Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

" I 'm sorry for running, Mary. I panicked."

Sitting at the scarred dressing table, Xenia met Alice's pleading gaze in the mirror. She had been putting on the last touches of her nun's costume when Alice found her. Resentment at the other's betrayal smoldered, and Ethan's words snuck into her head.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Not that she wanted to think about him. After their kiss, he'd left for London, accompanied by Mr. Valentine. He'd been gone a week, and Brunswick had no idea when he would be back. He hadn't left her any message…which was no surprise. He'd made it crystal clear that he regretted kissing her. That he saw her as his servant and nothing more.

Two could play at that game.

Henceforth, she would only think of him in professional terms. She concentrated on her duties, determined to prove how capable she was. Luckily, Daisy and Berta, the maids she'd hired at the mop fair, were there to help. Daisy, a robust brunette, was a bit domineering, but timid blonde Berta had an easygoing nature that balanced things out. They'd cleaned the manor from top to bottom and helped Xenia replace the moth-eaten curtains with new ones purchased from the village draper.

William and Fred, the new footmen, were young but progressing under Brunswick's guidance. William was shy, perhaps due to his unfortunate case of the spots. Xenia had given him one of her creams, which contained calendula to soothe his skin, and his complexion was on the mend. Fred was also a bit reticent, unless he was around animals. He was the only one who could manage the rooster Xenia had bought at the mop fair.

Dubbed "Brutus" by the staff, the bird strutted around the coop, his bright-red comb resembling an ancient Spartan helmet. Vigilant and bloodthirsty, Brutus attacked anyone he perceived as a threat to the hens. He made an exception for Fred, whom he graciously allowed into his domain to collect eggs.

In addition to the new household staff, Xenia had managed to retain the services of carpenters. Mr. Bailey had introduced her to his cousins twice removed, Thomas and Reggie Hirschfield. Expert woodworkers, the Hirschfield brothers had restored the double staircase and were fixing up the rest of Bottoms House. Day by day, Xenia could see her vision for the manor unfolding. As she knew from her experience living in dumps, a little care went a long way.

Give a house some care and attention, and it gives you what you need.

By the time Lord Ethan returned—if he returned—he would be in for a surprise. Xenia was going to stun him with her household management skills. She would prove to him that she was a consummate professional…and that she hadn't given their stupid kiss another thought.

She told herself that things had worked out for the best. She needed her independence, not some grumpy and uppity lover. Thus, when the Abbess had left word of this evening's masquerade, Xenia had jumped at the opportunity to resurrect Sister Sirena. The event was at a tucked-away manor several miles from Chuddums. Until the bawd could secure a permanent location, the masquerades had to be impromptu affairs, but news had spread, and the crowd downstairs surpassed even that of the old venue.

It was the perfect opportunity for Xenia to add to her savings. But first she had to deal with her colleague.

"Forget about it," she said coolly as she adjusted her wimple.

"You can forgive me?" Alice's blue eyes shimmered with remorse.

Alice was the brothel's most sought-after light-skirt not just because of her sensual blonde looks. She was also a talented actress; she'd only shown her true colors when she'd abandoned the friend who'd come to her aid. While Xenia's mama had derided her for being weak and stupid, Xenia was not a simpleton and learned from her mistakes.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

"I can move past what happened," Xenia replied.

"You're such a good sport, dear!" Alice hugged her, enveloping her in a cloying rose scent. "I swear on my mama's grave that the next time I'm at the docks, I won't give that bastard Patrick Harlow the time o' day."

Xenia's stare was incredulous. "You intend to return to the docks? Alice, after what happened?—"

"Like I said, I'll steer clear o' Harlow."

"He's part of the Corrigans, you know. A notorious gang. You don't want that trouble in your life?—"

"Ain't you sweet to care?" Alice cooed, patting her on the cheek. "But I can take care o' myself. Speaking o' which, I got gentlemen to entertain and so do you. I shall see you later."

The light-skirt sauntered off, leaving a trail of perfume.

As Ethan entered the masquerade, he wondered if his presence was a mistake.

In its prior incarnation, the Nunnery had offered a private entrance to see Sister Sirena, making it possible to avoid other guests. The promise of anonymous pleasure, with no physical contact, had led him to seek her out that first time. He'd gone in with little expectation and left with more than he'd bargained for.

Tonight, however, things felt…wrong.

There were too many people, for one thing. By the looks of the fashionable crowd, a goodly number of the attendees had come from London. Undoubtedly, this was due to the Abbess's discreet advertisements in a prominent London newspaper about her "revived entertainments." It was how he had learned about tonight's event. Even though he was masked, the last thing he wanted was to run into an acquaintance. While in Town last week, he hadn't ventured to his clubs or any of the places where he would have to endure polite conversation and pitying looks.

He'd needed time to himself…and time away from Jane.

Recalling how he'd smashed Jane's spectacles, he felt his chest tighten. The sight of her mangled frames had brought him to his senses: in his damaged state, he had no right to get involved with her. Moreover, she'd just survived an assault, and she was his employee…and there he was, pawing at her. It didn't matter that they'd shared the hottest, most carnal kiss he'd ever experienced. He had acted no better than the bastard he'd dispatched in the alleyway.

He realized that Jane was the main reason his presence here felt wrong. Yet he was hardly betraying her: at best, their relationship was professional, and at worst…God, he hoped she didn't hate him, though he'd earned her enmity. In fact, he'd come tonight to discharge his lust—so that he wouldn't give in to his filthy impulses toward his little housekeeper. Talking with Sirena would distract him, give him something else to fantasize about. Something other than kissing Jane again, bending her over his desk, and plowing her until she screamed his name.

He consulted his pocket watch. As he had time before his appointment with Sirena, he might as well circulate. He followed the crowd toward the public rooms. He didn't know how the Abbess had managed to secure the country house for her event, but she'd transformed it into a Bacchanalia, a celebration of the god of wine and ecstasy. Vines of plump grapes were draped along the corridor, and the air was heavy with incense.

In the drawing room, festivities were in progress. A dozen light-skirts were dancing to the clapping and whistling of the masked guests. Ethan guessed they were supposed to be Maenads, their bodies draped in filmy veils. They whirled through the room, teasing the audience by shedding their coverings piece by piece. Once naked, they proudly displayed their wares, pushing up their breasts and bending over to show their pink folds glistening with oil. They whipped the crowd into a frenzy, men shouting out bids for the pleasure of their company.

A pair of naked blonde doxies sauntered up to Ethan and flanked him. The one on his left was tall and slender, the other short and voluptuous.

"Looking for company, sir?" The taller one spoke through rouged lips. "I'm Alice, and this is Annie. We're sisters."

He didn't think they were sisters any more than they were true blondes. As neither feature held any particular appeal for him, he politely declined.

"Are you certain, luvie?" Annie pressed her generous breasts against his arm. "Double the pleasure, double the fun."

The women leaned in, their mouths meeting in front of his. Although his brows elevated at the acrobatic agility of their tongues, that was the only part of him to rise.

He extricated himself. "I have a prior engagement."

"'Ere to see Sirena, are you? She 'as a talented tongue, that's for certain. But so do I." Annie winked. "Take me into the room wif you, and when she gets to the climax o' the story, I'll get you to a real one, eh?"

"Or take me," Alice cooed. "I'm at my best on my knees."

While he didn't doubt the light-skirts' claims, he didn't want to share his time with Sirena. The intimacy he'd felt with her, even though it wasn't real, was the reason he'd returned.

"Good evening, ladies."

He bowed and walked away, leaving behind the pouting pair. As he made his way deeper into the masquerade, the lighting dimmed, along with the crowd's inhibitions. In the music room, a prostitute was playing the piano—badly, in part because she was also bouncing on a guest's lap. She pounded on his prick and on the keys, and it was clear which was her true skill. Ethan cringed as she massacred blameless arpeggios. Her audience was less discerning. Sprawled in chairs, masked men were watching her, their fingers clenching in the hair of the kneeling whores whose heads bobbed in rhythm to the clamor that approximated music.

Ethan continued to the ballroom, which had been transformed into a Roman hall…an appropriate setting for the orgy that was taking place amidst the plaster columns and lush potted palms. Guests were taking full advantage of the long banquet table, upon which whores had arranged themselves like a carnal feast. A brunette on all fours took a fellow in her mouth and from behind. Next to her, a sandy blonde sat astride a guest while frigging two others.

Draped over the far end of the table, a group of five were connected in a writhing chain. The head of the line, a redhead lying on her back with a hirsute fellow thrusting heavily into her, smiled and crooked a finger at Ethan. He shook his head and moved on. The surrounding carnality, while provocative, did little to stir him. He craved something else…something more. And it was nearing time for him to have it.

He exited the ballroom and mounted the steps to the next floor. A footman directed him to Sirena's "confessional," which turned out to be a bedchamber at the end of the hall. The attendant at the door bade him to wait. A few minutes later, the door opened, and a patron strolled out, his smile satisfied beneath his demi-mask.

Ethan felt a hot stab in his chest. It was stupid, he knew. Sirena made her living seducing men with her stories. Intimacy was an illusion she wove.

Nothing about this is real.

He didn't know if he felt relieved or disappointed.

"Your turn, guv." The footman smirked. "Enjoy your confession."

Inside the chamber, a white curtain hung from ceiling to floor, dividing the small room in half. Ethan's pulse quickened when he saw Sirena. Although she was still a shadow, the fabric barrier revealed more of her than the window of her old confessional. Reclined upon a chaise, she presented a tantalizing silhouette. She wore her trademark wimple with paganistic wings and appeared otherwise naked. Her back was arched, her breasts perfect globes with jutting tips. One of her legs was bent at the knee, the other lying straight. While her legs weren't long, they were shapely, leading to a nicely rounded bottom.

In fact, he realized with a trickle of heat, in shadow she could pass for a more voluptuous version of Jane.

"Welcome to my confessional, sir."

Although her voice had captivated him during their last encounter, the original confessional must have muted its power. Her sultry tones poured through the fabric partition, and he inhaled, feeling as if he'd downed a snifter of brandy. Hot, smoky, and potent, her words swirled his blood and whetted his appetite.

"I am Sister Sirena, the Nunnery's sensational and salacious storyteller. Tonight, I will enchant you with a story woven from your deepest, innermost desires. My voice will transport you to a world where pleasure is everything, and nothing is forbidden."

"Nothing is forbidden?" he asked.

She gave a visible start, sitting up straight.

Did she remember him? He'd only come to her that one time, weeks ago, and she must have countless clients.

"You…you were here before."

He was absurdly gratified that she'd remembered.

"Yes," he said.

"It was you ," she breathed. "You're the fellow. The one who…who wanted something real."

While he was pleased to have made an impression, her words had an odd inflection that he didn't understand. Her posture was upright, and he felt the heat of her stare through the curtain. He wondered uneasily if returning had been a mistake. If his memory of their prior encounter had been idealized. Then she relaxed, reclining against the chaise and curling toward him like they were having an intimate tête-à-tête .

"I hoped you would visit again, sir."

Her sultry register wove its usual spell on his senses. He was drawn back to the moment. Back to the world of fantasy where he could have whatever he wanted.

"You made an impression the last time," he said.

"The feeling is mutual, darling. What kind of story do you desire from me today?"

Her purring words coaxed the truth from him.

"Tell me one about a housekeeper," he said.