Page 10 of To Tame the Wild Rake
Best if Aldridge chose to go up to Heaven, and he probably would, the rutting whoreson. Once he was alone with one of the girls, the Beast could make sure he suffered. Away from Heaven and Hell. Hatred for Aldridge could not be allowed to spoil his business or his cover. But easy enough to slip him laudanum or the like, and have him carried elsewhere for his punishment.
His companion, too.
Aldridge had made his way around the room, had spoken to one of the servants (they were dressed as demons, which the Beast considered a fine conceit), and was now heading for the stairs.
Good. He is going to Heaven, then.
The Beast slipped through the door behind him and headed for the private stairs that led to his sister’s office. At last, Aldridge would begin to pay.
“The decoration is rather obvious,” Aldridge murmured to Wakefield, out of the corner of his mouth. It had been done up to match the name. From the moment they handed over their coats and hats at the door of Hell, everything followed that theme: furniture, fittings, adornments. Even the clothing of servants and employees—such as it was.
The girl who took their outerwear had small horns emerging from her hair, goats’ ears, and dark paint shaping a cat’s eye outline around her eyes. Her costume was mostly gauze in shades of red—an assortment of scarves that left her breasts bare but provided enough of a cover at hip level to hide whatever anchored a long lizard tail.
The broad passage leading from the entrance was painted with a long mural on either side—well-dressed partygoers in riotous procession, at first sight. But a closer look showed they were indulging every imaginable vice, flames licking their heels, on their way to the arches at the other end, which echoed the real arch ahead of Aldridge and Wakefield.
In the mural, a devil stood at the side of each arch—a tall golden figure with goats’ horns and a leering grin, arms open in welcome. Beyond the arch, the artist had painted a bonfire, all flames and smoke, but for the hints of an orgy within the conflagration—a bare arm or a foot or a face or other less socially acceptable parts.
Devils, or servants costumed as devils, stood on either side of the real entrance, and opened the double doors to allow Aldridge and Wakefield to enter.
The room beyond was a typical gambling salon, except for the lurid scenes painted on the walls and the extravagant costuming of the demons, imps, and devils who were there to serve the scores of so-called gentlemen out for a good time.
“One room leads into another, my lords,” one of the door devils murmured. “Please continue through until you find something to please you.”
“I seek Heaven tonight,” Aldridge responded. “Which way—?” He broke off. He had just seen the staircase leading up to the side. Again, the imagery was obvious. The same crowd of partygoers marched up the wall, but this time the flames had died away by the third step, to be replaced by clouds.
By the fourth step, the multitude of vices reduced to the most obvious, with each other and with winged beings whose skimpy costumes and voluptuous bodies made the term ‘angel’ a blasphemy. An obscenity, too, Aldridge decided, his sharp gaze taking in some of the detail.
“Indeed, my lord,” the other door devil agreed. “Please follow the stairs. Our heavenly beings wait to serve you.”
Aldridge looked around as they walked down the side of the room to the stairs. Across the floor, beyond the gaming tables, raised up above the crowded room on a dais, the original of the painted welcome figure sat on an ivory throne.
Naked from the waist up, his lower half was clad in gilded fur, or perhaps tightly curled wool. His face was covered by a gilded mask—a goat’s head with large curled horns—except for large apertures through which his eyes glinted. He was staring at Aldridge, who inclined his head but continued towards the stairs.
“The Beast, I take it,” Wakefield murmured.
Presumably. The man stood as Aldridge and Wakefield started up the stairs, then disappeared between the curtains behind his throne. Aldridge put the villain out of his mind. The Beast was not the immediate target tonight.
Upstairs, they found the usual lounge, and by now the variety of skimpy goddess, god, and angel costumes came as no surprise. No sign of the Madam. Aldridge had expected the companion throne, ebony rather than ivory, and more delicately carved. It was empty.
One of the women approached. “What is your pleasure, my lords?” The neckline of her white gown plunged to her waist, and the skirt that hugged her swaying hips was split strategically so that glimpses of thigh showed as she walked. Her face was classically beautiful, marred by the vacancy of her smile, the weary distance of her eyes. “Heaven prides itself on meeting all appetites,” she assured them.
Wakefield took the lead, pointing. “That girl and that one, and one room with a large bed,” he ordered. Aldridge nodded in agreement. Wakefield had contacts among the women who earned their living in the world’s oldest trade; presumably he’d recognised the ones he’d chosen.
The two selected approached, their smiles professional and meaningless. One was dressed in skimpy Grecian robes with her brunette curls dressed high and bound with gold cord—Artemis, from the little toy bow and arrow she carried in one hand. The other wore her fair hair down, flowing over her upper body. Other than her hair, a bright scarf was her only covering, cinched at the waist by a circlet of flowers that echoed the one on her head. Gauzy wings hinted that she was, perhaps, intended to be a fairy.
“Artemis,” the greeter confirmed with a wave, and, “Ariel,” with a second. “Something to drink or eat, my lords?”
“Perhaps later,” Aldridge said. He slipped an arm around the blonde fairy and sniffed at her flowers. Silk, but he ignored that detail. “Come on, sweet thing. Show me to a bed.”
“The India room,” the greeter decided. Wakefield offered the brunette a raised hand. “Shall we, your divinity?”
She giggled as she placed her hand in his, and raised her nose in the air, slanting a glance to the others in the room to ensure they noticed. Aldridge allowed the woman he was holding to lead the way down a passage.
They stopped at the fourth room on the right, where a partly opened door gave entrance to a room decorated with richly embroidered silken wall hangings and what looked like copies of Hindu temple paintings in a frieze around the walls. The main feature of the room was a circular bed at least ten feet across.
Aldridge gave Ariel a gentle push on her bottom to propel her further into the room so he could disengage, then put out a hand to catch her wrist as she reached for her belt. “Don’t disrobe,” he said, as Wakefield escorted Artemis inside and turned to shut and secure the door.
The fairy attempted to rub herself against Aldridge as he held her away from him by the wrist. “How may I please you, my lord?” she asked.
