The butler led them into the hall and told them to wait while he took Dane’s calling card and exited through a door on the right.
“Where on earth did you dredge up a name like Bertram Shandy?” Sophie whispered.
“I did not dredge it up,” he informed her. “Mr. Shandy is my second cousin. He is a pretentious prig and rather a fop. It will account for your feminine walk and accentuated gestures. Besides, I think you look like a Bertie.”
Sophie did not have a chance to reply as the butler entered the hall and walked towards them.
“Madame Labelle will greet you
momentarily,” he nodded. “If you would care to make your way into the gallery room, you may take some refreshment.” The butler escorted them to the last door on the left and then bowed.
“Are all brothels like this one?” Sophie whispered as they entered the room.
“Of course not. Madame Labelle caters to the elite, of which you are now a member.”
They wandered over to a drinks cabinet and Dane poured them both a glass of port. “I suggest you sip it,” he said handing her the glass. “And best we stand here. If you sit down, there’s no telling what may happen.” Sophie gave a small gasp and he added, “I am only teasing.”
Mindful that her gaze had not dared to leave Dane since entering the room, Sophie took a sip of port and lifted her head.
Like everything else about the house, the furnishings were elegant. She spotted a large gilt sofa covered in rich red brocade, the finest Persian rug adorned the floor and Greek-inspired statues of naked women occupied the alcoves on the far wall.
There were various groups of people milling about the room and in one corner a lady played hostess, pouring tea for the three gentlemen seated opposite.
It was all disappointingly normal.
One wall had been dedicated to an abundance of paintings and so, feeling a little more confident, she wandered over to take a closer look.
The first painting was of a woman standing before a window. The sunlight pouring through penetrated the thin fabric of her dress, showing the curvaceous outline of her body. She looked beautiful, powerful, yet demure.
In the next painting, a man sat back against a rock. He was naked, bar a piece of red cloth draped across his manhood. A woman sat between his legs, her head resting in his lap, looking up at him as he smiled back. His expression suggested the promise of an intimate exchange.
Further along the wall were twelve miniatures, each one depicting an erotic scene. All the men were highly aroused, alarmingly so. Sophie angled her head to examine some of the poses and then turned to look at Dane, who was lounging against the wall, studying her.
He straightened, walked over and stood behind her as though showing some interest in the scenes, too. “I must say, you are playing your part extremely well. One would almost believe you’re enjoying looking at these engravings.”
“I am,” she replied, for she liked the way he reacted when she spoke boldly. She walked back to the first painting, the one with the girl at the window, and he followed and stood behind her. “What do you think of when you look at this one?” she asked, wondering why she didn’t feel shy or embarrassed. She almost chuckled when the next question popped into her head. “When you look at it, do you find it arousing?”
Sophie smiled when she heard his sharp intake of breath. Standing in such close proximity, she could feel the tension in the air between them, could feel an intense attraction that went beyond anything she had ever felt before.
He bent his head and whispered in her ear, his tone low and husky. “I feel aroused when I look at you.”
He straightened, but she could still smell his masculine scent. The smell was so potent it sent her blood racing until it pooled between her legs, leaving a throbbing ache screaming to be appeased.
“Lord Danesfield, how good of you to come.” The gentle purr of a woman’s voice broke the spell and they both turned to greet the mistress of the house. “Mr. Shandy, let me welcome you to Labelles.”
Madame Labelle stood before them like any other respectable lady greeting her guests. She appeared younger than Sophie had imagined, yet her face had a world-weary countenance that betrayed her profession. Her golden hair, the shade of honey, was dressed in an elaborate coiffure and she wore an exquisite ethereal-blue silk gown, trimmed around the bosom with pearl rosettes. It was designed to display the shoulders and a lot more besides.
“It has been a while, Lord Danesfield,” she said running her fingers seductively across her cleavage. She glanced down at the front of his breeches. “I see my paintings have provided a modicum of entertainment while you’ve been waiting.”
Sophie suppressed a gasp. Dane had been here before!
The knowledge that this was not their first meeting caused a hard lump to form in her throat. Why had he not told her? Did he think her too naive to notice their familiarity? Even if Madame Labelle hadn’t mentioned it, the connection was obvious to all.
“Tell me,” Madame Labelle whispered softly. “Do you still prefer Antoinette?”
Sophie felt the blood charge through her veins.
“Yes, tell me, cousin,” Sophie said through gritted teeth, affecting a deeper voice than was usual as she slapped Dane rather hard on the back. “Is it the thought of Antoinette that evokes such a premature stirring of one's loins?” Sophie took a step towards their hostess. “Let us hope, for Antoinette’s sake, it is the only premature event of the evening.”