To Please A Lady (The Seduction Series) (3 page)

She smiled, trailing her hand down his arm. “Dear boy, don’t worry. You won’t work immediately.” She shrugged as if unconcerned. “We’ll wait a couple of years until you’re more secure in your abilities.”

“What will we do in the meantime?” Alex demanded.

She nodded to Wavers, who shut the carriage door, trapping them in the gilded cell. “Help in the stables, be footmen. Rather easy work, much easier than the work they would make you do here, in the factories or on the docks.”

Two years and he’d be almost sixteen. James took his lower lip between his teeth. In two years he’d be man enough. “You promise we won’t have to whore ourselves until we’re ready?”

She released a trilling laugh as she knocked on the roof of the carriage. “Of course! And if you decide it’s not to your liking, you may remain a footman. What say you, James?”

The carriage jerked to life. He shivered and glanced once more at the other lads. A picture of his mother and sister in the finest of silken gowns, feasting on goose, flashed to mind. He’d never have to worry about them again. Never have to steal. He would be the man his father had wanted.

He might be selling his soul. He might not ever see his family again, but he had this chance… this one chance to save them. James swallowed hard and tilted his chin high. He owed his father this much. “Aye, I agree.”

She took his hand in hers and smiled warmly at him. “Oh, James, I’m so pleased. We’re friends, we’re all going to be great friends.”

Chapter 1

L
AVENDER
H
ILLS
E
STATE
, E
NGLAND
, 1869

She was bloody mad.

Completely and utterly insane.

She wouldn’t at all be surprised if they locked her away in Bedlam because no normal person would ever even think of visiting a brothel. And certainly the cold, perfect Lady Beckett would never, ever do something so sinful. Yet here she was sitting before the infamous brothel owner herself, Lady Lavender.

Yes, indeed, Eleanor had lost her senses.

“Someone gentle you say, Mrs. Richards?” Lady Lavender flipped through a small leather book, those equally infamous lavender eyes darting from page to page. She treated the transaction as if it was business, and perhaps it was to her. If only Eleanor could think of it that way.

“Romantic?” Lady Lavender added, glancing up through thick, dark lashes.

Eleanor gave a quick nod. The netting over her face tickled her nose, but she didn’t dare brush it aside. She’d even covered her coveted blonde locks with the same netting to make sure no one could identify her. She looked like a bloody beekeeper but no one seemed to mind. No, because in a brothel that catered to women, discretion was a normalcy. She’d been both bemused and relieved when not one person had glanced her way upon her arrival in an unmarked hired hack. Even when she’d given an obviously pretense name to the large man who answered the door, he hadn’t blinked.

She had to admit that she was rather intrigued by the brothel owner, who had always seemed more myth than true heroine. Lady Lavender… a woman spoken about in only whispers. Although Eleanor had always considered herself trim and elegant, she felt a giant sitting across from the delicate brothel owner. Pure perfection. Her pale skin and equally pale hair practically glowed, like she was a veritable angel, if one didn’t notice the cold, calculating look in her beautiful eyes.

“Gentle,” she whispered, her golden brows drawing together as she concentrated.

Eleanor had seen the woman once while shopping along Regent Street. A flash of lavender skirts, for she always wore the color. For a moment she’d thought she’d imagined her. But no… the elder Lady Beckett had paused to look in a shop window and Eleanor, waiting for her mother-in-law, had gotten her first true sighting. It was only a brief glance before her future mother-in-law tried to urge her forward. But she’d been so shocked to see the woman she couldn’t seem to move.

“Do not stare; you will be ruined for even acknowledging the woman,”
her mother-in-law had reprimanded.
“In our world she does not exist.”

Oh, but she did exist, and young women from all stations in life, from all countries in the world, loved to discuss the madam. As a debutante she’d first heard rumored whispers of a brothel for
women. Years later, all of England knew, and the current sweep of innocents and their inane conversation about the sinful place. Only last week she’d heard a group of them talking.

“Melissa Turner dared to say good day to the woman in public! Was sent to a nunnery and no one has heard from her since.”

“I hear she imprisons the men… forces them—”

“Oh bother it, Jenny; do you really think any man must be forced to do that?”

But they would break off, as always, the moment they caught sight of Eleanor. With flushed faces, they would mumble good day, drop into curtseys, and rush off, praying she would not alert their mothers to their gossiping ways. And she never had, because despite her initial disgust at the thought of a brothel for women… she had, deep down, been curious. Always curious. Something her mother had warned her about too many times to count.

“No woman with a curious mind, who questions everything, will ever land a husband!”

“I have the perfect person.” The infamous Lady Lavender snapped her book shut, jerking Eleanor from her memories.

Perfect person. Oh dear Lord.

Before Eleanor could properly prepare, the woman pulled on the silken bell cord that hung near her massive desk. Eleanor’s heart leapt into her throat, although she knew if one looked at her they would see nothing amiss. No, she’d had years of practice masking her feelings. She was the very definition of control. At one time mothers had forced their daughters to emulate her, and young men had used her as an example when searching for a wife. Eleanor bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. How would the
ton
feel about her should they uncover her location?

“He will arrive at any moment.”

A warning shiver raced over her spine. If she was going to put a stop to this nonsense, it best be done now. Eleanor took in a deep, trembling breath. She was not nervous. No, she was never nervous. So why was she twisting her gloved hands together? Gritting
her teeth, she forced her fingers to uncurl and lie still upon her lap. Her green taffeta gown suddenly felt too stifling, the neckline too high. Blast it, she couldn’t seem to breathe properly.

“Yes. He’ll be utterly perfect.” Lady Lavender pushed away from her desk and stood. “I’ll be only a moment. Shall I get you something to drink?”

“Sherry, please.”

Determined to calm her racing heart, Eleanor studied the office as the woman strolled to the sideboard. She had to admit she was a bit underwhelmed by the entire place. The rumors were so very much gaudier than reality. In reality it was a beautiful English estate surrounded by sweet-smelling lavender. She wasn’t sure if she should be disappointed or amused.

Marble flooring, golden sconces, French wallpaper… the place reeked of sophistication and elegance when she’d been expecting the gaudiness of a true brothel. Lord, it felt as if she was sitting in her mother’s parlor. Well, if her mother collected French paintings of naked couples indecently embracing. The risqué artwork hanging above a cold hearth was the only thing so very bold about the place.

The door opened. Eleanor jerked her head toward the foyer, but it was only the tall mountain of a man who had greeted her upon her arrival. At least she’d taken his grunt as a greeting. She didn’t like the look of him… a man who used his fists instead of reasoning.

“Wavers,” Lady Lavender said, handing the sherry to Eleanor. “Please send for James. If you’ll wait a moment, Mrs. Richards?”

She’d given a false name, of course, too nervous to give her true identity although it was said that the queen herself would have to pry the client list from Lady Lavender’s cold, dead hands, she was that adept at keeping secrets. But the rumors didn’t ease her worry. Whether society believed it or not, Lady Lavender was human, and humans made mistakes.

The brothel owner started toward the door when fear got the better of Eleanor. “Wait!”

Lady Lavender turned quite calmly and quirked a blonde brow. “Yes, my dear?”

Eleanor tugged off her gloves, needing something to do. The heated blush that rushed to her cheeks was a combination of embarrassment, shame, and the intense heat of the room. Why didn’t the woman open a blasted window, for God’s sake?

“Yes?” Lady Lavender prompted impatiently.

“I’m not… sure.”

Lady Lavender sighed and nodded toward Wavers, who stepped back into the hall, giving them some privacy. “What is your purpose, my lady?”

“Pardon?” Eleanor stood, too nervous to sit. She’d saved her pin money for weeks in order to afford this place. Not that she didn’t have the funds. She had plenty, but it would be missed. And so she’d taken a coin here and there that wouldn’t be noticed. And now… now she was thinking of leaving when she’d already paid? Giving up when she’d spent months concocting her escape?

“Why are you here?” Lady Lavender seemed annoyed, which made Eleanor feel all the more guilty for wasting the woman’s time. She was a businesswoman; she didn’t have time for silly misses, and Eleanor was most certainly being a silly miss.

Heat crawled torturously slowly up her neck. “I… I want to find pleasure, of course.”

“Why?” There was no empathy upon Lady Lavender’s face. She was quite serious as she crossed her arms over her full bosom.

The heat shot to Eleanor’s cheeks. Dear Lord, she never, ever blushed. “I… I… want to know passion.”

Lady Lavender gave a nod. “You want someone warm and gentle, and James is perfect.”

James.
She liked the sound of his name. “James,” she whispered out loud.

“Just try him.” As if he was a new French pastry. It was a dare. She shoved the glass of sherry into Eleanor’s hand. “What have you to lose?”

In other words, Eleanor had already placed her reputation in jeopardy by coming here, she had already paid, why not partake in the pleasure the visit might bring? Besides, she never ever backed down from a dare. “Very well.”

She settled in her chair and drank her sherry, the liquid burning a fiery path of courage down her throat. Lady Lavender didn’t bother to hide her grin of amusement, as if she had won a battle of some sort. Without another word, the woman moved into the foyer, closing the door behind her. The room went utterly silent. The only sounds were the soft patter of rain against the windows and the tick of the porcelain clock on the mantel.

With a sigh, Eleanor set her glass upon a side table and surged to her feet, pacing the room. It was like a bloody museum. Pure perfection, not a thing out of place. She picked up a porcelain dog from the fireplace mantel. There was no warmth… no… love… no family. It reminded her only too much of her own home. She didn’t want to be reminded of home… not here and especially not now.

Yet the sickening feeling that she was going to get caught wouldn’t go away. Perhaps Graham, her ever-knowing butler, would appear at the door and shout “ah-ha!” The thought was disconcerting, to say the least. The urge to run overwhelmed her. No one need ever know that she had visited. Yes, she could leave. Return home and forget this madness.

The door opened. Too late. Eleanor spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. The small porcelain dog fell from her hands, bouncing across the carpet, but she was barely aware. The man who stood in the doorway wasn’t exactly what she’d been expecting. But then she wasn’t sure what, exactly, she’d been expecting.

“My lady.” He smiled kindly and bowed low.

A gentleman, then? Why did that thought only add to her unease? Eleanor backed up a step, thankful the fire was not burning, for her skirts would have been singed black. He shut the door behind him. She felt utterly trapped.

Yes, she’d wanted someone gentle, but she hadn’t expected a man who spoke with a refined accent and dressed like a lord. It was sacrilegious in some way. When he started toward her, she dropped to the ground, scooping up the porcelain pup merely to have something to do. Tall, sinewy, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist enhanced by his black jacket and silver waistcoat, he had a lovely form, she could admit. In fact, years ago as an innocent she would have found his wavy light brown hair and brilliant eyes quite handsome. Eleanor surged to her feet, dog in hand.

A few steps away he paused, as if not to overwhelm her. A rush of heat fluttered in her chest. She clutched the porcelain dog to her bosom. This was James.
The
James who would kiss her… touch her… a stranger. She could admit he had kind eyes, warm eyes of a rich green much like the moss that used to grow in the forest near her aunt’s country home. Moss she’d pretended was a bed for the fairies that lived amongst the trees. A time long, long ago when she’d still been innocent.

He reached out and took her hand, carefully uncurling her fingers and taking the dog from her grip. And she allowed him, allowed him to touch her because she was too stunned to stop him. He replaced the piece, then slowly brought her hand forward. The entire world slowed as he bowed low, pressing his warm lips to the back of her bare hand. A shiver of awareness washed over her, a tingle that swept from her hand all the way up her arm. She jerked away, determined to retain control of her emotions.

Although he obviously practiced like one, he did not in the least look like a whore. Just like that, nervousness gave way to curiosity. There was no predatory gleam in his green eyes. No… no animalistic desire in his smile. No wicked curl in his soft brown
hair. He looked… kind. Almost… boyish. Yes, she had wanted kind, but not a
lad
!

“How old are you, exactly?” she blurted out.

He smiled, a charming smile that produced a shallow dimple on either side of his mouth. “Almost twenty-seven years of age, my lady.”

Lord, she was older than him by a good six years. She flushed, feeling highly uncomfortable. What was she doing here? It was mad. Disastrous, and it was becoming more insane with every moment she remained. She needed to leave before this went any further, before she completely ruined her reputation. She started toward the chair where she’d left her gloves. The room tilted. She felt odd. Slightly dizzy, as if the world spun.