her voice softening, “that you consider allowing one of my gentlemen to keep you company this evening. Edmund is a very pleasant young man, quite pretty and accommodating. Or Jonathan, if you would prefer company of a more…imposing nature.”
Do you want an effeminate boy to play with, or a broad-chested Corinthian to master you?
Henry swallowed hard. The woman certainly had a way of polishing up the most scandalous questions, didn’t she? But no. He was adamant.
“No. I told you before, I don’t want a wh—a whore.” Henry cringed again.
She inclined her head. “I understand, of course. Discretion and safety are also services, and this house provides them. I will make discreet inquiries this evening and see if I cannot find a gentleman with your particular taste. Of course, I would be in a much better position to please you if I knew what sort of company you were looking for.”
He ground his teeth, but if plain speaking was the only way to achieve his goal, then he might as well try. He would hardly shock her. “I would prefer someone…tall. I mean, it’s not an absolute necessity, but I don’t want someone…” He trailed off again and turned his gaze on the window.
This was a bad idea. I should leave.
“Someone not shorter than yourself, perhaps, my lord?” she offered delicately. “And may I suggest of an athletic nature? Let us say that relatively young and handsome are givens.”
“Yes. Givens,” he muttered. No doubt the woman was accustomed to discussing the most outrageous and detailed sexual requests with her patrons, and yet he was unable to bring himself to provide her with so much as a loose description of the man he wanted. Tall…strong…experienced…
“I am not interested in dandies,” he said suddenly. “Nor effeminate fops.”
The madam’s lips twitched with a knowing smile. “I understand, my lord. Completely. As I said, I will see to your request this evening as best I can, so long as you understand that I can make no guarantees that we will be able to fulfill it. I am not certain if I have many patrons who would be willing to entertain the idea of keeping company with another patron they have never met.”
“I understand, yes,” he said through his teeth.
“Meanwhile, I assume you would like to be shown to the room and allowed to make yourself comfortable?”
Henry nodded and stood, but not before frowning slightly.
Your request
, she had kept saying in that particular tone. Did she think he was making this request because it was his preferred delight to bed strangers? Well. She probably did. He could only imagine the kinds of
requests
that went on inside these walls, and that was what he was hoping to correct. He
could
only imagine. He didn’t want to imagine. He was tired of imagining. He wanted to
know
. He wanted to
experience
, and he was going to.
Finally.
He made a stiff bow to her and followed a maid who had appeared to escort him upstairs. Never having been in any brothel in his life, he tried to draw in his curiosity at everything he passed. It all looked so…normal. The house was not garish or disturbing, not decked out in scarlet silks or mirrors on every wall as he had assumed. The decor was modern, elegant, and bright. The maid who escorted him could have worked in any proper house on Grosvenor Square, and he found himself wondering if she was just a maid, or if she was also one of the whores.
“Here you are, my lord,” she said slowly, as if making an effort with her accent. “Would you like a tray sent up while you wait?”
“Um…no. No need.” He was sure anything he ate would come rushing back up and onto the fine Persian rugs.
“As you say, my lord, but if you should change your mind…” She smiled becomingly and bit her lower lip between perfect white teeth.
Henry regarded her pretty round face and buxom figure, shown to full effect despite the deceptive modesty of her dress. She was quite lovely, but it was an academic observation. He felt nothing. He never had, and that was part of the problem, but if the maid was showing an interest in him, he was not surprised. While he was anything but a conceited man, Henry knew that ladies considered him rather handsome.
He was just shy of six feet tall and had wavy dark blond hair that always seemed to be slightly too long, since he so rarely remembered to have his valet cut it. He had a strong, medium build and legs well formed from years of avid horsemanship, though he was generally slender. But it was his eyes that drew the attention of young misses and their husband-seeking mamas. Cornflower blue and unfailingly kind, his eyes exuded a cheerful serenity that left those of the fairer sex feeling instantly at their ease. It was an unending source of worry and confusion on his mother’s part that he had yet to choose one of the young lovelies.
“I will ring the bell if I change my mind, thank you,” he said to the maid.
She bobbed a curtsy and opened the door before departing down the hall. Henry stepped into a large and immaculate room that had him halting in his steps as soon as the door closed behind him. He looked immediately to the massive four-poster bed, the corners and headboard draped with ivy-green silk that hung from guides in the ceiling. Somehow, as ridiculous as he knew it was, the sight of the bed took the last glaze of unreality from his eyes. This was happening, it was going to happen, and he was terrified.
And excited beyond anything he could describe.
He closed his eyes and tried to see it as he had so many times in his imagination. He would be stripped first, slowly, by strong working hands that would seem to burn him with every touch of bare skin. Warm breath would graze his neck, and a deep voice would whisper delicious nonsense into his ear. The combined scents of expensive musk cologne and male sweat would fill his senses until he felt drugged.
Henry rubbed a hand over his face and crossed toward the crystal brandy decanter resting on the sideboard. He poured himself a modest two fingers of what was likely some of the finest French contraband, then thought better and added another two. A little assistance never hurt anyone, did it? And besides, there was always the possibility that he would leave the brothel later that night with nothing to show for it but a good drunken state. Madam Dorlet had made herself more than clear about the chances of granting his unusual request, and now that he had yet another moment to stand back and think, he felt his stomach lurch as if a lead ball had been dropped into it.
What if no one agreed? What if no one fitting his loose preferences even showed up tonight, and Dorlet sent him away with her profuse apologies? It was perfectly possible. A strong, young, handsome man who happened to arrive tonight, who happened to be open to spending the evening with a stranger sight unseen, and, oh, yes, who
happened
to prefer other men! Military campaigns relied on fewer contingencies.
So the question was left to him: would he return another night if this one was unsuccessful? Or would he take Madam Dorlet’s suggestion and just do what other men of his class did, which was to buy what he wanted? No on both counts. He was certain that he would not be able to bring himself to try again, to go through all the stress again. As for the second option, he simply…couldn’t. The idea of paying someone to pretend to get pleasure from the encounter was so distasteful and lowering that he would not even consider it.
