Page 8 of What a Courtesan Wants
She mumbled something unintelligible in response, effectively dismissing him with her bent head. He left her to it, closing her door and then slipping through the large partitions sectioning off the opening between the original shop and the space into which they’d recently expanded.
When the milliner next door had relocated herself to a more fashionable Mayfair address, Aubrey had leaped at the chance to purchase the building. Having been a courtesan for a year at the time, he’d managed to save enough money to take on the expansion, hiring an architect to demolish the wall between Rowland-Drake and the adjoining place and begin renovating it to create a seamless flow between the lower levels. When the work had been complete, the lower showroom for fabrics would be twice as large, allowing him to double his inventory. The other rooms would be transformed to display a variety of trimmings and accessories, ensuring that patrons who entered the establishment could find everything they needed for their clothing in one shop as opposed to making several stops.
Aubrey took quick stock of the progress being made in the new part of the showroom, satisfied by how it was all coming together. In a few more months, the closed-off sections of the two buildings would become one and be opened to the public, cementing Rowland-Drake’s place amongst the best of London’s haberdasheries and linen drapers.
It had been the vision of his late godfather to turn a humble shop in Cheapside into a flourishing establishment which could be passed down through generations. After accepting that his own son had no interest in the family business, Hector Rowland had left the shop to Aubrey. After moving the business to a more prominent location in Leicester Square, he’d begun the difficult task of providing stiff competition for the other drapers overtaking London. It seemed warehouses appeared in the various squares of the city every time he blinked, yet Rowland-Drake held its own with the best of them.
He had his additional income as a courtesan to thank for that, which was why despite his boredom and irritation with the entire affair, Aubrey was determined to continue as he had been. Bedding wealthy women—no matter how little they appealed to him—was no great trial. For the sake of Elizabeth, who counted on him to care for her and see her settled for life, he could endure it. Perhaps, in a few more years, his affairs would stand on firmer footing, and he could then take his leave of the agency. That was, providing the new expansion was successful and generated the income needed to keep Aubrey from relying on the extra capital he earned from his keepers.
For the time being, he had a new keeper to meet. As he stepped up into a hired hack, he slouched on the squabs and turned his mind toward the coming introduction. Lady Lucinda Bowery—the name was familiar now that Aubrey thought on it. She was a dowager countess, widowed as recently as two years ago. Whispers had surrounded her marriage to the Earl of Lanhope, as the woman had been the daughter of an impoverished gentleman farmer and completely out of Lanhope’s league. She’d also been more than twenty years his junior, of an age with his youngest child at the time of their marriage.
While he had many influential friends, Aubrey did not move in such elevated circles, and knew only what gossip had trickled down to him through men like Benedict and Dominick, whose connections to thetonprovided a wellspring of information. Typically, he paid no heed to such things, but keeping up with gossip was vital to the agency. It was simply good business to know which ladies were married, widowed, or debutantes; which were in unhappy marriages, or had husbands who didn’t care what their wives got up to in their spare time.
It seemed Lady Bowery was ready to take a man into her bed again. She’d certainly waited longer than the other widows he’d serviced, some of whom had received him wearing gowns of black crepe, tossing off their veils as they led him to their beds.
As for Lady Bowery, he’d heard not a whisper about her taking a lover since the death of the earl.
His train of thought was interrupted as the hackney came to an abrupt halt before Madame Hershaw’s. The crowd milling about on the walkway parted to let him through, wide eyes landing on him and holding. Accustomed to the staring, he straightened the lapels of his coat and went on his way. The only other negro men walking Cavendish Square at this time of day were dressed in servants’ attire, heads lowered as they went about their tasks. If his height and stature weren’t the cause of the murmurs, then his fine, tailored clothing drew their attention. He’d long grown accustomed to the scrutiny, finding it easier to ignore once he realized curiosity was the reason for their looks as opposed to disdain. A woman might whisper to a friend about the quality of his clothes, only for that friend to inform her that she looked upon Mr. Drake, the Leicester Square linen-draper. Curiosity appeased, the lady would turn and go about her way, the sudden fascination with him ending as abruptly as it had begun.
Aubrey used the front door of the dress shop as opposed to the back door as all the other courtesans did. His profession put him in a unique position—one that allowed him to enter the primarily female establishment on the pretense of business. The wizened Madame Hershaw came to greet him with a smile, dressed in unrelenting black, the severe gray knot of her hair seeming to pull the skin of her face taut. With a few customers looking on in curiosity, they traded banal remarks about business and fabrics, with Madame inviting him into her office to discuss placing an order. She then produced a key, which she used to access a dark corridor. The dull buzz of conversation within the shop faded as the door swung closed. The proprietress ducked into her office without a word, leaving Aubrey to his own devices. As was their custom, he would let her know when he’d finished his meeting, and they would return to the front of the shop together and part ways with no one the wiser.
The door to Benedict’s small office hung ajar, and he detected the low hum of voices from within, including that of a woman. It appeared Lady Bowery had arrived.
Aubrey lightly rapped on the panel before pushing it open, stepping into the nauseatingly pink interior of the room. Benedict had ordered the space decorated in the feminine shade with gold accents, to appeal to their female clientele and put them at ease. While it seemed to work for the women, Aubrey didn’t care for the bright shade bordering on magenta, or the overstuffed furniture that matched the wallpaper too precisely.
He ceased caring about his surroundings the moment he laid eyes on the woman seated in an armchair facing Benedict’s desk. She came slowly to her feet, returning his assessing stare. A simmering heat suffused his blood, which took up a mad dash toward his cock at the sight of Lady Lucinda Bowery.
The first thing that struck him were her statuesque proportions. She had long legs that would make her tower over most women, but would put her nearly at eye level with him. Benedict had grossly understated how buxom she was, the body pressing at the confines of a walking dress and spencer bursting with soft curves. He lowered his gaze to the bosom lifted and displayed by her stays, large and plush, promising to overflow in his hands. The cut of her gown did nothing to hide the wide flare of hips beneath, a perfect complement to her exceptional breasts.
Aubrey swallowed through a constricted throat, his hands clenching at his sides as he imagined touching her, stripping away her clothes to reveal that curvaceous body. Tamping down the urge, he took stock of the rest of her and decided he liked what he saw—quite a bit more than he had expected to. Coils of golden hair had been pinned in a soft coiffure at the nape of her neck, and matching brows arched gracefully over eyes the color of hyacinths. A soft pink blush stained her cheeks, a match for her rosy mouth. She held herself with a commanding air, as if she were a queen due the deference of every person who looked upon her—shoulders squared, head high, chin tilted just so. He wondered if that poise was inherent or learned during her time as a countess. It made him want to push her to her knees on the floor and destroy her composure. The urge to shove his cock between those pretty lips and muss her hair with his hands while he fucked her mouth astounded him.
“Ah, here he is,” Benedict said suddenly, breaking through the silence of the room. “Good of you to join us, Aubrey.”
Aubrey blinked, uncertain whether he’d stood there staring at Lady Bowery for a few seconds or several hours. It was disconcerting to realize he’d been so caught off guard. For the first time in a long while, he looked forward to furthering his acquaintance with a new keeper.
“Lady Bowery,” Benedict continued. “May I introduce Mr. Aubrey Drake. Aubrey, this is Lady Lucinda Bowery.
Shaking himself free of the stupor that had fallen over him, Aubrey approached, offering a deferential bow. “It is an honor, my lady.”
Lucinda set aside the cordial she’d been drinking and extended a hand to him. She wore no gloves, so when he took that hand, he couldn’t help but notice the long, elegant fingers in his grasp. Raising the hand to his lips, he held her gaze while pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. Soft skin met his mouth, and a tingle of awareness spread from the point of contact.
God’s teeth, he hadn’t been so attracted to a woman on first glance in years.
“The honor is all mine, Mr. Drake,” she replied, her eyes roving over him with undisguised curiosity. “While we have never been formally introduced, I am familiar with … your skill as a master. I was impressed with what I was able to observe last night.”
His prick gave a pulse at the thought of her watching him, and he wondered what had appealed to her most about his performance—the pleasure of his fingers inside Pamela, or the sting of his hand cracking against her arse? He’d gladly give a repeat performance for her just now, Benedict’s presence in the room be damned.
As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Benedict cleared his throat and looked away as if he’d nearly witnessed something he didn’t want to see. “Well … now that the introductions are made, I’ll leave you to get better acquainted. Aubrey, the contract is on my desk if you’d like to give it a read. But, you already know what to expect.”
Approaching the desk as Benedict departed, he gave the document a cursory glance, pleased with the amount designated as his monthly allowance. It was quite a bit more than his last arrangement had earned him.
“I do apologize,” Lucinda said, drawing his gaze back to her. “But I am not certain what to expect other than the obvious. Mr. Sterling said once the contract was signed, you would guide me through the particulars.”
Turning to perch on the edge of the desk, he gestured toward the chair she’d previously occupied. “Sit, and we will discuss it.”
Lucinda hesitated only for a moment before obeying, casting him an uncertain look before sinking into the chair. He smirked at the show of defiance he’d been pushing for with the high-handed command, liking the fire he saw sparking in her eyes. A submissive—but one with a rebellious streak. His interest in her grew by the second.
“Benedict told me you are already trained as a submissive, which is good. It negates any need for instruction. An arrangement between you and I will differ from those of the others. As the keeper, you are, of course, entitled to the fulfillment of your needs and desires. However, you selected me because of my unique talents as a master, which places the majority of the control over our bedroom play in my hands. So, at the start of a new arrangement, I like to establish preliminary boundaries. These can evolve as we come to know one another better, but for now you ought to tell me what you like, what you don’t like, and what you absolutely will not allow. You may rest assured that I would never breach those boundaries. My first obligation is to your comfort.”
