Page 37 of The Rakehell of Roth
“Dear Lord, stop stalling, woman, whowashe?” Molly fairly squealed, which was rather unlike the dour twin who usually scoffed at their frivolity.
Clarissa fanned herself. “Good gracious, he was so beautiful that I almost clubbed him over the head and dragged him to my lair to have my wicked way with him.”
“You’d have to fight me.” Violet sighed.
Isobel twisted her lips in amusement at the girls’ calf-eyed expressions. “He’s Roth’s man of affairs.”
“What did Mr. Tall, Dark, and Delicious want?” Molly asked, breathless, wide eyes tracking the footmen carrying the stack of boxes from the modiste.
“What are all those for?” Violet frowned. “I thought all the orders had already been delivered?”
“These are from Roth.” Isobel ushered the wide-eyed girls into her chamber, dismissing the waiting maids. “I’ve been invited to The Silver Scythe. For a masquerade tonight.”
There was dead silence in the bedroom. Clarissa, Violet, and Molly looked like mirror-images of each other—slack-jawed and shell-shocked.
Clarissa was the first to react. “Holy buzzard ballocks!”
Isobel giggled. “Buzzards have those?”
“Stop trying to change the subject, wretch,” she said in a gleeful whisper. “You’re going to a masqueradethere?” She dragged Isobel over to the bed and the other two followed. “Gracious, Izzy, I’ve asked my brothers about that place and it’s rather worse than we imagined.”
Worse?
“Like a brothel?” she asked, her stomach climbing into her throat. She knew of Winter’s reputation and that he ran with an indecently fast set, but this was beyond the pale.
“No,” Clarissa said, eyes gleaming. “Worse.”
Isobel’s brow pleated as she stared at each of the young women in turn. Molly and Violet both sat on the edge of their seats, their eyes like saucers as she was sure hers were.What could possibly be worse than a brothel?
Clarissa was practically shaking. With what, Isobel didn’t know, but it couldn’t be good if her friend could barely speak. “Part of it is a normal gaming and supper establishment, but I’ve heard from Derrick’s own mouth that another part caters to members with…specific needs.”
The way she saidneedsmade Isobel’s skin prickle. “Well, go on, don’t keep us in suspense.”
“Spanking and torture and the like,” Clarissa blurted.
Molly burst into snorts. “Spanking like a child? Are you serious?”
Clarissa scowled at her. “Don’t laugh. It’s the truth. Apparently, some men—and some women, too—like to be switched.” Her voice went breathless. “It’s a thing. A sexual thing. Some of them like to be restrained as well, and they pay for the privilege, believe it or not.” She gave a dramatic sigh and threw herself back into the bedclothes. “I’ll bet Lady Darcy would have a go at hitching a lover to the bedposts with a pair of her silk stockings.”
Isobel’s cheeks went red-hot at the image. “Clarissa!”
“What?” her friend replied, her own cheeks stained pink. “As long as both parties agree, who is it hurting?”
“If word got out, they’d be branded as immoral deviants,” Molly said. “I’ve read about that.”
“There are worse things,” Clarissa shot back.
Molly tossed her head. “Such as?”
“Murderers and thieves for one, half-wit,” Violet said smugly. “Don’t be a wiseacre, Molly.”
“I amnot!”
But Isobel wasn’t listening to their bickering. The heat that had climbed into her face was now descending elsewhere into her body. Considering that she was one-part Lady Darcy, the scandalous direction of her thoughts couldn’t be helped. On torturous cue, the picture of a dissolute Lord Roth, wrists banded tight and legs splayed wide, spun into her brain.
No, he would likely prefer the reverse. In her head, the image shifted and she was the one helplessly tied while a devil with sable locks and a powerful chest loomed over her. A gasp wrenched from Isobel’s lips as her thighs clenched with helpless desire.
“Have you heard of such things before?” she choked out.
