Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

S anctuary! At last!

Neville stepped out of the club's complimentary black hackney, then held out his hand to assist Arabella down onto the footpath illuminated by two large lanterns at the nondescript entrance.

At this point he could scarcely contain his excitement. And although Arabella was a far more pragmatic soul than him, it was clear by the sparkle in her beautiful blue eyes that even she was eager for their night to begin.

"Here we are," said Neville, as he ushered her into the building. As usual, they were greeted by what appeared to be a busy and prosperous modiste: rows and rows of gowns waiting to be boxed and sent, countless bolts of fabric, trims in a glass case, and a large, well-lit room of six seemingly industrious seamstresses. This was the mask to deter the law, gossips, and nosy troublemakers; not a single gown was created here. The ‘seamstresses' were all Sanctuary maids who took turns in the seats amongst their other duties within the club.

Sanctuary itself was spread across four fairly modern three-story red-brick townhouses on Manchester Street that had been significantly reconfigured and refurbished since their construction in the 1770s. From the false shop, novices were directed to the left—and their final trial of a truly diabolical but thankfully short underground cellar maze—while current members like himself and Arabella continued down a hallway to the right.

"You're thinking about the maze of doom, aren't you?" said Arabella, her grin knowing.

"It will haunt me for eternity. I know it only takes a few minutes, but it feels like hours of walking bare stone tunnels and all you can hear is your breathing and the echo of your shoes. I was ready to claw the walls," he replied with great dignity.

His wife laughed. "Madam Venus knows how to separate the wheat from the chaff. Fortunately, it's only the first time that people get directed left. In saying that, I honestly don't know what her seamstresses would do if someone actually arrived to be measured for a new gown."

"Could you imagine," said Neville, chuckling as they approached the reception area. It was elegant yet tranquil with cream silk walls, brown leather couches, thick carpets, and tasteful oil paintings hanging in gilt frames. Heavy cream velvet drapes covered the windows, the room had a softly welcoming glow from beeswax candles in polished silver candelabras, and the well-tended fireplace kept the room pleasantly warm.

They were greeted deferentially by an attendant who then swiftly departed to fetch Madam Venus.

Arabella hesitated. "Oh, I forgot to ask. Did you have any preferences for tonight's playfellow?"

A tall, hazel-eyed duke .

Neville cleared his throat as he swallowed down the foolish words. The likelihood of Stanforth keeping the card was small enough, but attending tonight? Ha. "You know how partial I am to brawny submissives. The kind who look like they could snap a body in half but kneel so demurely and beg to suck cock. Or perhaps a very proper gentleman who swoons at the sight of your perfect breasts and can only be revived by an emergency dose of pussy nectar."

Arabella laughed, not a delicate titter, but the full-blooded, full-bellied sound he cherished. "Ten years you have entertained me with such wordplay and I shall never grow tired of it. Either of those options sounds delicious. As it has been six months since our last visit, there might be quite a few new candidates to consider."

God willing, a tall, hazel-eyed duke .

Neville tossed his head, annoyed at himself for yet another thought about Stanforth. He needed to remain in reality, not indulge in whimsy. "I cannot wait to find out who might be available...ah, here she is, the Empress of Eros herself. Good evening, Madam Venus," he finished cheerfully.

The smiling owner of Sanctuary strolled toward them, an exquisitely dressed, bejeweled, and lithe blond woman of about fifty years. Just like Arabella, Venus's father had been a successful merchant, although she'd married a retired soldier rather than a lord. Also just like Arabella, Venus ruled her domain with an iron fist in a satin glove.

"My dears!" said Madam Venus, kissing them both on the cheek. "It's been far too long. Zachariah sends his love, but he is currently occupied in removing a broken bed. I have repeatedly told a certain group of ladies no more than five soldiers at a time, but they will persist in playing their favorite game: Seven is Heaven. What a damned bother."

Arabella snorted. "It wouldn't matter if you etched it on their foreheads, Vee. Not even Wellington could halt a pack of dowagers who have done their duty and are now able to fuck someone they actually want."

"Very true," said Madam Venus as she ushered them into her spacious and well-appointed office. "Now onto far more important matters…happy anniversary! Ten years have simply flown by."

"They have," agreed Ara, sinking gracefully into a butter-soft leather armchair. "The ten happiest years of my life."

Neville squeezed his wife's hand as he also sat down. "I concur. And I can't think of anywhere we'd rather be than here at Sanctuary to celebrate. What delectable fare do you have available for us tonight?"

Surprisingly, Madam Venus hesitated, leaning back in her chair and tapping her fingernails on her carved oak desk. "I have several scrumptious playfellow options. However, before I make introductions, I wanted to put forward a different possibility. Something you've not tried before."

"Oh?" said Arabella, her expression turning intently curious. "And what might that be?"

"I've just concluded an interview with a mature but inexperienced gentleman who has known only a coldly dutiful marriage bed. He expressed a strong interest in watching a loving married couple who enjoy fucking, perhaps taking part if invited to do so. While he does not wish to put his cock in a cunt, this gentleman is amenable to using his tongue or fingers as instructed. Also, he's never been touched intimately by another man, but I believe he just might be a little curious. So you would essentially be initiating a beginner. A green tunic."

Neville's heart began to pound. No. Surely not.

Could Stanforth possibly be the mystery beginner?

"Is there anything else you can tell us about this novice?" asked Neville urgently.

Madam Venus smiled. "His nickname is Charlie. He's tall, broad-shouldered, skittish as a mistreated colt and will need plenty of praise and encouragement. A man of position and great responsibility. But as you both know, sometimes men who hold the most power in the world wish for a little respite. To have someone else make decisions. To be forced to their knees in the bedchamber."

Arabella sat forward, licking her lips. "He's a powerful submissive? I would be his first owner?"

"I suspect he is," said Madam Venus slowly. "Truthfully, I doubt Charlie has ever had the opportunity to explore his own desires. In the absence of love, of safety, of fucking just for pleasure, it is hard to identify one's true sexual self. How could Charlie know how desperate he is to be commanded? But eyes are the window to the soul, and he yearns . Reminds me of a certain baron."

His wife made a sound of raw lust. Neville was already pressing his thighs together in a futile effort to ease the constriction of his trousers. Charlie was Stanforth, he could feel it in his bones. And just the thought of initiating the duke, of pleasuring Ara in front of him, showing him how to worship her properly…then touching him as he obeyed…perhaps even slowly, gently fucking Stanforth's virgin arse…

Neville sucked in an uneven breath. "What do you think, Ara?"

"Yes," said Arabella decisively. "Nev and I will give poor Charlie the best night of his life thus far."

Madam Venus grinned. "Excellent. You have the diamond chamber, of course. Charlie is currently being bathed and prepared; once you're changed and ready, meet me in the ballroom and I'll introduce him to Gage and Laurel."

In his fervent anticipation, Neville had almost forgotten about his nickname. While he loved the way Arabella purred or growled "Nev", he'd always struggled with his dull given names of Neville Gage. To him, neither sounded sensual or strong—he was quite content to be called Carlisle. But at least Gage was easy to remember, as was Laurel for his wife.

A quarter hour later, Neville and Arabella had completed their mandatory sponge bath and were wearing their club-issued, knee-length tunics, fashioned of gold satin. He loved wearing satin, the way it felt so cool and decadent against his skin. Now just one task remained: helping each other with the black cloth caps that entirely covered their hair, and the close-fitting black satin demi masks that concealed all but their mouth and jaw.

Arabella slid her hand under his tunic and briefly gripped his still-tender arse, her fingernails lightly scraping his skin. "I could just eat you all up. You know how wet it makes me, seeing you ready to play."

Neville's mouth watered. He would never get enough of his wife's heavenly pussy. "Fortunately you'll have two tongues this evening. But before we go…I must tell you this. I think I know who Charlie really is. You know how I told you at supper that acertain duke approached me at the tea house for information about Sir Kenneth Lochore? I gave him my card. And told him to use it here. If his eyes are hazel with gold flecks…"

Arabella gasped. Then shivered. "Oh God. The things I'm going to do to him. But let's not keep our novice waiting. Come along, my darling."

He grinned. "As you command, madam."

"How are you feeling, Charlie?"

Edmund forced a smile at Madam Venus's soft enquiry. Reeling was a word. Floundering. Anxious. Vulnerable.

Opening one's heart and baring one's soul were simply not actions a Vane undertook. Ever. And yet earlier he'd permitted this kind yet brisk woman to subject him to the most painfully intensive interrogation of his life: ruthlessly removing his armor of title and power, probing old wounds and scars…and uncovering desires he didn't even realize he possessed.

Now he was breaking the most strident Vane rule of unfailing propriety; standing in the middle of a spacious yet crowded ballroom wearing a mask, hair covering, and a goddamned green satin tunic that barely reached mid-thigh. Waiting for a couple that he prayed would be Neville and Arabella Carlisle, so he could watch them fuck.

It was enough to give anyone palpitations.

"Well enough," he answered politely, glancing about the ballroom for the hundredth time, trying in vain to locate his potential evening companions.

Naturally he couldn't request the Carlisles by name, but he'd tried to be specific. Loving married couple. A woman with bountiful curves. Experienced. A charming, well-spoken man. However, there were so many people here, and with the masks and tunics, it was almost impossible to tell who they were. No matter their rank in society outside these walls, everyone was equal and anonymous in their quest for pleasure.

What if another couple strolled up? He'd not thought this through at all.

He'd not thought any of this through, from accepting Carlisle's card to loitering outside for a solid twenty minutes, to stumbling through that godawful underground maze. Once again, was he the creator of his own downfall?

Edmund gulped, firmly resisting the urge to flee. Clearly, only he felt like this. Everyone else in the ballroom seemed so damned happy . Some were sipping brandy or wine or selecting bite-sized treats from the lavish buffet table. Others were being introduced to a prospective lover or lovers and the chatter was deafening, although not as loud as the cheers and applause from one corner where a small crowd watched exhibitionists through a glass window.

While there were two others wearing green tunics, both had already been claimed. In truth, if Madam Venus wasn't standing beside him, he might have leaped out the nearest window and sprinted all the way back to St. James's Square. The unknown was bloody terrifying. Would they think him a fool? Disdain his lack of knowledge and experience? Wonder which affliction kept him living like a bloody monk instead of enjoying a string of mistresses?

Damnation. He couldn't do it. This impulsive idea was the worst in the history of the world.

About to inform Madam Venus he'd changed his mind, he instead swallowed the words as the woman waved and beckoned two masked people in gold tunics toward her. One was a tall and lean man, almost as tall as himself, but moving with a panther-like grace and confidence. The woman on his arm was petite and so voluptuous that her tunic strained against her breasts and backside and belly and upper thighs, a battle of clothing and flesh that hopefully would see her body the victor, for it was surely a crime to constrain such lushness.

It was the Carlisles. God forgive him, he would recognize Lady Arabella Carlisle's figure blindfolded and in the dark. When the former Miss Ferndale had entered the marriage mart, every titled bachelor in the realm pursued her, and he'd envied them the freedom to do so. As he was a married man, the beautiful heiress had not even glanced his way, but it had been rather fascinating watching a procession of cocky senior peers approach her, so sure of success, only to be soundly rejected. Then Arabella had caused a further storm by wedding Neville Carlisle, an older baron without ancient lineage, vast estates, or wealth, and Edmund had envied her as well, for even as a woman with so few legal rights, Arabella had been able to choose her spouse.

Madam Venus cleared her throat as the couple halted in front of them. "Good evening. Rather than me blathering on, why don't you two introduce yourselves?"

Carlisle's firm lips curved up in a warm smile as he bowed. His arms and legs were dusted with dark blond hair, his jaw revealed a hint of shadow, and even with a mask covering two-thirds of his face, those expressive chocolate-brown eyes missed nothing. "Good evening. I'm Gage, at your service, sir."

Edmund bit his lip, his stomach fluttering at the smooth words with a hint of mischief. What service was he referring to? "G-Good evening," he stuttered, before taking another breath for composure. "I'm…er…Charlie."

"Charlie," purred Arabella as she regally inclined her head rather than curtsying. All the while her vibrant blue eyes glittered in a bold, proprietary way that urged him to surrender and kneel. "What a fine figure of a man you are. So enticing. You may call me Madam Laurel."

Edmund's cheeks heated at the compliment and he was briefly grateful for the annoying mask. "Thank you."

Her lips twitched. "Now, tell me, Charlie. How do you feel about plump ladies? My darling Gage willingly puts himself at risk of suffocation between my breasts or perhaps being crushed by my thighs when he worships my greedy pussy. Are you as brave as he?"

A strangled gasp tore from his throat at the blunt, explicit words. And yet now that Arabella had said them, he could actually see himself sucking her nipples as she firmly held his head in place. Or, oh Christ, being restrained, forced to lick her pussy clean under threat of punishment if he didn't gather every drop of honey with his tongue…

Edmund shuddered, his fists clenching as he tried desperately to calm his raging arousal. What the hell was happening? He'd never considered submitting to a woman, and hadn't been physically punished since receiving the cane at Eton. Yet somehow imagining the two together made blood rush straight to his cock.

Oh no. He was harder than stone. Tenting his damned tunic in front of everyone. And he couldn't disguise it.

Mortified, Edmund stared at his feet. "I…er…"

"Fuck, I'm hard," said Carlisle abruptly. "Madam Laurel, I am begging you to take us to the diamond chamber or I'm going to come like a geyser in the middle of this ballroom."

Edmund's head shot up to look straight into the other man's twinkling eyes…then he glanced back down at Carlisle's groin. It was true! The baron's cock also jutted against his tunic! But even more shocking; Carlisle was completely unbothered. Perhaps…perhaps becoming aroused so swiftly wasn't a humiliating failure?

Arabella turned to her husband. "You're so naughty , trying to provoke me into spanking you. I suspect our new friend Charlie here might also be rather wicked."

Madam Venus, who had been silently observing their interplay, chuckled. "I suspect you three are going to get along famously. I'll leave you to become better acquainted. The diamond chamber is ready when you are."

And with that, Sanctuary's owner strolled away to another small group.

"So," said Arabella airily. "I think we should retire to our room immediately, don't you?"

"An excellent idea," said Carlisle. "You're going to leave Sanctuary a new man, Charlie."

All Edmund could do was nod as he followed the couple across the ballroom, through a set of double doors guarded by two burly footmen, and down a long, carpeted hallway. It actually resembled any wealthy home; plenty of beeswax candles to light the way, embossed paper on the walls, velvet drapes, a few Constable landscapes and even a bust of King George. Yet he couldn't appreciate any of it. Not when his mind was spinning.

He was desperately curious about submission. The Carlisle marriage. Sexual discipline. Bedding purely for pleasure not procreation and speaking freely of desires. Yet while all that seemed a giant step forward in the quest to find his true self, one aspect still held him back: not wanting to wear a tunic, mask, and hair covering. Or be Charlie. He wanted this fantasy to be real. For Edmund to be experiencing this whole new world with Neville and Arabella , not Gage and Laurel.

When they finally reached the last door at the end of the hallway, a smiling maid bobbed a curtsy, then handed over a brass key to Arabella before quickly departing.

The baroness smiled as she unlocked the door and held it open. "The diamond chamber. Prepare to be impressed, Charlie."

Her husband started to walk into the room, until Edmund blurted, "Wait."

Both Carlisles froze.

"Yes?" said Arabella, her tone cautious.

How the hell did he say this without sounding like a madman? Or a milksop? Madam Venus had made it very plain that her club's rules were sacrosanct, and here he was about to request the breaking of a key one: anonymity.

"I want this very much," Edmund began carefully. "But—"

"It is completely understandable to feel anxious," said Arabella, her gaze softening as she reached out and touched his arm. "We were a bundle of nerves our first time."

"Absolutely," added Carlisle. "I couldn't even stand still. I was hopping from one foot to the other like a demented rabbit."

"It's not that," said Edmund, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I want…I want to break a rule."

Arabella's eyes widened. "We'll discuss inside," she said firmly.

He gulped. It was now or never.

Stanforth, the first-night novice at Sanctuary, wanted to break a rule? In the presence of Madam Arabella?

The audacity .

Arabella pressed her lips together in annoyance as she guided the errant duke into the well-lit and pleasantly warm diamond chamber; around London's largest bed made up with linen so soft it would be like gliding on water, past the huge, diamond-studded rectangular mirrors offering views from all angles, and away from the huge embroidered screen that divided off a corner of the room for bathing or ablutions.

Instead, she settled herself into a leather armchair beside the smoldering fireplace and gestured for Stanforth to stand before her so he might make his case. Neville curled up on the adjacent chaise like a lazy house cat, but his gaze was watchful.

"So," she said crisply, trying not to notice how broad the duke's shoulders were, how firm and muscled his thighs, the objective loveliness of his gold-flecked hazel eyes, or that he had the kind of slightly fuller bottom lip that urged a lady to bite it. "You wish to break a rule, Charlie? I will say, I am usually very much against this, but I am curious which rule you deem so unimportant. Do explain."

The duke visibly swallowed, then endearingly tugged on the ends of his short green tunic like he was trying to cover more of his thighs, a rather futile exercise. "I know this goes against Sanctuary's much-vaunted anonymity. I thought I could manage the false name and the mask and the hair covering, but as it turns out, no matter how far I run to escape myself, I cannot. I'm a forty-year-old man who has bedded one woman and gained no pleasure from it, for my marriage was a forced mismatch and very unhappy. I've never taken a mistress, for I didn't want further bedchamber transactions. I feel like I'm standing on a clifftop with two excellent teachers, waiting to learn how to soar, but I can't do that as Charlie. I want to be me. And you to be you."

Nev snapped to attention on the chaise. "Then you know who we are," he said thoughtfully.

"Yes," said Stanforth quietly. "I guided Madam Venus with as much detail as I could, because I didn't want to embark on this journey with complete strangers. But I think you also know who I am. So what I'm asking is…if tonight could be real. If you aren't comfortable with my request, and that is completely understandable, I'll leave immediately so you might continue to enjoy your evening."

Arabella blinked, stunned to the core. Of all the rules that she had supposed a wealthy, extremely powerful duke might want to break, that was literally the last one. And the aching loneliness in Stanforth's voice when he'd spoken of his past!

She shifted restlessly on the armchair. Initiating a novice was an erotic fantasy she didn't even know she wanted until Vee had put forth the idea. And it was arousing beyond measure. But this man, this duke , was already tugging at her heartstrings, a thoroughly unwanted concern and tenderness well beyond merely wanting to command his body in bed. And that was bloody terrifying.

In saying that, though, if everyone already knew everyone, why bother with the masks and hair covers? When it came to fucking, they were an annoyance. And it was naturally easier to be Arabella rather than Laurel. Would it really be so bad if they broke this particular rule in this private, locked room? No one need ever know. And it was only for one night, after all.

Arabella rose slowly to her feet and approached the duke. When she stood directly in front of him, she placed her hand in the center of his chest, allowing her fingertips to brush his flat male nipples through the satin of his tunic, making him groan. A swift glance down confirmed that indeed, that rather splendid erection still very much wished to play.

"Very well," she said briskly. "I will permit the removal of masks and hair coverings this evening. And the use of real names. But understand one thing, Your Grace …if you remain in this chamber, you will belong to me the entire time, following my every command just as my husband does. If you are truly ready to experience the erotic freedom in submitting to a woman, then say yes. I will move slowly…but I'll not be gentle."

The duke moaned softly, his heartbeat becoming slightly erratic under her palm. "Yes," he said hoarsely. "Oh yes."

Arabella smiled inwardly. Even now, her prospective pet was angling his shoulders a little so she might caress him further. Stanforth was clearly touch-starved, something that would shortly be remedied.

"Yes, ma'am ," she ordered. "If you follow my instructions and demonstrate proper respect, you'll find I'm very generous toward lovers who please me."

"Orgasms beyond your wildest dreams, Your Grace," said Neville as he lounged back on the chaise and casually caressed his hard shaft through the gold satin. "My cock hurts at the thought of what we're going to teach you. How you're going to come and come."

Stanforth shuddered and began to pant. "I…er…"

"It's very simple," said Arabella as she trailed her fingers down until they rested just above the duke's rearing cock. "All you have to say is ‘please, ma'am, remove my mask and hair cover' and we may begin your first lesson in sexual obedience."

She actually held her breath waiting for his reply; even Neville had tensed on the chaise. Never had an answer been so important. With every fiber of her being she wanted to initiate this man to pleasure, to wreck him with orgasms and leave him sore and satiated and forever changed by his meeting with Arabella Carlisle at Sanctuary.

At last, Stanforth met her gaze, and she was struck by two thoughts: the honest vulnerability in his eyes, something utterly startling for a duke so used to power and control in a world constructed entirely for men. But far sweeter than that, his submission.

"Please, ma'am, remove my mask and hair cover," he said quietly but clearly. Then the duke bent down so she wouldn't have to go up onto her toes.

Pleased at the thoughtful gesture—only Nev had ever instinctively considered her comfort before his own—Arabella rewarded Stanforth by trailing her fingertips along his swollen cock and briefly squeezing the end, making him gasp.

God, she burned to dominate and discipline the duke. To own him. To have him beg to please her. To be the first woman who left him senseless with pleasure. But she and Nev needed to move slowly, a gradual introduction to the world they knew so well.

Reaching up, she carefully removed his hair cover, revealing thick brown hair, cut military-short at the back and sides. Then she removed his mask.

"There you are, Stanforth," Arabella said, smiling as she cupped his face and gently rubbed her thumbs across his cheekbones. "Indeed, it would have been a dreadful shame to hide such an attractive face. Nev, I'll attend to your hair cover and mask, and you'll remove mine."

In no time at all, all three were ready, although Arabella did take another moment to smack her husband's thigh for playing with his fully erect cock without permission.

"What next, Madam?" asked Nev, his glittering gaze an agonized plea for sexual relief as he waited on the chaise.

Only Nev understood her cruelty as she leaned down and kissed him softly, sweetly, before turning back to Stanforth. "Now, Your Grace. How much you wish to learn is entirely up to you. There'll be no pregnancy risks whatsoever, but this is a one night only offer. From you I want to hear every moan, every gasp, every roar. And you will inform me immediately if you are unsure or unwilling; our play can stop or move in a different direction at any time. Do you understand?"

Stanforth smiled shyly, his shoulders relaxing. "Yes, ma'am."

Oh God. There he was again, making her feel something. The duke was not another Neville to pet and cosset. He was an attractive man to use for her pleasure. That was all.

Irritated at her lapse, Arabella met Stanforth's gaze. "Then let us begin. Take off your tunic."

He actually hesitated. "Er…"

"Do you want me to go first?" asked Nev, already reaching for the hem of his gold tunic.

"No!" said Stanforth quickly. "I mean…well…"

Arabella raised one eyebrow. "You cannot tell me, having attended Cambridge, that you've never seen another man's naked body, Your Grace."

The duke's shoulders slumped a little. "I have. But I never joined in when the lads got rowdy. A Vane does not indulge in frivolity ."

She inhaled slowly, fiercely resisting the urge to take the man in her arms and stroke his hair. Bloody aristocratic parents and their bloody awful ways of raising sons. Coming from a warm and loving home, Arabella had been shocked to discover how touch-starved, how coldly indifferent , Nev's upbringing had been. He'd needed a great deal of care, and it seemed Stanforth required the same. To learn how to cherish his body and be proud of it.

"Nev darling," said Arabella slowly. "Please take off your tunic. I wish Stanforth to see your delectable figure. To admire it. To know that it will please me to show off his own."

Her husband nodded, tugging off the gold garment and tossing it onto the chaise, preening in the guise of stretching as he revealed his lean, elegant form. His long cock. And that sensational backside.

Stanforth paused, openly staring. And then, in one quick, awkward movement, he removed his own tunic.

Arabella licked her lips. Two exceedingly handsome, naked men. Both hers to command.

Exactly how she liked it.