Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

BENEDICT

M y gut knows I'll find my willing sacrifice. I only have to wait. Though, I do grow tired and impatient undertaking this seemingly Sisyphean task.

It's my own personal boulder I roll up the hill of Tartarus, only to have it crash down on me again. Something in me squirms about, painting my very breath with a desperation I've never known before. I know deep down, my turn will eventually come, but I wish for it to be far sooner rather than later.

Damn Birchleigh and his good fortune. If not for his conquest, I might never think to have both a debutant and a deviant, a sinner enclosed in the robes of a saint, all within a house of ill repute. But now that I know it's possible, seeing as he, Foxford, and Blackport have all found women to satisfy their darker urges within their marriage bed, it makes me long to be shackled all the more.

Bet be damned. Money be damned. I'll give all the coin in my possession to capture what they have. A thousand pounds is paltry compared to a lifetime of wedded bliss and fucking. Unfortunately, they didn't know of their wife's predilections until after becoming yoked.

It's a certainly a gamble. Granted, It's not one I'm not sure I can take a chance on. Not when I am duty-bound to carry on the Portswell title. Damn sons and heirs and their lack of freedom.

A heavy sigh pulls at my lips. Again, my fingers trail over the keys of their own accord, making marriages with notes that have no business forming an alliance. Yet, in my current mood, they pair perfectly, a strident discordance to my own off-kilter thoughts.

Perhaps I should away to the country like the rest of my friends, leaving behind the madness of London. No good can come from me staying here. No good at all. Turning my face from the dripping slick of the omega's snatch, I continue to play.

Around me, the sounds of sex dull until all I hear is the music. It cascades from me, pouring from my fingertips as I send out my plea to the heavens. There has to be such a one for me. How could there not be?

"Now, now, Your Grace," Madame Douleur laughs, sliding near to me. "Such a melancholy tune. Do not tell me I've caught you in a fit of ennui. And with so many beautiful girls to attend to you."

I gaze up into her smart eyes, noting the calculating gleam in their depths. She wishes to deprive me of my coin. It's plain as day.

"I play as the fingers dictate," I growl out, irritation sliding up my spine.

"That may be, Your Grace," she continues, dragging over a poor girl who looks barely old enough to experience her first heat, let alone be a whore within the madam's house. "But surely I can entice you to let out your frustrations in a far different direction? An outlet far more appealing than a pianoforte?"

I ignore the nervous chuckles around me as I swivel in the chair and pull the trembling girl between my thighs. She looks delectable enough, and yet my cock barely stirs as she glances at me with eyes too wide for her face.

"Your name."

"E- Emily," she stammers out, a flush painting her face from chin to tip.

A plain name to accompany a plain girl. Fitting. Usually Madame Douleur sends me women of unparalleled beauty. Perhaps she hopes that I break this new ladybird in for her?

"And what is the condition of your virginity, Emily?"

The flush only grows brighter as she turns from me and looks at the floor. "It is intact, Your Grace."

That must be it then. Interesting that the madam chooses me when she could have all manner of mild-tempered men seeing to her innocent affliction. Unless I'm missing something. The quivering girl certainly blushes like a maid who has yet to be deflowered.

"And you will give me your maidenhead willingly?" I narrow my eyes, looking for any hint of deceit.

None. She doesn't even smell like lies or untruths. Fascinating. And yet, my cock refuses to rise to the occasion. Ennui indeed. More like my hunger is particular tonight, and the girl has yet to show the desire I crave.

Again, she ducks her head at my question. Yes, she's innocent, that much is clear. But there's also an air of fear flitting through the room, wafting from her slim body. The predator in me, the Alpha in me, should respond, and yet…

The meekness rolling from her drives all urges away. Where are the bold wenches in need of some harsh punishment? Surely Madame Douleur could procure another I haven't marred yet?

"Well?" I growl. "I'm waiting. The floor will not provide any answers to you. Look at me."

Her head lifts, but her eyes seem unable to focus. The fear surrounds her even more, nearly choking me with the stench.

"I…I… If that is your wish, Your Grace," she finally stammers out, worrying her fingers in front of her.

The poor thing does not understand, and damn Madame Douleur for not educating her. Is this a test? An examination to see if I can break the poor girl? As I understand it, the good madam is not in the habit of shattering her toys.

Or maybe she's trying to see if this little upstart has what it takes to work in a whipping house such as this. If it's the latter, I'm more than happy to oblige. Twisting my lips up into a feral smirk, I run my hand down her arm, ignoring the flinch at my touch.

Anxiety pours into the room, and this time, the others smell it. They have to. Next to her, Madame Douleur shuffles about, her eyes narrowing at me as she holds the girl to her chest.

A test for me then. Fine. I shall play along. If she can handle my darker desires, then I'll indulge. But everything in me tells me she'll run the instant she's able to, never to look back. Then where will The Rose and Thorne be?

So dangerous of Madame Douleur to play such a game, especially with me. A dark chuckle flits from my lips as I slip my fingers into a side pocket and pull out my prized knife. Soft gasps and lurid moans fill the room.

Those who have seen me play on the rare occasions I invite an audience know what is about to occur. The poor virginal sacrifice has no inkling. She simply stares at my tool of pleasure and pain, blinking at it as if somehow it will all make sense.

With the ease and care borne of years of practice, I slide the blade under her chin and tilt her face up to me with nary a scratch or a drop of blood to be seen.

"And your blood, little lamb. You will give me that willingly as well?" For a moment, she mulls over my words, as if trying to make sense of them.

Once the gears click into place, her eyes widen as she backs away further into Madame Douleur. Ingénue in the finest, it seems.

"I... I... If that is also your wish, Your Grace?" Her stammering words do nothing but irritate me.

Sliding the knife back into my pocket, I resume my playing, my fingers taking on a far more strident melody. Is there no one here who can fulfill my needs? They are not really all that perverse compared to others I've heard whispers about?

To be painted in blood as I fill them with my cock… not so shocking. Not when they beg me to my face, their pretty cunts dripping as I draw my desire into their flesh. Perhaps they just fear the need within themselves to submit to me and my depraved form of love?

Emily continues to rock back and forth, shuffling on her feet as I play. Madame Douleur knows what I want. What I really crave. The fact that she refuses to indulge is becoming rather tiring. That or I'm finally at the point in my life where none of this matters anymore.

After several more thunderous notes, the Lady Alpha heaves a sigh. "Really now," she hisses, shoving the girl away. "Must you frighten everyone I send your way?"

My fingers still on the keys as I take in her words. She acts as if it is my fault? When the amount of coin she procures from me should be more than enough to have her meet my desires with a girl far more willing?

It's not my fault that her little virgins quake with the gentlest of breezes. I am not to blame because she refuses to explain to them the nature of my need. Fie, I doubt any of them are just dying to be rid of their little affliction by anyone other than those content with sliding their knob into their cunts with little else to go with it.

And for sure, there are those who frequent this place who love nothing more than a normal romp in the hay. They crave an almost puritanical meeting of the flesh, if they were not harlots and the men in need of a good fuck.

I am not such a man. And she knows this. If this is some backward way of trying to cure me of my demons, to set aside the desires which make my cock hard and my knot throb, then she is not the woman I thought she was.

Rising from the piano, I look over at the sea of faces staring at me, hanging on every word of the conversation. I shake my head and make for the door, wishing to quit this place before making a spectacle of myself. If the madam is smart, she'll leave well enough alone.

Unfortunately, her pungent Alpha scent swirls as she walks after me, her skirts rustling with every long step she makes to catch up. "Your Grace," she cries out, sidestepping patrons humping her omegas as if rutting out in the wild. "You must-"

I whirl around and slide my hand around her throat, pinning her to the wall. Fear wafts off her and drifts in the air like dust motes twinkling in the setting sun. I breathe it in, dragging it deep into my lungs as if it is an elixir made to stave off my madness.

"I must, nothing," I grind out, tightening my grip until no air can pass back into her lungs. "You do not have a maid strong enough to entice me. And until you do, I will pass them by. You, of all people, should care about their well-being."

After a few moments, I release my grip, my cock lengthening as she gasps for air and runs her fingers over the delicate column. She will not bruise. I know my own strength well enough.

"Of course I do, Your Grace," she croaks out, her eyes flitting to the floor in a show of submission. "I care for these girls as if they were my own daughters."

"Ha." The bark of laughter erupts from my throat before I can hold it back. "Some mother. To throw your most delicate flowers in the path of trampling hooves."

"You're not a monster, Your Grace," she murmurs, squirming under the intensity of my gaze. "You may think your demons to be insurmountable, but I guarantee you, they are not."

Leaning forward, I run the tip of my nose around the shell of her ear, my hand flexing next to her head as I attempt to get my emotions under control. "You know nothing of me. You only know what I show you. I promise you will not like the man I hide from everyone, including you."

"But, Your Grace," she cries out, her eyes wide and her breathing haggard.

"But nothing." I turn, giving her my back, prepared to walk away. Glancing over my shoulder, I allow the mask to slip even further, showing her the monster who lurks beneath the surface. "Oh, and do not attempt to humiliate me again. I care not what your purpose was. Do it again, and I'll make sure you regret it."

I refuse to look at her as I leave, but I hear the pounding of her heart as keenly as I do my own. The madam plays a dangerous game, and in my world, she will never win. It's high time she learns the lesson when the stakes are not so dire.