Author's Note: I know I've left two other stories hanging; I am still working on them. Meanwhile, I got an itch to write another Regency tale, and so, here it is. Enjoy!
***
The room smelled heavily of perfume covering the faint hint of sex. Around him, the furnishings were very feminine, with frills of silk and lace in various shades of red. Silk damask covered the walls and lush drapes over the windows. A small table was set with two glasses and a decanter of fine brandy.
Mrs. Winslow's brothel catered to the upper class and any who were willing to pay a ridiculous sum for a night with one of her girls. And therein lay the reason why many men went bankrupt just for spending a few hours in one of these rooms. Mrs. Winslow's girls were reputed to be the most talented prostitutes in all of London.
Derek had no complaints. In the three years of coming here, he could truthfully say that so far, none compared to Mrs. Winslow's establishment.
He stood shirtless before the table, pouring himself a liberal amount of the brandy and lifting the glass to his lips. He had requested the pretty blond named Margie, who knew exactly what to do with that pouting mouth of hers.
Tonight, all he wanted to do was forget.
But even as he tried, his thoughts turned to the grim memories, the dark things he'd seen in his short lifetime. He was only twenty-nine, but until only four years ago, he'd spent most of his life scaling the underworld of crime and smuggling. He'd dealt with the lowliest sort, the type of men who didn't hesitate to kill on the spot for a wrong word said. He managed to dodge the law until one day, betrayed by another crime lord, Derek was caught.
Thinking he was to end his life at the end of a rope, he was surprised when the chief magistrate presented him with a deal. Become a Bow Street runner or hang.
Naturally, Derek chose the former. The magistrate thought him to completely reform, especially because of his privileged beginnings, but could a crime lord really completely reform?
Derek smirked and drank again.
All he wished to do tonight was drink, spend himself in a woman and forget.
***
In a room not so far away, Vivian Locke dressed quickly in a scandalously designed dress. The neckline dipped too low to be considered fashionable and barely covered the tops of her nipples. As the gown was white, the fabric was so sheer one could see the outline of her long limbs underneath as she walked.
Mrs. Winslow said the client she was to entertain would want a virgin tonight. There had been a secret smile on the brothel owner's face when she said this.
Vivian willed her hands to stop shaking. She swallowed, fortifying herself with her reason for being here. Vivian Locke, the only daughter of the respectable late Mr. Frederick Locke was here to save her future.
How ironic it was that she needed to be ruined in order to save herself, she thought. As requested, she pinned a few locks of dark blond hair up, leaving the rest of it to cascade down her narrow shoulders. If only her cousin wouldn't force her to marry that horrid man twice her age.
Vivian shuddered the think of ever being married to Lord Garner. The man was a temperamental imbecile, one who wanted a meek wife with no opinion. Having lost two wives already with no issue, Lord Garner had gone to Vivian's cousin Wendell for permission to marry her. And her loathsome cousin had agreed.
Curse his greed, she thought. It did not matter to Wendell that Lord Garner was a humorless, cruel person, as long as Wendell got the sum Lord Garner had promised, he was satisfied.
Pleading with Wendell had gained no results. As her only guardian, he could do with her life as he chose. Her only option was to ruin her reputation.
Lord Garner had requested she be pure on their wedding night; perhaps it was what drew him to her, because of her sheltered life growing up. He needed to be assured any children born would be his, he had mentioned in a brief conversation they shared upon the announcement of their betrothal. He was blunt about the fact that she remained sheltered until their wedding. He wanted her uninformed and untouched, all the more easier to mold into the ideal woman. No bride of his was going to fill her head with politics and female rights. Men ruled this world. Women needed to be protected as if they were breakable glass objects on a narrow shelf.
Thinking of that conversation only made Vivian angrier. And in this anger, she found courage to move toward the door.
Once she was ruined, Lord Garner won't want her. With the little money she had saved, she could always find employment. Perhaps, she could even become a governess to a well to-do family someplace far away, a town where they won't have heard of the scandal.
The hall she walked through was carpeted richly and lit with oil lamps. She glanced at the numbered doors, heard faint sounds of lovemaking and laughing behind each. One particular door elicited a loud crashing sound, followed by a moan and very male grunt of pleasure.
Such noises made Vivian's face flush with embarrassment. She almost regretted choosing such a way to be ruined. She could have just had the footman do it. But it was too late to turn back now. At number seven, she knocked softly and without waiting for a response, she turned the brass knob.
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the client she was to entertain. She was met with the tanned, smooth back of a shirtless man. Gasping softly, she closed the door behind her with a click. She'd never seen a man naked before and her gaze curiously followed the contours of the man's broad shoulders, down his bulging arms to his waist.
The man turned just then, his dark gaze sweeping over her quickly. He cursed out loud.
"You aren't Margie."
Had he been expecting someone else? Embarrassment crept up her neck. She must have entered the wrong room.
"You are not Lord Trentham?"
He was not narrow of build like most of the men she knew. In fact, his great size made him look almost bullish, his large hands fisting at his sides as if he were ready to run her over. As he moved, the muscles on his chest and waist moved and caught the light from fireplace. In no way was he considered fat, but neither was he to be labeled a dandy or weak.
The hard lines of his face suggested that he was one who'd seen more things in his lifetime than any other and his brooding dark eyes seemed to penetrate her soul-deep.
"I am." He answered, his voice rough. "I requested Margie." He said, as if his first response wasn't indication enough of his preference.
She somehow managed to find her voice as he approached her, realizing he was much taller than she had thought. She lifted her head up to meet his gaze.
"Mrs. Winslow said I was to come to you."
"Did she?" The corner of his mouth lifted sardonically. "Francesca has an odd sense of humor, it seems." He murmured.
His nearly black eyes slowly caressed its way down her body, making her squirm against the door, which she had her back pressed against.
With one large hand lifted, he flicked at the sleeves of her white gown. "How virginal. Did Francesca tell you I prefer innocents?"
His hand crept up her shoulder until he let it rest over her collarbone, his tanned fingers curving around the base of her neck. Her heart beat rapidly underneath the pad of his thumb.
His eyes narrowed. "Well, I don't."
He turned abruptly and went to the small table with the decanter. "Leave and fetch Margie. I'm in no mood for Francesca's games tonight."
Vivian let out a slow breath. "I don't understand why she sent me here then, if you never requested for me."
"As I said, she has an odd sense of humor."
She remained where she was. She had come this far, she couldn't turn back now.
"Why are you still here? Are you deaf?"
"Please," she implored him. "Do not send me back."
He turned his head to her, his sable colored hair brushing over his forehead. "Afraid you will be reprimanded? I'll pay you for whatever you usually charge your clients."
She shook her head. "I've...I've never had other customers."
His expression was guarded as he stared back at her. "I don't tolerate liars."
"I'm not lying. I've never done this before."
His expression turned cynical. "Then you're in the wrong place. Take my advice, Francesca may be fair, but such a life she offers isn't worth it. Get out of here and marry some nice chap in the country."
"You don't understand, Lord Trentham, I need to be here."
He smirked into his snifter of brandy. "Lusty creature," he commented, before he downed the rest of his drink. "Need a man between your thighs that bad, eh?"
Vivian flinched at his crude remark. She never intended to tell anyone of her circumstance. But her very life depended on tonight. She knew she hadn't very long to stay hidden. Wendell was bound to find her one of these days, for he had people searching for her every waking moment.
She walked into the room, finally leaving the doorway. "Don't send me back, Lord Trentham. I need to be...I need to be ruined. Tonight."
She couldn't seem to finish her explanation, and she looked away. Her father would turn in his grave if he knew what she was begging this man to do to her.
Derek caught the fear in the woman's eyes before she looked away. He set the snifter down and walked to her, lifting her delicate chin up so their eyes met.
The depths of her blue eyes were mesmerizing. If he were in the right mood, he would have taken her up on her offer, virgin or not. But he couldn't tonight. Tonight, he wanted uninhibited sex. He wanted to lose himself inside a woman without checking his control. He didn't have the patience to initiate a virgin into lovemaking, if she was one.
This thought piqued him. He doubted she was innocent, for Francesca rarely took them in. She preferred well-trained ladies. Yet there was something entirely beguiling in this woman's eyes that suggested she was very much a virgin.
"Running from a husband?" He asked. "Was he too ardent on your wedding night that you ran? Here to make him jealous?"
She shook her head, her gaze never wavering from his. This furthered his guessing.
"Rebelling against family then, because papa wouldn't buy you that pretty gown you wanted?"
Anger flashed in her eyes. This was an emotion he could relate to and was relieved to see it. Her vulnerability seemed to unhinge him.
"My cousin seeks to wed me to Lord Garner soon and I am here to blacken my character."
He recognized the name. Searching his mind, Derek soon came up with an image of a man aging in body and mind. Suddenly an image of Garner taking this woman to bed, seeing her writhe beneath Garner's thin body as he thrust into her...
Derek bent down to kiss her, crushing his mouth to her soft one. In surprise, she gasped into his mouth, and this offered him the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue in. Exploring her mouth slowly, he happily discovered that she tasted sweet, of a woman who hadn't yet unleashed her passion.
One large arm wrapped around her waist, arching her against his body until she was pressed against his obvious arousal. He cupped the back of her head, holding her to him.
Suddenly, there was a loud banging against the locked door. Derek dragged his mouth away and stared at the door. He felt the woman's hands squeeze his arms.
"I have clients here, sir." He heard Francesca's protest on the other side of the door, followed by the response of a very angry man.
"My men inform me my cousin has entered your establishment. If you do not release her..."
