Anna tried to think. It was difficult to concentrate this close to what she wanted. “Yes. Yes, I think so.”
Coral regarded her a moment more. Then she clapped her hands once. “Good. I think we shall first work on the costume. We will need a mask that conceals most of your face. Let us consult my maid, Giselle. She is very good with a needle.”
“But how do we know if Lord Swartingham will visit tonight?” Anna protested.
“I almost forgot.” Coral rang for writing utensils and began composing a letter at the breakfast room table. She talked as she wrote. “I know the proprietor and part owner of Aphrodite’s Grotto. She used to go by Mrs. Lavender, but now she is Aphrodite herself. A money-grubbing old witch, but she owes me a favor. A rather large one as it happens. She probably thinks I have forgotten the matter, so she will be all the more disconcerted to receive this letter.” Coral lifted her lips in a feral smile. “I make it a habit to never let a debt go, so in a way, you are doing me a kindness.”
She blew upon the ink to dry it, folded and sealed the letter, then rang for a footman. “The gentlemen who patronize Aphrodite’s Grotto often make an appointment in advance so that they may be assured a room and a woman for the night,” Coral explained. “Mrs. Lavender will inform us if that is the case with your earl.”
“And if it is?” Anna asked anxiously.
“Then we will plan.” Coral poured more tea for them both. “Perhaps you can take a room, and we will have Mrs. Lavender send Lord Swartingham to you.” She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Yes, I think that is the best idea. We will have the room lit by only a few candles so he will not be able to see you well.”
“Wonderful.” Anna grinned.
Coral looked briefly startled and then smiled back with the most sincere expression Anna had ever seen on her face.
The plan just might work.
APHRODITE’S GROTTO WAS a splendid sham, Anna reflected that night as she peered from the carriage window. A four-story building, all white marble columns and gold leaf, the place was apparently magnificent. It was only on second glance that one noticed the marble of the columns was painted on and that the “gold” was tarnished brass. The carriage pulled into the mews behind the building and stopped.
Coral, sitting in the shadows across from Anna, leaned forward. “Are you ready, Mrs. Wren?”
Anna took a deep breath and checked that her mask was firmly tied on. “Yes.”
She stood on shaky legs and followed Coral down from the carriage. Outside, a lantern by the back door threw a feeble light into the mews. As they picked their way up the path, a tall woman with hennaed hair opened the door.
“Ah, Mrs. Lavender,” Coral drawled.
“Aphrodite, if you please,” the woman snapped.
Coral inclined her head ironically.
They stepped into the lit hall, and Anna saw that Aphrodite wore a violet gown fashioned to look like a classical toga. A gold mask dangled from one hand. The madam turned shrewd eyes on Anna. “And you are…?”
“A friend,” Coral replied before Anna could say a word.
Anna shot her a grateful glance. She was very glad that Coral had insisted she don the mask before leaving the town house. It wouldn’t be wise to expose herself to the madam.
Aphrodite gave Coral a nasty look and led the way up the stairs and down the hall to pause before a door. She opened it and gestured inside. “You have the room until dawn. I will inform the earl that you wait for him when he arrives.” With that, she swooshed away.
Coral’s lips curved in a secret smile. “Good luck, Mrs. Wren.” And then she, too, was gone.
Anna carefully closed the door behind her and took a moment to steady her breath as she looked around. The room was surprisingly tasteful. Well, considering it was in a brothel. She rubbed her arms, trying to make them warm. Velvet curtains draped the window, a banked fire glowed in a lovely white marble fireplace, and two upholstered chairs stood by the hearth. She flipped back the covers on the bed. The linens were clean—or at least they appeared so.
She removed her cloak and draped it over a chair. She wore a diaphanous gown underneath that she’d borrowed from Coral. Anna supposed it was meant to be a nightdress, but it was extremely impractical. The upper half consisted mostly of lace. Coral had assured her, nevertheless, that this was the appropriate attire for a seduction. The satin mask on her face was butterfly shaped. It covered her forehead and hairline and swept down over most of her cheeks. The eyeholes were oval and tilted at the corners, giving her eyes a vaguely foreign shape. Her hair flowed about her shoulders, the ends carefully curled. Lord Swartingham had never seen her with her hair down.
Everything was ready. Anna skittered to the mantelpiece and fiddled with a candle. What was she doing here? This was a silly plan that would never work. What had she been thinking? There was yet time to renege. She could leave this room and find the carriage—
The door opened.
Anna whirled and froze. A masculine shape loomed in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light. For a fraction of a second, she felt fear and stepped back apprehensively. She couldn’t even tell if it was Lord Swartingham. Then he entered, and she knew by the shape of his head, by his stride, by the movement of his arm as he took off his coat, that it was he.
The earl laid the coat on a chair and advanced toward her in his shirt, breeches, and waistcoat. Anna didn’t know what to do or say. She nervously pulled her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear with the crook of her little finger. She couldn’t see his expression in the dim candlelight any more than he could see hers.
He reached for her and took her in his arms. She relaxed at the movement and lifted her face, expecting his kiss. But he didn’t kiss her lips. Instead, he bypassed her face altogether and laid his open mouth against the curve of her neck.
Anna trembled. To have waited so long for his touch and then suddenly to have his wet tongue tracing the tendon of her neck down to her shoulder was both shocking and wonderful. She gripped his upper arms. His lips ran back and forth on her collarbone, his hot breath raising goose bumps on her skin. Her nipples puckered against the rough lace on her gown.
He slowly pulled down one shoulder of the loose nightdress. The lace caught and dragged over her nipple almost painfully as her breast was exposed. His breathing grew deeper. He shifted his hand from her shoulder to slide a callused palm over her nipple. Anna caught her breath and exhaled raggedly. She’d not been touched by a man there in over six years, and then only by her husband. The heat of his palm almost burned against her cool breast. He rubbed his wide hand back and forth, taking his time to measure her with the span of his fingers. Then he caught the nipple in the crook of his forefinger and thumb and squeezed; at the same time, he bit gently down on her shoulder.