an uncommon sight in this place. Miles had even heard rumors of underhanded bets over the virtue of daughters and the trading of wives. And if there was any hall to make such dangerous bargains, this was it. Sometime in the past few years, the proprietor of this den of depravity, a mysterious man named Marcus Rivers, had opened up his establishment to other activities.
Women had been allowed in. Mistresses, whores, even the occasional highbred and bored lady who hid behind a mask and offered herself for pleasure to the gamblers.
Some were discreet in their couplings, taking advantage of screened areas, private rooms and balconies. Others didn’t seem to care where they fucked. Miles watched as a couple staggered drunkenly against the far wall, kissing with reckless abandon. The woman’s moan echoed even in the din of the room as the man hiked up her skirt. She was bare beneath except for red stockings with a lacy garter.
She spread her legs, opening her body. Something her companion took advantage of immediately. He began to finger her slit as he continued kissing her with sloppy passion that had no concern about who saw them in the act. After a moment, he positioned himself between her legs and thrust, rocking himself inside her waiting pussy. He had a fast, driving pace, and his partner arched and mewled loudly as he rutted with her.
A few of the men at a table nearby watched with interest and the whores made their way over, hoping to take advantage of any arousal the scene might create.
Miles’ loins stirred with desire, but it was faint. Strange. He had always been a man of powerful passions, deep and abiding desires. But in the past few years, his need had shifted. He still enjoyed the company of women, but there was something… empty about his conquests now, both in his own reactions and in the way he viewed those around him.
He shook his head at his thoughts. Perhaps it was the conversation he’d had with Tennille that put him in this strange mood.
He moved farther into the room. He had come here intent on gambling, but he wasn’t opposed to brief pleasure if a woman caught his eye.
He scanned the room for potential subjects, but again was simply bored with his choices. Women in plunging necklines, their breasts almost bare, panting over any man who gave them a side-glance. They were all so bored and jaded…a bit like he was. There was no one to—
He cut the thought off as the crowd across the room parted and revealed a woman standing along the wall by herself. She had pale blond hair done up in a simple chignon at the base of her long, creamy neck.
Her mask covered half her face, but it was not of the ornate variety that the others wore as calling cards. It was blue and very plain, possibly handcrafted out of leftover silk from a gown. It didn’t match her dress, which was a deep green and cut in a modest style that had little frills. Still, the fabric was high quality. He was left confused.
Was this a highbred lady or a lower-class one?
He moved closer, inexplicably drawn to her. She hugged the wall with her body, exactly like a wallflower at a ball at Almack’s would do. She stared out at the room, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinked and blinked…almost in innocence, shock.
But was that real or affected? There were plenty of women who came here and pretended to be virtuous in order to play into the fantasies of certain men.
He had never been one of those, and yet he continued to move toward her. As he reached her, he realized she had dark brown eyes and they were dilated with high emotions that did not seem artificial.
“Hello,” he said softly.
She jerked with surprise, for her attention had been so focused on the activity around them that she had not even seen him advance on her. She looked at him, cheeks flushed and those brown eyes widened with surprise and, he thought, recognition.
“I—hello,” she whispered, her voice husky.
He smiled, sly. “You seem
Women had been allowed in. Mistresses, whores, even the occasional highbred and bored lady who hid behind a mask and offered herself for pleasure to the gamblers.
Some were discreet in their couplings, taking advantage of screened areas, private rooms and balconies. Others didn’t seem to care where they fucked. Miles watched as a couple staggered drunkenly against the far wall, kissing with reckless abandon. The woman’s moan echoed even in the din of the room as the man hiked up her skirt. She was bare beneath except for red stockings with a lacy garter.
She spread her legs, opening her body. Something her companion took advantage of immediately. He began to finger her slit as he continued kissing her with sloppy passion that had no concern about who saw them in the act. After a moment, he positioned himself between her legs and thrust, rocking himself inside her waiting pussy. He had a fast, driving pace, and his partner arched and mewled loudly as he rutted with her.
A few of the men at a table nearby watched with interest and the whores made their way over, hoping to take advantage of any arousal the scene might create.
Miles’ loins stirred with desire, but it was faint. Strange. He had always been a man of powerful passions, deep and abiding desires. But in the past few years, his need had shifted. He still enjoyed the company of women, but there was something… empty about his conquests now, both in his own reactions and in the way he viewed those around him.
He shook his head at his thoughts. Perhaps it was the conversation he’d had with Tennille that put him in this strange mood.
He moved farther into the room. He had come here intent on gambling, but he wasn’t opposed to brief pleasure if a woman caught his eye.
He scanned the room for potential subjects, but again was simply bored with his choices. Women in plunging necklines, their breasts almost bare, panting over any man who gave them a side-glance. They were all so bored and jaded…a bit like he was. There was no one to—
He cut the thought off as the crowd across the room parted and revealed a woman standing along the wall by herself. She had pale blond hair done up in a simple chignon at the base of her long, creamy neck.
Her mask covered half her face, but it was not of the ornate variety that the others wore as calling cards. It was blue and very plain, possibly handcrafted out of leftover silk from a gown. It didn’t match her dress, which was a deep green and cut in a modest style that had little frills. Still, the fabric was high quality. He was left confused.
Was this a highbred lady or a lower-class one?
He moved closer, inexplicably drawn to her. She hugged the wall with her body, exactly like a wallflower at a ball at Almack’s would do. She stared out at the room, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinked and blinked…almost in innocence, shock.
But was that real or affected? There were plenty of women who came here and pretended to be virtuous in order to play into the fantasies of certain men.
He had never been one of those, and yet he continued to move toward her. As he reached her, he realized she had dark brown eyes and they were dilated with high emotions that did not seem artificial.
“Hello,” he said softly.
She jerked with surprise, for her attention had been so focused on the activity around them that she had not even seen him advance on her. She looked at him, cheeks flushed and those brown eyes widened with surprise and, he thought, recognition.
“I—hello,” she whispered, her voice husky.
He smiled, sly. “You seem
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