Page 8 of Tamed By a Passionate Lady
James had almost fallen over laughing. “We are not in Shanghai, old chap! What dens do you speak of? I was unaware that opium was popular in good old Liverpool…”
“Not opium,” said Reuben, his smile a little wobbly. “It is something else, something much more interesting. Come on, now, there is no time to delay.”
Intrigued, and more than a little inebriated he had gone with his friend, sending his own carriage home. Within minutes they had pulled up outside a large white house, tucked in from the street, with a high, white, wrought-iron fence.
He had been shocked when they had stepped inside. From the street, the house had seemed almost ordinary; any regular, well-to-do family could be contained within its walls. But on the inside, it was a different matter entirely.
The large parlour was decorated in an exotic way, reminiscent of a French boudoir. Glossy red wallpaper lined the walls, embossed with golden flowers. Thick velvet curtains, in the same shade of crimson, were tightly drawn. A selection of settees were scattered around the room. A large crystal chandelier hung dramatically low, casting dull light on the room.
But what was the most shocking thing was the occupants. Several women, in various stages of undress, with heavily painted faces: white powder, circles of rouge on their cheeks, and gashes of vermillion on their lips. Their hair was wild, in dishevelled buns, or falling freely to their waists. They were lounging on the settees, almost draped across them, as relaxed and sinewy as cats.
“Reuben,” he had hissed, his eyes widening. “Have you taken me to a…brothel?”
Reuben grinned. “It is about time that we are initiated into the joys of the flesh, would you not agree, old chap?” His grin widened. “They are the best of the best. This is Mrs. Johnston’s, after all, and it is only for gentlemen who can afford it…”
James had reeled back. “Steady on, old fellow. I do not think I wish to be initiated, as you put it, in such a way.” He hesitated. “What about waiting until you are with a woman you are deeply attracted to and respect?”
Reuben scoffed. “Any woman who demands respect does not wish to do this, my friend. All of the beautiful ladies in our acquaintance will not even deign to kiss a fellow! No, this is the only way, James.” He paused, his eyes shining. “Live a little, my friend.”
They had only been nineteen years of age at the time. And he had not yet met the woman who was destined to be the love of his life. But still, he resisted. It just seemed so…cold-blooded. He knew that the women here would be pretending a passion that they did not truly feel, and the thought of making love in such a way was anathema to him.
“Good luck, my friend,” said James, turning to the door. “I shall leave you to it. My bed, I am afraid, is calling me…”
“What?” Reuben looked shocked. “You are leaving?” He paused. “I never took you for such a pansy, Townshend. Do you not have a pair of balls swinging between your legs?”
James had reeled back, just a little. Reuben’s tone was scathing, and his eyes were small pinpricks of dislike. He knew that his friend was a little worse for wear from liquor, but still, in that moment he could have sworn that his friend almost despised him.
“I will not answer that,” he said slowly. “I think you shall regret this in the morning, old chap. Farewell.”
Without another word, he turned, opening the door.
“Your loss, Townshend,” said Reuben, his face hard. “I propose to sample all of the delights on offer here tonight.” He sneered. “I did not take you for a wimp when it came to the fairer sex. Who is the bigger man now?”
James stopped. This was a side of Reuben that he had only glimpsed briefly. A side where his friend sometimes sounded almost contemptuous of him. He had brushed it off in the past. But his challenge now hung between them in the air.
“I am not trying to prove who the bigger man is, Reuben,” he said slowly. “I did not realise that you think we are in competition.” He paused. “Besides, bedding a woman who is a sure thing is no sign that you are a lothario, old chap. Food for thought, hey?”
Reuben’s face darkened. But the next minute, an older woman with a garishly painted face and unnaturally dark hair was upon them, pulling his friend into the room.
James took the opportunity to slip out of the door, snatching his coat and hat from the hallstand on his way out.
Reuben had boasted, of course, about that night, many times. And ever since, he had pursued women relentlessly, with an almost manic intensity. But his passions were brief, and short lived. He was always moving on to the next one, with a pace that made James’ head spin.
Reuben had never understood how deeply attached he was to the woman he loved. He had almost been disdainful, saying that he was turning into an old man, and that he must sow his wild oats while he was still young enough to do it.
“You must move on, old chap,” he had insisted. “There are finer fish in the ocean than have ever been caught. And I intend to sample all of them.”
***
James shook his head, trying to dispel the image of the brothel.
His face burnt, just a little. He had not intended to go there, and left quickly once he realised what it was, but still a faint shame lingered.
He grimaced. He had forgotten how contemptuous Reuben had been towards him that night. The next time he had seen his friend, he had been back to his usual, jocular self, and he had put it down to too much liquor and bravado.
Reuben was still gazing hungrily at Adaline, his eyes lingering on her bosom. But the next moment his wife turned around, and Reuben seemed to collect himself. He picked up his wine glass, drinking deeply.
Should he be concerned?
