Page 6 of In a Rake’s Embrace (Sins & Sensibilities #3)

CHAPTER 6

T homas sat in his private room at Aphrodite , waiting for Miss Woodville. It had been a few minutes since the servant was sent to fetch her. The dimly lit room was one of the few private quarters on the fourth floor, reserved for elite clients, given more for their status in the ton than their frequency at the pleasure palace. It was tastefully decorated, with a large bed dominating the space, a gilded chaise longue near the fireplace, and a long sofa beside a window overlooking the busy streets below. Aubusson carpets lined the floor, while heavy drapes with ornate tassels framed the windows. Liquor carafes lined the mantel along with a decanter of fine whisky on a walnut table.

The door opened, and Miss Woodville entered. Her face, though composed, couldn’t quite mask the bright blush that colored her cheeks. Thomas smirked, amused by her suppressed nervousness.

“Ah, Miss Woodville,” he drawled, his tone teasing as he took another sip of whisky. “Looking very much like a mouse going to the slaughter.”

She delicately cleared her throat. “It is natural to be anxious.”

“Not here,” he clipped. “There is no room for it. Once a path is decided, there is no room for hesitation or regret.”

“I agree, my lord.”

He caught the slight arch of her brow at his position, her eyes flicking briefly to the glass in his hand. Thomas was sprawled indolently on the sofa, one leg crossed over his knee, perfectly aware of the deliberate ease in his posture. Most people of the ton would consider this stance highly improper.

“Gentlemen come here to unwind,” he began, watching her take in the room. “Only a select few have private rooms like this on the fourth floor. If one of those men wins your auction, you will be taken to a room like this for the nights won.”

“Yes. Madam Rebecca explained I might see a few men on the fourth floor, and I should not be alarmed by it,” she said quietly, glancing around again. “I presume those gentlemen all have private quarters like this one.”

Thomas nodded. “How many nights will you allow?

Her gaze swept over the large bed, the long sofa, and the well-stocked mantel. “I shared your concerns with Madam Rebecca, and she agreed to a few changes. I’ve decided to set a maximum of five nights. If the bidding caps at one thousand pounds, that will grant only a single night. Once the bidding reaches five thousand pounds or over, the winner will secure five nights, no more. Additionally, the winner must agree that I won’t leave Aphrodite ’s premises; all nights will take place here. This way, I’m assured the protection of Madam, the other girls, and the guards.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good. You will take him to your chamber if he has no private quarters.”

“These men … have homes. Why do they need a private chamber here?”

Thomas leaned forward, setting his glass down. “Men also enjoy a place where there’s no judgment, no expectation to conform to society’s notions of ‘gentlemanly behavior.’ Some are wedded or live with family and feel they cannot be themselves. Take how I’m sitting, for instance,” he said, gesturing to his leg. “It’s considered impolite for a gentleman to sit with his foot crossed atop his knee. Proper etiquette demands it be at the ankle.”

“How absurd,” she replied, a small smile touching her mouth.

He nearly damn well shouted that she should not smile. By God, it rendered her exquisite. Thomas glanced at the perfect bow of her upper lip and the soft, inviting fullness below, his body stirring at the thought of seeing her tongue curled around his cock.

“I tell you this so you understand that when you enter a room with a gentleman, you can have no expectations of gentleman-like conduct from him. He’s not here to cater to a woman’s sensibilities or uphold society’s standards. He’s here for pleasure and to be pleased in the ways that matter to him . That is what Aphrodite promises. He will be crude if he can, or he might be charming. Understand he is even more selfish at this place, and you cannot hope he will consider your desire, even once.”

“I understand.”

A small silence fell as they took each other’s measures. Miss Woodville seemed less nervous.

“Take down your hair,” he said softly. “Never come to me with it pinned. It is glorious when loose, and that is how most men would prefer it.”

Her hand lifted, and she withdrew the pins. Dark hair tumbled around a heart-shaped face and down to her hips, and she instantly appeared more provocative with her gently sloped cheekbones, dark green eyes and a perfect, pouty little mouth. Thomas breathed in deep and long, disconcerted and temporarily stuck for words, which was quite an unfamiliar experience for him with a woman. Somehow Thomas had imagined the impact of her beauty to lessen today.

Bloody hell .

It was his turn to clear his damn throat. Thomas arched a brow, his gaze drifting over her plain, modest gown. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Miss Woodville faltered, glancing down at her attire, which had clearly seen better days. She took a small breath, smoothing her hands nervously over the fabric.

“This ... this is what I have, my lord. I sew well and will make alterations as needed to improve the fit. My gown yesterday was a loan from Madam Rebecca until I see the modiste.”

Thomas clicked his tongue disapprovingly, setting his glass of whisky aside as he rose from the sofa.

“That won’t do,” he said, crossing the room to her. “I’ll take you shopping for clothes—hats, stockings and everything else you need.”

Her eyes widened as though the idea had never occurred to her. “ Shopping? ”

“Yes,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “The madam’s modiste will likely dress you like a courtesan, designed to lure men in with obvious displays of flesh. But that’s not the image you should project.”

She blinked, confusion flickering in her eyes. “What image should I project, then?”

Thomas studied her for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll have you dressed like a lady,” he said. “But one with just a hint of sensuality. That dichotomy will intrigue men far more than if you were paraded about like one of the ladies here. You need to be different and the subtlety of it will drive them mad.”

Her blush deepened, and she glanced away, clearly flustered. “I hadn’t considered that ...”

“That’s why you have me,” he replied smoothly, returning to his seat. “You need to stand apart. The men here expect indulgence, but they also crave something more ... elusive. And you, Miss Woodville, will become a mystery they’ll pay any sum to unravel.”

She swallowed, looking torn between discomfort and fascination. Her eyes were so damn expressive, revealing the emotions dancing behind their shimmering depths to anyone observant enough to notice.

“But I don’t have the money to procure such a wardrobe. Madam Rebecca said she would advance a modest sum as an investor in this venture, but I do not believe it will cover even one of the gowns ladies of high society wear.”

“As it is my suggestion,” he said coolly, “you will leave this to me.”

Miss Woodville stared at him, her hands twisting together in front of her. After a long moment, she nodded. “I will.”

Thomas smiled. “Good. We’ll arrange a private session tomorrow with one of the ton ’s most sought-after modistes.”

“Please tell me how I can repay your generosity.”

“There is no repayment needed.”

She shook her head, a small frown pleating her brow. “This is illogical. You do not know me ... yet you are so kind.”

Thomas scoffed. “I am simply a man who likes to do things thoroughly. Do not read it to be more than what it is.”

“I see.” She canted her head. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Thomas ... call me by my name.”

That delicate flush swept up her neck to her face once more. “Thomas. I ... I am Agatha. My family calls me Aga.”

“Let us start your first lesson, Agatha.”

She smiled and sauntered closer. “I am ready.”

Holding her gaze for several moments, he softly said, “Remove all your clothes and boots. Remain in your stockings only.”

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. “My chemisette as well?”

“Only the stockings will remain.”

After what felt like an eternity, she lifted her trembling fingers to her mouth and muttered, “Yes, I can do that.”

He watched in sheer fascination as she began to pace, talking to herself like he wasn’t in the room.

“Those statues are practically naked, and I look at them all the time. It’s perfectly normal.” She folded her arms under her bosom, her pacing growing more frantic.

Thomas leaned back against the sofa, bemused by the gentle amusement curling through him.

“There was that time I jumped into the lake! I was nearly naked!” she snapped, as if trying to convince herself. “This is the same.”

With a sharp turn, she faced him, her chin jutting forward in defiance of her own sensibilities. Agatha stooped down and unlaced her boots, tugging them off with hasty motions. Next, she dragged her simple, worn dress over her head, revealing stockings riddled with holes. Even the thin white shift she wore beneath her gown looked as if it would fall apart at any moment. She gripped the hem of the shift, met his gaze, and began to lift it. A sharp tremor ran through her, and her eyes widened in sudden alarm. A small squeak escaped her lips.

“Bloody hell,” Thomas snarled, springing from the sofa just in time to catch her as she collapsed into a dead faint.

Agatha’s eyes fluttered open, her vision slowly coming into focus. The ornate ceiling of the earl’s private quarters at the pleasure palace swam into view behind his shoulder. She first noticed warmth, then strong arms around her and the solid weight beneath her. Agatha blinked, disoriented, and then realized she was in the lap of the earl. A warm, clean, masculine scent teased her senses. Being this close to Lord Radbourne, his face seemed even more dangerously striking.

He was smiling down at her, a teasing glint in his eyes. Every nerve in her body suddenly became painfully aware of how close they were. His heat, the firm line of his body, and the easy way he held her—it sent a wave of mortification rushing through her.

“There you are,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I feared I had scandalized you beyond recovery.”

Did I faint?

Her heart sank at the realization. She quickly tried to sit up, her cheeks flaming. “I—I’m so sorry,” she stammered, her anger rising at herself.

How could she have been so foolish? Fainting like some weak-willed heroine from a gothic novel?

His gaze skipped over her face, dissecting every nuance.

“Shall we try something a bit less daunting?” he asked, his thumb caressing her cheek.

Her blush intensified, but she met his gaze with as much courage as she could muster. “I’m not usually so easily ... rattled.”

“No?” he said, his amusement clear. “Well, fainting certainly suggests otherwise.”

She bristled at his teasing, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Still, she couldn’t deny the truth—he had scandalized her. She had thought their lesson would progress much slower than stripping naked at the first one!

“However,” he said, his tone shifting to something more serious, “you’ll need to remove that gown.”

Once again, alarm scattered her thoughts, and a soft breath shuddered between her lips.

Oh, God.

He continued. “Your blushes make you seem too innocent, Agatha. Too many men have sisters they wish to protect; they’ll see you as one of them if you cling to that innocence. They need to see a woman—someone they desire, not a delicate flower they feel obligated to shield.”

Her heart pounded, and she felt the blush he spoke of rising again.

“You only have a few weeks before the season closes,” he said smoothly, “and if you don’t change how men see you, you will lose your opportunity.”

Agatha swallowed hard. She knew he was right—there was no time to waste. She had committed to this path, and if she faltered now, everything she had hoped to gain would slip through her fingers. Slowly, she nodded. “I understand.”

His gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained one of calm authority. “Good. We’ll take it slow, but you must be willing to push past your own limits. You must become a temptress.”

She wasn’t sure how she would manage this transformation, but one thing was certain—if she was going to succeed, she had to let go of her fears, even if they mortified every sensibility of hers. “I understand, and I want that.”

“Hmm.” That devilish gleam entered his gaze. “We will have two lessons today. The first is overcoming blushes by becoming knowledgeable.”

She was mere inches from the earl, close enough to count the dark sweep of his eyelashes. The subtle scent of sandalwood clung to him, teasing her senses as she inhaled deeply, trying to steady her nerves.

“Do you know what will happen when a gentleman wins you at the auction?” His voice was low, intimate. “I’m not talking about complex fantasies, but the basic elements of how a man and a woman come together.”

“I have seen farm animals ... mate in the countryside,” she replied. “I’ve heard lewd jokes in the local tavern that say it’s the same.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “At its most basic, a man will put his cock inside your ... quim.”

Cock? Quim? Agatha nodded, though the heat rising to her cheeks betrayed her. The smirk deepened as if he could read her thoughts.

“I know you have no real idea what I mean,” he said softly. “No need to look so studious.”

Drat .

He held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her heart race. Slowly, he placed a hand on her knee, widening her legs. Her breath hitched, and she swallowed hard. The shift she wore only fell to her knees, and his hand slid beneath the fabric, dragging upward with deliberate slowness. Her fingers tightened against his arms, caught in the spell of his touch. Every place his fingers grazed felt like tiny pinpricks of heat, and she bit her lip to stifle the small cry building in her throat.

What is this?

His hand inched closer, the heat of his palm nearing the most private part of her body, sending waves of warmth rippling through her.

“Open your legs wider,” he commanded.

It felt as if a flame had bloomed through her. Agatha’s body grew languorous, moving as though it no longer obeyed her will. When Thomas’s hand finally touched the soft, secret flesh between her thighs, she jolted. It was better than when her curious fingers lingered last night.

“This,” he murmured, his fingers lightly grazing her through the thin fabric of her drawers, “this is your pussy. Some call it your quim. Others say cunt, cunny, honey pot, velvet sheath.” His eyes darkened as he added, “Every man who lays eyes on you will want to bow before you just to sink his cock right here.”

Agatha’s throat felt tight, and words abandoned her. Her body thrummed with sensitivity, every nerve on edge as her heart raced uncontrollably.

“Look down,” he instructed, his voice a low rumble.

She did as he asked, her gaze dropping to the front of his trousers, where she saw the unmistakable thick bulge straining against the fabric.

“That,” he said, his tone heavy with meaning, “is my cock.”

“ Oh ,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “My ...”

“Yes.” His eyes remained locked on hers. “Don’t act shy. Tell me.”

“My breasts,” she said softly, her voice almost trembling. “They ache.”

He swiped his thumb across her bottom lip, his eyes darkening further, the air between them thick with tension. She was acutely aware of his fingers teasing her sex through her drawers, the pressure faint but maddening. Every stroke sent a sharp ache building deep between her thighs, the sensation almost unbearable in its intensity.

Was this desire?