The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,41

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 masquerade there?” 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 said needs made 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 am not!”

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.

“Not much, though apparently it’s been a pastime of Prinny’s lately,” Clarissa said. “All rather hush-hush of course. Rumor has it that he’s been a frequent visitor to Marylebone where he visits with a woman by the name of Theresa Berkley and her merry band of mistresses.”

Isobel’s eyes widened as Molly and Violet gasped and covered their mouths. “Truly?”

“You three are actually surprised?” Clarissa scoffed. “That roué will do anything in the pursuit of pleasure, even being flogged while tied to a wooden steed.”

Molly’s mouth fell open. “Now you’re jesting.”

“Heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“Which horse? And how did you manage to do that?” Violet asked. Isobel was curious, too. It wasn’t like men were open about bawdy talk in front of gently bred ladies.

Clarissa grinned. “Easy. I told Harold he had no idea what a Berkley Horse was, and of course, he went straight to Derrick who couldn’t wait to set him straight about the nature of a good flogging. A bunch of gossiping fishwives, my brothers.”

Isobel shook her head. “One of these days, they’ll catch you, and what will happen then?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, they are a boundless treasure trove of salacious information.”

“Forget your brothers, you twits,” Violet said with breathless exasperation. “Open the