He’d seen how the hapless lunatics were treated here. He’d glimpsed behind the fashionable curtain of Mrs. Barlow’s establishment to witness the dark underbelly. Despite the fancy trappings, this place was Creavey Hall all over again. Cold seeped in the depths of him, a place where no healing waters could reach.
By God, he did not belong here.
It’ll only be temporary.The emotionless tones of his father, the Duke of Acton, echoed in his head.You’ll stay at Mrs. Barlow’s until this catastrophe blows over. No one will recognize you there—and the waters will do you good. God knows you need to regain your equilibrium.
At the time, he’d been too shaken to refuse his papa’s help, and it had taken the past few days here to regain his footing. To take full stock of his situation and realize that he was hiding like a bloody bastard. His arms shredded the water, his feet kicking until the whole of him was burning. And still he couldn’t shake free of the demons. Of the guilt and self-loathing and churning confusion.
Why can’t I remember? What’s wrong with me?
He forced himself into a more brutal pace. He swam until there was nothing left inside him. Only then did he haul himself out of the pool, flopping onto his back on the smooth stone. Chest heaving, he stared up at the wooden slats of the ceiling and tried to empty his head.
Yet the self-doubts wouldn’t stop, rising in a choir of accusation. Tranquility became a cage, and he was trapped in his own skin with no comrades, no wenches, no mind-obliterating pursuits to distract him. Devil and damn, what was a fellow to do with himself?
He needed an escape. A release before his head combusted with all that was building inside.
Like a buoy in dark waters, a memory drifted to him. The afternoon he’d spent with Lady Evelyn De Ville and her maid… he couldn’t recall the latter’s name, but she’d been a buxom brunette with dark, prominent nipples. A rousing contrast to Lady Evelyn’s delicate blond beauty.
He felt his blood heat, that welcome rush into his cock. He glanced at the closed door; that musicale would keep everyone occupied for another hour at least. Judging from the throbbing state of his erection, he wouldn’t need more than five minutes at most. He wasn’t a man meant for abstinence. The past week had been the longest time he’d gone without sex for as long as he could recall. Maybe releasing his seed would relax and calm him.
He lay back and fisted his cock. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d frigged himself—why put in the effort when there was a surfeit of others to do it for you?—but if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was someone else touching him.
Lady Evelyn’s slender white fingers, for instance, circling the heavy up-thrust flesh.
He could almost hear her breathy, rather affected accents.Oh, Sinjin, you’ve a monstrous large cock.The biggest rod I’ve ever seen.
Considering the source, it was no small compliment. Despite her ethereal looks, Countess De Ville was a connoisseur of the carnal arts. Her experience and appetite rivalled his own. Yet even her innovative bedroom antics had begun to bore him, and lately he’d had a strange yearning for something else. Something he couldn’t name, but that was more than burying his prick in a convenient orifice, more than a fleeting release followed by that dark, unending emptiness…
Focus, he told himself.Stay on the subjectliterallyat hand.
His biceps flexed as he stroked his thickening flesh. As he recalled, Lady Evelyn was an expert in fellatio, possessed of a voracious mouth. His breath quickened as she licked up and down his turgid shaft, tonguing the flaring dome before taking him deep. He tried to ignore her slurping and gagging; the lascivious sounds were meant to arouse, no doubt, but she took it a bit too far, sounding like she might cast her accounts.
Concentrate, you fool.
He shut his eyes. The maid—mustn’t forget her. She joined in the fun, crawling between his legs and lapping at his bollocks while Lady Evelyn bobbed on his cock. Yes, this was more like it. Two ladies—one fair, one dark—intent upon his pleasure… and each other’s. The maid abandoned him, her dark head slipping beneath her mistress. Lady Evelyn ground her sex against her servant’s lusty mouth, moaning, the sound reverberating against his iron-hard shaft.
Right-o. Everyone to their fancy, as he always said.
His climax was nearing; he needed just a bit more to tip the scales. He pulled Lady Evelyn’s mouth off the meat of his shaft and positioned her on her hands and knees. He plunged into her sopping cunny, riding her as she panted out encouragement. Not to be left out, the maid wriggled beneath her mistress, adding her lips and tongue to the lascivious joining. Apparently in the mood to return the favor, Lady Evelyn’s head dipped to her servant’s dark thatch.
His strokes quickened, his sac drawing taut, ready to fire—
A rustling sound tore him from his fantasy. His eyes snapped open, gaze shooting to the doorway. Through the haze of lust, he saw… a young woman? Small and prim, she was staring at him with enormous eyes.
In that moment, two incredible facts flashed through his mind. One, he’d been caught—red-handed, so to speak—by some virginal miss. Two, the lady’s eyes were the exact color of the pool: a pure aquamarine, mesmerizingly clear… faultless. Her tongue darted out to wet her plump coral lips, and, devil and damn, he felt that swipe from his balls to his cockhead.
How long has she been watching?
The thought sent an erotic buzz shot through him. Within his fist, his rod jerked, a droplet seeping from the bloated crown. The hot trickle over his knuckle shattered the remnants of his fantasy, reality crashing over him. With a curse, he released himself, made a grab for his robe. Before he could get the bloody thing on, he heard the rapid-fire retreat of footsteps.
He spun around; she was gone.
Heart thudding, he stared at the empty doorway. Who the bloody hell was she? Distracted by her startling eyes, he’d only gotten a vague impression of the rest of her: dowdy dress, neat little features. Was she a visiting relative of one of the patients?
He dragged a hand through his wet hair. If she was as prudish as her appearance suggested, he’d probably shocked her half to death. Although he didn’t recognize her—he avoided innocent ladies like the plague—he wondered if she knew whohewas...
By Jove, what if shedidrecognize him—and told someone about it?
Frost spread through him. His papa was working to control the damage he’d caused, asking only one thing in return:stay at Mrs. Barlow’s and out of sight. His Grace had spread the fiction that Sinjin had hailed off to the Continent on a whim. If word got out that Sinjin was not abroad but housed at a lunatic asylum where he’d been caughtin flagrantewithhimself…
