Page 23 of In a Rake’s Embrace (Sins & Sensibilities #3)
CHAPTER 23
A gatha’s fingernails dug painfully into her palms. She released her fists and wrapped her arms around herself, hugging tightly. The fissure in her heart seemed to split even wider. The composure she had desperately tried to maintain splintered. He was leaving, and it appeared he couldn’t care less that she would soon auction her virginity, her sensuality, to another. She loathed that, deep down, she wasn’t sure she could go through with it.
My family needs me , she silently reminded herself, but another voice whispered, perhaps you could accept his money and repay him in time .
She scoffed at her own foolishness, squared her shoulders, and shed her robe. Agatha stepped into the silken skirt that sat low on her waist, and the sheer fabric covering her breasts only teased at modesty. Her belly lay bare, her décolletage framed to allure. Bea entered and began to brush her hair, accentuating her eyes with kohl.
“Are you sure about the wig?” Bea asked, watching her closely.
“Yes.”
A dark red wig was affixed to her head, its dramatic tresses falling to her waist, lending her a strikingly mysterious allure. Agatha stared at herself in the mirror, seeing a provocative stranger with gleaming, confident eyes. She looked both powerful and untouchable.
Agatha took a deep breath and left her chamber, descending the winding staircase. The pleasure house had fallen silent, all anticipation toward the shadowed dais. She entered, feeling painfully exposed but empowered, her beauty a tool she had to wield expertly.
Before she looked up, she felt his gaze. She met Thomas’s eyes across the room—cool, indifferent, andthen they were filled with a hunger that made her pulse race. Her skin heated under the intensity of his stare. Their eyes held for several beats, and then he gave a slight nod. Agatha turned back to the crowd, knowing she now owned their curiosity.
Madam Rebecca clapped, signaling the servants to light the candles and wall sconces around the dais. Each one flared up in choreographed unison, casting a glow that highlighted the drama of the moment. A haunting flute began to play, joined by the melodic strains of a violin, both hidden behind curtains, filling the room with a captivating, seductive sound.
Agatha took a step into the light, emerging fully from the shadows.
“By God,” a gentleman whispered from his seat, half-rising as if drawn to her by a force beyond his control.
“Gentlemen,” Madam Rebecca’s voice rang out, commanding their attention. “Allow me to present Lady W. Tonight, she will dance for you the Raqs Sharqi —a most sensual dance that celebrates the waist, hips, and belly, meant to tantalize and delight.” She paused, her voice dripping with promise. “Lady W is a virgin.”
A murmur rippled through the room, intensified by the allure of her mystery.
Madam Rebecca raised her hands, smiling as though conducting an orchestra of anticipation. “But not just any virgin. She knows how to tempt, tease, and fulfill.”
Agatha nearly smirked at the exaggeration.
“You have the chance to bid for her,” Madam Rebecca continued, “and if you win, five decadent nights in her arms await you. There are, however, a few limitations: no bondage, no whipping, flogging, or spanking. She will allow forced pleasure. And,” Madam’s voice softened, a sly smile curving her lips, “her virgin arse is also available as long as mutual pleasure is assured … in its fucking.”
Agatha’s face burned at the deliberate crudeness, but she held her head high as Madam Rebecca looked at her approvingly.
“She blushes still, gentlemen,” Madam Rebecca noted with a knowing grin. “Isn’t that delightful? Lady W is yours to debauch. The bidding will begin after her dance.”
The room fell silent, the anticipation thickening as Agatha took her first step. As the flute sprang to life, the haunting melody wound around her like an unseen lover’s hands, coaxing her forwardandguiding her movements. She let the music settle into her bones, each note a shivering pulse in her blood. She swayed forward, her hips rolling to the steady rhythm, feeling the collective gaze of the audience, but her awareness centered solely on Thomas.
Murmurs of appreciation rippled through the crowd, yet Agatha barely heard them. Her focus narrowed, sharpening to a single point. She was dancing for him alone. Lifting her arms gracefully above her head, Agatha arched her neck, feeling the weight of his gaze—hot and dark, brimming with an intensity she could almost touch. She met his eyes, holding them deliberately, a smile curving her lips as her hips swayed in a slow, sensual gyration meant to tempt. Heat rushed over her skin, and she knew the lavender-scented oil shimmering along her bare arms and midriff heightened her allure, catching the light like a thousand tiny stars.
It was as if the music poured into her veins, igniting a decadent fire that spread with each turn and arch of her body. Her hands traced down her sides, her fingers grazing her waistandhips, each movement a careful blend of elegance and enticement. She was aware of the way her skirt slit skimmed her thighs, teasing glimpses of her flesh with each roll and twist.
Her gaze flicked back to Thomas, and her heartbeat quickened. His heated stare sent a thrill down her spine. Agatha’s every step, sway, and glide was a silent challenge to him.
Look at me. Want me. Suffer for it .
A slight sheen of sweat slicked her skin, and she welcomed the heat. The feel of it made her more acutely aware of her own body. She felt powerful, beautiful, anddaring. When the music slowed, Agatha lowered her arms, her movements languid, her body curving in time with the final, lingering notes. She held Thomas’s gaze until the very end before finally turning to the crowd, catching her breath. In the charged silence that followed, her body thrummed with exhilaration, her heart still racing.
“Gentlemen,” Madam Rebecca called, her voice filled with practiced charm. “For five nights of bliss with Lady W, the bidding starts at one thousand pounds.”
Agatha’s heart leaped as a hand shot up almost immediately. “One thousand pounds.”
“Eleven hundred,” came another voice from somewhere in the back.
“Fifteen hundred!” someone else called.
Her pulse quickened as each voice echoed with a higher bid, a strange, taut anxiety twisting inside her. She raised her eyes to the balcony. Thomas’s gaze was unreadable, and with a small dip of his head, he stepped back from the railing, turning away from the bidding. He wouldn’t stay.
Her chest tightened painfully, and she bit the inside of her lip, the sharp sting grounding her. She blinked back the tears that threatened, heat prickling at the edges of her vision.
“Six thousand pounds!” a gentleman’s voice rang out, and the tremor running through her body was unmistakable.
Delight sparkled in Madam Rebecca’s eyes, but Agatha felt a mounting dread.
Don’t be silly , she told herself, pushing down the panic that coiled within her.
To her shock, the bidding continued with no sign of slowing.
“We’re at eight thousand pounds,” Madam Rebecca announced with a pleased smile. “Do we have another bid?”
“It seems Lord Humphrey will—”
“Eight thousand five hundred,” came Lord Humphrey’s steady reply.
“Nine thousand!” another voice called.
The room stilled, each breath held in suspense.
“Nine thousand two hundred,” Lord Humphrey raised, his voice edged with determination.
Lord Benedict surged to his feet, his eyes flashing. “Nine thousand five hundred.”
The air grew thick with anticipation as the bidding had narrowed to these two rivals.
“Ten thousand pounds!” Madam Rebecca’s voice rose, elation clear in her tone. “Do we have another bid?”
Agatha’s belly clenched, her fingers digging into her palms as she fought to remain poised.
Madam Rebecca waited a few beats and then said, “Lord Benedict—”
“Eleven thousand pounds,” a new voice cut through the din.
Her breath caught. Thomas! A jolt of relief and fierce, unsteady emotion seized her heart. She scanned the crowd, desperate for a glimpse of him.
Lord Benedict scowled, glancing back as if assessing his rival.
“Eleven thousand one hundred,” he spat, his tone laced with frustration.
“Twelve thousand,” came Thomas’s reply, his tone bored and indifferent.
The room went still as her heart hammered wildly. Where is he?
“Twelve thousand three hundred—”
“Fifteen thousand pounds.”
The entire room fell silent as Thomas’s voice rang out, cool and commanding.
A murmur of astonishment swept through the crowd. Lord Benedict’s face flushed with frustration, and he opened his mouth as if to retort but then stopped, slumping back in his chair, defeated. Madam Rebecca looked positively delighted, her eyes wide as she leaned forward, clasping her hands in triumph.
“Gentlemen,” she announced, barely containing her exhilaration. “The winning bid of fifteen thousand pounds goes to Lord Radbourne!”
Scattered conversation filled the room. Agatha’s heart raced, her pulse pounding with excitement and disbelief. Thomas emerged from the shadows, his gaze intense as he approached the dais. Without a word, he stepped onto the stage, reaching for her. The crowd’s murmurs faded, blending into a distant hum as he slipped his arms around her and lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her face inches from his, and his scent enveloped her, intoxicating her senses. She barely noticed the stunned gazes and whispers as he carried her from the room, her whole being focused solely on him.
They ascended the stairs, the familiar hallways of Aphrodite falling away as he carried her to the fourth floor, his private quarters. Agatha’s gaze never left his face, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She couldn’t speakor bring herself to break the charged silence between them. Every sensation was heightened, each step bringing her closer to being in his arms. Her awareness of him, his strength, the gentle but possessive hold he kept around her, was so intense it was almost painful.
“Will you … stay for five nights?” she finally asked, unable to bear not knowinghow long he would stay with her.
Thomas’s gaze flickered, a shadow of something unreadable crossing his eyes. “One,” he replied, his voice a low, steady murmur. Her heart twisted, and she barely had time to process his words before he stopped at the door, pushed it open, and carried her into his private chamber.
“Only tonight.”