Nicole Jordan - The Seduction

“Sin, do come and join us!” one slurred voice called out. “We mean to see what pleasure the Dark Walk can offer.”

Unlike the other unexceptional pleasure walks, the Dark Walk had gained a reputation for infamy. Its shadowed alcoves and romantic hideaways had been designed for lovers but were often used for nefarious purposes, and more than one young damsel’s good name had been ruined there.

“And bring your lady,” another voice said, sniggering.

From the ribald laughter that followed this suggestion, they considered her of the same ilk as their own female companions. But perhaps that was only to be expected, Vanessa acknowledged grimly, when she was being escorted by a rake like Damien.

Disturbed by the bold way she was being eyed, she was glad when Damien didn’t introduce her. Instead, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he declined the invitation and sent his dissolute friends on their way.

They were not the last unsettling visitors to the box, however. Moments later a couple strolled by. Vanessa recognized the gentleman as Lord Houghton, a friend of her late husband. The woman on his arm was a stranger-ravishingly beautiful, with silver-blond hair and a full-breasted figure draped in white satin. Sporting a tasteful hint of paint on her face, she looked the essence of an expensive Cyprian.

Lord Houghton acknowledged Vanessa and Damien with a brief bow and might have moved on but for the woman’s musical voice issuing a mild protest. “Charles, do stop and make me known to your friends.”

He flushed slightly and bowed again. “Lady Wyndham, Lord Sinclair, allow me to present Mrs. Swann, a most superior actress.”

Vanessa felt herself blanch at the name. Suddenly numb, she scarcely heard the actress’s reply.

“Lord Sin and I have met,” Mrs. Swann purred. “I am currently performing at the Haymarket, my lord, and should love to have you in the audience.”

Damien inclined his head in recognition and responded with casual politeness. “I should be pleased to attend a performance if time permits, but I’m in London for only a few days.”

Turning to Vanessa, Mrs. Swann raised a delicate eyebrow. “I was acquainted with your husband as well.”

“I believe you were,” Vanessa choked out the reply. Roger had met his ignominious end dueling over this beautiful actress.

The Silver Swann seemed not in the least abashed by her notoriety. A sly smile curving her red lips, she lifted her hand to her throat to finger an emerald necklace similar to the one Vanessa herself wore. “Sin has excellent taste in jewelry, does he not?”

Vanessa was jolted from her frozen stupor as she realized the implication: the emeralds had been a gift from Damien. “He does indeed,” she said, outraged and bitterly wounded at the same time.

Lord Houghton looked embarrassed that his companion would be so ill-bred as to flaunt her jewelry. Hastily taking his leave, he swept the actress away.

Alone with Damien once more, Vanessa took a long swallow of her punch. When she felt the weight of his gaze, she cast him a bleak, acrimonious glance.

His eyes had grown hooded, while the liquor she’d drunk had loosened her tongue.

“She was one of your former paramours, I gather?”

“For a brief time, yes.” He met her gaze evenly. “I’ve never tried to conceal the fact that I’ve had liaisons in the past.”

Or will in the future, Vanessa acknowledged bitterly. Damien had never lied to her about his affairs. Yet his honesty didn’t make it any easier to accept that he’d been intimate with the very actress who had inspired her husband’s foolish death. Or to stem the painful jealousy that surged through her. Or to quell the insistent clutch of despair and longing at the thought of Damien with any other woman.

How foolish she was to hope he might change.

Almost wild with misery, Vanessa averted her gaze and brought the glass of punch to her lips.

By the time the second musical act was over, she had consumed enough of the potent brew to somewhat numb her devastation. Her head was swimming and she felt dangerously despondent, but she managed not to cling too heavily to Damien’s arm when they walked down to the riverbank to watch the spectacular fireworks, even though the alcohol sang in her blood like the brilliant rockets bursting overhead.

As the crowd dispersed to return to their boxes, they encountered the group of inebriated young bucks they’d seen earlier, this time no longer accompanied by the two females. All five gentlemen looked three sheets to the wind.

“Come with us, Sin,” one called out. “We mean to tour the fleshpots of London, starting at Tavistock’s.”

“I’m afraid I must decline,” Damien replied with obvious anger. “You may have noticed I have a lady with me.”

“Zounds, bring her along. The more the merrier.” Raising his quizzing glass, he squinted and ogled Vanessa’s bosom.

She clenched her jaw in absolute torment, but maintained a fierce dignity as Damien swiftly drew her away from his friends.

Feeling grimly reckless and destructive, she feigned a smile as she glanced up at Damien. “I should indeed like to see a brothel. It might be highly… educational.”

“I don’t think so,” he replied, stiffening.

“Why not?” she asked coldly. “You said you would show me the dangers of the wicked underworld. What could be more wicked than a brothel?”

“Indeed, but they’re generally for the lower class of demimondaine. A discriminating Cyprian would not allow herself to be seen there.”

Vanessa came to a halt, making Damien stop also. “But I’ve heard of ladies attending such places in disguise. They wear half-masks to conceal their identity.”

“You wouldn’t care for the form of entertainment to be found there, sweeting, I assure you.”

“I think I should be allowed to judge that for myself. Besides, what do you care for my feelings?”

Anger gleamed darkly in his gray eyes as he stared at her.

When Damien still hesitated, Vanessa added with a chill smile, “I imagine those fine friends of yours could be persuaded to escort me, if you refuse.”

As he escorted Vanessa up the steps of the most elegant sin club in London, Damien seethed with anger. He was loath to bring her here, to expose her to the decadence in which he himself was so well-versed.

His mood had become bleak and dangerous as the evening progressed. Seeing her ogled and demeaned by his drunken acquaintances was even more repugnant than her being taunted by one of his former paramours about her jewels.

He’d chosen emeralds for Vanessa to complement her dark beauty, to set off the burnished fire of her hair. He couldn’t even remember what trinkets he’d settled on Elise Swann so many months ago. Indeed, his secretary had chosen the Swann’s gifts, and any similarity was purely coincidence. Perhaps he should have simply told Vanessa that, no matter how ill-bred such an explanation would have been. He should at least have offered an apology.

Both incidents had left an acid taste in his mouth… oddly like shame. Damien’s jaw hardened as he recognized the uncommon sentiment.

Until tonight he would have termed their visit to London a marginal success. In the past few days he had managed to withdraw from their relationship, at least physically.

He’d kept their opportunities for intimacy to an absolute minimum, resorting to cold formalities and denying himself all but the most unavoidable contact with Vanessa. It had proven harder to dampen his fever for her, to maintain even a small measure of control over his unquenchable desire, to crush his alarming feelings of tenderness.

He dared not allow any tender emotions between them. Midnight trysts and quiet conversations had no place in their current relationship. If he found himself regretting the loss, or yearning for the friendship they had once shared, if he felt the hollow echoes of his past in this current sojourn to London-loneliness and emptiness-it was a price he was willing to pay to be rid of his obsession.

Vanessa’s education was proceeding apace, and soon he would be able to wash his hands of her without his conscience flaying him. Or so he desperately hoped…

“Will we find your dissipated friends here?” she coolly interrupted his dark thoughts.

He gave a sardonic smile. “I trust not. Tavistock Court, where they were headed, specializes in flagellation. I doubt you have any desire to be flailed with rods or nettles to stimulate sexual arousal.”

“No,” Vanessa said with a delicate shudder.

“Madame Fouchet’s salon is known more for its stylized diversions than perversions.”

“There is a difference?” Vanessa asked archly, a facetious question Damien didn’t deign to answer.

Cursing her stubbornness, he rapped sharply on the door. Vanessa had insisted on coming here, even threatening to find another escort if he refused. But she would discover, Damien reflected darkly, a vast difference between the pleasurable carnal games she enjoyed with him in private and the sordid kind of public debauchery to be found at Fouchet’s. Shocked enough perhaps to keep away from such iniquitous dens in the future. If so, then it would be worth bringing her here, despite his grave misgivings.

They were admitted to an antechamber without question by a majordomo and greeted personally by Madame Fouchet, a Frenchwoman who seemed delighted by Lord Sin’s patronage of her establishment. If she was curious about Vanessa’s presence, she hid it well.

“And what pleasure may I offer you this evening, my lord?”

Damien favored her with a charming smile that hid his savage mood. “This lady has never attended a house such as yours, Madame. We would like to observe for a time, if we may.”