Seven men were seated about a round card table leaving one chair empty. Hyde was shuffling a deck of cards showily. To his right was Lord Howling, his face red and bejoweled beneath his white wig. The rake sat to Hyde’s left. Beyond him was a country squire, his waistcoat straining over a potbelly, his stockings splotched with mud. A young aristocrat, scarcely old enough to shave, nervously tapped his fingertips on the table whilst striving to look bored. An elegant gentleman marred by a ticking eye was beside him, and the skeletal man with the skin disease was the last of the players.
Hyde looked up as Isaac approached, his eyes glittering with malice. “We await you, Captain. Please have a seat and we’ll begin. Aphrodite, show the captain his chair.”
She’d been sitting behind Hyde, as still as a statue, but she rose at his words and obediently went to hold out the empty chair.
Isaac tamped down rage. How dare this little manikin use Aphrodite as a servant? He kept his face bland as he sat in the offered chair, but as he lowered himself he heard her whisper, “Don’t let Hyde deal.”
Then she was gliding away to take her place behind Jimmy Hyde again.
“The rules of this little game are as follows, gentlemen,” Hyde said gaily. “To simplify matters I’ll serve as dealer throughout the game. You’ll play as normal otherwise, staking your own money. The winner takes not only the pot but our lovely Aphrodite as well. Agreed?”
Heads nodded around the table. Isaac kept his face impassive, but he felt cold sweat slide down his spine. Most of his money had been in his pay purse. He might’ve given it all away only to lose on the first round of this game.
“Good,” Hyde said. “Let us begin.”
Isaac placed his hands on the table, careful not to let his eyes wander to Aphrodite. “I don’t want you to deal.”
“Don’t you trust me?” Hyde asked with a grin.
Isaac smiled easily. “No.”
Jimmy Hyde’s grin froze. “Now, captain—”
Isaac turned to Lord Howling and raised his eyebrows, “Do you, my lord?”
Lord Howling stirred, his brows knit as if the possibility of Hyde’s cheating had just occurred to him. “I do not.”
Hyde’s grin went rigid, but he wasn’t about to let his money-making scheme fall flat. “Is there someone you’d suggest, my lord?”
Lord Howling frowned. He might be the highest ranked man at the table, but he wasn’t known for his quick wits.
Isaac cleared his throat. “Perhaps Aphrodite herself will do the honor, sir?”
Hyde’s quick eyes narrowed, but Lord Howling was already nodding. “Yes, let our Aphrodite deal the cards.”
Hyde was forced to accede. He rose with a sour smile on his face, and held the chair for Aphrodite with exaggerated politeness. She sat—as serene as always, her golden mask concealing whatever expression she might be wearing while her bodice revealed her beautiful white titties all the way to her rouged nipples. Isaac averted his eyes, feeling a black tide of anger surging in his breast. He’d noticed it first the last time he’d visited the Grotto—a stupid urge to beat in the face of any man staring at her nudity—and the minute he’d walked in those faux golden doors tonight he’d known it was worse.
Much worse.
Only an idiot was possessive of a harlot, a woman who deliberately flaunted her naked body before any man. A woman who could be bought for a handful of coins.
Perhaps he was too long widowed. Poor Alice had died four winters ago now. He was in the prime of his life and he had needs like any other man. But he was loath to buy a woman’s favors—even if most of his men had no such problem. He should never have come here tonight—had in fact vowed he wouldn’t enter the Grotto again after his disturbing reaction to the madam on his last visit.
Yet here he was, vow or no vow, and moreover he was gambling for Aphrodite herself tonight. His blood heated at the thought even as he watched her nimble fingers shuffled the cards into a bridge.
Swiftly she dealt three cards to each man.
Isaac picked up his hand wondering if she’d merely wanted to replace Hyde at the table or if she had a plan in mind. His cards certainly didn’t indicate any mechanism—it was a poor hand at best. He glanced at the madam under his brows. But then perhaps she had no wish to help him win.
Melancholy thought.
He pushed it from his mind as the game commenced. All survived the first and second hands, but in the third round both the youngster and the man with a tick didn’t pick up tricks and, after being forced to loo to the pot, dropped from the game. Half an hour later the country squire stomped from the room, muttering about London card sharps.
Isaac sat back and watched as Aphrodite shuffled the cards. She’d called for wine to be served to the players, but he’d declined. The fact was that he might be able to continue one or two more rounds, but after that he’d have to drop from the game as well. He’d only hung on so far by his wits and luck—if his hands were indeed luck.
Aphrodite dealt the cards and Isaac looked at his hand with a sinking heart. This would be his last round—he had no more money to loo the pot—but he’d play it as well as possible. The round began and the skeletal man grinned as Isaac passed on the first trick. Aphrodite dealt two more cards to each man and Isaac picked them up without much hope. Then he had to struggle to maintain his face. He had the Pam—the Jack of clubs—and four hearts. A flush.
He glanced at Aphrodite, but her eyes were downcast. Had she slipped him the Pam? Impossible to know.
Meanwhile Lord Howling drained his glass of wine and pushed his remaining pile of coins into the pot in the middle of the table. “Night’s getting late. End this, shall we?”
The skeletal man raised an eyebrow, but followed suit. He turned to Isaac, his twisted lip raised in a sneer. “I’m afraid you’ll have to bow out, Captain.”
“Not yet,” Isaac said quietly and laid his hand down.
For a moment there was stunned silence and then Hyde began to clap. “Oh, well done, sir, well done!”
The man with the twisted lip stood abruptly, his chair falling backward. “She slipped him the Pam!”
Isaac rose slowly, his hand on his sword, his heart beating hard.
Then Lord Howling snorted. “Don’t be a fool, Whistler. The captain won fairly. Let him enjoy the spoils of victory. Come, I’ll stand you a bottle of wine.”
Whistler went reluctantly, urged on by Howling, and Isaac didn’t let go his sword until they had left the room.
“I congratulate you, sir,” Hyde began. “If you want to begin your, ah, victory celebration, I can assure you—”
“Not now,” Isaac interrupted the foul little man. “Have you a bag for my winnings?”
“Naturally.” Jimmy Hyde smirked. “We wouldn’t want guineas falling out of your pocket as you walk the East End. I’ll fetch a purse for you.”
He left and Isaac frowned after him, wondering if Hyde planned to have him waylaid and robbed on the way home.
“You can take Billy with you,” Aphrodite murmured.
He turned back to her. She stood beside him, as lovely and wanton as always. “What?”
“Billy.” She indicated a bully boy idling by the door to the salon. “He can be trusted to guard your back on the way to your ship.”
“Ah. Thank you.” He eyed her, wondering what was going on behind that golden mask.
She glanced down. “It is I who should thank you.”
He cocked his head. “Why?”
“You know why,” she said low. He’d never heard her sound so serious before. Gone was the whore who’d drawled ribald comments to him just hours before. “You gambled your own money and saved me. Thank you.”
Isaac sighed. “I’m sorry to shatter your illusions of me as a bollocks-less white knight.”
Her head reared back and her green eyes narrowed behind her mask. “What do you mean?”
He smiled and took her hand, bending over her white knuckles as he murmured, “Only that I ful
ly intend to enjoy my prize.”
Chapter 3
As the wind whistled through the Ice Princess’s snowy halls it made a kind of music, high and sweet and strange. The Ice Princess herself seemed to sing as well, although her frozen lips never moved and her song had no words. Nevertheless, the eerie melody was carried on the north winds far and wide. Her wordless song told of longing and grief and a passion so deep it could never be fulfilled…
—from The Ice Princess
Coral stared at Captain Wargate for a moment, her eyes wide behind her golden mask. It had never occurred to her that the puritanical captain would demand his prize. But wasn’t he a man like any other? And all men were base fools when one came right down to it.
She straightened her shoulders. The curl of her upper lip was hidden by the mask, but her voice dripped with scorn when she said, “Of course, Captain. I wouldn’t dare to deprive you of anything you’d rightfully won.”
If her distain perturbed him, he made no sign. His black hawk eyes were scanning the room as if her presence hardly mattered to him. “Your graciousness overwhelms me, madam. Ah, Hyde.”
This last was addressed to Jimmy who’d come strutting back into the salon with the sack Wargate had requested for his coins. Jimmy waved it in front of Wargate like a flag before a bull. “Here you are, Captain! I hope it’s large enough for your winnings. Of course it doesn’t fit the most delectable prize.” He leered at Coral.
She stared back stonily, long since inured to Jimmy and his crass ways.
“Now, then will you be wanting guards to walk home with you?” Jimmy asked with mock sympathy. “It’s dangerous hereabouts for a lone man with bulging pockets, but I think we can lend you a couple of our boys, say at a half crown each?”
“No need,” Wargate snapped.
Jimmy made a fussy little moue. “I know you’re a big, strong man, Captain, but remember pride goeth before a fall. Why walk alone when—”
“There’s no need,” Wargate interrupted Jimmy’s prattle, “because I have no intention of walking back tonight. I’ll claim my first night tonight.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened even as Coral felt her heartbeat quicken. Tonight? She’d have no time to prepare. No time to—
“Eager to taste the delights of our Aphrodite, are you?” Jimmy giggled. “I can’t blame you. By all means, enjoy the spoils of victory, in fact—”
But Coral lost the last part of Jimmy’s snide comments because Wargate had caught her wrist and pulled her out of the salon. He started for the stairs. His legs were long and his stride fast, so she was forced to jog alongside him, panting, her breasts jiggling ungracefully.
“I’m not a dog on a leash, Captain!” she hissed.
He stopped so abruptly she cannoned into his side, her breasts smashed against his arm, one hand braced against his broad shoulders. She caught her breath, looking up into his stern black eyes. His eyebrows were lowered disapprovingly. If he had any awareness of her bosom pressed against him, he didn’t show it.
“Would you prefer to stay and listen to the drivel pouring from Hyde’s mouth?”
“No, naturally not, but—”
“Then point me to your room.”
She pressed her lips together and jerked her chin at the stairs.
He mounted them two at a time until she nearly tripped. Then he muttered something under his breath and slowed his pace. Coral tugged, but he still held her wrist firmly and she suddenly realized that she would be having sexual congress with this man very soon.
Possibly within minutes.
Her mouth went dry, her heart beating nearly out of her chest. It’d been years now since she’d let a man touch her. To feel the sense of helplessness, to be overpowered by another stronger than herself, to have to wall off that part of her spirit that rebelled against such servitude. Could she do it? But of course she must. She’d done it before. One more disgusting act hardly mattered, did it?
She snuck a glance at Wargate’s grim face. And what if the act wasn’t quite so disgusting? Could she still keep her soul intact?
Wargate halted at the top of the stairs, turning to her with a raised eyebrow.
Coral inhaled and pointed to the third door down the hall. “That one.”
He strode to it without comment and threw open the door.
Inside was a simple room furnished with a bed, chair, and small lit fire.
The captain frowned. “This isn’t your room.”
Well, of course it wasn’t. No one but her maid was allowed in her rooms. Coral compressed her lips and indicated a room at the very end of the hall.
Wargate was there in a few seconds, Coral panting beside him. This time he threw open the door to a much more sumptuous room. The bed was draped in crimson velvet, the rug thick and luxurious, and a table and two chairs sat before the fire. Coral gave a small satisfied smile. The Red Room was one of her best. Surely he’d be satisfied with it.
Except his scowl was thunderous when he turned to her this time. “Quit playing with me, madam. I want your rooms, not a whore’s set stage.”
Coral stiffened, feeling an edge of panic. Her rooms were private. They were her refuge.
“I am a whore,” she snapped. “You wouldn’t be bedding me otherwise, Captain.”
He simply looked at her.
“What do you care whose rooms these are?” she waved at the red velvet opulence in frustration. “Believe me, you shan’t be looking at the room when you’re with me.”
His sharp eyes narrowed. “I want your rooms. And before you try and tell me these are your rooms, let me point out that rich as the furniture is, there isn’t a single personal item within it.”
She tugged again at her wrist and had as much luck pulling it from his grasp as she’d had before. She settled for propping her free hand on her hip. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re obstinate,” he countered. “Do you want me to find Hyde and tell him you’ve reneged on the deal?”
No, she didn’t. Coral turned with ill grace and led him around the corner, down another corridor, and finally to a hidden door in the wall.
“Watch your head,” she muttered as she ducked inside the dark passage behind the little door.
She heard a thud and a grunt as her warning came too late and his head connected to with the low lintel. Ha! She couldn’t help but smile. This man never failed to discompose her. With everyone else—even the most disgusting animals such as Hyde—she was cool. Composed and dismissive. Only with Wargate did her blood run too hot, her composure crumple like ashes.
He was her own personal Armageddon.
The narrow little hall dead-ended with a door which was locked. Coral fished under her skirts until she found the key hanging from a ribbon at her waist. She unlocked the door and entered, not bothering to see if Captain Wargate followed.
Molly, her maidservant straightened in surprise from the little fire in the grate.
“Ma’am?” Her eyes widened and flicked to look behind Coral.
Coral felt heat rise in her cheeks behind her mask. She’d never brought a man here before. “That’ll be all, Molly.”
Molly curtsied, still looking curious, and left the room by a door on the far wall. It led to a back stairway that opened eventually into the kitchens and from there to a back door to Aphrodite’s Grotto.
Coral turned as the door clicked shut behind her maid and looked at Captain Wargate. He’d moved away from the door they’d entered and was inspecting the objects on her dresser. She grit her teeth, feeling a sense of imposition. These were her private rooms, her private possessions.
The bed was comfortable, but by no means large, the hangings a soft, faded green stripe. By the fire was a small, square table and a single chair. She used the spot both to take her meals and to look over the Grotto’s accounting books. A dark wood wardrobe held the extravagant costumes that Aphrodite wore, but at the moment a simple robe hung on the outside of the wardrobe—a gown she habitually wore whilst in her ow
n rooms. It was a lovely emerald green velvet, but the lace at the sleeve had been mended and the elbows were beginning to go bald from wear. The dresser Captain Wargate inspected held a simple white china pitcher and washing bowl, her hairbrush, a folding mirror, a pile of hairpins in a glass dish, and a miniature portrait of a worn-looking woman.
Coral inhaled. He had no right. But she knew how to distract him from his examination of her possessions.
“Shall we begin, Captain?” She drawled, her fingers going to the laces of her gown. She slowly drew them apart as she spoke. “Have you a particular fancy tonight? Perhaps you’d like my mouth and tongue on your cock? Or would you prefer to bind me to the bed for your pleasure? You may sit and I’ll ride you until we both succumb. Or you may mount me from behind like a great, randy beast. What will you, sir?”
The captain had turned during her provocative speech, but his eyes were impassive as he watched her undo the last lace. Her bodice fell open, revealing the embroidered stays underneath. She had only to unpluck the ribbon through the first few holes and then her stays gaped as well, making her breasts entirely naked. They were white and round and she knew without vanity that they were the stuff of a man’s fantasy, but Captain Wargate studied her bared bosom without a change of expression.
Finally his eyes met hers. “Will you take off your mask?”
She stiffened and blurted her reply before she could think. “No.”
For a moment panic fluttered in her breast as she waited for him to demand that she remove the mask.
But he merely sighed.
“Very well. Then, yes, there is something I’d like you to do for me.” He went to the fireplace and sat in the only chair, his legs braced apart. “Come here.”
She exhaled in relief. This she could handle. She tilted her chin and strolled toward him, every bit of all the sexual seduction she’d ever learned in her life in her step.
She stopped between his spread thighs and paused, trailing a single gold-lacquered nail from her throat down between her bared breasts. “Yes?”
“Turn around.”
Coral caught her breath and pivoted.