A Fashionable Day In London
Iwoke the next morning with a sudden yanking screech of old curtains being drawn back, sunlight flooding the bed Auguste had deposited me in at some small hour of the night after we'd finally arrived in London.
I opened my eyes with a squint and found a tiny elderly woman with pretty earthy brown skin and sharp-tipped ears glaring back at me.
"Morning," she snapped, and I wasn't sure if it was meant to be a greeting or an observation.
I thought for a moment I ought to rise from the bed since she'd used the word like a command, and then decided I'd rather not. I yawned and rolled in the bed with a little wave of my hand, smirking down into delightfully soft feather pillows dressed in cream silk.
We'd taken a carriage to a train—where both Jonathon and Auguste refused to take advantage of our private compartment—to another carriage and arrived not at Jonathon's Harley Street house, but a townhouse in a fashionable arts area of London. Auguste's home.
I didn't remember much of the house, but I was surprised by how bright and open the bedroom I found myself in was. There was beautiful art framed on the walls—sensually posed women in beds of flowers—lush carpets on the floor, and dark wood furniture, but it was bright and airy too, none of the dark and gothic drama I'd grown used to at Rooksgrave.
It reminded me of some of the ladies' rooms I'd passed in and out of as a maid, and I wiggled deeper into the covers, smiling up at the high ceiling with its elaborate molding and the delicate chandelier that hung in the middle of the room. And then the covers were yanked back and I sat up with a squawk.
"What do you care if it's morning? Your employer certainly won't be up," I hissed at the woman. She wasn't human, that much had been obvious from the first glance, and I suspected she knew Auguste wasn't either.
"Morning. Eat. Doctor visit. Dresses."
"Dr. Underwood is coming to visit?" I asked. In all honesty, I hadn't noticed if he'd gotten out of the carriage with us the night before, I was too tired.
The woman, whatever she was, just huffed and waddled over to an armoire, pulling a beautiful blush pink robe out from inside and bringing it to me, kicking slippers in my direction as she came.
My ankle was firmly wrapped in a bandage, and I stood up gingerly from the bed, ignoring the slippers, relieved to find there was only a faint ache remaining in my foot.
"What's your name?" I asked as the little woman wrestled me into the robe.
"Cork."
I blinked and nodded. "Esther."
Cork snorted at that, and for a moment, our hands argued over who would tie my robe shut. Cork won, and I grunted as she yanked it closed with a knot that pinched my waist.
"Now eat," she said, marching for the bedroom doors. She threw them open with a bang, revealing a grand dressing room, with tall windows and pretty seating and art in more dark shades of floral.
I followed her with ginger steps, the rug squishing between my toes, floorboards smooth. There was a fire going in both rooms, and it was a sunny day for once in London, so the enormous rooms were comfortable. I recalled Ezra saying how expensive Rooksgraves membership was and remembered that Auguste was now paying it twice. And still, there was this house, these rooms, the lovely silk slippers that had obviously been purchased on my behalf.
"Yes, I know, eat," I said before Cork could bark it at me, but I took my time, walking a slow circuit around the room. Fresh flowers in five, no, seven places. Pretty velvet pillows and settees. Delicate crystal and gold trinkets. Tall mirrors making the room feel even bigger.
A small circular table waited for me, laden to the brim with breakfast—fresh fruits, soft boiled eggs, hearty meats, brioche buns, a pot of liquid chocolate, and creamy sauces. Cork, for all of her orders and shoves, was gentle with the beautiful Chinese teapot as she poured me a cup, and she kept her gaze averted as I had to tilt my head back and blink away an unexpected flurry of tears.
My penchant for enjoying sex didn't seem like an appropriate cause for rewards such as these.
But it isn't just sex, I reminded myself. I wasn't mercenary like Mary. Auguste had my affection and interest with or without this generosity. I would make sure he felt my gratitude regardless.
"Thank you, Cork," I said softly as she pulled back a chair for me with a sudden yank.
Once I started eating, I didn't quite know how to stop. It seemed a shame to waste anything, and every time I thought I'd had enough, I craved another sample of a particular flavor.
Jonathon found me reclined on a chaise, dipping one more bite of brioche into a cup of chocolate, my stomach already aching with how full I was. He chuckled at the sight of me, shutting the doors behind him and heading for the food.
"Auguste has forgotten what an appropriate portion looks like in his old age," Jonathon said, making himself a small plate.
"If you or Mr. Tanner are hoping for my company in bed this morning, I'm afraid you'll have to do all the work. I'm too stuffed to move," I moaned, grinning a little at the sound of the man's choke.
"Actually, I'm here to take you to an appointment."
I wiggled up into sitting at that. "Cork said something about a doctor visit and dressing."
Jonathon frowned at that, and then his eyebrows bounced up. "Ah! Not quite. I am the visit. The dresses are the appointment. I have a few things to do at my practice today, unfortunately, but the seamstress is nearby so I will drop you off there."
"But I brought dresses with me," I said, head tilted.
"Very nice ones too," Jonathon said with a flash of a grin. "But nothing quite appropriate for our trip to the theater tonight."
I gasped and sat up, sloshing chocolate onto the saucer. I set it carefully aside before I might accidentally ruin my lovely robe from Auguste. "You're taking me to the theater? What will we see? A Wilde play?"
"You know Wilde?" Jonathon asked with a note of surprise. "I would gladly take you to see Salomé, but no, tonight we go to a kind of theater you won't see on a marquee."
I squealed with excitement, jumping up from the chaise and hurrying to the table. Jonathon watched with wide eyes as I lifted the skirt of my nightgown and robe, helping myself to his lap for a seat, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and settling with a wiggle.
"Tell me," I said, taking the toast from his fingers and bringing it to his lips. Feeding a man seemed like the sort of thing a good mistress would do, and Jonathon's eyes were wide, scanning the shape of me through the drape of silk, hands resting tentatively on my thighs. He took a bite of toast from my hand, eyes sparkling.
"I think you should be surprised," he said after some thought. "But you are welcome to try and learn answers from me—Mph." His eyes fell shut as I rolled my hips over his.
"Is it a theater for men like you and Auguste?"
"We call ourselves monsters, Miss Reed," Jonathon murmured, his mouth falling open as I shifted, bracing my good foot on a bar of the chair below.
"Well I don't," I answered, rocking a little. His head thunked back, but his fingers dug into my thighs to hold me still.
"Yes for those of our kind. Men and women," Jonathon said.
"But you can bring me?" I asked.
"There will be humans there," Jonathon said, a wicked grin on his lips and electric green in his eyes as he glanced at me. "And if you behave today, Mr. Tanner and I will have a reward for you."
"Behave…?" I arched an eyebrow, and Jonathon arched one right back.
"Yes. Behave. Meaning you don't tempt me to haul you into that bedroom and make us miss our appointments for the day."
"So I can't feed you breakfast?" I asked, grinning.
Jonathon eyed the food over my shoulder, then looked down at where I was splayed over his lap. He was already half-hard, I could feel him pressing against me and I was sure he could feel the heat of my sex nestled against him. He let out a soft groan, and I watched his throat bob with his swallow.
"You may, but no orgasms until after dinner tonight," he said on a sigh. "For either of us."
I laughed at that, as well as the grunting sound he made as I twisted and reached for a slice of bacon to feed him, making sure to thrust my breasts in his face. If I had to wait for orgasms, I would make sure my gentlemen suffered just as much as I did.
* * *