He returned the cloth to the washbowl and turne
d to face her in all his glorious nakedness. “I have no intention of leaving London.”
The questions she longed to ask danced on her tongue. Instead, she chose a subject guaranteed not to cause her any pain. “Is there a reason you own property and yet prefer to lease a house in town?”
He turned back to the washstand and swirled the cloth in the water. “I like to give my father the impression I refuse to settle.” Water trickled from the linen square as he wiped his chest, wiped the extraordinary length of his flaccid manhood. “It annoys him that I won’t take a wife, won’t accept the ridiculously large country estate gifted to me last year for my twenty-fifth birthday.”
“And you live to annoy him.”
“It is undoubtedly the only thing that keeps me sane.”
She wanted to probe him further, but he threw on a robe and tugged the bell-pull. “I’ll have breakfast sent up. What with the loud moans and groans and the violent rocking of the bed, there is little point hiding our relationship from the staff.”
Scarlett climbed out of bed, too, aware of Wycliff’s heated gaze blazing a trail over her naked body. She rummaged through the pile of clothing, slipped into her chemise, straightened the sheets and returned to the comfort of her lover’s bed. By the time she had finished, she looked like a virgin on her wedding night.
“What did you do with the notebook?”
Wycliff looked for his coat amid the mound of discarded garments. “It’s here somewhere.” He recovered the leather pocketbook and threw it onto the bed.
Scarlett flicked to the first page while Wycliff beckoned his servant to enter and gave instructions concerning the morning meal.
The small book contained a detailed account of Joshua Steele’s daily appointments. The notes began not long after Dermot had broached the subject of her numerous accidents, tales he had heard from members of the club. Having occurred in broad daylight, many had witnessed her horse bolt and throw her to the ground. Many women had screamed upon seeing the savage dog bounding out from the blanket of trees.
“Found anything of interest?” Wycliff asked as he climbed back into bed.
“Joshua visits his tailor far too frequently for a man riddled with debt.” Scarlett scanned the next few pages. “And he visits a place on Russell Street at least twice a week. Always at night.” She squinted. The name of the establishment proved hard to decipher. “It reads like Alter Bags.”
She laughed and handed Wycliff the notebook.
He perused the pages, flicked back and forth before the corner of his mouth curled into a grin. “It doesn’t say Alter Bags but rather Altan Bagnio.”
Scarlett wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never heard of the place. What do they sell?”
“Pleasure.” He chuckled. “Well-heeled clientele lounge in the Turkish baths before supping and moving on to more vigorous entertainment.”
“You mean Joshua is visiting a brothel?” What would stiff old Jemima say when she discovered her precious brother entertained prostitutes?
“Altan Bagnio is more than just a brothel. It caters to the more deviant appetites. Restrictive apparatus proves very popular, so I’m told.”
“Restrictive apparatus?” It sounded more like something one might find at a science lecture. “Might you speak the king’s English, sir?”
Wycliff laughed. “No doubt Joshua Steele enjoys having his wrists tied to the bedpost while seeking his pleasure. And that is me conjuring a rather tame image.”
“Surely not.”
While she knew men sought a variety of means to satisfy their needs, she couldn’t imagine the timid fellow enjoying that level of domination. That said, Lord Steele’s need to inflict pain was unnatural. Perverted. And what’s in the roots must surely come out in the branches.
Wycliff seemed to find the thought of Joshua’s unusual craving amusing.
“Do not mistake me,” he said, “you may tie my wrists to the bed, love, and do what you want with me. But at that pleasure house, the lord will be treated like a slave.”
Scarlett snatched the book from him. And yet she could not shake the image of Damian Wycliff strapped to the bed while she devoured every delectable inch.
She flicked through the pages, stopping abruptly at one particular entry. “Joshua visited the bank and then took a hackney to a house in Ely Place, off Holborn Hill.” She cast Wycliff a sidelong glance. “What if that’s where he hired the man to throttle me in my bed?”
Wycliff frowned as he repeated the street name. “I don’t suppose O’Donnell noted a description of who he met there?”
“No, only that he stayed for an hour before returning home.”