“Your gentleman chooses to remain unseen until such time as he will make himself known to you. However, you will obey his orders without question. If you fail to obey, he maychoose another mistress instead, leaving Madame LeBrecht to do with you what she will. I have been told this is your opportunity, Charlotte, to prove yourself worthy of this particular gentleman’s favor. Do not disappoint him.”
And with that, she left the room, leaving Charles terrified.
She felt deeply alone, yet was clearly not alone, because she knew the gentleman in question sat obscured behind the screen. She heard him adjust his seat and felt certain it was the man she called ‘Redstocking’—the one who’d fondled her legs. Sure enough, upon scanning the room, she saw a silk banyan laid over a chair and beside it the very same burgundy stockings and ribbons she’d modeled for him just last week.
Charles let out a bitter sigh of resignation. At least she knew with whomshe dealt. And yethowshe should deal with him was another matter entirely.
She steadied her nerves and faced the screen with as much courage as she could muster. She curtsied. “Good evening, sir.” She rose slowly to stall the inevitable.
She’d stall forever, if she could.
“Charlotte,” came a voice, not quite as she recalled Redstocking’s.
She awaited the man’s pleasure, swallowing her nerves.
“You may undress and bathe.”
With trembling hands, Charles forced herself to pretend she was alone as she undressed—to pretend some stranger was not watching her every move, leering at her body. She gripped Lord Wellesley’s timepiece in her pocket for courage, then slipped off her shoes, slowly unrolled her plain cotton stockings, and unhooked even more slowly Ruby’s simple print dress. This she folded and laid on the edge of the bed. Painfully slowly she unlaced her stays, her back turned to the man to prevent his viewing her bosom for as long as possible. When her stays dropped to the floor his voice sounded gruff.
“Turn around.”
She did, arms covering her thin shift for modesty, a shift which looked all the more threadbare in this overly plush room.
“Step into the bath,” he ordered, and without thinking she did, still wearing her shift, for he’d not told her to remove it and damned if she’d give him that chance. She sank into the warm water as the shift billowed up before sinking about her. She felt relief to be now underwater, a moment of respite from Redstocking’s probing eyes.
Charles refused to imagine what would come next.
“Wash yourself, I wish to watch,” came the voice, again not as she remembered Redstocking spoke, yet it was impossible to tell in a room as cluttered as this, his voice muffled behind the screen. It could easily be one of the many other gentlemen she’d served in the shop; she wouldn’t know until the villain showed himself.
She took the soap and cloth from the stool beside the tub and proceeded as slowly as possible to wash. She began with her neck and worked her way down, avoiding looking in the direction of the screen at all cost, focusing solely on her body. She had to admit, it felt good to bathe as opposed to washing from a cold basin at the inn. She tried to enjoy the sensation, yet it was impossible to enjoy anything knowing a man ogled her every move, the end game one she could not stomach. Her hands began to tremble as she soaped each arm, the thin shift clinging like a second skin. She’d been a fool to think it gave her modesty, for it likely had the opposite affect: hinting at things more tantalizingly than if she’d simply stripped bare.
The man behind the screen remained quiet, the room’s sole sound that of soft water splashing. She soaped the length of one leg to her thigh, and then the other, her shift hitched high on her hips. She knew this was a view Redstocking would like, so she lingered longer than necessary on her legs, an attempt to pleasethis man enough that he would not send her back toMadame. She began to panic inside, thinking she couldn’t go through with this, not this time. It had been different with Lord Wells; he’d taken his time with her, coaxed her. He’d given her drink that first night too, easing her anxiety, but this felt . . . Dread rose in her throat. She couldn’t do this. She didn’t have it in her to?—
“Out.” His command arrested all thought.
She was filled with fear to leave the comfort of the bath, to step out into the unknown of the rest of this night.
“Now,” he insisted.
Charles rose quickly from the bath, her shift clinging to every curve visible through the now transparent, soaked fabric. She heard him suck in his breath. Heart pounding, she reached for the robe to quickly wrap about her, still wearing the wet shift beneath.
Charles stood there in misery, awaiting this man’s order. She began to shiver for nerves, feeling desperately cold.
“Close your eyes and let down your hair.”
“What?” She was at once alarmed. “I should prefer to keep my eyes open, sir.”
“And I prefer you keep them closed,” he growled from behind the screen. “And if you cannot keep them shut I shall blindfold you instead.”
She quickly shut her eyes tight—a safer choice than to be bound blind—as she hurried to undo her pins. Perhaps if she kept a pin and stabbed him in the eye, blindinghim, she might escape. Only the door was locked and the windows nailed shut.
Charles nearly wept to think there was no way out.
Yet by the time her hair fell loose, a hand from behind reached to pull the locks from her neck, making her flinch and nearly open her eyes, for she’d not heard him leave the screen. He’d approached so quietly, so stealthily . . . Her breathing increased as she felt the man’s breath tickle her neck, the heatof his body behind her filling her with such a rush of terror she leapt from him, keeping her back turned, face hid in her hands.
“Forgive me sir, I cannot do this. I beg you, please let me go!” Her entire body shook.
“Madame LeBrecht assured me you had done this before, Charlotte.”
