Scuffing the toe of his boot through the thick pile carpet, the earl looked very much like the wayward little boy he wanted to pretend to be. But he was sincere. And more endearing than she’d ever noticed.
Resting her palm on his sleeve, she squeezed. “You don’t repel me. And there is nothing wrong with wishing to cede control to someone else for a bit.” After all, that was what he truly wanted. An authority figure to tell him what to do, to tell him right from wrong. Give someone else power over his actions.
She understood how freeing that could be. Allowing Max to play with her had shown her that. A pulse pounded in her throat. That was over with now. She’d kicked him from her bed, and he was moving on to other partners. The back of her throat ached. If she were smart, she’d do the same.
“Mrs. Bonner, I don’t want to assume.” Halliwell shifted closer. “But it sounds as though your feelings have changed. Would you consider spending some time with me in one of the rooms? We’d go only so far as you’re comfortable with. You’d make the decisions.”
She jerked her head back. “My lord, you must know how out of place I feel with all”—she flapped her hand at the room—“this. I may not think it as wrong as I used to, but I couldn’t … I wouldn’t know how …”
He stared into his snifter. “Of course. I didn’t mean to presume.”
If she were smart, she’d do the same.
Her feelings for Max had deepened as their intimacies had progressed. Was that a result of their physical relationship or solely due to the man Max was? He’d moved on, treating his affairs as though they were nothing more consequential than sharing a dance with a woman. If she … joined with another man, could that be the means of lessening her attachment to Max? The thought of lying with Lord Halliwell turned her stomach, and she pressed her hand into her abdomen.
Each man becomes easier. Lucy had no issue separating out her emotions from the act of sexual congress. It was just one body part going into another, as the girl had said. Repetition seemed to be the key for diminishing the significance of the act for Lucy. She developed no tender feelings for her customers. She remained untouched by heartache when a client turned to another woman.
It seemed only sensible that Colleen should at least attempt to exorcise Max from her heart. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life aching for a man she could never have. She chewed on her lip. Perhaps, if she told Max the truth—
She cut that thought off before it flowered. There would be no forgiveness from Max. No understanding. She wouldn’t expect it for her crime. And she couldn’t pursue a relationship with him without telling him the truth. Keeping something like that from the man she loved would eat at her every day. So, her choices were either live alone for the rest of her life while pining for the baron or do something to restore her peace. She gave a small nod. It was only practical.
She stepped closer to Halliwell and a wave of dizziness swamped her. She swayed on her feet. What was she doing? She was an unmarried woman, She’d only sinned with Max because, well, it was Max, and she loved him. It hadn’t felt wrong to be in his arms. And what would Max think if he ever found out?
Plenty of men available to you. Go find one to fuck and tell me how your explorations fare.
She rolled her shoulders back and straightened her spine. She loved Max, God help her. And he’d told her to fuck another man. He’d been angry and hurt at the time, but he’d said the words just the same. And he hadn’t taken them back, even though hours had passed and emotions had cooled. He’d taken his own advice, found another partner, and it only remained for her to do the same.
Colleen swallowed. Halliwell wasn’t bad looking. His chin was a little weak, his hair a bit thin across the crown of his head. But his eyes were kind. Rather sad, like a hound dog’s. If she were to let anyone touch her, to try to rid herself of the memory of Max, she could do no better than a gentle man like the earl.
She slugged back her second glass. The rush of alcohol didn’t change her decision. But the slight spin in her head made the words easier to speak. “Yes. If you still wish it, meet me in the Emerald Room in ten minutes.” Her mouth was as dry as a desert, and she eyed Halliwell’s whiskey enviously. “I can’t promise you’ll get what you want from me. I have no practice in this sort of thing. But I’m willing to try.”
His eyes lit up. Grabbing her hand, he pressed it to his lips. The man’s obvious delight made her more resolved in her decision. She didn’t know if this would help her get over Max, but at least it would bring one person happiness. There was something satisfying in being the instrument that brought joy.
“Mrs. Bonner, I am all that is grateful.” He rubbed his hands together and rocked onto his toes. “I can follow you to the room now.”
“Ten minutes.” It would take that long to gather her nerve.“I assume you have a watch and know how to tell the time?”
Halliwell nodded, an excited pup.
Colleen pursed her lips. Telling a man what to do shouldn’t be too difficult. Not if he was as eager to please as the earl. “No earlier. No later. I’ll be waiting.”
Spinning on her heel, she forced her feet to keep an even pace. No need to flee. She would be in charge. She spoke with the other girls, informing them that Lucy was out for the night and that the Emerald Room was booked. Colleen got more than one raised eyebrow, but it made no matter. The rumor mill would have fresh grain to chew upon, of that Colleen had no illusions.
Her footsteps were muffled as she trod the hallway to the back room. Blood pounded in her temples and her heart raced. Placing a palm on the wall, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The paper-hanging felt rough beneath her skin. She could go to her office and run a price analysis of what it would cost to cover the walls in a nice silk damask. Or even a sumptuous leather. Solid work that didn’t involve disrobing in front of a near stranger. What on earth was she doing? Proving something to herself? Or to Max?
Pushing in the door to the Emerald Room, she shuffled through and pressed it closed. She rested her shoulder blades against the wood and let her head thud back. She could do this. Just one body part going into another. And once she understood there was nothing sacred to the act, it was nothing but physical sensation, her attachment to that infuriating man would disappear.
Pushing off the wall, she crossed to a low bureau made of a Brazilian teak. She’d chosen this room because of its normalcy. It looked like the bedroom in a grand house. The walls were covered in a cream paper hand-painted with delicate strands of ivy. The bed was a four-poster mahogany, large and sturdy. The coverlet was a hunter green, matching the thick carpet. The large mirrors on the wall across from the foot of the bed, and on the ceiling above it, were disconcerting. But at least there were no cupboards full of whips or paddles. No hooks along the ceiling or walls. She could pretend she was a normal woman, inviting a lover into her home.
She slid open the bottom drawer and examined the negligees that lay folded within. None of the frothy concoctions appealed, but she’d have to come out of her clothing eventually, and she didn’t want Halliwell disrobing her. She chose a white silk robe with large red poppies printed across it and quickly changed. Folding her own clothes neatly, she stacked them on an armchair, tucking her boots beneath.
She curled her toes into the plush carpet. She still had a couple of minutes but didn’t know what to do with them. She drummed her fingers along the top of the bureau. This wasn’t significant. She was among a group of women who slept with a different man every night with no ill consequences. And she was now a widow. Such liberties were more accepted for widows.
Bile rose in her throat. Was she mad? She didn’t have to lay with another man to move past Max. Her love would lessen in its own time. She’d move out of The Black Rose, hopefully into the apartments above the flower shop, and she’d never see the man again. Her attachment would gradually fade and she’d have her flowers, bursting with colors and fragrances, to gladden her spirit.
Colleen pressed her palms into her eye sockets, fighting against the tears. The flower shop had started as a beautiful dream. It now seemed sad and hollow.
When the door swung silently open it was almost a relief. The tumble of thoughts rolled to a stop, and all she was left with was the slippery feeling of dread.
