Page 17 of His Brazen Tart
“Do you see anything that appeals to you?” Piers asked, his breath warm and ticklish on the side of her neck.
Joan trembled at the way his whispered words traveled through her, sending darts of longing to the tips of her breasts and between her thighs. She faltered mid-step as her gaze locked onto a woman with her hands bound together and lifted above her head. A large man with broad shoulders and sensual lips stood behind her, the fingers of one hand wrapped around her bound wrists to hold them aloft, the other fondling a bare breast. A second man knelt at her feet, using a feather to tease the inside of one thigh. The woman sighed and wriggled against the man at her back, her expression one of delighted torment.
“Yes,” she choked out. “Oh, yes.”
Piers made a low sound in his throat that sounded a lot like approval. He followed her gaze to the trio engaged with one another, oblivious to the other carnal acts going on around them. “Good. This way.”
Joan took another gulp of champagne, barely able to choke it down through her constricted throat. Her every sense was on edge, yearning for stimulation. Yearning for Piers.
He led her toward a row of shadowed supper boxes, which were separated by curtains and screens, creating private cocoons for the occupants of each space. When they reached a vacant table, Piers helped her into a seat. His own chair was pushed close to hers, so that they sat on the same side with a view of the goings-on of the club. Joan hardly noticed the attendant who appeared to serve them, Piers’ orders drowned out by the roaring in her ears. Not far from them sat a pair who were dressed in matching shades of crimson and black. Joan didn’t recognize them by appearance, but knew by their dress that they were of the upper crust. Aside from that, however, she noticed the gleam of a gold ring on the lady’s left hand, as well as the undoubted familiarity of the pair. Her lips parted on a sigh of wonder.
“Married people frequent this place?”
The question came spilling out before she could think better of it, and it earned her an amused glance from Piers.
“Of course,” he replied, while the footman retreated with swift steps. “People of all sorts find the club comforting. The kind of people seeking a reprieve from wearing a mask in front of the entire world. I would imagine that a man and wife might enjoy being able to show one another affection in a way they cannot during society functions, as it is quite unfashionable to be publicly besotted with one’s spouse.”
Joan stared at her place setting in bewilderment. Of course, she knew that it was possible for a husband and wife to not only love each other, butlikeone another as well. She had been witness to such a bond between Miranda and her dear husband, Roger. The two were enamored with one another. However, her friend’s marriage was the exception in her world, not the rule. From the outside looking in, the majority oftonmarriages appeared much like her own had been—cold, passionless, and miserable. To see this couple sharing a table and trading kisses between bites of dessert and looks of pure devotion left an odd feeling in Joan’s belly.
Her stomach twisted and her chest burned as she tore her gaze away from the pair. Their life together couldn’t possibly be as blissful as it appeared from the outside. She told herself it was a veneer, made of the very same falsities as the dreams that had led Joan to heartbreak. Happy marriages weren’t attainable for women in her position, barring some kind of divine intervention. As it had only been a year since Miranda had found the perfect second husband in Roger, Joan supposed that the Lord was fresh out of miracles.
They were served a light supper, though Joan hardly tasted a bite. Piers remained mostly silent, seeming to sense that she was too overwhelmed by the stimuli of her environment for conversation. The attendant had just cleared away their supper dishes and offered dessert—which Piers declined—when a well-dressed man approached their table.
He was tall and slender with a long, solemn face and a head full of glossy dark-brown hair that he wore in a queue. Piers offered the intruder a grin and came to his feet.
“Lyons, I didn’t know you would be in attendance tonight.”
Despite Piers’ warm smile, the other man’s expression remained dour and unmoving. Unlike the other patrons of the club, he was plainly dressed and didn’t appear to enjoy himself as much as everyone else.
“Someone has to ensure the champagne is always flowing and that the fountain is always … filled,” Lyons replied, taking Piers’ outstretched hand.
Piers released this man who was apparently his friend, and turned to Joan. She took his proffered hand and came to her feet, offering Lyons a courteous nod of her head.
“My companion, Mrs. D,” Piers said, presenting her with a flourish of one hand, as if showing off a trinket or a painting.
Joan stiffened at the cavalier gesture, but held her chin high. “Mr. Lyons,” she said with a tight smile. “You are a bold man indeed to appear here without a mask.”
Lyon accepted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I wish I could claim to be bold, ma’am, but the truth is that all of London knows that I am the proprietor of Olympus. As I am no one of any importance amongst such fine company, it is of no consequence.”
Joan couldn’t help but envy the man. The crush filling this room from wall to wall meant that this particular business venture must be quite lucrative. She imagined this Lyons fellow enjoyed the benefits of wealth without the pressures of conforming to the strictures of theton.
“I see,” she replied. “Well, your establishment is very … interesting, Mr. Lyons.”
The barest hint of amusement ticked at the corner of his firm mouth, but he was otherwise unmoved. “Thank you, ma’am. I certainly hope that Sir Piers will ensure your time here is unforgettable. Meanwhile … I had hoped I could have a word? It will only take a moment.”
This last bit was directed at Piers, who helped Joan take her seat again, before signaling a passing attendant for more champagne.
“Of course,” he said, handing Joan one of the goblets and keeping the other for himself. “I’ll only be a moment. Wait here.”
Joan stared after Piers’ retreating back, lips parted in dismay. He clapped a hand on Mr. Lyons’ shoulder as they disappeared through the parting sea of bodies. The bounder didn’t even bother to look back.
With a graceless huff, she downed the dregs of her first goblet of champagne before snatching up the one Piers had just given her. His list of rules echoed through Joan’s mind, furthering her irritation. How dare he bring her to this place with an arbitrary set of guidelines for her to adhere to, before abandoning her as if she were of no consequence? She had been promised a lively and pleasurable evening, and her courtesan seemed to have no intention of delivering on either.
“Sod you, Piers,” she grumbled under her breath.
Then, she gulped down her entire second helping of champagne before getting to her feet. If Piers couldn’t be relied upon, she would simply make the most of the night herself.
The brief conversationregarding an expansion on the club had been necessary, but Piers was anxious to get back to his keeper. He approached the supper box to find it occupied by another couple. The pair of men were laughing over their dinner and leaning into one another in a way that made them appear as lovers rather than mere friends. As Piers stood over them glowering, two pairs of annoyed eyes stared back at him. After realizing that the fault was his own and he was intruding on the solitude of the men, Piers gave them an apologetic nod and moved on.
