The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(34)
The opulence surprised her. Granted, this brothel was a cut above the rest, catering to the elite and wealthy men of the ton, and the services, she guessed, were not cheap. This was no tug ’n’ tussle for a quid. No, the gentlemen clearly came and stayed, enjoying the women, gambling, and spirits in equal measure for a prolonged amount of time. That would be the only way Madame Hartley could afford the Hepplewhite chairs, the lush Aubusson rugs, the silk draperies. The portrait above the mantel looked to be an original Joshua Reynolds, for heaven’s sake.
There were Lemarcs here, too. A series of her erotic sketches hung in the bedchambers. Upon her return to London, Maggie had asked Mrs. McGinnis to gift the deliciously lascivious works to Madame Hartley in order to gain Lemarc a bit of notoriety. And it had worked; last Maggie inquired, Madame turned down offers to buy them almost monthly.
In the main drawing room, there were four men relaxing and talking, each with a drink in hand. Some had girls in their laps. It was fascinating, this civilized debauchery. Where were the naked dancing girls, like one saw in Paris? Of course, there could be all sorts of raucous behavior occurring on the second floor. Maggie cursed yet again the fact she’d been born a female. If she were a man, she could discover exactly what transpired in the private rooms.
You know what they’re doing up there, her mind whispered. The same thing you were doing yesterday afternoon.
“Here, let me see,” the Duchess of Colton said, pinching Maggie’s arm.
“Ow,” Maggie said and slid out of the way. Julia wasted no time in lining her eye up with the tiny hole.
“Look, it’s Lord Burke. And Sir Henry. And the one with the woman on his lap is Lord Andover. Oh, I can hardly believe it. It’s fascinating, isn’t it? Goodness, he’s reaching into her bodice!”
“Where?” Maggie gasped and elbowed Julia. “Hurry. Let me see.”
“Wait,” Julia said, laughing, as she relinquished the tiny window. “Oh, this is too much fun. We should come here more often.”
Back at the small hole, Maggie confirmed that Andover’s hand was indeed inside the girl’s bodice. The girl didn’t appear to mind; in fact, she slid the dress off her shoulder, allowing him better access. Andover wasted no time, pulling the plump mound out to bare it. He then began to fondle her, rolling and pinching the nipple, while he chatted with the other gents. The girl leaned against him, head thrown back on his shoulder, her lower lip pulled between her teeth like it was all she could do to keep from crying out. Maggie’s own nipples puckered inside her chemise and stays, her breasts swelling. Simon had done that very thing only a day before, and she remembered how extraordinary it felt.
The girl squirmed on Andover’s lap, grinding her backside into his groin, which got her a pinch hard enough to make her gasp. Her lids fluttered shut, chest rising and falling rapidly, as she clearly enjoyed the torment.
Unable to tear her gaze away, Maggie recalled the feeling of sitting on a man’s lap while her breasts were fondled and caressed. In her recollection, however, Lord Andover was not underneath her. No, this man was taller, leaner, with sand-colored hair and piercing blue eyes. An ache began in her core, an emptiness she’d never experienced before. It was as if her body knew what it was missing. Or rather, whom it was missing.
God help her.
In the drawing room, Lord Andover put two fingers up to the girl’s mouth. She opened greedily, taking the digits inside and sucking on them. Maggie watched, entranced, as the fingers reemerged, slick with saliva, and traveled to the girl’s breast once more to glide easily over the puckered, rosy tip. The girl must have moaned, or made some other sound, because Andover laughed and whispered something to her.
Madame Hartley appeared. She bent to say something in Andover’s ear. He nodded, assisted the girl off his lap, helped to right her dress, and escorted her toward the front stairs. It all happened very quickly. Maggie suffered a brief pang of disappointment before noticing that Madame was striding toward the office. The peephole cover had barely swung shut before Madame opened the door.
Madame Hartley’s eyes went directly to the cover, and her lips twitched as she curtsied. “I see Your Grace and your ladyship have been enjoying the rare performance in my drawing room.”
“It was Lady Hawkins’s idea,” Julia blurted, all wide-eyed innocence that not a soul in her right mind would believe.
Maggie choked out an embarrassed laugh. “I didn’t—I mean, we shouldn’t have . . .”
The owner waved a hand. “I can hardly blame your ladyship, but his lordship knows better. I do not run that sort of establishment. That sort of business belongs in the upper rooms.”
Maggie spent a moment admiring Madame Hartley’s expensive costume. Layers of lace adorned her midnight-blue silk dress, and the sapphires around her neck had to be worth a small fortune. Her lustrous hair styled and coiffed, one could almost imagine her on the way to a box at Drury Lane.
Madame glanced around the small room. “Did Pearl come as well?”
“She preferred to wait in the carriage,” Julia said. “She said you would understand.”
The abbess sighed. “Indeed, I do. While I treat my girls better than their own mothers, places such as these can be a harsh reminder of a life some would rather forget. And Pearl had it rougher than most. Which brings us to why I sent for her and, by extension, your ladyship.” She gestured at Maggie. “Pearl has told me of your ladyship’s work at some of the other establishments, the funds for physicians and medical procedures. Additional protection for the girls. I’ve never needed that here, as I’ve been able to more than adequately provide for and protect my girls. At least, I did before last evening.”