5 comments/ 21296 views/ 3 favorites Blossom of the Brothel Ch. 01 By: _Corvinus_ Romance, nothing but romance! Destiny and circumstances are calling for an unlikely couple of passionate lust, troubled pasts and bittersweet present while a carefully woven web of interest threatens their happiness. Will they be able to find love amidst it all? This is a story consisting of 10 chapters. I will submit one every week and hope that you will enjoy reading as much as I loved writing it. Prologue Noise had woken him at night. Shouts, angry, demanding and desperate crying echoing through the corridors of his home. Alarmed and frightened by the strange sounds he climbed off the bed and tiptoed quietly to the door. His Nanny was nowhere to be seen, yet the shouting only grew louder as he carefully felt his way around in the darkness of the night. He sensed that something was wrong and wanted his momma. He saw her before he could have reached her chambers, located just at the other end of the corridor. "No! Please .... please don't do this, please don't!" she had pleaded helplessly while struggling against the men trying to lift her unwilling body from the cold marble floor. It took a moment until he realized that the tormented woman in the single white nightgown with her long blond hair flowing around her frame like liquid gold was the same mother who had kissed him goodnight with a radiant smile that very night. "Momma! Momma!" He rushed to her side desperately, his tiny fists banging against the thighs of the men trying to take her away. "My baby!" she had cried out with her heart breaking at the sight. He closed his eyes and pounded the men with all his might until a firm grip around his waist lifted him from the floor and took him away. Away from the cries and the struggle, away from his mother. When he opened his eyes again his father was looking at him with an angry face. "Momma! They are hurting her!" he exclaimed, tugging at his father's arm, wanting to pull him along. His eyes remained hard and untouched by emotion. "No, my son. Your mother is ill, very ill. Those men are not hurting her, they are taking her away. It is best this way." He had cried himself to sleep that night. Praying the way she had taught him for his mother to become healthy again and come home to them. He couldn't have been more than four, yet many years later, in his dreams, he still struggled against the dark clad men. The mother he had known, with her radiant smile and beautiful golden crown, he never saw again. *** Sunset bathed the snow-covered hilltops in a golden glow as the last warm rays withdrew their caress from the valley below. Even the chilly wind that had started to rise form the North couldn't spoil Emmeline's mood. It was her favorite part of the day. Most afternoon guests had already left and the patrons of the night were still enjoying their dinner at the tavern. She had been tending to the small vegetable garden behind the kitchen for many years now, her slender fingers digging into the earth with great care. Back in the days when Emmeline was but a toddler, her mother had planted the garden in hopes of providing more variety for her cooking. Years later her daughter still cared for the vegetables with the same tenderness as for her late mother's grave. The melody she hummed while pulling the stubbornly anchored weeds from the soil brought back pleasant memories of days long gone, pushing aside the worries of the present. The Golden Mane was the only home Emmeline had ever known and while not the most ideal place for a child to grow up at, her mother always did her utmost to make her feel safe and cared for. She used to hold her at night, when the thin wooden walls didn't keep away the guttural sounds from upstairs. Her mother would sing quietly, ancient melodies that soothed away her little girl's fears, rocking her gently to sleep. Valentine also had a sweet laughter, a warm, special smile she only gave to her daughter and no one else. She often worried about Emmeline's future as the child started to blossom into a young woman men would take notice of without doubt. Emmeline had inherited much of the exotic beauty that had sealed her mother's fate a long time ago. Her delicate features and the humble meals the owner provided gave her youthful charms a fragile, almost vulnerable look, despite the hard physical work she had been accustomed to since her early childhood days. Her chocolate brown eyes matched her mother's perfectly and sparkled when she smiled in ways that made the widow Carmichael accuse her of being a witch more than once. Her most striking feature was probably still her smile. A mirror image of the pure love and warmth of a child's trusting heart who had never known deceit nor the cruelty that could dwell in other human hearts. "Unnatural things lie in that child, Valentine. I tell ye, evil has touched her hair and eyes," the widow Carmichael would vow whenever she saw the cook brush her daughter's hair. Emmeline's dark ebony tresses flowed like liquid silk between her mother's fingers, the light of the fireplace casting mysterious shadows around them. Valentine would tell her daughter not to mind the old widow's foolish beliefs and taunting words. "Envy is gnawing at her heart. Because you are so pretty and young and she is but bitter and spiteful. Nothing makes more ugly than an ugly heart." Valentine had done her best to keep her daughter always by her side, working in the garden, helping her in the kitchen but while completing her chores, Emmeline would still occasionally bump into a patron. When her mother realized that the tightly braided hair and the ragged clothed were still not enough to make a young woman in bloom invisible to the hungry eyes of the leering patrons she started to make arrangements for Emmeline to become a laundry maid. The respectable women of the village, however, seemed anything but eager to employ a girl with her background. Thus Valentine wandered into a nearby village, half a days march away on foot, seeking employment for her daughter in a respectable household. She returned two days later with high fever and a promise of consideration from a kind hearted widow of humble means, who had taken pity on her. The storm that had caught Valentine on her way left her feverish for many days. With Emmeline reluctant to leave her sick mother's side, young Mr. Tucker, the owner of the house, started to complain how neither of them was paying for their keep. The widow Carmichael overtook the kitchen but her cooking didn't seem to appeal to the guests. Again Mr. Tucker cursed and complained about the money he was loosing because of Valentine's foolishness. When Valentine requested to speak to him in private, Emmeline didn't like the idea at all. "You are still so weak, mother. Here have some soup." But Valentine insisted on sending for the fuming man. Mr. Tucker's uncle had been a kind hearted man albeit with little sense for business, as his nephew would often claim. When almost two decades earlier a young woman of stunning beauty showed up in his tavern with a baby on her arm he made sure they were well taken care of, lacking nothing. When Valentine started to ask around about employment possibilities old Mr. Tucker was helpful and didn't ask questions aside from her skills and the arrangement she had in mind. Valentine explained that she had worked as a kitchen hand and later as a maid to a noble family but was made to leave once her circumstances started to show. Mr. Tucker only nodded understandingly, her story was one and a dozen among the young maidens in the country. In most cases, some sort of compensation for their "circumstances" and silence was arranged by the household they were leaving, even though this didn't seem to be the case with Valentine. Mr. Tucker thought it a pity for such a delightful beauty to go to waste and offered the young woman and her daughter room, food and a humble payment for kitchen service. Valentine was grateful for the opportunity and with her experience as a kitchen hand soon became an excellent cook. Emmeline had been working alongside her mother by the time old Mr. Tucker passed away and his nephew and only heir overtook the business. Young Mr. Tucker was eager to make as much profit as possible and cut down on any expenses he considered unnecessary. Within a years time the quiet little tavern at the end of the village had turned into a loud brothel, despised by the people around and still blooming because of the many travelers and visitors that frequented it even from the neighboring villages. Not wanting her only child to become a victim of men's unbridled lust, Valentine tried to convince Mr. Tucker even in her illness to send her daughter away. The greedy man was unmovable, only complaining about the financial loss Valentine's condition was already causing to his establishment. How could he afford losing another employee now? The desperate woman vowed to pay him back everything if only he would let Emmeline go to serve the widow Blacksmith, even signing a contract of her intentions. Mr. Tucker had finally agreed and wished her well before leaving. Valentine Dawson passed away during that night, content and hopeful that she had spared her daughter the fate that had become her undoing. If nothing else, Emmeline was something she had done right in this world and she left with hope in her heart that she would grow up to lead a happier and better life. Three years later Emmeline still worked the small vegetable garden behind the kitchen, her dark hair covered by a faded head scarf, her soiled face and dirty hands hardly igniting desire in anyone who passed her. The grief she felt over the loss of her mother bore down on her lively spirit and extincted the spark of laughter from her eyes. What remained was the sorrowful expression of a young woman. Valentine made her promise that she would never sell herself short, never yield to tempting offers of an easy life or flattery rather lead the virtuous life of a hardworking woman. "Devil's child, ye come hither or I shall make ye!" The old crow's shouting tore Emmeline from her reminiscence at once. Since her mother's death the widow Carmichael seemed to find fault in whatever she did. There was no chore too heavy for the devil's child, neither a task completed to the old woman's contentment. She seemed to draw her only delight from talking down on Emmeline and punishing the little beast to her heart's delight, for the girl's own good, as she would claim. "The Sir wishes to have a word with ye. Hurry for he won't be kept waiting!" The old lady barked. When Emmeline wiped her hands in her dirty apron the widow took her by the arm roughly, yanking her to the basin. "There is no way in heaven or hell that I let ye walk around in the house like that. What do I have ye scrub the floors for? Filthy brood of devil, wash up!" Emmeline stumbled and her shoulder crushed against the hard wood of the basin when the widow tossed her aside, cursing under her breath as she wiped her hand in her apron with obvious disgust. With a deep breath the young woman washed her hands and face, taking her time. Talking to Mr. Tucker couldn't mean anything good in her experience. There was just something about his smile, the way he looked at her, that unsettled Emmeline, no matter how charming his words might have been. The eerie feeling wouldn't leave her around the man so she did her best to get out of his way whenever possible. On the rare occasion when they spoke, Mr. Tucker seemed eager to taunt her, tease her in ways most inappropriate and delight in the embarrassment that showed so readily in her pale complexion. He made it no secret that he had plans for Emmeline to entertain the guests once she has come of age, yet apart from the embarrassing compliments never seemed to pressure the matter. "You wished to see me, Mr. Tucker Sir." Emmeline courtesied somewhat awkwardly. The door of the study was wide open, she had been obviously expected. Rupert Tucker sat at his desk with a smug grin on his face. "Ah, there you are. Good, good. Come in girl and have a seat." Emmeline walked into the room with a nervous flutter in her stomach, her eyes never leaving the man in front of her. The content smile on his face made her wonder most though. "I have delightful news for you, Emmeline," Mr. Tucker started out enthusiastically. "I have been taking care of you, your welfare for three years now. As you know, I spared no expenses when it came to taking care of your mother in her sickness either. I have watched you blossom into a young woman underneath of those rags of yours." He grinned lasciviously while watching the girl fiddle with the torn sleeve of her gown. His eyes delighted in the embarrassed blush blooming in her cheeks. Emmeline understood what was expected of her, she swallowed the lump in her throat and forced a small smile. "I know, Mr. Tucker Sir. And I am very grateful for all you have done for me. Me and my m... mother." Obviously pleased the man nodded. "Very well, Emmeline. The time has come when you can show your gratitude truly. I am sure you have heard that Mary has left us?" He stood from behind his desk, walking towards her chair with a slow, leisurely stride. "Y .. Yes, Mr. Tucker Sir." Emmeline replied, hating the way her voice broke and the ugly suspicion that made her heartbeat flutter in concern. Mary was one of the prettiest girls from upstairs, a favorite of many regular patrons. Why or how she had left two days earlier no one seemed to know. Mr. Tucker told them that she wished to leave and return to her family. The girls upstairs whispered that Mary had become ill from drinking too much of the herb brew the widow Carmichael made for the girls regularly to prevent them from conceiving a child. Mr. Tucker's voice was soft, a seductive tone one would talk in to a frightened wild animal. "I am looking for someone to fill her position. Someone men would easily desire, someone who would be smart enough to make them lose not only their mind but also their money. Someone ... like you Emmeline." The young woman rose instantly, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment, only to find herself pushed back onto the chair by the owner's iron grip. "Mr. Tucker, I really can't ... I ... just can't do that." Emmeline stammered in protest. Her mother was likely turning in her grave in shame. "Emmeline, dear! What unbridled passion of youth! But worry not, I know you are probably nervous, so won't punish you for this ugly outburst. Not yet anyway. But you must understand that this is not an offer I make you here. You will take Mary's place. Unless, of course you can offer another acceptable way of paying your dept." With his breath upon her cheek, the smell of ale clinging to his skin, Emmeline found it impossible to think straight. Fear and disgust made her stomach knot tightly. The protest that left her lips turned into a nauseous moan that made her hand fly to her mouth to cover it. "Was that a yes, Emmeline?" he inquired with the gleam of a predator in his pitch black eyes. "No!" the girl managed to get out weakly, before regaining her composure. "Mr. Tucker Sir, I want to pay, I honestly do. I will work for you in the kitchen, I can cook and do the laundry and every chore around the house. Please, Sir, let me repay that way, I have been always working hard for you, Sir." Her eyes pleaded with a merciless gaze. He shook his head in mock sadness. "Emmeline, Emmeline, I was truly hoping that we would be able to reach a ... friendly understanding on this matter." He reached back for a piece of paper onto his desk to wave it in front of her face. "I take it you recognize your mother's signature?" Emmeline starred at the obligation dully. She had seen it before. The day after her mother's funeral when the widow Blacksmith had sent her son to pick her up for her service at the neighboring village her mother had arranged. Tucker had shown then the document to Emmeline and the young man. Valentine's signature was weak but still recognizable on the obligation that stated that she owned Mr. Rupert Tucker more money than she would have made as a cook in an entire life time. Tucker had graciously offered the girl as a maid to the Blacksmiths, provided they pay her dept beforehand. While the old widow had taken pity on Valentine's fate, she neither had the money nor any interest in paying so much for the service of a bastard raised in a brothel. It was one of the few days when Emmeline wished old Mr. Tucker had never taught her or her mother to read and write. "Am I right to assume that you don't wish to come into deptors' prison? I am sure they would enjoy having a sweet little thing like you ... of course without the protection I can offer you in my humble establishment." He felt her shake under his hands, her breath coming in wary little puffs. When she finally closed her eyes and shook her head no, Tucker let out a triumphant growl. "Very well then. I knew you were a reasonable one, Emmeline. Glad that we could reach a friendly understanding in the end." He put the paper back onto the desk and looked her over from head to toe, shaking his head. "My, my ... what a frightened little deer you look. Some like their amusement that way but those are few. Of course we will have to get you out of those filthy rags. Strip, girl." He ordered her curtly, leaning against his desk and folding his arms in front of his chest. "Sir?!" Emmeline's eyes grew wide, her pale skin glistening with a thin line of cold sweat that broke out on her worried forehead. "You have heard me, Emmeline. Now be a good girl and obey before I get my cane!" The sweet, seductive tone was completely gone form his voice. What remained was a cold, commanding snarl that made a shiver of fear run down the young woman's spine. She stood slowly, setting her jaw tightly while fighting hard to suppress the sobs that threatened to erupt. She suspected Mr. Tucker would be hardly moved by her feelings anyway. *** Evening fell upon Remington Hall with a quiet grace, respectfully paying its tribute to the noble line which had ruled over that part of the country, as far as the eye could see. Time had taken its toil on the proud nest of noble generations, advisers to kings and mothers to heirs of the throne. High on the hilltop its impressive outline still hovered over the valley and the villages below, though no longer bearing but faint resemblance to the majestic glamor of the past. Lord Remington was a man of high ambitions and considerable power. Barely shy of a minister's position, his influence at the court was envied by many despite the scandalous burden he had been blessed with. His son and only heir had been a troublemaker even at child's age. While most of the court's golden youth seemed content with a few carefree seasons of sinful indulgence, Duncan proved to have an insatiable and quite eclectic appetite of his own when it came to the pleasures of the flesh. His flaring temper and rebellious heart often got him involved in fights at the most common taverns on his late night rides, while his devilish charm and good looks gained him invitations into the bedrooms of the purest blossoming flowers of the court. Outraged fathers, demanding marriage and compensation for their ruined daughters and dishonored family name, were not an unusual sight in Lord Remington's waiting room. Duncan seemed perfectly resistant to any reasoning about changing his way of life. He refused to serve his time in the royal army, neglected family responsibilities and lived a life of rebellion, almost as if he was intent upon ruining the family's good standing, along with his father's political aspirations. The exact circumstances of the scandal that had banned him from the court could only be guessed by the commoners of his land. Rumors spoke of the young Lord's dark passions, his fancy for inflicting pain upon maidens, dungeon plays and hedonistic orgies where blood spilled from the globes mixed with the finest red wine. Some whispered of an illness of the mind that had befallen him as a punishment from God for all the ruthless abandon he devoured life with in the days of his youth, a theory which was supported by the shepherds spotting the old Doctor Layman's carriage on the road to Remington Hall many a night. Servants of the mansion reported at times of rustling chains and tormented cries of pain tearing through the darkness of the corridors. Yet few had actually seen the young Lord since the day he retired to a quite exile within the walls of the castle three years previously. Blossom of the Brothel Ch. 01 Lord Remington's visit had been unannounced that evening. He traveled with an unusually light carriage considering the season without the weapon of the family on the door of the simple black coach. His arrival had ignited quite a stir in the small household he kept around Remington Hall. "My Lord, what an unexpected surprise!" Mrs. Hinsdale, his housekeeper greeted him with a tight smile. "I shall have dinner served and your chambers readied swiftly, My Lord," she courtesied politely. "Some dinner would be welcome, Mrs. Hinsdale. Have it packed please. My business is urgent and I am not staying for the night. Now, where is my son?" He demanded while starting to look from one room to the other himself. He didn't bother to notice the worried frown breaking out on the old woman's forehead. "The young Lord ... he is not feeling well Sir, I am afraid. Perhaps it would be better if you could let him rest and speak with him in the morning ..." No matter how tentative the suggestion, the disapproving look Remington gave her clearly confirmed that she had overstepped her duties. "Drunk again, is he?" The Lord eyed her suspiciously for a moment before storming upstairs to his son's chambers unmoved by the pleading of the old woman, unable to keep up with his long strides. A frustrated Duncan closed the heavy oak door with a weary sigh. The scraping of insistent fingernails couldn't be heard anymore once he pushed the bolt into place and turned the key carefully in the lock. Even the banging fists on the other side of the tower room turned into muffled thuds through the thick wooden barrier. He rested his forehead against the heavy door for a moment to get a grip on his temper again while his father's angered voice rang unmistakably through the corridors of the mansion. The bite mark on his left wrist still bled and stung, a trickle of blood coating the arm of his sweaty white shirt. No, it would definitely not be good to meet him this way, he decided finally, turning away from the muffled cries of the other end of the door. By the time he reached the second floor he had stripped his shirt and grabbed a bottle of cheap rum from a cabinet, pouring a hearty amount unto the wound with a tight jaw and sprinkling some into his dirty blond hair. How out of style! The very thought made him smile for a moment. He smelled like a drunk sailor and probably even looked like one, dressed in some worn boots and faded leather pants, his hair falling into his face and about his shoulders in unruly tresses. The Duchess Arlington and the other prissy ladies of the court would certainly deny having ever warmed his bed! The sticky liquor trickled down his neck, biting into his shoulder with an unexpected sting. The mirror he passed on the corridor confirmed a set of ugly, red scratch marks. Well, there was not much he could do about those at that moment, so taking a hearty sip from the bottle in his hand for courage he squared his shoulders and entered his chambers with a smile on his face. "Fathhe'!" he exclaimed in a drunken blur, loud enough to make the old man wince before embracing him in a tight bear hug. The repulse that had dominated the Lord's face upon seeing his son fallen apart had changed over the years and became gradually replaced by disgust and anger. "Duncan! For God's sake, you are strangling me!" He coughed, struggling against the taller man's grip. The lazy smile that flickered over his son's face didn't quite meet his cold eyes. "Don't tempt me ... fatthe'" Duncan whispered maliciously into his ear before releasing his hold on him. He stumbled and almost fell to the ground while making his way to the love-seat across the richly furnished room. Flopping down on it with a moan he gulped down some more rum, brushing the escaping drops from his chin with the back of his hand. "Duncan, you look scandalous." The older man commented with resent. "Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint you, My Lord. I am sure you expected no less of me." Lord Remington turned from the sorry excuse of a noble man before him in disgust. "Hardly. Once a disappointment, always a disappointment," he confirmed bitterly. "Unfortunately, I can't afford to sit around and wait for common sense or lighting to strike you, Duncan, neither for that booze to clear from your head. I doubt even a lifetime to be long enough for that! I am expected at the court tomorrow afternoon and will therefor have to leave as soon as my business here is conducted. So, get a grip on your sorry self boy, and pay attention!" "Business, eh?" Duncan gave him a mocking grin. "Aren't you afraid, My Lord, that my company may compromise you? And just what kind of your businesses may be of interest to me?" Lord Remington turned to him finally, his hands firmly clasped behind his back as he started to pace the room. "Times like these require sacrifices from all of us, Duncan. You have lived off my wallet and have caused your family plenty of embarrassment as it is!" "Oh, is that so?" his son injected with an amused smile. "Pray tell father, just what family are you talking about?" "I will have none of that talk now! The matter at hand is urgent and frankly, I neither have the time nor the patience for your drunken outbursts. Now, pay attention for you are given an opportunity. In fact, a golden opportunity to prove that you are not the sorry excuse of a complete mess everyone thinks you to be. His Highness is willing to grant you rehabilitation along with the position of a commander in the royal army overseas." Duncan frowned, there surely had to be more to this generous offer. "Of course, this gracious gesture of the king is bound to a certain degree of responsibility." his father confirmed Duncan' suspicion. He look pleased, almost triumphant. He obviously believed to have issued a tempting offer. What a fool! It made Duncan wonder once again about their relation. "Is it? And just what sort of responsibilities did his Highness have in mind?" he inquired with a loud burp. "No need to act the pig when you already look one, my son ... In fact, the king wishes only for a public oath of loyalty and an apology to the Duchess of Arlington before you speak the wedding vows." Duncan's laughter was bitter, no matter now he tried to act nonchalant. There had been a time when he would have given his right arm and all his titles and lands to hear his father say those very same words. Isabella Constantine de Monfort, Duchess of Arlington, second cousin to his royal Highness the king. Her coquettish smile and proud demeanor had been once the most enticing prey of the court to him. A feisty little red-head able to not only grab but also hold his attention through their many shared nights of passionate, rough mating. She was pleasant to the eye, had a fiery temper much like his own and seemed to match him even in his darker tastes of passion. How different things might have turned out if she had not betrayed him? At times, mostly at night when sleep would not grant him peace, Duncan still wondered about what could have been. "Isabella wishes to be my betrothed?" Seeing the disbelief in his son's face gave Lord Remington a rush of success. Finally! He hoped this news would have at least some kind of effect on him and reach through the armor of indifference Duncan had so carefully erected around him in his exile. "Actually, no. She doesn't. But her ... circumstances left her family without a choice. The Duke doesn't wish for his grandchild to be born a bastard and therefor, you my dear son, are given the unique opportunity to make up for the sins of the past and make Isabella an honorable woman and give her child a name." "There isn't enough holy water in all the churches of the kingdom to make that woman honorable!" Duncan hissed angrily under his breath. He was outraged and not only by the proposition but even more by the realization that after all this time she was still able to get under his skin. Never mind the nausea stirring in his gut. "Watch your tongue! And from now on, also your company." Lord Remington warned with a disgusted glance at the scratches on his son's bare shoulders. "No more whores until the vows are spoken. Duke Arlington is an influential man and will soon become a valuable ally. I won't have you ruin this golden opportunity!" Duncan stood from the love-seat slowly, his blue eyes piercing his father with a cold glare. He spoke quietly, all lightheartedness gone from his voice. "You want me to marry the royal whore of the palace, take on her bastard, give them a name and then ... be shipped away to hopefully never to return and bring either of you any more shame?! If that was the business you had in mind father, I am afraid you have come in vain." "You will marry her! You owe Isabella, her family and your own family much more than that!" The temper rising in Remington's voice did little to change his son's mind. "Like hell I will!" Duncan declared stomping out of the room. "Sooner will your daughter become a common whore of my own choosing than one chosen by you!" Lord Remington bid his farewell soon, scolding himself inside for even having bothered with trying to convince Duncan. His son's reaction to Isabella had not escaped the old Lord's attention though and he was determined to take advantage of the power she obviously still held over him. He promised to return within a fortnight with his fiancée, hopeful that one night alone with her would do all the convincing a father's reasoning was not able to accomplish. The engagement would be announced at Remington Hall, far away from the prying eyes of the court, followed by the wedding ceremony on the next day for considering the duchess' condition, their union was pressed for time. Duncan watched the unmarked carriage roll down the the slight slope that lead into the valley below with a turmoil of emotions in his heart. Running away was out of question yet neither could he leave for the Americas in two weeks, that seemed the only thing he was certain about. A conspiracy. Use him and get rid of him, as soon as possible, that was the plan Arlington and his dear father have obviously hatched. Part of him seriously doubted if any ship he boarded would ever make it to the Eastern shores of the New World. There had been times in his youth when he would not have argued, when responsibility had been as alien a feeling to him as his father still assumed and one more night in Isabella's arms had been a tempting offer to die for. But years had passed since then. Years of realization and uncovered secrets that had hardened the carefree boy into a troubled man. Duncan yanked the reins of his midnight mare with stubborn determination as a wicked plan started to form in his mind. He would have to shatter his father's conspiracy from its very core, he decided finally, heading down the hill in a hurried gallop. Whoever expected him to be an easy prey was certainly in for a surprise. *** Please take a moment to comment and let me know what you think. Thank you for your time and for reading along. - Corvinus Blossom of the Brothel Ch. 02 Here is the second chapter of the tale. Thank you for your encouragement and input on the story. I take the good with the bad so please don't be shy and keep them coming. *** Her nails dug into the tender flesh of her wrists just before the next blow struck, drawing another painful moan from Emmeline. In a twisted way the pain felt good, a welcome distraction from the embarrassment that had become her steady companion since entering Mr. Tucker's office. Her backside felt feverishly hot, yet the pain seemed to numb her mind, narrow her world down to the sound of the cane cutting through the air, making her forget about her miserable future for a while. A whore. That was what she had become, or would be once the seed of rebellion was be beaten out of her body and mind. At least that was what Mr. Tucker had promised, his disbelieving eyes still returning to the bite mark upon his thigh. It had been a visceral reaction, a moment of panic when he tried to push his crotch into her frightened face. For a moment the inexperienced girl kneeling at his feet, stripped of her clothes but for the scarf on her head, had forgotten her place and started to fight back. Her teeth had done little damage to the skin, the rough material of his trousers had taken most of her fierce response, yet the owner's pride had been damaged beyond what he saw a mere servant capable of. He had pushed her face down onto the table, clearing the papers aside with a rough swipe of his arm, his weight crashing down upon her and knocking the air out of Emmeline's lungs. His meaty paw grabbed the flesh of her hips angrily as he kicked the frightened girl's legs apart. Tucker meant business. It was part of his business politics to set the boundaries right from the start. Less complications, better compliance and subsequently more profit. He was determined to teach Emmeline a lesson she would never forget. She was no novice to discipline of course, the window Carmichael had made sure of that, yet the very thought of the obscene picture she must have presented, her naked body bent over the heavy desk, her womanhood exposed to the lascivious man's gaze, made Emmeline's insides shake with shame. She bit into her shoulder to keep from crying out, a satisfaction the last it of her dignity demanded she didn't give to the man so obviously delighting in hurting her. "That will teach you! To refuse me? I ... who have been so good to you. Have taken care of you, ungrateful ... bastard, I ... will ... teach ... you", each of his words emphasized by another blow. She started to feel dizzy slowly, the surface of the desk no loner scrubbing the tender skin of her belly and the gentle swell of her exposed breast with its rough touch. Even Mr. Tucker's excited, breathy voice seemed to fade into the distance as Emmeline closed her eyes. The world had gone black. The darkness surrounded her like a warm, surreal cocoon, alleviating the pain, the shame. She came to her senses slowly, candle light making her eyes squint. Her backside felt aflame, tender beyond any pain the widow Carmichael had tried to save the devil's child eternal soul with. The voices around her drifted to her ears from afar, growing louder and louder until the words finally started to make sense. "A filthy little whore she is, but a fine one. Young and virile." Mr Tucker had said proudly. "Beaten unconscious," another man pointed out calmly. "Oh that little canning? That was nothing, just a little discipline. Emmeline here knows how to appreciate discipline." "That is still a ridiculous amount of money for damaged goods." Her face still resting against the desk, she never saw the greedy spark lighting up Mr. Tucker's eyes. "Indeed, My Lord, indeed. Damaged? Perhaps a little shaken up. But still unused," he added with a knowing grin. The man remained silent for what felt like a long time. She became vaguely aware of a hand's touch, firm yet gentle enough to avoid the most sore areas of shame gracing her backside as it moved upwards from the valley at the small of her back, along her spine. A finger twirled a strand of long, ebony hair that had escaped her scarf. Slowly, deliberately. "I'll take her. Have a room readied for the night." the man finally declared. Coins fell atop of the desk with a loud ring, right next to Emmeline's ear. "My Lord is too gracious!" Mr. Tucker bowed with a satisfied smile. "Emmeline, get up girl and lead his Lordship up to Mary's old room." Maybe, just maybe if she closed her eyes again and didn't move ... but alas, Mr. Tucker was already grabbing her arm and yanking her to her feet impatiently. "Get moving girl!" he snarled at the disoriented young woman, then smiled apologetically at his guest, "The young things these days, so little manners left ... you must forgive her Sir, what she is lacking in upbringing she will make up for with enthusiasm. Isn't that right Emmeline?" Tucker's fool breath upon her cheek made her wince and wrinkle her nose in disgust. Painfully aware of the consequences of disobedience, she bowed her head, wary eyes fixed upon the boots of the stranger who would become her first patron. The small nod of her head the owner's tightening grip on her bruised arm triggered seemed to satisfy the greedy businessman. "Lead the way Emmeline and don't forget who is your Lord and master for the night!" Tucker's voice still echoed in her ears as she walked up the wooden staircase naked as the day she was born with a stranger in tow. Two girls came rushing buy, giggling and whispering as they passed the silent couple at the top of the stairs. The door to Mary's room was at the far end of the floor. Emmeline pushed it open with a heavy heart, her mind a whirl of anger and guilt, her body shaking with humiliation and pain. She walked over to the bed, lighting a small candle on the nightstand, still reluctant to look at the man who would break her, take away what little purity her mother tried so desperately to preserve between the walls of the brothel for her. Thinking of her mother made Emmeline's eyes well up with tears, guilt gnawing at her heart and eating away her will to fight, leaving her numb and helpless against her fate. Her trance was broken by the soft feel of warmth settling around her body and she looked up in surprise as the stranger wrapped his dark coat around her naked flesh. "You are shivering," he stated, his voice calm and reserved. Somewhere in the back of Emmeline's mind her mother spoke softly, telling her how rude it was to stare, but she still couldn't help it as her eyes seemed transfixed looking at the man. For Emmeline, he was easily the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Golden hair fell about his shoulder, caressing a strong neck and the side of his aristocratic face. High cheekbones emphasized his heritage, counterbalancing his angular jaw and the sensual line of his lips. The most striking features were probably still his eyes, endlessly blue like the river behind the village on summer mornings. She also noticed the slight laugh lines forming at the corners of his eyes, adding more character to his face. The eyes of a kind man, Emmeline had thought absentmindedly, forgetting about her nakedness and shame for a moment. His smile spread slowly, blue eyes twinkling with amusement by the time she finally realized that he had been speaking to her. "Oh, I ... I am sorry," her eyes dropped immediately to the floor. She shook her head as if waking up from a dream. Eyes of kindness or not, this man had still bought her. Basking in illusions didn't change the cruel reality she soon would have to face, this time without a fight or bite. "Emmeline." He spoke her name and she looked up again. Longing tugged at her heart. The way he had called her, softly, calmly, she felt her heart respond to the slightest sign or illusion of kindness after the trials of the three years she had spent without much of either. "Remove your scarf for me please, would you?" She obeyed, feeling a sense of peace settle over her despite her racing pulse. His eyes seemed fascinated with her hair as it spilled free from its confine, long, dark exquisitely rich tresses covering her shoulders and spilling unto the hand he kept still at the small of her back. "You are very pretty, Emmeline." His hand started to caress her hair and back soothingly through the thick material of his coat. "Th ... thank you, Sir." she whispered, unsure of what was expected of her, now that they were alone. He gazed at her thoughtfully for a while. She was indeed pretty. And quite fiery from what he had seen earlier. The only question that remained now was if she was smart enough. The man withdrew his hand abruptly, backing of a few steps to the small table at the far end of the modest little room. Two chairs stood close by and he stepped behind one of them, indicating for the girl to have a seat. Emmeline stepped closer and watched with shock on her face as he pulled out the chair for her. "Please, have a seat. Before we go any further, I wish to talk to you." "Yes, Sir," she nodded, then winced and grimaced as her tender flesh made contact with the hard wood of the chair. He made no indication of noticing her discomfort. After seating himself at the opposite end of the table the man began slowly. "Emmeline, there are some matters of great importance I wish to discuss with you. But before we start, I need you to promise me that you will be honest with me, in your answers and your reactions. Can you do that, do you think?" She nodded quietly and blushed at the pleased smile it earned her. This strange man's smile didn't seem to bear the hidden malice intentions she so very much dreaded in Mr. Tucker's face. "Good. Let me tell you what I have gathered so far. The owner of this establishment told me you were untried in the ways of pleasuring a man ... the untouched virgin of the brothel ... a role which you play quite well, by the way. My compliments." Emmeline's mouth fell open in shock, her lips forming a luscious circle that made his brows furrow in concentration. "But I have never ..." "That is quite alright, I don't mind games. In fact, I happen to be quite fond of a few myself but that is a different matter. For now, what is important is that according to the obligation I have seen, your late mother owed this man a considerable amount of money, is that right Emmeline?" His words were so calm, so matter-of-factly that she couldn't help but nod. "Well, in that case I have a proposition for you. I offer you a permanent position in my household for an indefinite period of time in exchange for redeeming you of your dept and quite frankly also of the company and discipline of this greedy brute downstairs." he explained. He waited patiently for her reaction and was not much surprised when the confusion on her pretty face faded into suspicion. "That offer, Sir ... is very generous," Emmeline began after gathering her thoughts and straightening her shoulders, "unfortunately though I can't .. can't accept it." For a whore who had just been bought and payed for, huddling in nothing but his coat, she for sure acted proud, he thought bemused. "Well, a better offer I am not able to make I am afraid. You could lead a comfortable life in my home, would need for nothing, Emmeline. Your services would be appreciated and not shared. All I ask in return is your absolute loyalty and your word to keep up your end of the bargain and stay in my household until I decide to release you from your services. Of course, if my offer should be of no interest to you, I am sure there are other ladies in this fine establishment whom I could propose to," he added with a careless wave of his black leather gloves. The bitterness of her laughter surprised him, unsuitable for such a young and thoroughly feminine creature. "I have no intention of becoming anyone's mistress, Sir." she hissed at him razing her chin. He stood from his chair calmly, walking around the table and placing his hands on either side of her chair. Strong hands, the tendons straining against his skin and betraying the tight lock he kept on his temper. His breath was warm upon her neck, the scent of leather, wood and a hint of tobacco mingling with oriental spices and making her take a shaky breath, as if she couldn't get enough of inhaling is aroma, smelling him, tasting him, wrapping herself around him. Emmeline shivered with awareness when she felt the warmth of his body hovering over hers, not quite touching. A shadowy threat, the tempting promise of an embrace not quite within her reach. "Why not Emmeline?" he asked quietly, his cheek almost touching hers as he leaned close to her ear. "Am I so abhorrent to you? Do you truly prefer to spread your sweet thighs for any and all travelers of these lands to having me touch you? Taste you? Make you mine?" He noticed her breathing turning shallow, her eyelids fluttering with his seductive words. The heat radiating from her cheeks enticed him and only fueling his lust for taunting her more. "Do you enjoy so much the life of a whore? Are you one of those filthy women who find their pleasure in humiliation, beatings and pain? I've seen how he canned you. The wild lust in his eyes, the maddening sense of power taking hold of him more and more with your every whimper. Oh, you whimpered so sweetly, Emmeline ... but I am sure you can do better than that. Have no doubt about it, I would make you scream." His lips brushed against her flaming cheeks gently, a brief contact that made her long for more. Soft, pliant, tender ... desire in such sharp contrast with his words. She felt the slight tremor through the touch of his lips, the desire raging through his hardening body, felt her own naked flesh respond to his words as much as to his touch. In a haze of sweet agony she whimpered again, her head falling back in mute acceptance of his kiss as he leaned close once more, his lips, lush and red, hovering just above her parted ones. "Oh Emmeline", he sighed, his breath a warm caress upon her cheek, "I've known it since the moment I've lain eyes upon you" he paused smiling at her knowingly."You are such a whore." Her eyes popped open as soon as his sarcastic laughter registered in her mind. How dare he?! He had payed to deflower her, not to insult her! Her fury was conquered with the first true kiss ever placed upon her lips. She had imagined this moment often enough: soft, sweet, tender, the happiest moment of her life in her lover's embrace. Instead demanding lips descended upon her mouth in a hard, crushing kiss meant to conquer and overcome, feeding upon her anger, tasting her arousal and frustration, pressing and lapping until her lips finally parted in a moan of surrender, opening the sweet cavern of he mouth to his eager tongue. The feeling of triumph it gave him was short lived as her body soon melted against the hard plain of his chest, his coat sliding off her sounders. Her naked flesh felt exquisitely soft under his fingertips, making him growl in his throat. Her tongue moved against his tentatively, her whimpers music to his ears under the assault of his lust. God, what a coquette, what a tease! Playing the innocent even in the throws of passion, he thought attacking her lips wildly again. That little piece of shit downstairs, swinging his cane and beating his sorry cock to the memory ... what did he know of molding a woman's passions, what did he know of the fine art of drawing out her inner beast?! Clumsy fool, he would never lay his meaty paws upon this fiery little thing again, he vowed lost in the pleasure of the mouth. When he finally released her lips, they were both panting, struggling to fill their lungs with air. Emmeline looked at him with glassy eyes, the glow of lust upon her cheeks, the evidence of their desire making her lips swollen. Red, pouting, well-kissed lips forming an astonished little "O". What a perfect whore! His little whore ... Oh, how he wanted to take her right then and there! Running a shaky hand through his golden hair he took two steps back, steading himself finally and taking a few deep breaths to clear his mind. This was not the time for passion, he had to think practically. His life depended on it, literally. Seeing his chance in her melted chocolate gaze, still hazy with shock and desire he quickly dropped to one knee next to her chair. Taking her hand in his he ran his fingertips across her palm, noticing the callused touch along with the silky softness of her skin as he caressed her knuckles. "Emmeline, I could take care of you. Good care. I am mad with lust for you already although we have shared but a single kiss. Come with me, it takes but a word." She watched his face, encouraging and sincere. She searched his eyes for the signs of deception and found none. How she dared to reach out and touch his face she didn't know. Touching him felt just so good, so right, his cheek a perfect fit for her palm. Closing his eyes he let go for a moment. Of the pain, the pressure, plots and plans and allowed himself to bathe in the tenderness of her gentle affection. When his eyes opened again the predatory gleam was back in the depth of their dark blue pools, a sly smile ready on his lips. Enticing little thing she was, playing him like an instrument, touching the sensitive chords of his lust and longing one after the other. "Of course it is your decision," he injected with a nonchalant shrug, rising to his feet and breaking the spell of the moment around them. "Do as you please. All I ask for is a simple answer, yes or no? "I can't ... "she muttered under her breath, her thoughts and emotions an unrecognizable whirl. Could she trust this man? Was he perhaps playing with her for his amusement alone? Was he a madman? Or worse even, could this be a test of Mr. Tucker's with more punishment to follow should she accept? Her thoughts wandered to her mother, oh how she wished to ask for her advice! Emmeline closed her eyes and listened carefully and in her heart knew what she would say. "There is nothing of a righteous nature you cannot accomplish, as long as your heart is right." Taking a deep breath she looked up into the man's waiting face who had her heart and life conflicted within such a short time. "I wish to be neither Mr. Tucker's whore Sir, nor your mistress. In fact a whore for no one. But since you are giving me a choice which he has denied, I will accept your offer." Her voice was steady, collected, a sense of peace settling over her heart once she had made up her mind. The triumphant smile she expected didn't come, neither the ravishing kiss she had braced herself for. Her new master nodded curtly his acceptance. "Very well, Emmeline. I will see about the arrangement right now and will wait for your downstairs. Be ready to leave in 15 minutes." She watched him disappear instantly, leaving her once again wondering about his strange reactions. Emmeline touched her swollen lips with shaking fingers, wondering for a moment if it all had been but a dream. Her flesh felt warm though, swollen and tingling, wrapping the coat around herself she could still catch a glimpse of his spicy scent. No dream after all? Had she truly been bought and payed for, for an indefinite period of time to service this man? A stranger. Her cheeks blushed with embarrassment anew as she realized that she didn't even know his name. *** The chilly autumn wind bit into her tender cheeks with a brisk touch as they rode along the countryside in silence. She had almost changed her mind upon meeting the magnificent dark beast that had them soon sailing the night with a powerful gallop. Raven he had called it, it seemed an appropriate name for the mare feeling so threateningly powerful and wild between her thighs while she held onto her new master for dear life. Wrapping herself around the warmth and security of his body had come as a quiet natural reaction once he had her mounting the puffing and blowing beast. She clung to is waist for comfort and warmth as much as fear of her own safety while she tried to ease the pressure off her tender backside. Blossom of the Brothel Ch. 02 Emmeline closed her eyes tightly as they rode, her thoughts drifting back to her hasty farewell from the Golden Mane. Mr. Tucker seemed genuinely surprised that the man had grown quiet so fond of her in such a short time. His slightest suspicion, however, was easily redeemed by the weight of the pouch of gold she had earned him. That little thing obviously knew more about manipulating men already than she had led him to believe. He could have made a fair amount of money of her services, he was sure, but he could easily find less rebellious ones that would be more than willing to accommodate his needs without the convincing of the cane. Breaking them in could be quite satisfying but too much of a bother on the long run he decided, shaking the girl's new master's hand to seal their deal. "She is a devil, Sir, I tell ye. I have known it all along. Beware of the witch that hides behind the innocence of her youth," the widow Carmichael's words of goodbye still gave her chills. No one shed a tear for the servant girl leaving the brothel in bloom behind, yet Emmeline's heart still ached with a sense of loss. She mourned for the memories of her childhood she was leaving behind, the vegetable garden that would surely go to waste without her care, the smells of the kitchen that never failed to bring back the image of her mother, standing by the fire, stirring a pot and smiling at her with that gentle, special smile of hers. She remembered the pain in Valentine's eyes as she lay in bed, weakened by fever, her lips pale a shivering with her every breath. The sadness in her gaze was overwhelming, the reflection of an unhappy and troublesome life. Emmeline knew her mother had never found true happiness in this world, no matter how focused her hopes and love had been on her little girl. She understood that she had always done what she considered to be in her daughter's best interest, fighting and hoping for Emmeline to lead a life she was not granted to have. Would she have approved of her choice, she wondered once again. Lord Remington's heir. She still couldn't quite believe that a man of such standing had taken interest in her. Was he truly who he claimed to be? Rumors she had picked up about the lonesome inhabitant of the mansion atop the hills came rushing back to her. Sneaking a glance at his profile she couldn't help but wonder. Was this the man who drank the blood of the living? The master of forbidden desires and sinful indulgence? Could he be befallen by an illness of the mind as the women used to whisper during washing at the riverside? Some of his words and reactions were certainly strange enough, Emmeline pondered thoughtfully. From what she had seen of him thus far, he certainly seemed a passionate man, headstrong and demanding. Yet he had shown her gentleness and even kindness. Would he be capable of such if he had truly sold his soul to the devil as the old crow Carmichael claimed to know? Shaking the questions and memories from her head and she snuggled closer to her master, letting go of the doubts for a little while. Whatever the future and Sir Duncan had in store for her, it could hardly be worse than the life of humiliating degradation she was leaving behind. *** Sleep wouldn't come to Mrs. Hinsdale that night, her mind still wary with the angry shouts of Lord Remington's visit. Since the young Lord had been banned from the court she barely found peace at night and got used to the routine of closing her eyes for a little wink whenever the opportunity presented, yet sleep was reluctant to come to her that night. Duncan had a habit of riding out at in the darkness, when prying eyes couldn't see and report him to his father for breaking the rules of his house arrest. She ought not worry, she told herself, but still ... it had been a long time since Mrs. Hinsdale had seen him so furious. His father visited Remington Hall rarely these days, always busy with the affairs of the country, his heart wary with the disappointment his son had become. The young Lord rarely seemed affected anymore buy his father's speeches of responsibility and duty and even Lord Remington seemed to have given up mostly on reforming the astray mind of his son. They had never been particularly close of course but the distance between the two proud men only seemed to grow as the years passed by. Mrs. Hinsdale was torn from her brooding by her master's arrival with a frightened young woman in tow. A quick glance at her faded gown and unruly hair confirmed the housekeeper's worst suspicions, her heart going out to the girl who would soon have to endure the fury of Duncan's heart stirred by the old Lord's visit. Emmeline barely dared to glance at the elderly woman, her dress neat and clean, she didn't carry herself like a lowly servant but rather with the grace of a valued confidant. She waited at the entrance of the hall as she had been told, marveling at the rich burgundy coating the walls, the heavy dark drapes casting mysterious shadows upon the life-sized portrays. Aware of the spell of history around her, she cast her eyes down in mute respect, never hearing the instruction quietly whispered by the master to the lady at the far end of the hall. "But My Lord! That would be ... a scandal unheard of!" the old woman's surprised shriek caught her attention. His smile reminded the housekeeper of the mischievous little boy he once had been, so many years ago. His eyes, however, bore the unyielding determination of a master who wouldn't be denied. There had been so many pranks, so many games of manipulation and carnal pleasures ... would the boy never be sated? She bowed her head in surrender to his wishes and soon disappeared to carry out her master's orders. Part of her doubted if he indeed knew what he was doing but on the other hand, she had already experienced scandals beyond what she thought previously possible during her many years in the service of Lord Remington and his family. *** Shame clung to her cheeks as her master lifted her chin. "The arrangements will not take long now, you will be mine before sunrise" he promised, smiling at her with obvious satisfaction. "All you have to remember is that I am your master now, there is no going back, Emmeline. Just do as you are told and everything will be fine." She was surprised by the gentle kiss upon her forehead, his lips lingering for a long moment. After the ride, after having had her body molded against his back, invitingly soft and warm, he had to make it a point to avoid touching her. The urge to take her, right against the wall of the stable, had been overwhelming as he lifted her carefully off his horse, his fingers tightening around her slim waist and sliding down to her flaring hips. What it was about her that had him so intoxicated with lust, he didn't know. Perhaps it had been too long ... the struggles of a whirling body under his own he knew only to well, yet the feel of a surrendering lover, the gentle touch of affection he had been deprived of for a long time. The old lady cleared her throat embarrassed to get her master's attention upon entering the hall again, her knowing eyes catching the hint of annoyance even in his carefully schooled features. "Everything is ready, My Lord," she reported with a dutiful courtesy. "Well then, lets not keep Father O'Leary waiting," he declared placing Emmeline's hand upon his arm. *** Please take a moment to comment and let me know what you think. Thank you for your time and for reading along. - Corvinus