Chapter One
London, 1818
The pendulum of the metronome swayed to and fro, its unceasing ticking as irritating as a small pick digging into his brain. The device had been adjusted to pulse every one and a half seconds. The unfulfilled expectation was its own form of torture. The mind wanted the regular, once-per-second beat of a clock, and the difference between expectation and reality had John Chaucer, Earl of Summerset, digging his fingertips into his thighs. His hand itched to hurl the infernal contraption against the wall.
He could only imagine how the naked and blindfolded lady-bird standing on tip-toe upon the small wooden chair with a noose around her neck felt about it.
She knew it was a game. She knew John’s punishments culminated in pleasure. Yet still she quivered, aswirl in anticipation…and trepidation.
The mind was a funny thing.
John pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. Still two minutes remaining. He blew out a silent breath.
Cyrus, the man who had set up this predicament play, leaned against the opposite wall. They were in the Amethyst Room of The Black Rose, the Venus club that catered to more unusual inclinations. The American banker had become a friend of sorts during their acquaintanceship at the club. Enough so where John had been hard-pressed to think of a reason to refuse him when the man had asked for his assistance to set up a game for one of the club’s women.
What John couldn’t figure out was why he’d wanted to refuse. He usually adored scenes such as these. When the woman was willing, it gave him a rush like no other to manipulate her mind, make her question reality until need and fear made her body shake with the thrill of it.
He glanced at Suzy, and yes, right on schedule, a tremor rippled through her luscious body, her small breasts jiggling, her dark nipples hard as buttons.
John leaned his head against the wall and adjusted himself. Such a beautiful sight before him and still only half-hard. Perhaps he truly was getting old as his friends had joked last week.
Cyrus dragged his gaze off of Suzy. He looked expectantly at John.
Time to get this charade over with. John straightened and approached the woman. “I’m pleased you’ve learned to hold your tongue as you wait. Are you ready for your punishment?”
“Yes, my lord. My apologies once more for spilling my wine on you.” Suzy’s voice was high and breathy. She turned her head, following his footsteps through sound alone.
John stopped next to Cyrus and took the end of the rope from his hand. The rope travelled over a beam in the ceiling before coiling around Suzy’s throat. Cyrus had kept just enough pressure on it to make the woman believe it was tied fast to the beam.
“I know you’re sorry, but still one must pay for one’s mistakes.” John leaned against the wall and adjusted his grip on the rope. If Suzy fell, it would slide harmlessly through his fingers, causing no injury to the girl. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
She flexed her shoulders. By this point, her arms tied behind her back must be burning with the need to adjust their position. “Yes, my lord. And I know how much you like your finery.”
John twisted his lips. The burgundy stain on his peach-colored waistcoat was a necessary evil of this scene. His valet would be most seriously displeased. He supposed that was why Cyrus had asked him for his participation. It was most believable that John would be upset over the ruination of an article of clothing.
Too bad Suzy didn’t know that Cyrus had intentionally jostled her, causing the spill.
“You still have the option to make amends by cleaning the garment.” John tugged at the hem of the apple-green waistcoat he’d had the foresight to bring with him that night as a replacement. “It will only take you several hours of scrubbing.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you, my lord. I’d rather have my punishment over and done with.” She swallowed and angled her neck, her skin scraping against the rope. “I think.”
Cyrus circled the woman, running his finger along her waist.
Suzy jolted but remained silent. She and John had played in the past but the last several months she had seemed uninterested in his touch. John had a sneaking suspicion as to why. Would she object, thinking it was him stroking her skin?
Cyrus came around and stood next to him. He looked at John and raised his eyebrows.
John nodded. “Your punishment is almost at an end.”
Cyrus struck a bit of flint against steel, sending sparks cascading to the rough wooden floor.
Suzy squeaked and edged away.
John made the rope pull tighter about her neck, keeping his eyes trained on her. The mind truly was a curious thing. She must know that if he wanted a flame he would merely pick up one of the candles about the room as Cyrus was now doing. He would have no need to strike a flame anew. But the sound effects were an integral part of the manipulation. Hearing them helped to circumnavigate the rational part of the brain, making her uneasy as to what would come next.
John took the candle Cyrus handed him and released the end of the rope, making sure there was nothing it could catch on.
The American waded silently into the sea of pillows lain about the chair and stood in front of Suzy.
