Sans Regret Page 3

  With that, she turned, walked to the door and tapped on it. A key turned in the lock on the outside and she swept from the room in a rustle of skirts. The door closed again and the lock clicked shut, the sound echoing around the silence in the room.

  * * * * *

  After a restless day, Caroline joined Wortham in his rooms for dinner. She’d scarcely slept, despite her fatigue, and now she’d put Wortham—and herself—to the first test. The footmen preceded her. Two strong fellows serving not only to carry their food but as a deterrent should Wortham try to overpower her and escape.

  The Marquis turned from the window when they entered. He’d changed into a fresh suit of clothes from the wardrobe and, from the scent of soap that floated around him, she could tell he’d made good use of the tub. His jaw had none of the stubble from the morning, so he must have shaved too. If she hadn’t been ruined for sex by Oakhurst and his friends, she would have found him attractive. No wonder so many women surrendered to his seduction.

  His eyes widened briefly when he looked at her. Had he recognized her? Their one meeting had happened so briefly and so long ago. Men hardly noticed her if she was in the same room with Cecily anyway. He might have some vague memory of her now but nothing substantial.

  Sure enough, after a moment his features settled into a polite expression of blandness men like him often used to hide their true feelings. “What do you want from me now?”

  She gestured to the trays the footmen had laid on her writing table. “Dinner.”

  She’d given Wortham her former rooms because they had barred windows. He looked odd surrounded by so many feminine objects but the irony of imprisoning him where Oakhurst had locked her was delicious.

  He stared at the food as though a snake might slither out from under one of the trays.

  “Sit,” she said. “It’s been almost a day since you ate. You must be hungry.”

  She hadn’t eaten either. Her stomach hadn’t allowed it. At least she wouldn’t have to engage in any acts herself over dinner. She’d only have to watch. She could do that.

  He pulled out a chair and looked over his shoulder at her. “A gentleman never sits while a lady remains standing.”

  She took the seat he offered and allowed him to push in the chair for her. “You believe me a lady?”

  He shrugged. “I always assume a woman is a lady until she proves otherwise.”

  While the footmen set their plates before them and poured the claret, Caroline picked up her napkin and shook it out. “I doubt most ladies steal gentlemen away from parties.”

  “In my experience, ladies will do any number of things. Why did you do this?”

  “I had my reasons.” With any luck, he wouldn’t discover what those reasons were until he was powerless to do anything about them.

  She picked up her fork and sampled the food. She’d decided against the opening dishes to concentrate on the meat course. This meal wasn’t really about food, in any case. It would serve as Wortham’s introduction to the depravity Oakhurst had designed Sans Regret for. The ample serving of beef tenderloin, roasted potatoes and courgettes would hold them both in good stead until breakfast.

  He cut a piece of beef, swirled it in the béarnaise and ate it with relish. His eyebrow went up. “French cooking?”

  “My husband believed in indulging all the senses.”

  He set his fork down with a clatter. “Your husband, madam?”

  “He died over a year ago,” she said. “You won’t be fighting any duels over me, my lord.”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “It’s common knowledge that you ran to India to avoid a duel.” Just as it was common knowledge that he took great delight in bedding other men’s wives. Cecily seemed the only virgin he’d ruined—at least that she’d heard. Maybe he’d had more and had managed to keep those stories quiet.

  “Dueling’s illegal,” he said.

  “It’s done, nevertheless, but you have nothing to fear from a dead husband.”

  “Should I fear you?”

  “You’ll learn soon enough.”

  His eyebrow went up again and a gleam entered his eyes. “Have we met?”

  “Do I look familiar to you?”

  “Something about the set of your jaw stirs my memory,” he answered. “I don’t normally forget a beautiful face but…”

  “You find me pretty?”

  “I didn’t say pretty but you are beautiful.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and appeared to contemplate his next words. “You hold your chin as if you’re ready for a fight.”

  She paused with her hand halfway in the process of lifting her wineglass to her lips. Was the man trying to read her or only to nettle her? She held the glass in midair, her fingers not trembling, before she finished the movement and brought the glass to her mouth. She smiled at him over the rim while she took a sip of wine. “I’ve had a few fights in my day.”

  “Did you win any of them?”

  “I plan to win this one.”

  “Intriguing.”

  As the room darkened, one of the footmen lit the candles on the table and the other man started the fire in the grate. The room took on a warm glow—exactly the right lighting for the little drama about to unfold. She finished her wine while the servants cleared away the dishes and left the room. The door closed, the lock clicking audibly shut and Caroline found herself alone with her prey.

  He pushed his chair back a few inches and stretched his legs out in front of him. A pose designed to look casual but this man was far too shrewd to let down his guard so easily. He stared at her, the candlelight reflected in his eyes. “You have interesting taste in reading material.”

  “You looked through my little library.”

  “I had quite a few hours to fill.”

  She toyed with the stem of her empty wineglass. “What did you think?”

  “I’m acquainted with the work of Sir Richard Burton. I read The Kama Sutra in India.”

  “I thought you probably had.”

  “But I’ve been unacquainted with The Perfumed Garden,” he said. “Until now.”

  Oakhurst had placed those books there for her education. She’d studied them to learn how to make a life for herself at Sans Regret, not for her own enjoyment. She’d need every bit of the knowledge she had to work any magic on a committed rake like Wortham.

  “What sort of place is this?” Wortham asked. “Every luxury imaginable, voluptuous reading, French food and bars on the windows.”

  “Don’t forget the bathroom fixtures.”

  “Most unusual. What is this place?”

  She smiled. Instead of answering his question, she turned toward the doorway. “You may enter.”

  The door opened. Her friend, Abby, and the actor Caroline had hired entered. Abby wore Caroline’s costume from the night before and the man wore a suit very much like Wortham’s. It had cost a small fortune but was well worth the money, fitting his broad shoulders and long legs perfectly, just as Wortham’s fit his impressive frame. She’d selected both people for their similarity in size and shape to her and her captive. Masked as the actor was and with Abby wearing a wig, they might be their own doubles.

  Wortham’s breath caught. He’d recognized the masquerade. Now he’d watch these two act out what he hadn’t had the night before.

  “What’s this about?” he asked.

  “I’ve arranged a little tableau vivre for your amusement.”

  “With myself as the subject?”

  “You and I together. I hope you like it.”

  The players acted out their script, moving around the room in silence. Abby appeared to elude the man while he stalked her into one corner and then another. Each time, she ducked under his arm and escape until he finally backed her into one of the wingback chairs. She sat there, finally and he put his hands on the armrests, boxing her into her seat with his body.

  Wortham cast her a questioning glance. She smiled back easily. Things should get uncomfortab
le for him soon and she’d get to watch him squirm.

  The male player bent and took Abby’s lips in a kiss. The two of them were accomplished actors and seemed quite carried away by the caress. Abby opened her mouth under his and moaned softly, as though she truly enjoyed the contact. For all Caroline knew, these two had only met this afternoon, as Robert had selected the man from a theatre in London. No normal woman responded to a stranger’s kiss like that.

  Caroline had acted out this exact scene for Oakhurst’s pleasure, but not so convincingly. No actress, she hadn’t managed to fake enjoyment as well as Abby. In the past, Abby had coached Caroline in methods to bring the man to completion quickly. Abby used those methods now and the whole charade should be over soon.

  The subject of her seduction watched the performance, rapt. No doubt the tableau brought back images of their encounter the night before. Caroline touched her fingers to her own lips. Wortham had used his mouth like a master. In fact no one had ever kissed her like that before. At least with this man, she wouldn’t have to endure crude fumblings. A foolish woman might savor the prospect of having a lover as skilled as he. That had been Cecily’s undoing and by extension Caroline’s as well.

  The actors’ caresses grew more intense, as the man cupped one of Abby’s breasts and squeezed it gently. Even in the limited light, the flush of her skin grew visible, as the length of her throat turned a warm pink. Their breath came faster and their mouths fused into an even deeper kiss.

  Wortham’s eyes widened and his own breathing grew shallow. Aside from his eyes, his expression remained impassive but his grip tightened on the stem of his glass.

  Caroline glanced quickly at the front of his pants. A very definite bulge showed he’d become erect watching the show. Her intent exactly.

  Abby pressed her hand against her partner’s pants, outlining his own arousal. He sucked in a breath and pushed his pelvis toward her, creating more friction. While she continued the pressure with her palm, Abby placed her other hand between his legs and cupped his sac. He groaned as she worked him.

  “Are you enjoying the tableau, my lord?” Caroline asked.

  He glanced at her, the spark of firelight in his eyes again. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I don’t want you to forget last night.”

  “I can hardly forget it. That’s how I ended up here.”

  “To make amends for taking you prisoner, then. I want your confinement to be a pleasant one.”

  “What kind of woman are you?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” she answered.

  The actor straightened and closed his eyes as Abby worked the buttons of his trousers. After a moment, she had them undone and had removed his rigid cock from his pants. It was large and thick, with a prominent vein running along the underside. She gasped, as if in surprise and delight at the size of him. In truth, it didn’t approach the dimensions of Wortham’s member as Caroline had measured with her palm the night before.

  The man grimaced in pleasure as Abby petted the length of him and ran her thumb over the tip. Wortham did twist in his seat, from all appearances looking for a more comfortable position and not finding one.

  Abby slid her tongue over the tip of the man’s sex and it seemed to twitch upward in response. A soft intake of breath from Wortham made Caroline smile to herself. No doubt he imagined Abby’s tongue on himself. With any luck, he actually imagined Caroline’s tongue on him.

  When Abby closed her mouth around the man’s hardness, he gasped and shuddered. She sucked him deep, her cheeks working visibly to drive him over the edge. Clearly beyond reason now, the man clasped her head in his hands and pumped his hips. Slowly at first and then faster.

  Caroline had watched many similar displays during her married life and had performed some too. He’d reach orgasm soon and the other men watching would follow right after. Would Wortham succumb as well or would he be able to resist? She’d do nothing to give him relief. A night of torment for him, served her purposes better.

  The man groaned and pumped harder. Abby took what she could of his bulk into her mouth and grasped the base of his cock firmly in one fist, milking it. Finally after a few massive thrusts, a roar erupted from his chest as his whole body went rigid.

  Quickly Abby pulled his member from her mouth and stroked it frantically. He came in one enormous wave of semen followed by another. She kept up the pressure until he released a sigh of pleasure and his flesh went limp in her hand.

  Smiling broadly, he opened his eyes, bent, kissed her and then took her hand to guide her to her feet. Both of them took a deep bow.

  Caroline applauded. “Well done.”

  Abby curtsied. “Thank you.”

  “Off with you now. There’ll be an extra bonus for such a fine performance.”

  The two left the room, tapping softly on the door as a signal to let them out. Once they were gone, the door closed again and the lock fell back into place.

  Carolyn glanced once more at the front of Wortham’s pants.

  He glared at her. “No I didn’t come, if that was your objective.”

  Good. “My objective was to please you, nothing more.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “I’m not stupid, madam. You have some purpose for me. I just haven’t fathomed it yet.”

  “Maybe I want you as a lover.”

  “You could have had that last night without all this,” he said, gesturing around the room.

  “But a bit of mystery makes it so much more delicious, don’t you think?”

  “What if I refuse?” he demanded.

  “You won’t.”

  “You’re that sure of yourself?”

  “Oh no,” she answered. “I’m that sure of you.”

  “What in hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She pushed her chair back from the table and rose. “Good night, Lord Wortham. I hope you sleep well.”

  It took all her control not to chuckle at that last. He’d have a miserable night, as they both knew.

  She walked to the door and signaled to the footman to let her out.

  As the door swung open, Wortham’s voice called out from behind her. “At least tell me who you are.”

  “I’m Caroline, Dowager Countess of Oakhurst.”

  With that, she left the room and signaled the footman to lock it behind her. Finally she gave in to laughter. Wortham knew who she was now and that meant he’d also know where she was holding him prisoner. In the morning, she’d discover his reaction to finding himself locked up at Sans Regret, the Earl of Oakhurst’s secret den of sin. That should prove interesting.

  Chapter Three

  Oakhurst. The woman was the widow of that old scoundrel.

  Wortham stared at the canopy over his bed and watched the shadows from the hearth fire flickering there. According to the gossip at the time, Oakhurst had married a virtual unknown—the older unimpressive daughter of a country squire with social ambitions. If they’d meant to advance in London, they hadn’t chosen well, as Oakhurst seldom came to town and when he did, he invariably came alone. No one had ever met the elusive Countess Oakhurst. What was her name? Caroline, yes Caroline.

  Someone had met her though. He had, although the deuce if he could remember where. There was a defiant tilt to her chin that stuck with him and she had long limbs that might have looked gangly on a younger woman. She must not have spoken at the time, though, or he would have recalled the smoky quality of her voice.

  Unimpressive no longer described her. She’d turned into a real beauty, as dozens of lustful men had noticed the night before. Women did that sometimes. While the bloom faded on some, others came into their own after thirty. Wortham had always preferred the latter type, as young good looks often came accompanied by simpering and a great show of eyelashes. Other men could obsess themselves with virgins. He preferred more mature beauty.

  Caroline, Dowager Countess of Oakhurst had plenty of that. Without the
mask, her eyes glowed even darker against her pale skin. Even dressed as a proper lady, she allowed her hair to fall around her face and over her shoulders in curls that begged to be touched. The softness of her figure suggested she didn’t wear a corset. All of those things went past temptation to outright provocation. Both nights, she’d set about to seduce him and she’d succeeded splendidly only to leave him wanting.

  Oakhurst had debauched her, clearly. He’d had a reputation for that. Women and boys alike. If the man could take carnal pleasure with someone, he’d done it and to hell with convention. No wonder he’d stayed away from court. Her Majesty would have been appalled and the prince consort would have had a Teutonic fit.

  Now the most interesting question remained. How much of that debauchery had Oakhurst taught his wife? Enough to stage that little display for his benefit, certainly. He’d sat and watched her counterpart fellate his own and he’d sworn he could feel those lips on his own rigid member. Just the memory made him harden beneath the sheets. Had she deliberately failed to provide a nightshirt so that he’d have to lie here naked and fantasize about her making love to him with her mouth?

  Damn her anyway. Why had she brought him here?

  At least now he knew where here was. This had to be Oakhurst’s hidden lair, Sans Regret. Word had circulated among a certain class of the aristocracy that Oakhurst had bought an old abbey and renovated it for private parties. Secluded and luxurious, the place had served as a private retreat for the Earl and other adventurous sorts, including actresses with unsavory reputations. The building supposedly had underground chambers where the monks had aged wine and the local cheese they made. Other rooms had witnessed ritual exorcisms. Word had it that the manacles and chains were still there and that Oakhurst’s guests had put them to some creative uses.

  The man had obviously constructed this set of rooms to hold unwilling females. Local girls who couldn’t be persuaded by money to participate? Had Oakhurst been that depraved?