"A brothel."

Her lips curled at that. There was a flash of light as the door across the lane opened, enough to illuminate his eyes. She saw no mischief, so he wasn't doing this merely to discomfit her.

"This is my world, love." Mr. Swift held out his hand for hers. "If there's one thing a vampire wants, it's a fetching young virgin to feed from. And Mrs. Bellamy knows every one that's used and abused in London."

Serena shuddered. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"Aye, it does." He rapped on the door and it swung open revealing a gloomy foyer and a bulky servant. "Here, love." Mr. Swift grinned. "Come with me."

Serena squared her shoulders, shot him a glare, and pa.s.sed by him to cross the threshold. After all, she had been to a vampires' brothel. How could one that serviced mortal men be any more scandalous?

Chapter Eleven.

Favorites Serena saw at once that this was a different world than the vampires' elegant brothel. Only two wall scones cut the gloom of the narrow front hall. A woman bustled forth, a woman in a dress that had once been vivid scarlet. The woman's hair was garishly red, and it fell in thick, untidy curls. The woman neared the lamp. G.o.d help her, but Serena recoiled at the sight.

Shame hit her at once. It was hardly the woman's fault she'd been disfigured. She'd had to survive, hadn't she? Who was she to judge a woman who'd had nothing but her wits, her body, and her determination to survive?

But the wide smile of recognition on the woman-the madam, obviously-set Serena's stomach churning. Drake Swift had been here before. Often, she'd guess.

For information on vampires? And, of course, for s.e.x.

"And what do ye be wanting tonight, sir?" The madam's gaze swept to her, and the face changed. The one good eye narrowed. The woman's lips pursed revealing deep, powdered lines. "Mr. Swift?"

"May I introduce my partner, Mrs. Bellamy."

"Partner, sir?" Mrs. Bellamy curtsied, which set Mr. Swift chuckling. "And what be both your pleasures, sir?"

Shocked, Serena swung to face Mr. Swift and caught that mischievous glint in his eyes. The devil-what was he about?

"Miss Lark is a vampire huntress," Mr. Swift said. He dug his hand into his pocket and withdrew something-something crumpled in his fist-and he gave this to the madam. While Serena couldn't see the amount of the note, the woman didn't even glance down at it. Apparently, the madam expected a certain fee and Mr. Swift knew what it was.

"Have there been any men of means requesting virgins?"

"Every blooming day, Mr. Swift."

"You know the sort I mean, Mrs. Bellamy."

"There was a foreign gent. He had the twins-yer favorites. Wasn't particular about them being pure. Gave them the mark, though 'e left them living."

Twins? Favorites? The stifling air would not go into Serena's lungs. She took deep, desperate breaths, but it felt as though she were trying to breathe in flour. It was hot, so horribly hot- probably the body heat of all the rutting inhabitants. Moans and groans drifted down the shadowed staircase.

"What did this gent look like, my dear?" Swift asked.

The madam gave a careless shrug and trailed the note over her powdered, freckled cleavage. Mr. Swift handed her another and she cackled in delight. "He was a well-dressed bloke, but he kept in the shadows. He doffed his hat, so I saw that he 'ad black 'air streaked with white. 'Andsome sort-but very foreign. White teeth-no fangs, mind."

Serena gasped as Mr. Swift's hand clamped tight around her waist. He drew her to him, holding her up. Had her legs almost given out? She wanted to tear at the b.u.t.tons of the tight pelisse. Rip her corset off, let her lungs expand-and breathe.

A breath, even a shallow one, steadied her nerves, gave her time to summon her voice. "Do you know where he lives? Where did he go?"

Mrs. Bellamy kept her eyes on Drake Swift-he'd provided the money after all, but Serena felt the heat of his gaze on her. In the indent of her waist, his fingers stroked. He stood slightly behind her, hips c.o.c.ked forward to press into her derriere. The heavy fabric of his greatcoat seemed to fall forward, surrounding her. Giving her a sense of safety.

His favorites were twin courtesans!

The madam pursed her painted lips. "No, and after I found them, I was b.l.o.o.d.y irritated. Never took him for one of those types. As I said, 'e had no visible fangs."

"There are men who come here who do?" Serena asked, appalled.

Narrowing, those shrewd eyes locked on her face. "The bold ones do, the ones who thirst so strongly or who are so c.o.c.ky they believe no one can stop them."

"But-" Serena felt the floor tip beneath her feet. How could this woman so calmly sell girls to demons? A quote from The Nature of the Vampire, a book by Jonathon's father, burst into her thoughts-a vampire will take pleasure in the consummation of the hunt-the bite, the blood, the carnal pleasure that accompanies...but beauty and purity are a vampire's true prey...

Drake Swift's drawl broke in. "Are they here? Kitty and Emma?"

"Of course, sir. They're at work."

He handed more money to the madam. "They're finished. Have them meet my partner and I in your best room."

Mrs. Bellamy withdrew a ring of keys. She pulled off one and handed it to Mr. Swift. "The room at the end of the hall."

Each stair groaned as they ascended, and the walls were dingy from the smoke of cheap candles. He came to places like this. But why? Was it the coa.r.s.eness of this that he liked? There were no artistic scenes of erotica on the walls, no seductive elegance. Only sound-shrieks and guttural groans. And smells-tallow, urine, the earthy smells of s.e.x.

Serena tried to ignore the cries that came from behind the doors, but one came with piercing clarity, and she looked.

The door was wide open, revealing the bedroom scene.

A naked man, from the back-well muscled. The shadows accentuated each bulge, each line. Trim b.u.t.tocks, broad shoulders. Candlelight spilled across his flank, highlighting the curve. He moved his arm with a snap, and the end of a whip cracked against the board floor. Another man watched from the bed.

Her breath escaped in shock. The blond woman who stood in the center of the room-she was to be whipped?

With a light laugh, the courtesan pulled her shift over her head. White and gauzy, the delicate thing fluttered to the floor behind her. The woman turned, presenting her pale, round bottom. Parting her legs, she balanced on tiptoe-she leaned forward slightly, supporting herself by gripping dangling ropes.

No wonder the men, the customers, groaned at the view, Serena realized. The woman's bottom thrust back temptingly, the gap between her thighs displayed for their enticement. With a half-turn of her head, the girl gave a coquettish smile.

The customer raised his whip, and Serena braced for the blow. But he didn't strike the courtesan's bottom, he caressed it with the lash and then the handle. The plump cheeks quivered as the blunt end traced their shape.

Serena saw the second man then. He carried a bundle of black cords. She breathed deeply. Sandalwood. The scent of dampened wool and the erotic aroma of male skin. Mr. Swift was behind her, his hands on her shoulders. His cheek brushed hers, and she shivered at the rasp of whiskers.

"Inventive rope play."

How could his voice be so calm, so unaffected? Heat raced over Serena's skin-her underarms p.r.i.c.kled, her belly was damp, and she felt slick and hot between her thighs. Her nipples shoved against her shift and the confining gown. Her feet seemed to have dissolved into hot puddles, and she couldn't take a step.

Fiery, firm, Mr. Swift's lips pressed to the nape of her neck. Only a small strip of her skin showed between bonnet, pinned hair, and the collar of her pelisse. But he touched there with his soft lips, then dabbed with his wet tongue.

Oh goodness.

The men began trussing the courtesan's legs, entwining her with the cords. They worked slowly, deliberately, and the woman sighed her pleasure.

"They will take their time...to heighten her excitement."

Serena couldn't help but turn her head to look at Mr. Swift. Those green eyes flashed, his smile widened. "But we haven't time to watch."

She should be worried about finding Lukos-about protecting herself. About those poor jades who'd been attacked by the beast.

"If you'd like to try sometime..." Mr. Swift's fingertips trailed up the curve of her neck-he'd removed his glove and his nails scratched...

"We should find the room." Serena's gaze connected with his. She hadn't planned to look so deeply into his eyes. Drake Swift stared at her as though everything else around them had dissolved away, his breathing harsh and ragged.

"G.o.d, I-" He broke off.

Strangely, his breathing came at the same speed as hers. He breathed out at the same instant she did. As though their hearts beat in unison.

"Mr. Swift, the bedroom-" Serena broke off. Entirely the wrong thing to say, as the searing image of Drake Swift on a bed swept into her mind. Naked, on his back, a sheet tangled carelessly around his legs, and that naughtily inviting smile curving his lips.

Oh heavens-had she just planted that image in his thoughts?

Serena gasped as his hand curled around her bottom.

"You are right, my dear-the bedroom," Drake said. He realized he was groping Miss Lark in the middle of the hallway. Silvery and beautiful, her eyes captivated him. He couldn't tear his gaze from the flutter of her lush black lashes.

Lukos. Normally Drake itched to hunt and kill. Often he went into a hunt aroused-the s.e.xual need drove him, angered him, make him wild and bold. But he'd taken solange tonight, and that was what drove him now-solange and his desire for luscious Miss Lark. Hard as granite, his c.o.c.k throbbed in time with his heartbeat and his mouth hungered to feast on the lovely little lark again.

To tempt her. To pleasure her until she yanked up her skirts and begged him- "The bedroom," Drake repeated. He twined his fingers in hers-hers were small, slim, reminding him how vulnerable she was. He led and she followed at his side. Twice, he looked at her, but she kept her gaze on the door in front of them.

What was she thinking of? Lukos? Or s.e.x?

Gripping the doork.n.o.b, he felt it tilt in his hand. It was old, loose, worn-like everything in this place. He pushed open the door, revealing an empty bedroom. A fire burned low in the grate, casting light to see by and enough warmth that they wouldn't be chilled to their souls while waiting.

Miss Lark slipped her hand free of his and walked farther into the room. Bathed in soft gold, she was unspeakably beautiful. Her pelisse shimmered over her curvaceous derriere. Her hips swayed with melodic smoothness. Even in a brothel, she moved with her head high. Such pride- d.a.m.n, that aroused him. Serena Lark walked like a lady, measured, graceful, restrained, and Drake hungered to reveal the wanton woman inside.

She paused by the bed. Holding her reticule at her waist, she stood, unmoving. "There's a whip on the bed," she observed. "And the sheets are rumpled. I a.s.sume the sheets are not changed between customers."

Miss Lark's voice was cool and condemning. To his surprise, Drake flinched. That calm note of disapproval was almost as effective as a strap across the hand-he'd never experienced such a timid punishment as a boy, but he knew men of Jonathon's cla.s.s did. And they likely cried.

h.e.l.l, the things he'd endured without even a whimper.

She spied the ropes hanging from the bedposts and stared at them, her arms crossed over her chest. Strangely, her pinched lips only made her more sensually enticing. He fought the urge to yank off her bonnet, rip out her pins, drop to his knees, and make her come with his mouth.

"These girls are your favorites?"

Had Ma Bellamy said that? Drake hadn't noticed. Was that what had made Miss Lark look so b.l.o.o.d.y prim? "I pay them-but after I realized how much I adore you, I stopped rutting with them."

"Really?" Her voice gave no hint of how or if his declaration affected her. "It's no crime for a gentleman to be promiscuous."

"I'm not a gentleman, remember?"

"Have you ever whipped them?"

"Do you know what I want, Serena?" He saw her little jolt of surprise because he had again used her Christian name. He had sucked the delicious juices from her climaxing cunny, but what stunned her was the use of her first name. "I would want you to whip me."

"Why would you want me to inflict pain, Mr. Swift?"

The governess had returned-cool, composed, the perfect servant who would accept any bizarre, scandalous, ridiculous thing he said and carry on regardless.

"But you sorely want to, don't you, Serena? Don't you strap naughty boys who misbehave?"

She crossed her arms beneath her lush b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "I do not believe in corporal punishment."

"You've never spanked a charge? I find that hard to believe."

He grinned as a little smile came to her lips-a crack in her cool demeanor, a wry smile that changed her from perfect servant to human woman.

"It leads to escalation, Mr. Swift. What do ten lashes of the strap lead to? Twenty, I a.s.sure you. A child will push boundaries, and then what is a governess to do? Keep making worse and worse threats? And once a threat is issued, it must be acted upon. Children know at once when they have taken control."

"So you wouldn't spank me in punishment."

"You are a grown man, Mr. Swift."

"Would you spank me in fun?"

A blush. He'd expected her to blush, to be a little embarra.s.sed. Instead, Serena walked calmly to the edge of the bed and picked up the whip. She curled her fingers around the grip, weighing it. "If I were to spank your bottom, Mr. Swift, I would be tempted to do it with the flat of my hand."

Now this was becoming d.a.m.ned enjoyable. Drake opened his mouth to answer- The b.l.o.o.d.y door burst open.

Kitty and Emma tumbled in, both panting hard, as though they'd raced to the room as fast as possible. They wore their shifts, and their hair was loose, the curls a matted mess. Kitty flopped down into the nearby armchair, slouched as low as possible, and spread her legs wide.

He grinned-she probably thought she looked erotically inviting. She looked sloppy and half-drunk. Emma raced up to his side. She grasped his biceps and lifted herself to plant a kiss on his cheek. Emma greeted him like a friend, not a customer, likely since he paid far better than most.

"Ma Bellamy says ye're going to catch the vampire that bit our necks! And that ye planned to f.u.c.k us first."

Kitty gave a great yawn. "What do ye want us to do?" She licked her lips, fluttered her lashes. "Come over here, sirrah, and I'll suck yer big c.o.c.k."

Drake cleared his throat. "Have a care, there is a lady present."

"Blimey!" Kitty's eyes widened as her gaze fastened past him. "And so there is. Oo's she? She yer mistress?"

"Miss Lark is a huntress-a member of the Royal Society."

Kitty lifted her legs, knees bent, so her legs opened wider and her thin, worn chemise rode up. "There, that's me curtsy then. So, Mr. Swift, 'ave you come planning to do something naughty?"

Drake strode to Kitty, grasped her chin, and tipped her head to arch her neck.

"'Ere now!" she protested. "It 'urts."