“Masterful, is he not?” Charlotte whispered.
“What is he doing to that poor woman?” Harrietta asked, appalled yet intrigued.
“Punishing her. She has displeased him in some way.”
The young woman groaned...in pleasure. Harrietta felt warmth spreading through her body. Her own carnal experiences had been limited to a few encounters with the footman and the squire’s son. There had been groping—a few playful swats on the butt that she had surprisingly enjoyed—but nothing on the order of what she now witnessed. But she had imagined a world of greater possibilities ever since she had found a copy of Fanny Hill that Harold had hidden beneath his bed.
“He is the most desired master,” Charlotte explained. “Only the most beautiful and practiced are selected to be his submissive.”
“Have you ever been with him?” inquired Harrietta as she followed the hard set of his jaw. “I should think it rather terrifying.”
Charlotte closed her eyes and a small smile played upon her lips. “I would be unworthy.”
Harrietta studied her companion, who seemed to be reveling in a daydream. She liked Charlotte—and not because the woman was her only friend in London at the moment. Widowed two years ago, before she had turned thirty, Charlotte Kensington possessed a worldliness and self-assurance that Harrietta appreciated. It therefore surprised her that Charlotte would want to submit to a man like the one in the silver and black mask.
When she saw the man leave the assembly floor, Harrietta felt relieved, though she was also curious to see what he might do next with the woman he had left hanging.
“If you wish to leave, you have only to speak it,” Charlotte said.
Harrietta contemplated the suggestion. She had seen more tonight than she had ever thought possible. Her mind whirled and she needed time alone to digest all that she saw. And yet, she felt a part of her awakening, a part of her that desired to see more, a part of her that was not merely curious.
“Does everyone wear a mask?” Harrietta asked, stalling.
“Mostly,” Charlotte replied.
“Do you know anyone here?”
“No, and that is part of the fun.”
They
walked past a row of semi-private alcoves occupied alternately by two women licking each other, a group orgy, and a ménage-a-trois.
“Are there no private chambers?”
“Where is the thrill in a private chamber? Ah, it is the time for presenting,” Charlotte observed of a number of men and women who had begun forming a line in the middle of the assembly. “Did you wish to present tonight?”
“Present?” Harrietta echoed. Her pulse began to quicken.
“Those new to Madame Botreaux’s must first present themselves. Those of a certain seniority here are allowed to choose among the new ones.”
“What happens if you do not like the person you are with?”
“If you find you do not enjoy your initial encounter, you may request to present again upon your return.”
Harrietta’s heart was pounding in her head. For a brief moment she wondered what her new husband would say or do if he ever found out what she had done. He had made it quite clear before they married that he would not interfere in the life she wished to lead if she would afford him the same consideration. The coolness of his tone as he spoke had surprised her. In truth, she had felt a little stung by it. She knew full well she was not the sort of woman to merit the attentions of a man of his wealth and stature. That he had offered for her hand had mystified her. She could only guess that he had felt some obligation to her brother to care for his family.
He was certainly not interested in her. That much had become clear as crystal to her when he had chosen not to consummate their marriage on their wedding night. Instead, he had adopted a fatherly tone, assuring her that he would not press his privileges upon her but would wait until she was ready. What the bloody hell could he have met by that? The only answer that came to her was that he had no desire to bed her. Her lack of beauty had never bothered her before—Harold had often told her how he would sooner be in her company than all the Helens of Troy in the world—but on her wedding night, she had felt the pain of her plainness.
It was possible that despite the understanding that she and the Marquess had not to interfere in each other’s lives, this would be too much for him to accept. But why should he have all the fun? Harrietta found herself reasoning as she thought of the Marquess with his mistress. Moreover, her identity was protected by her mask, and she trusted Charlotte not to divulge their illicit tryst. He would never know.
The man in the silver and black mask had returned and released the young woman from her bonds and her blindfold. He said something to her that made her cry. At first Harrietta thought he was telling the woman how much more she would be punished, but then he gently wiped away the tears from her face, and his lips formed what seemed to be the word adieu. The woman departed with obvious reluctance, casting one last look of longing at him before she left.
What would it feel like to want to be with someone that much? Harrietta wondered.
“If you worry that Vale—” Charlotte began.
Harrietta was quick to dismiss the suggestion. “Not at all. One of the maidservants mentioned that he is likely to be at the home of his mistress, the Countess D’Alessio. I suspect he will not return for some time.”