Rough Surrender (16 page)

“Do not. Move.” His other hand joined the first, finger and thumb grasping her tiny aching nub. Something clamped over her clitoris and held on tight. She gasped and squeaked.

“Does that hurt?”

She shook her head. “No.” And didn’t trust herself to say more. Whatever had he done?

“I’ll loosen this a tad more. I want you to keep it on all night as long as nothing hurts or goes numb. If it comes off, the chain will stop it being lost. Tell me if it does and I’ll put it back on. Now, let’s be off to visit Baron Empain and listen to his recital.”

With this on her? All night? Now she knew what he meant by subtle variations. She levered herself around to face the front of the car. Some tiny weight moved and swung, tugging on her clitoris and something tinkled faintly. A bell? Surely not.

“Don’t worry. No one will know. Besides, I have other far worse ideas you haven’t yet tried.”

Lord. More ideas? Worse?
Already her clit was throbbing like a little engine.

Chapter 15

As their automobile drew near Baron Empain’s palace, the delicate sounds of a violin concerto swelled over the coughing of the motor. Leonhardt slotted in to park beside a bright-red, open-top Daimler with moon-white tires. As he helped Faith alight from the car he noticed her mesmerized and slightly dazed expression. The clitoris clamp was working. Lovely.

Just the thought of it gripping her down there made him hard. Now and then the bell tinkled but people would assume it was one of the silver and gold bracelets sliding on her wrists.

Though the style of her gown was foreign to him, she wore it beautifully. A many-layered sheath-like dress with a high waist wrapped in red, each layer of it was a different bright color–burgundy, red gauze, red and gold velvet, with black at the very bottom near her ankles. The one thing missing was a necklace and he mused on the effect of a heavy gold collar locked around her white skin.

Most of the guests seemed to have arrived already and he and Faith were alone in their walk up the several flights of wide stone steps and past the four stone-carved Hindu lions that guarded this grand entryway.

“This is so unusual and impressive,” Faith said huskily.

He bent his head toward her. “It is. The baron based it on the Angkor Wat temple in the Protectorate of Cambodia. There are all manner of erotic statues out in the gardens.” One more flight of steps and they’d reach the front doors. “How are you feeling?”

The look she shot him bordered on a glare but, in the electric light flooding from the many levels of the palace above, he noted the marked pout of her lips, and the fever in her eyes before she dropped her gaze to feet level.

“I’m feeling...good.”

“And if I bent you over that stone balustrade behind you and kissed you?”

A sigh heaved her shoulders. “I’d melt, I’m sure.” Now she did glare. “So don’t you dare, Mr. Meisner. Please. We must be late.”

He chuckled but moved to escort her with hand at her elbow. This evening would be delightful even if the other guests were complete bores.

At the top, just inside the gilded double doors, a young woman came forward dressed in a strange outfit of blue harem pants and a bejeweled hip-length top.

“Sir, may I take your hat and coat?”

“Of course.” He handed them over.

“The baron has duplicated an event in Paris tonight. The One Thousand and Two Nights celebration of Paul Poiret. Your lady may dress in a Poiret-designed garment similar to mine, if she so wishes.” The girl did a little pirouette, showing off her outfit. The skirt of her gauze-and-silk blue top flared outward.

“I already have on a Poiret design,” Faith said. “Though it is a dress.”

She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh. So it is! You may go through then, unless you’d like to try on pants like these?” She giggled. “They’re so light and make me feel like dancing.”

When Faith shook her head and whispered,
no
, Leonhardt bowed his head. “Thank you, mademoiselle, but my lady wishes to remain as she is.”

Farther inside, the ground floor of the small palace opened out. Overhead, the baron’s extraordinary spiral staircase curved its way up to the rooftop. Gold-framed mirrors, gold doorknobs and the rich parquetry floor lent an opulent air to the palace. A steady procession of people–men in staid suits and women in the harem outfits–made their way up the stairs.

“Looks as though you’ve arrived at the forefront of a fashion revolution, Miss Evard,” Leonhardt said then lowered his voice so only she could hear. “I do like this idea. I cannot imagine any of these women are wearing corsets from the way the clothes hug their figures. You must remember that detail.” He smiled down at her.

* * * *

The way Mr. Meisner’s eyes twinkled with glee made Faith want to kick his shins. This endless amusement when she was doing something far more scandalous than going sans corset had become irritating. Standing next to him, while that
thing
down there nibbled at her, tweaking her clitoris whenever she so much as shuffled her feet, and knowing that he observed the effect on her, it was too much. Kicking him was number one on her list. Number two was begging him to take her into a room somewhere and lick her until she climaxed.

“Come.” He tugged on her hand. “By the way, ‘come’ is another word for having an orgasm.”

Her stare would have incinerated another, less formidable, man. Leonhardt just smiled.

Going up the stairs was an exercise in how to keep an unreadable expression on her face when her body wanted her to touch herself and pant and sigh...and
come
. They exited the stairs though the steps continued farther upward, and found themselves on a rooftop milling with people drinking champagne from fluted glasses. A small orchestra accompanied a female dancer as she twirled and pranced about on a concrete stage. Like the guests she wore a harem outfit, though hers was a little scantier and she was certainly far younger than most of the women and men watching the performance.

“Here will do.” Leonhardt halted beside a shaded stone bench at the periphery of the crowd and next to the pierced stone balustrade that marked the edge of the rooftop. Below, a garden of fir, hedge and palm trees spread out and, on numerous plinths, sat stone statues of lions and Shivas and dragons–all brightly lit by electric lights directed down from the roof.

“This is so exotic!” she said in awe.

Leonhardt’s large hand engulfed hers then raised it to his lips for a brief kiss. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this. The baron is a true visionary. I’ll go get us both some champagne.”

A waiter in white bearing a tray of glasses was insinuating himself through the crowd nearby and Leonhard headed for him. The ease with which her man made a path through the mass of people impressed Faith.
Her man? Oh dear, that wouldn’t do
. This was only for a week or so. Not eternity.

“Pardon me, we haven’t met.” A middle-aged blond woman in a gold and blue harem outfit with a small matching turban stood beside Faith.

“Oh, of course. I’m Faith Evard.”

“Marie Viconnte. You are of French descent yourself?” The woman cocked an eyebrow and waved her wine glass nonchalantly. “Perhaps married to one of these gentlemen? I’ve not seen you about.”

“My stepfather, Henri, is French. I’m here for the aviation meeting. I have a Bleriot airplane I plan to fly, if only I can find the engine that seems to have been lost somewhere in Cairo.”

“Or, heaven forbid, lost on the way from Paris to here?” added Leonhardt.

Faith frowned and swung toward him. That was one scenario she dreaded. If lost on the way, she’d never get it in time. Beneath her dress the clamp tugged, the bell sounded, faint but obvious to her ears. He smoothly handed her a glass brimming with light yellow champagne. She blushed.

“Leonhardt, dear man.” Marie held up her hand.

“
Enchante
, Marie.” He leaned over to kiss her knuckles.

“Pardon, my dear,” said a man sitting on the bench to Faith’s left. His hair was short, specked gray and black, and sleek. “I do believe I’ve dropped my handkerchief at your feet. Though he spoke delicately, like a gardener discussing the pruning of the tiniest flower bud, something about the man’s voice made her skin crawl.

A second later, she glimpsed him reach for something from the tiled floor a few inches from her ankle. She spun and stepped back into Leonhardt’s arms. He steadied her with a hand at her waist. The bell rang sharply.

The man smiled up at her while he retrieved a yellow silk handkerchief. His voice was warm. “Again, my pardon.”

“Sydney!” squealed Marie. “I didn’t see you there. Are you coming to the horse races tomorrow at the hippodrome? Or is the air show more to your taste?”

“Why, Marie.” He rose from the seat, his lanky frame several inches short of Leonhardt’s height. “I do believe I’ll be at the aerodrome for the start of the air meet, especially if this lovely young woman is there also.”

“Sir.” Faith frowned at him, somehow sure she should take care to remember his lean, well-chiseled face. Every feature seemed perfect, too perfect–eyebrows, ruler-straight mouth, even the bones of his cheeks were perfect... Given a choice, she’d rather kiss a snake.

“Sydney Smythe.” Leonhardt stepped up beside Faith and grasped her hand in his...warm and comforting, with the fingers interlaced, as if afraid he would lose her. “I was certain this would be one place we would never meet.”

“Ah.” A grimace crossed Sydney’s features. “Alas, I have many friends who delight in inviting me to wonderful recitals such as this. I should say, your...lady companion has exquisite taste in jewelry. The way everything jangles together is a delight to the ears of a connoisseur of music such as myself.”

“Really, Sydney.” Marie laughed. “You say some odd things at times. Do come with me to meet the Rigbys. Pardon us, Miss Evard. Mr. Meisner.”

Though Sydney nodded, then turned away promptly, Faith understood what he’d insinuated. The bell, he’d heard it, and was telling them he knew. “How did he–”

“We are leaving.” Leonhardt put down his glass and hers, pulled on her hand then strode back toward the stairs.

“What? Why?” To protest too much would be rude and draw attention. To stop his implacable progress was impossible. Leonhardt had sounded as if he’d pick her up and carry her or drag her along the floor if he must. She gave in.

When they’d gone all the way down the stairs, out to the entrance, retrieved coat and hat, and descended the first flight of stone steps, she set her heels and managed to get him to stop. “Leonhardt. Please. I can see the man somehow figured out you had this thing on me, but did we have to leave? I could have removed–”

He spun, pushed her against the pedestal of a stone elephant and kissed her hard and brutally until she sagged back onto the statue. His groin pressed on her corset, which squashed the clamp chain and tugged gently at the bell. All of her fell under his spell. For all she knew the world had plunged underwater. Her ears stopped up and she heard only the wash of blood and the hum of arousal. Her mouth tasted nothing but him, her vision darkened. When he raised his head, his eyes burned into hers.

Gasping, she stared back and registered that her arms were clasped around his chest, warm and snug under his coat. Another kiss as hot as that and her flesh would merge with the stone at her back. Leonhardt stroked her forehead.

Slowly, she dragged her mind up from wherever it had been swimming and calmed her pulse from a mad foxtrot pace to a waltz rhythm. “That helped, somewhat.”

“Good.” The hard set to his mouth dissolved to a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, Faith.”

What was this? Mr. Meisner apologizing?

“The baron is my employer but having appeared and been seen, I have done my duty. Sydney is a man I’d rather you not have to suffer. Despite his friends in the elite echelon of society he has business interests at the nether end. He runs brothels. I last saw him in London. We are going to my house, where I will find far more enjoyable pursuits than this recital.”

“Oh?” Dash it, the squeak was back in her voice.

“Yes, my dear, I do mean
you
. It’s time we took your education further.”

Well
. Arrogant man...of course. What else would he be? Anxiety and lust caught at her throat and sent her thoughts tumbling. She blinked at him. Perhaps it would be a worthwhile evening after all.

Chapter 16

Of all the stupid things to do. She trusts me
. Lars chuckled. “In, lady. Of course I can drive you!” He grinned as the little redhead smiled back and headed for the rear of the Packard. Pretty woman. All done up in a pretty black dress.

So much easier when the boss handed them to him. This one would never be missed.

“Please.” He watched her settle herself into the back passenger seat and turned in the seat to speak, disguising the slip of his hand under his coat. “Where is it you wish me to drive you? I have been here for two months. I know Cairo well.”

She giggled, leaned toward him and delicately rested her little fingers on his shoulder. “Well. Seein’ how your boss doesn’t want me to work for him, I’m kind of at a loose end. Perhaps I can set up my own business? For men like you?” She breathed the last word from mere inches away then pouted.