Her Husband's Harlot by Grace Callaway Read Free Book Online Page A

petticoats. She reassured herself that she specifically
had her morning dress designed, like all the garments in her wardrobe, to hide
her embarrassing abundance of flesh. It was one thing to mention one's
plumpness and quite another for one's friend to actually see it.
    "It
appears your means are quite generous, yet you somehow manage to depress them
with the poor cut of your gown, enough petticoats to clothe a village, and, Oh
Lord, is that a corset you are wearing?" Marianne finished in mock horror.
    "I
know it is not currently de rigueur ," Helena said with dignity, "but
my dressmaker assures me that many ladies of the ton still rely upon
them to convey a more fashionable figure."
    "I
was not aware that the shape of a trussed up chicken was the rage this season."
Leaning forward, Marianne poked her in the ribs. "How, may I ask, do you manage
to breathe in that monstrosity?"
    "Do
stop." Helena slapped her friend's hand away. "We cannot all possess
naturally svelte figures like you."
    Marianne
patted her skirts complacently. "Well, that is true. But why must you hide
your own particular gifts?"
    "I
am hiding nothing." Helena spoke through clenched teeth. "I am merely
attempting to minimize my flaws."
    "In
doing so, you have minimized any approximate shape to your body. Your dress has
enough material to cover the both of us. And," her friend added ruthlessly,
"enough lace and flounces to decorate the nation of France."
    Humiliation
swelled hot and prickly in Helena's chest. Marianne was probably right. After
all, Marianne always looked as if she had stepped off the pages of La Belle
Assemblée .
    "It
just so happens I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon with Madame Rousseau.
You shall accompany me."
    "Madame Rousseau would see me and on such short
notice?" Helena asked doubtfully. "It is said she clothes only the cr è me de la
cr è me of
Society."
    Grinning, Marianne helped herself to a tart. "She
will take one look at you and declare you her greatest challenge."

FOUR
     
    Nicholas
woke to the sounds of muffled shouting, followed by a thunderous crash that
shook the floor and reverberated through his body. Lively curses issued from
the warehouse floor below stairs. Minutes later, a sweet, pungent smell drifted
into the room. Recalling that a new shipment of rum had arrived yesterday from
the West Indies, Nicholas groaned. He rolled over on the lumpy couch and pulled
the rough woolen blanket more securely around him. At the moment, he did not
want to face another day at the office.
    What
he wanted to do was to fall back asleep and into the arms of the dream vixen
who had been torturing him with impudent kisses. Kisses that had brought him to
a throbbing morning cock-stand. With a sigh and eyes still closed, Nicholas
unbuttoned his smalls. He concentrated on the dream girl's mouth, cherry ripe
beneath her feathered mask. The full, luscious mouth that was planting soft
kisses along his jaw and down his neck. His breath came faster as she ran her
hands down the rigid muscles of his chest, and her tongue followed, licking
fire against his nipples.
    She
moved like a water nymph, her chestnut hair a cool silken wave over his skin.
She sank naturally between his legs, as if she belonged there. Her small hands played
with his stones. The gentle circular strokes made his blood roar. Then she set
her mouth on him. Nicholas bit back a growl as she lapped at his balls like
waves to a shore. Each tide pulled him deeper and deeper into an ocean of
pleasure. Twining his hands in her hair, he guided her mouth upward and crammed
himself inside. Hot, fast thrusts that blurred her words of love and lust. As
he neared his climax, he reached for her mask and tore it off.
    Golden
hazel eyes met his.
    "I
love you," Helena whispered.
    He
came in violent surges.
    Panting,
Nicholas lay flat on his back on the sofa. Gradually, he became aware of the
world again—the loud brass of cockney voices, the lulling splash of the tides,
the