Surrender to Love

“Of course we didn’t!” Myles said stoutly. “Said nothing at all, really! But perhaps we should go along too, when he does. Just in case, you know. Can’t have anyone we might know thinking we didn’t keep our word.”

Once the two young men had decided that a second visit to that exclusive establishment known as the Temple of Venus was necessary in order to protect their honor as gentlemen, they could see no reason why duty could not be synonymous with pleasure on this occasion, and especially since they were supposed to return to London again within the next two days. In fact, they had no sooner dispatched the customary note to Madame Orlanda that formally requested permission to call upon her that evening than they were already in the hands of their valets, and even had their carriage ordered for eight o’clock sharp, for there was no question in their minds that they would receive anything but a polite note of acceptance in reply.

By the time they had arrived at their destination and had been greeted by their hostess, the twin Viscounts were in fine fettle and had almost forgotten their reason for being here in the first place. They engaged in a lighthearted discussion as to the merits of redheaded women as opposed to blondes or brunettes, and whether they would reengage the twin redheads they had enjoyed before or seek variety this time, not making their choice so quickly. After all, their friend Giles had told them with a significant wink, that part of the fame of the Temple of Venus lay in the fact that they had only to state what they wished and it would be provided for their pleasure and enjoyment, even if it was “a make-believe kind of thing”—something like a charade but much more fun, as Giles had described it.

Told that they might feel free to roam about until they found whatever or whoever caught their fancy, both Roger and Myles decided to begin their exploration with the velvet-hung chamber that was whimsically known as the Theatre, and where, from their comfortable chairs visiting gentlemen could observe some of the priestesses of Venus as they bathed or played in pretended unawareness of their “audience” who watched from the darkness on the other side of the multicolored layers of gauze curtains.

Escorted to their seats by attentive “footmen” who were actually young women dressed in livery, their crystal glasses brimming with vintage champagne, both gentlemen had barely settled back with anticipation beginning to rise in their twin breasts when a drawling, rather sarcastic voice from the seat to the left of Roger gave them both an unpleasant start.

“Selby and Rowell. What a coincidence! You might have mentioned that you two intended to come here tonight, and we might have shared one carriage. But tell me, are you still trying to settle that argument of yours?”

“Forgotten which argument you mean,” Roger countered cleverly. “Myles and I argue all the time, you know.”

“Hmm, yes, I suppose I do know,” Viscount Embry said noncommittally, and left the subject alone as some of the scantily clad “priestesses” who had been disporting themselves in their sunken bath now decided to emerge in order to stretch their limbs gracefully before some of them reclined on marble slabs to be massaged and oiled by “slaves” and others wrapped themselves in thin silk robes after they had allowed themselves to be dried by their attendants.

The gauze curtains gave the whole enticing scene an effect of pastel unreality, as if they had been viewing it though a veil of mist; and most of those who watched seemed to be quite entranced as different young women arrived on the “stage”—or left it, once they had been on view long enough to be chosen or not. Viscount Selby, his gaze still fixed, had held his glass up for a third time without realizing when it was filled by one of the attendants or how he had managed to drain it so fast until he felt himself nudged in the ribs by his twin.

“I say, Roger! Isn’t that... Mean to say... Well, I told you, didn’t I? Can’t deny it now, can you?” Although Myles had meant to speak in a whisper, his excitement at being able to prove his earlier assertion made his voice carry before his brother had a chance to nudge him back fiercely and cough. He had noticed how Embry, who had been lounging in the chair on his other side and had actually yawned a few times, had suddenly seemed to tense like a coiled spring, even though he had not changed his position at all. In any case, Roger thought after he’d blinked his eyes a few times, it had to be an illusion! No matter what Myles had thought or Embry might have imagined, it just wasn’t possible to be sure—just because a shapely female who happened to have hair of an unusual shade of bronze shot through with gold, and skin that was only slightly lighter in color had climbed out of the sunken bath on the far side with her back to them and had almost immediately run off the stage all muffled up in the silk robe that had been handed to her. He held his glass up again to be filled, only to drain its contents immediately when he noticed that Viscount Embry had decided to leave. Quite at a loss, Selby was rescued by his brother, who pointed out reasonably that first of all Embry couldn’t possibly know anything, and in any case what was the point of following him?

“Besides,” Myles added with a sudden note of alertness in his voice, “I’ve just seen a real beauty! The small brunette with a birthmark on her hip. Want to watch her a while. And you know very well what Embry’s like—always going off somewhere on his own. Sure we’ll run into him later. Find out what he’s been up to.”

As a matter of fact, Nicholas

Dameron, Viscount Embry, had left the voyeuristic pleasures of the theater with every intention of leaving the Temple of Venus itself. He was in a singularly unpleasant mood and angry with himself as well for having come here in the first place—only because of a few disjointed phrases overheard on a sleepy afternoon. For Christ’s sake! Just because of that time in Naples and the sheer coincidence of learning that Sir John Travers, lately of the city of Colombo in the British Crown Colony of Ceylon, had rented the villa his drunken young companions had insisted upon visiting... What difference could it make to him anyway? None at all—not even if by an even stranger and completely unlikely coincidence that same Sir John Travers had happened to marry the young virago who had referred to him as her uncle. He had, with commendable self-control, put that incident quite out of his mind until this afternoon, when he had foolishly allowed himself to become slightly intrigued at the thought that the evil-tempered mermaid he’d been considerate enough to leave a virgin might have progressed within the space of a few months to wife, and then to whore. He was aware, of course, that the Temple of Venus was famous for being frequented by ladies who were either bored or restless or married to old men and who played at being harlots for the sheer enjoyment of it. What man granted entree here was not? But even if the bronze-maned priestess of Venus he had only caught a glimpse of had been the same sea witch he’d captured briefly one moonlit night, it still made no difference to him. In fact, it was surprising that he could remember her at all, much less the colors captured in her hair.

The hell with her, no matter where she was or what she had become! Nicholas’s hard mouth twisted in the travesty of a smile that mocked at his own idiocy before an equally wry thought stopped him as he approached the front door. Suppose that she was here after all, one of the bored women looking for excitement? This time he would have no reason to stop himself from taking her as he should have before, without scruples. And the best way to erase her annoying memory would be to take her and use her exactly as he had always wanted to from the first moment he had seen her swimming naked in the Governor’s pool with the silver light reflecting off the wet silk of her skin and her hair floating about her like writhing tendrils of sea weed.

“I am disappointed that none of my lovely priestesses took your fancy tonight. But perhaps you are in the mood for something different—or unusual, perhaps?”

When Orlanda undertook to be charming, she could make herself almost sparkle, her teasing black eyes suggesting everything while promising nothing—yet! Now, sensing something of his mood, for all that his dark face showed her nothing beyond a lifted eyebrow, she put her ringed hand lightly on Nicholas Dameron’s sleeve while she cocked her head a little to one side and let her mischievous smile become a challenge.

“For instance?” His lazy voice matched her challenge and made her laugh with genuine delight at the prospect of a contest which she knew she must win in the end.

“I said different or unusual, did I not? And as you must know, my lord, my Temple of Venus would not otherwise have attained its present...may I say fame instead of notoriety? What might your pleasure be tonight? Or your mood? Everyone who comes here has a reason for doing so—you agree? They are looking for something they cannot find elsewhere, and that ‘something’ is...whatever it is they desire.”

“That could be a very rash promise to make, signora.” His voice seemed to hold a grim kind of humor in it as his eyes narrowed at hers. “For example—what if I happened to want, for just this night only, a woman with hair of a certain particular coloring that is quite uncommon? A— married woman?” Nicholas Dameron’s dark green eyes watched her wickedly while he spoke, but Orlanda merely smiled and shrugged.

“Ah, I am no enchantress with a magic wand, as you well know, but perhaps in your case... Do you feel adventurous enough to follow me, my lord? I am going to take you to a particular room that is set apart from all the others, where anything may be discovered if you wish it hard enough. I call it the Chamber of True Dreams. And I can promise you that you will not be disappointed!”

It had not been the woman’s ridiculous “promise” that had decided Nicholas to follow her in the end but rather his own curiosity, coupled with the bored, restless feeling that had been plaguing him for the past few weeks while he’d lived without living, like a parasite, with nothing more important to challenge or occupy his mind than what clothes he should have his valet lay out for him on that particular day or which club or theater he might visit. In fact, he had been glad of the opportunity to visit Italy with the Marquess of Newbury, even if it meant keeping an eye on his relative’s twin brothers-in-law for part of the time, because it had meant escaping from London for a breathing space he had begun to feel he sorely needed. But in the end the Marquess, who was deeply involved in politics, had made a hurried and secretive journey to meet with the King of Sardinia, and his restless heir was forced to cool his heels in Rome in the company of two extremely young men on their Grand Tour who were determined to see and experience everything.

Perhaps Roger and Myles would learn something in the Chamber of True Dreams, or even discover their secret fantasies. Lying on a wide, silk-covered bed that was piled with silken cushions that were meant to dream on, Nicholas found himself frowning up at the patterned ceiling while wreathing, sickly sweet smoke floated up to join the patterns already there and form new ones that kept moving and changing all the time. Presently, as he concentrated on watching the different shapes that seemed to emerge, Nicholas found himself unable to remember if he was smoking opium or hashish and decided that he did not really care which it was, for he had smoked both before and was aware of what effects they could produce. True Dreams. An exaggeratedly fanciful name. Dreams, perhaps. Rather pleasant, relaxing ones too; but hardly true dreams, whatever those were. In fact...

In fact even the small effort it took to turn his head against the soft silk cushions seemed hardly worthwhile until he saw why he had suddenly felt impelled to glance at the door. It had opened, with a soft click of the latch, and now she had pushed it closed behind her, standing there poised on bare feet with her wet hair streaming down past her shoulders and her only garment a damp silk chemise that clung to every curve and hollow of her honey skinned body. His mermaid-turned-whore in the flesh. Or was he only dreaming her?

“Nicholas?” she said on a softly questioning note. “That is what you prefer to be called, is it not?” And then she lifted up her arms and began shaking out her hair, sending drops of water flying everywhere, each one like a miniature golden bubble in the orange lamplight and the lighted braziers in every corner of the room. “Do you still like me better now than before?” she said teasingly, with her fingers still in her hair and her lifted arms emphasizing her high, pointed breasts and the flatness of her belly below the arch of her rib cage. “I’ve changed, you know, and I have learned so much since we last met, thanks to you. You left me with a thirst for more knowledge, I suppose.” She smiled in a provocative, rather tantalizing manner before murmuring huskily, “Would you like me to show you how much I have learned?”

The room had become musky and grey-veiled from smoke, for all that he had either dropped or laid aside the long-stemmed pipe before she had crossed the small space between them, to lie beside him on the silk-covered couch of pipe dreams. Strangely enough, Nicholas found that although he could not remember her name, he remembered her body and the silky texture of her skin and most of all her hair—a curtain falling across her face when she bent, and a mantle for her shoulders when she flung her head back.

“Don’t you want me?” she whispered. “You did before. Would you rather have someone else to share your dream with?”

Moving with the smoky currents rather than try to fight against them, Nicholas heard himself laugh, the sound grating even in his own ears. “I apologize, mermaid. But I’m afraid that the pipe that sends pleasurable dreams also takes away certain physical urges. I wonder that you have not learned that yet, along with the rest of the knowledge you seem to have acquired. Perhaps you should seek out someone better able to slake your appetites tonight.”

She had been lying almost docilely by him with her face resting against his shoulder and her firm breasts pushing against his ribs while one of her hands moved caressingly over his body. But now she reared up angrily like a female cobra ready to strike, becoming ever more furious when he only gave her a mocking half-smile and a shrug.

Alexa was sorely tempted to lose her temper completely and make him regret his indifference even if she had to scratch and bite to arouse some reaction from him. Was he telling the truth, or did he really not want her at all? And yet, while she was trying to curb her rage she felt his arm suddenly enclose her body against his, while his fingers seemed to become trapped in the tangled masses of her hair. She felt her pent-in breath released in a sigh as she did what suddenly seemed easier and let her head down against his shoulder again.

And now it was he who said almost angrily, “Don’t you want to go hunting for a more satisfying prey before the night is over and you must return to hide behind your facade of respectability once more?”