A RAKE, HIS PATRON, & THEIR MUSE by Davidson Nicola

Author:Davidson, Nicola
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Viola Prescott and Jonathan Grant were dangerous.

Lennox gritted his teeth as he walked toward the river—a stream at best—and pondered how the hell he’d been lulled into confessing two very personal facts.

No one knew he’d sometimes attended a wretched and near-derelict parish school in Whitechapel. He wanted to forget that boy, the cold and starving orphan who had slept rough, eaten what he could find, and worn whatever fit best from the church charity box. But one thing had always stood him in good stead: his imagination. On countless occasions, he’d been able to weave a tale in exchange for supper, a spot in front of a fireplace, or to avoid trouble. Only in the past five years had his writing taken him to the heights he’d once dreamed of, but it was both a blessing and a curse. While he could conjure thoughts of the good and great, he could just as easily remember the dark and bleak, which led to bouts of melancholia.

On those days, his enduring fear of being exposed as a fraud was strongest. That society or Jon would discover he wasn’t a well-bred gentleman rake, but someone who had named himself from a haberdashery sign, and the end of town. Someone who had been taught letters, numbers, and how to enunciate like a blue-blood by Theresa Berkley, the fiercely intelligent and no-nonsense madam of a pain play club in Soho Square.

There was only one thing to do. Wrest back control with his other great skill: pleasure. Those who were befuddled by orgasmic bliss couldn’t ask probing questions or lull him into revealing more secrets.

“Jon,” said Lennox abruptly, “Have you found us somewhere to sit?”

His patron, still with Viola draped over his shoulder, nodded. “There,” he said, pointing to a reasonably flat and grassy section of the bank with trees to shade them from the afternoon sun.

Taking a folded rug from the basket, Lennox spread it across the grass while ensuring there were no stones or thistle patches to hurt unwary backsides. Then he unpacked the food. “Take a seat. Drink, anyone?”

Jon carefully set Viola down, then knelt beside her. “Roman noblewomen before gentlemen.”

She grinned. “Some wine perhaps?”

“Of course, madam,” said Lennox, uncorking a bottle. “And how will you pay for that?”

“Hmmm. A kiss?”

He shook his head. “This is quality wine.”

Viola shivered, her nipples visibly hardening against the bodice of her ghastly gray gown. Christ, he hated that color. “I have a fine outdoor stage here. Perhaps…a little entertainment?”

“Excellent idea. Here on this rug, you shall dance for us the way you did in all those inns and clubs. Poor Jon never had the good fortune to witness that.”

“Sounds fair.”

“Alas, I’m not finished. As I said, this is quality wine. Keeping in mind that our time here is limited…when we return to the carriage, you’ll remove that gray shroud and your delectable body shall be a toy for us to play with the entire journey back. To lick and suck and finger and fuck. We might take turns.

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