Page 2 of Only Pleasure Will Do

The madam’s insinuation was clear, but he ignored it. “You know who I am?”

“But of course. I make it my business to know all my patrons—to some degree.”

Reginald gritted his teeth. “I have never patronized your establishment, madam.”

She stared at him, a flash of hunger in her eyes as she took him in from top to toe. “Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, then.” The hunger disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Suffice it to say, I do know who you are, Mr. Matthews. How may I help you?”

“I have a garment, a black cloak that was found near here several weeks ago,” he gestured to the folded material clasped beneath his arm, “but which has only now surfaced from the night watch. I’m trying to ascertain its owner, Madame Vestry. May I come in?” A bare flicker of interest—or alarm—crossed her face at the mention of a black cloak, and his lips curled into a smile. His instinct to try the House of Pleasure first this morning had been exactly right.

“Of course, Mr. Matthews. I’m always eager to assist the Runners with their investigations.” The woman’s tone was smooth, but insincere. She opened the door and let him in, her gaze once more ravishing him as he walked past her. Warmth began to build within him, in the most inconvenient of places.

After shutting the door, she glided past him. “Follow me, please.” She led him down a dim hallway carpeted in soft, brilliant red and green Turkey rugs. Reginald glanced at the artwork on the walls—massive gilt frames displaying Rubenesque nudes in lewd poses—and sudden heat bloomed in the pit of his stomach. He’d not realized how easily mere images could affect him.

Concentrate on the job at hand.

He determinedly turned his gaze back to the small figure before him, although that wasn’t much better. The gentle sway of her hips as she walked drew his attention immediately to the shapely curve of her buttocks. His cock stirred restlessly against his breeches. Madame Vestry exuded sensuality like a jungle feline.

She led him into a small receiving room, the décor of which was titillating, to say the least. More lascivious artwork, both paintings and statuary, adorned the cream-colored walls. Scarlet curtains, embroidered with figures in various sexual poses, shut out the early morning light. Madame Vestry gestured for him to sit on a pomegranate-red, satin-covered sofa. “May I see the garment?”

“Certainly.” He handed it over for her perusal, his gaze trained on her face.

Only a slight widening of the dark brown eyes gave her away, but oh yes, she recognized the cloak. Satisfied he’d come to the right place, Reginald relaxed into the sofa.

Vestry felt the expensive cloth then ran her hand down the front opening, almost caressing it. A good customer then.

“Do you recognize it, Madam?” He waited patiently for her denial.

“Yes, Mr. Matthews, I believe I do.”

He tensed, attentive to her once more. Never trust a woman to be predictable.

“I think that cloak may belong to one of my patrons. I seem to recall him wearing it to an auction here some time ago,” she replied smoothly.

“His name, Madame Vestry?”

“Is none of your concern, Mr. Matthews.” Sharply raised eyebrows, like birds taking flight, signaled offence at his question. Madam Vestry suddenly reminded Reginald of his nursemaid, who used to tower over him with hands on hips whenever he broke the rules. Her voice had brooked no nonsense either. “I can assure you that I will deliver the garment to my patron today.”

“Alas, Madame Vestry, the garment is part of an ongoing investigation and may not leave my custody.” Reginald attempted to inject regret into his voice. “But if you would supply me with your patron’s address, I would be glad to assure him it has been found.”

“Alas, indeed, Mr. Matthews.” The woman’s tone sounded more genuinely apologetic than his own. “My establishment is well known for its discretion. How would my reputation fare if it becomes known that I named names to a Bow Street Runner?” The now highly indignant voice matched the cold-as-ice gaze that pierced him.

“Then pray it does not become known.” Coercion was an integral part of Reginald’s repertoire, one he enjoyed employing with the seedy characters he dealt with on a daily basis. With Madam Vestry, however, the activity became elevated to the level of sport. The woman was certainly no fool. “Let me assure you I will have that name before I leave, or I will have a magistrate sign a warrant for your arrest and shut your house down before the first customer sets foot in here tonight.”

A deep frown darkened Vestry’s face, although it did nothing to dispel her beauty. Still, she apparently knew when she’d been bested. With a sniff, she said, “If I remember correctly, the cloak was worn by the Marquess of Dalbury the night of my tableau auction. I saw him with it on after he won the bid, but I cannot tell you if he wore it out of my establishment. There were many men here that night and much excitement.” Cool gray eyes raked Reginald’s frame appraisingly then crinkled with humor. “You must attend the next one, Mr. Matthews. I’m sure you’ll find something to your liking.” She captured his gaze as her tongue flicked out to lick her full, red lips.

The heat in Reginald’s belly exploded downward to lodge as a seething mass in his groin. Although a man of modest appetites, he was certainly no virgin. He’d had his share of female companionship—discreetly, of course—but damn if this woman didn’t make him feel like an untried lad of thirteen. Her skills in the bedroom were widely touted throughout London. Certain rumors about her prowess came to mind, and the ache below worsened. Shifting his weight forward, hoping for some relief, he gripped the arm of the sofa like a vise and dragged his eyes away from her unwavering stare in the hopes his body would do his bidding and not hers.

He willed himself to refocus on the case and continued in what he hoped was a dispassionate voice. “Which of the tableaux did the marquess win?”

She hesitated only a second. “He bid on the first, which was loosely based on The Beggar’s Wedding. My girl Jenny was the ‘maiden’ accosted. Dalbury bid to become the highwayman who robs her of her jewelry.” Her lips turned up in a sly smile, her eyes glittering in the soft candlelight. “Among other things.”

Reginald clenched the carved end of the sofa. Madame Vestry’s predatory air made his heart hammer. The woman looked as though she wanted to suggest he do the same thing to her, a thought that played havoc with his already aroused body.

“He paid his vowels, and that was the last I saw of him.”

Reginald breathed deeply, willing himself to focus. “Which room did the marquess use for his purchase?”

“The blue room. Would you like to see it?” As she turned toward the door, her scarlet dressing gown slipped open, revealing her voluptuous curves. The alluring sight of a creamy white throat and firm, full breasts swelling out of her low-cut, white silk nightgown set his pulse frantically tapping. Her sleep-tousled black hair, charmingly disarrayed about her shoulders, seemed to invite his hands to plunder. He leaned forward and began to rise from his seat, his hand stealing out toward the retreating figure.