One Night Scandal

“Be a man and do this,” Nicholas whispered in his ear. “Your future wife will thank you.”

Now his friend sounded like his father. Anthony didn’t want a wife yet. He was only eighteen. As he walked into the salon and glanced around, he suddenly realized he did want to learn more about the relations between a man and a woman. Several women walked around in gowns designed to show off all their assets. Lady Whitely offered an excellent selection of women—redheads, blondes, several brunettes, too. Small-breasted women, large-breasted women, and a few in between.

Their arrival brought whispers and giggles from some of the younger ladies, and leering glances from the older ones. Trey leaned over and spoke softly to one of the women while Anthony continued to gawk. His breeches felt confining against his unruly erection. After blinking to clear his vision, he walked over to the servant selling drinks in the corner and ordered a brandy.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” a husky voice sounded behind him.

Anthony turned and stared at a woman. Her dress was cut almost to her belly, giving him a splendid view of the valley of her abundant breasts. He picked up his brandy and gulped it down.

“First time?” she asked with a knowing smile. “Well, I do hope you will pick me. My name is Giselle, and I love teaching a man what he needs to know.”

“Thank you, Giselle. I’ll remember that.” Anthony quickly ordered another drink and moved away from the strumpet. There had to be a better way to learn about sex than to lie with a woman who’d been with numerous men.

“Come on, Somerton,” Nicholas called to him from the doorway. “We have everything arranged.”

Anthony cringed with the thought. But he couldn’t back down now, could he? What would his friends think of him? He knew exactly what they would think, that he was a coward. A boy too scared to become a man.

He had to do this at least this once. Then he would do something to help these poor women. He’d find a way of reforming them so they didn’t have to work on their backs for a few pounds.

Following Nicholas up the stairs, Anthony took in his surroundings for the first time. When his friends implied they were taking him to a brothel, he’d expected a poor house with naked women prancing about. He had never thought that the staircase would be marble, the railing a burled walnut, that a fine crystal chandelier would hang from the two story ceiling, and there would be beautiful—and completely erotic—paintings on the burgundy walls.

Nicholas dragged him down the long corridor. Murmurs and moans filled the cavernous walkway, hearing the excited voices and the groans of pleasure, sent blood racing to Anthony’s stiff cock. Perhaps his body wanted this night more than his mind.

“Yes, Dickie. Oh, yes!”

Anthony could only imagine what Dickie was doing to that woman to elicit such a passionate response. Maybe learning a few things before marriage would help him and his future wife—whoever she might be.

“Come along, Anthony. You’ll get yours soon enough.” Nicholas stopped before the last room on the left and then opened the door.

Anthony followed him inside a small room painted a dark red and filled with all things feminine. A large four-poster bed with a white, Belgian lace coverlet took up most of the room. The table nearest the bed contained a variety of lotions and oils, which permeated the room with exotic scents of the Far East.

“Lady Whitely is assisting another patron but will be here in a few minutes to help you decide on your best choice of women,” Nicholas said by the doorway. “Have fun and stop listening to your father’s voice in your head. I’m quite certain even he has been known to visit a brothel.”

Anthony almost laughed as Nicholas shut the door behind him. His father would never call on a strumpet. He was the one who always told Anthony to control his base urges and save himself for marriage. After all, Mother had been dead for eight years and his father had never remarried or kept a mistress, at least as far as Anthony knew.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and thought about what kind of woman he wanted for his first time. Closing his eyes, visions of his little orange blossom, as he liked to think of her, came to his head. Perhaps if he asked for a young woman with blond hair, blue eyes, and a smile like an angel, Lady Whitely could provide him with his fantasy. Opening his eyes, reality sank in. Even if she did find him a woman who looked like his orange blossom, she wouldn’t smell fresh and clean with a hint of spicy orange to her.

A quick knock scraped across the door. This was it. Time to face Lady Whitely, choose a lady and become a man. He rose unsteadily and cleared his throat. “Come in.”

The door opened and a woman in her mid-thirties walked into the room. Her dark blond hair had been lavishly swept back, except the few curls artfully left to frame her oval face. As she stared at him, her perfect smile seemed frozen in place.

And he stared back, wondering why she looked slightly familiar to him. Neither moved. They only gazed at each other as if trying to decide how they knew each other. A small clock on the nightstand ticked away the minutes.

“Anthony?” she finally whispered.

That voice! He knew that voice. He’d heard it so many times when he’d been scared at night or when she sang him to sleep.

No!

It could not be her. She was dead. It must be the brandy addling his mind tonight.

“Anthony, is that really you?” Slowly she approached him. She reached her hand out to cup his cheek.

He reeled away from her as if her light touch had burned his skin. Turning back to face her, he said in the most damning tone he’d ever used, “Mother?”

She blinked away tears and pressed her lips tightly together. She acknowledged his condemnation by taking a step away from him.

“It is you, isn’t it?” he asked.