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34: A New feeling
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Sold to the coldhearted beast 35: Hurting him
*Everly* I fight not to be disappointed. When we had first arrived, he had brought me downstairs, and I had thought we were heading for the dens of depravity. Instead, he had led me into a room with a roped-off square in the middle and benched seating stacked along the walls. I imagine people sitting there to watch what occurs within the boundaries of the rope. I was hoping to see the gaming room, to view the games that men loses fortunes playing, especially the one that had put Orley into debt to Tristan, the one that had caused him to invite the gaming hell owner to his night of entertainment when he had sought to sell my off as some man’s mistress. I do not like to contemplate where I might be now if Tristan hadn’t been there. “Remove your cloak.” He orders, and I glance over to see he is shrugging out of his jacket. I do wish the man wasn’t in the habit of ordering me around without first explaining where his directives will take me. Still, I unfasten my cloak, slip it off my s
Sold to the coldhearted beast 36: Her realisation
*Everly* I follow him out of the room, up two flights of stairs, and down a hallway with several rooms. I might have thought this was the bordello portion except that the doors are open. The walls are papered in burgundy, with gold vines. More tasteful than I would have expected. Gas lamps flicker along the walls. Glancing through a doorway into a room we are passing, I stop. “This is your office; it’s where you work.” I stroll inside. It is spartan. A desk. A chair in front of it, and another behind it. A table with decanters. The windows are bare, looking out onto the night. “Why do you say that?” he asks. Looking over my shoulder, I see him leaning against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest. “The globes.” They are sprinkled about numerous shelves on three walls. “There must be a hundred of them.” “A hundred and two to be exact.” Astonished, I twist around. “Does that include the ones at the residence?” “No.” “Why do you collect them? What’s your fascination wit
Sold to the coldhearted beast 37: Facing her brother
*Everly* The clock on the mantel is veering toward eleven when I awake. I never sleep late. I suppose that is what happens when one entertains gentlemen at all hours of the night. I climb out of bed, ring for my maid, walk to the window, and draw back the draperies, not surprised to discover it is a dreary overcast day. Although it hardly matches my mood. One of these nights he will come to me and they will do more than talk. It is the terms to which I had agreed. I will honor them. I might not have much left to me but I have my word. The door opens and I glance over my shoulder at my maid. The air in the room doesn’t take on an energetic charge, seems to shrink in size, or become more alive with her entry. “I shall want fresh linens on the bed today.” Lila seems surprised. “Yes, miss. We put on fresh linens every day.” Of course they do. Lila goes to the wardrobe and retrieves the mourning dress in which I had arrived that fateful night. It seems an eternity has passed. Sudde
Sold to the coldhearted beast 38: Bad memories
*Tristan* In the late afternoon I stand at the window of my office, looking out on the street, watching as people bustle by. I do not know why I had not returned to my residence with Eve. I had wanted her, by the Goddess, how I had wanted her. Standing there in my apartment with the lights from outside, and the dim glow inside casting her in shadows that ebbed and flowed with her movements, she had been a seductress. Her smoky voice and her throaty laughter had added to the allure. My eyes slide close as I remember the kiss. She is becoming quite masterful at parrying. I had almost given her rein to wrap her arms around me, almost. I had felt the brush of her hands, craved the touch as much as it repelled me. My chest had tightened, sweat had popped out on my forehead, and I had known that I would shove her aside, possibly hurt her, so I had snatched her wrists before any damage was done. I do not want her first time to be in my den of iniquity, or in my carriage, or in the stre
Sold to the coldhearted beast 39: Giving her everything
*Tristan* I am standing in my library savoring my Scotch. Upon arriving, I had been informed by Laurence that Miss Everly had indicated that I am to wait in the library. I am to wait for her. That is not the way of mistresses. Though I have no one to blame but myself. I have neglected to provide her with a complete list of my rules. The door opens. She glides in and I nearly swallow my tongue. My fingers are tightening around my glass and I suspect if it wasn't so thick that it would have shattered. Miracle of miracles, the black is gone at last. She wears the purple gown, the one I got made for her. Her upswept hair catches the light, causing it to flicker over the pale locks, captivating me. The necklace her father had given her sparkles at her throat, tempting me to kiss over it, beneath it, along it until I reached the shell of her ear where I could nibble lingeringly. She exudes confidence. Yet as she gets near I see the doubts, the insecurity. I wish I were a man of poe
Sold to the coldhearted beast 40: Dinner date
*Everly* We eat in the sitting room that looks out on the garden. I had my father’s portrait removed earlier. I will have it returned tomorrow. But for tonight I wanted the intimacy of a smaller room. The dining room is too large, too formal, too cold. Candles flickers. Servants bring in the food, one course after another. I barely touch anything, and am aware of his constant gaze. Whether he is eating or sipping on his wine, he is looking at me. I had clung to a vain gossamer hope that things between us would not progress, that I might become more of a companion than a mistress. Talking of inconsequential topics over dinner, reading to him as he had asked that first morning. But the extent to which I am already in his debt astounds me. I had given no thought to the small things. “That’s how men lose fortunes, isn’t it ? They lose a little bit at a time, hardly giving it any credence … then suddenly they look around them and everything is gone”. He studies me over the rim of
Sold to the coldhearted beast 41: Kiss of control
*Tristan* In the library, I stand by the fireplace and drink my best Scotch, one glass after another, while she sits in a nearby chair, her posture perfect. In the end, she isn’t Reading me poetry but some story about windswept moors and haunting love. But I am not listening to the words as much as I am the lilt and smoky cadence of her voice. The raspiness of it has intrigued me from the beginning. She could recite the letters of the alphabet and hold me enthralled. Dangerous, so very dangerous. I want to sweep her up into my arms and carry her upstairs, even knowing the hell that holding her so close would bring. Watching her, I can almost forget my limitations, that there is so much I can not give her, and for the first time in my life, my inadequacies fill me with regret. I am vain enough to acknowledge that on the surface I am a handsome enough fellow. It is what lies beneath that would turn her away. The dark parts, the secrets, the things I have done. If she knew of those,
Sold to the coldhearted beast 42: The demons of a madman
*Everly* He bends his arms, and manages, without his body touching mine, to give me a quick kiss on the lips. Then he is easing off of me. Cold instantly talking over his place. “Are you leaving ?” I ask. “Not yet. Wait here”. He says softly. As though I have a choice, as though I am not lethargic and my limbs haven't been turned into jelly. I study him as he walks over to the sink. I like the shape of his buttocks, the way the muscles flexes with his movements. I am a mistress now. I should probably be able to enjoy the male form without feeling guilty about it. It is my job. He washes himself quickly, then returns to me with washrag in hand. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he begin to gently swipe at the inside of my thighs. “There’s not as much blood as I thought there would be”. He says, his voice filled with wonder. “Am I your first virgin ?” I ask with surprise. He lifts his gaze to mine, and for the span of a heartbeat, he appears younger than he usually does, more inn
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