SubmittingtotheRake by Em Brown Page B

to your room, madam,” Annabelle said.
    Heloise considered scurrying back into the carriage. Perhaps
there was another means to accomplish her goal, one that she had overlooked,
one that did not require her to be here? But when she turned to seek the
carriage, it had disappeared around the corner.
    What a ninny you are, Heloise Merrill , she chided
herself. She had heard scandalous things occurred at the home of Madame Follet,
a French widow rumored to have known the notorious Marquis de Sade in her
previous life.
    The abigail showed Heloise upstairs to a room that was
surely inspired by Sade’s The 120 Days of Sodom . On the walls,
accompanying the gilded candelabras, hung whips, chains, lashes, collars,
shackles and other paraphernalia she could not place. Besides the customary
furniture—a magnificent bed with cornices atop its posts and a pleated valance,
a veneered writing desk, a sofa and chairs upholstered in silk, a mahogany
chest of drawers and a vanity with inlaid top—the chamber housed a mysterious
post, a wooden bench, an apparatus that reminded her of a medieval rack, and
sets of ropes dangling from the ceiling. Despite the ominous accoutrements, the
many golden candelabras and the floral silk wallpaper adorning the walls lent a
comforting warmth to the room.
    “His Lordship requested this room for you,” Annabelle
explained. “It be our finest. We call it the Empress Room.”
    “Is…is His Lordship here?” Heloise inquired, trying not to
stare about.
    “He arrives soon, I believe, but he has arranged for your
wardrobe. Shall I assist you now into your nightdress?”
    “That won’t be necessary,” Heloise responded, stepping away
before the woman could touch her.
    Annabelle look puzzled.
    “I shall ring if I find I need your assistance, shall I?”
    Annabelle frowned, perhaps wondering if Heloise would summon
her from her bed at an inconvenient time.
    “You are welcome to retire for the evening,” Heloise assured
her. She had no intention of staying for long. Once she was done with the earl,
she would request a post chaise to take her home. Taking a seat on the bed, she
waited for Sebastian Cadwell.
    * * * * *
    Sebastian handed his hat and gloves to one of Madame
Follet’s footmen and considered heading up to the room where Josephine Merrill
would be waiting. He paused, lacking desire. Indeed, he had had little
inclination to invite her here, but the minx had worn down his resistance. Her
determination had pleased his vanity. It had been years since he had allowed
himself to be embroiled in a relationship with one as young as Miss Josephine,
but her youthfulness belied her familiarity with men. He knew she had lifted
her skirts beneath at least two friends of his.
    Not looking in upon her would be impolite. Perhaps she would
still be asleep. Would he attempt to wake her with a kiss or would he be
relieved and head to his own room for a moment of solitude?
    What the bloody hell is the matter with me? He had
never hesitated before, had never known his eros to waver. He enjoyed all
manner of women. Why not the lovely and charming Josephine Merrill? His
friends, if they knew his thoughts, would question his manhood or suggest that
old age was settling in upon him though he had turned but two and thirty
earlier this year.
    “Cadwell, mon cheri !” Marguerite Follet greeted him.
    The lady of the house, in stylish déshabillé and a
golden turban, looked radiant, as much a beauty at forty as she had been at
twenty.
    Sebastian kissed her extended hand.
    “My maid tells me your lady friend arrived,” she notified
him. “She is not what I would have ascribed to your tastes. She seems almost virginal .
I thought you never did virgins.”
    “I don’t,” he responded resolutely.
    “Ah, then there is more than meets the eye with your
mademoiselle. I think, at the least, you need have no worry from Lord Devon.”
    Sebastian thought her comment strange, for Lord Devon had
been known to try his luck