Chapter 13
It’s not my responsibility to save Edwina from herself. If she seeks the mortification that awaits her in the north wing, that’s her prerogative. Who am I to stop her? Yet even as I think it, my legs twitch, begging me to move, my chest burning with annoyance at every step she takes up the stairs. No sooner than she reaches the landing do I charge after her, abandoning Grayson in the middle of his sentence. Not that I was listening to him anyway.
“Miss Danforth,” I call out, but the crowd of partygoers is denser here, with guests weaving from room to room or chatting idly in the halls. I call her name again, and this time, she pulls up short. She’s probably more startled that I called her by her proper name and not Weenie, but I’m not about to shout the latter in the middle of a house party.
She puts her hands on her hips. “Willy, why are you following me?”
Her question catches me off guard, for it forces me to truly consider the answer. Why the hell am I following her? I can’t convince myself this is an act of sabotage, for what she’ll find in the north wing won’t aid in making progress toward our bet. Not immediately, at least. While I could convince myself this is just another instinct of brotherly protection, something I’d do for my sister, there’s nothing brotherly about my feelings where Edwina is concerned. All she ever does is vex me. She’s a nuisance.
So what is it? The fact that she’s human, and I know humans to be fragile creatures? Their lifespans are short, their bodies prone to ailments I’ll never have to suffer.
The latter strikes a hollow pit in my chest. Yes, I know about human frailty all too well.
Maybe that’s all this is.
I sink back into my role of William the Poet and lower my voice for only her to hear. “I’m giving you one last chance to heed my wisdom, Weenie Poo.”
Her nostrils flare at the newest nickname. “If you wanted me to heed anything, then you wouldn’t have called me that.”
She’s right, but I couldn’t resist. William the Poet loves riling her up. It’s become the highlight of this role.
“Furthermore,” she says, “if you wanted to dampen my curiosity over the north wing, you would have offered to serve as my personal escort. Then I wouldn’t have been even remotely interested.”
“Fine,” I say through my teeth. “I will escort you. Shall we?”
“Such a gentleman,” Jolene says, reminding me of her presence. She’s been standing beside Edwina all the while, her longing gaze locked on me, but I barely noticed her. When Edwina’s around, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. That’s how annoying she is.
“Your offer is too late,” Edwina says. “I’m still going.”
She turns and starts off down the hall. Jolene glances from her friend to me before asking, “Shall we?”
“You stay here.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I know my tone was too harsh. Jolene looks like a scolded puppy. I suppose my heart should be moved at the sight, but it’s more set on catching up to Edwina. Forcing my most dazzling smile, I face Jolene. “The north wing isn’t a proper place for you or Miss Danforth. I’ll escort her to sate her curiosity and see to her safe return.”
“I would like to come too.”
I hang my head in an exaggerated motion before meeting her eyes once more. “I can bear to allow Edwina to enter such an unsavory place but not you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Trust me, Miss Vaughn. I will return and we can finally have some time to talk, just the two of us.”
She visibly swoons, rocking back on her heels. “You mean it?”
“I do. Now, stay in the south wing and I’ll return for you.”
“You’ll return for me,” she echoes, voice breathless. She tips her face toward me, her eyes on my lips, her own parted expectantly.
I step back and give a consoling pat on her shoulder before racing after Edwina.
Getting rid of Miss Vaughn wasted far more time than I hoped, so by the time I catch up to Edwina, she has already turned down the hall leading to the north wing.
She turns at the sound of my footsteps, rolling her eyes when she sees me. “I already told you. Your offer as an escort came too late. I’m going with or without you.”
“With me,” I say, “whether you like it or not. At least this way, I’ll be there to drag out your limp and mortified form when you faint.”
“Why would I faint? Oh.” She halts in place and whirls fully to face me. “Are there spiders? Is the north wing an insect habitat?”
The terror on her face has me stifling a laugh. If only I could confirm her fears, then she’d abandon her curiosity at once. Yet, now that we’re alone, I find myself slipping out of my role again. I can’t lie unless I’m deeply immersed in my William the Poet persona. Besides, if my falsehood failed to sway her and she decided to see the north wing anyway, she’d discover my ability to lie. I’d like to keep that a secret from as many as possible.
“There are no spiders,” I finally say.
She sighs with relief and resumes walking. “Spiders are the one creature I cannot suffer to live.”
“Oh? So there’s one creature you despise more than me?”
“Only one,” she says with a solemn nod.
We reach a pair of white doors with gold handles. Two human butlers dressed in all-white suits flank them. Wordlessly, they hand us each a glass vial and open the doors.
“What’s this?” Edwina whispers, shaking the vial.
“I’ll tell you once we’re inside,” I say, tucking my vial into my trouser pocket. We cross the threshold and the butlers shut the doors behind us. Dread settles deep into my bones as we enter a dimly lit hallway, the air thick with the heady scent of incense. Muffled sounds emanate from farther ahead and my muscles clench. I’m already desperate to bolt back the way we came. Memories from the one and only time I’ve been to the north wing surface in my mind, but I try to force them away. This isn’t about me. This is about Edwina. She shouldn’t be here alone. The sooner she sees what this place is all about, the sooner we can leave.
The sounds grow louder and more distinct with every step, and soon the hallway opens to a wide circular room. The walls are set with several large alcoves containing different pieces of furniture—a divan here, a set of chairs there, a swing in another. Naked bodies writhe in each alcove, a living display of art. More furnishings are set throughout the room where guests can create art of their own. Moans and grunts and sighs mingle to produce a rather unsettling orchestra of public pleasure.
Nausea tightens my stomach. It’s not that I find the display repulsive. There’s nothing repulsive about sex. It’s beautiful. Enjoyable. But I have my reasons for disliking this place, and being here again sends memories rising to the surface. Panic. Humiliation. Shame.
“Oh!” Edwina’s shocked voice is a welcome distraction.
I face her, seeking comfort in how she nudges the bridge of her spectacles higher on her nose. I’ve grown used to the gesture, especially after watching her from across the dais during our signing today, and the familiar sight lulls me into a sense of safety. Then a fierce protectiveness as I remember why I’m here.
Her mouth falls open, eyes wide. “Oh, my heavens. Is this an orgy?”
I rub my jaw, resisting the urge to hide my entire face behind my hand. “It’s a voyeurism club.”
“It…it’s…”
“We can go,” I say softly. “We’ll walk back the way we came and pretend this never happened. I can hold your hand if your knees are weak, and I promise not to tease you about it?—”
“It’s incredible!”
I blink at her, caught off guard by her reaction. She strolls over to the nearest alcove, where one human male is seated behind another on a velvet divan. Tapping a finger to her chin, she assesses the couple from different angles.
“That would be Johannes, and that would be Timothy,” she says to me as I reach her side.
I don’t know who the fuck Johannes and Timothy are or why she’s telling me this, but if I’m not mistaken, she’s said those names before, when she was drunk.
She lifts her palm and wiggles her fingers, leaning closer to me as she says, “Do you see the way he cups his testicles like that? It’s brilliant. Beautiful. I can use that.”
She walks over to the next alcove. I’m…stunned. She’s the only person in this entire room commenting on the public sex as if it were nothing but a painting on the wall. Most everyone else either has their hands in their trousers or under their skirts, or have coupled up on the furnishings.
Edwina is the weirdest woman I’ve ever met.
Belatedly, I follow her to the next display, keeping my eyes on her as much as possible, my hands tucked in my pockets to evoke some semblance of a casual air.
“He has the build of the reclusive baron,” she says, pointing at the fae male thrusting into his dark-haired partner whom he has pinned against the wall of the alcove. “And she’s nearly a spitting image of my governess from that book. Look at the way he fists her hair.”
Like she did with her palming-the-testicles gesture, she mimics the male’s hand, curled into his lover’s dark tresses.
She shakes her head, her face full of longing. “That would have made the scene in the catacombs so much better. Oh, but the placement of her hands is just as good!”
With her eyes locked on the couple, she turns her body toward mine, her motions stiff and almost mechanical, then steps in close. I suck in a sharp breath as one of her hands lands on the side of my waist. She furrows her brow, still looking at the couple, as she presses her body flush against mine. Then she mirrors the woman’s other hand, winding hers behind my neck and threading her fingers into the ends of my hair.
I’m so surprised by this sudden closeness, I freeze. The slam of my heart and the shiver that runs through me as her fingers claw gently against my scalp are the first pleasant sensations I’ve had since stepping inside this room.
She heaves a sigh. “It’s all wrong. I’m shorter than she is and you don’t have me hefted against a wall?—”
Her words cut off as her gaze finally leaves the couple to meet mine. She utters a stifled yelp, eyes growing round as she takes in our proximity, the placement of her hands. For the strangest moment, I get the urge to remove my hands from my pockets and bracket them around her waist, keeping her there against me. But the moment is too short, and she leaps away from me as if I scalded her.
“Sorry,” she squeaks out, hands covering her lips as her cheeks deepen to scarlet.
I clear my throat to tell her it was fine, that I didn’t mind being her test subject, when a satyr approaches her. His humanoid upper half is roped with muscle, every inch of his skin glistening as if coated in oil. His bottom half is covered in brown fur, his legs ending in hooves. He gives her a respectful nod and gestures toward an empty sofa. “Would you care to join me?”
My hands are out of my pockets at once, my fingers curled into fists. I’m a breath away from striding between them—but I stop myself. Who am I to intervene? I was wrong when I assumed Edwina was too prim and too human for the north wing. She’s enjoying it here, and she has every right to enjoy it more if that’s what she wants.
She glances from the satyr to the couch then back to the satyr. Her eyes sweep over him, admiring that impressive display of glistening muscle. I might find it attractive too were I not so fucking uncomfortable here. Her gaze drifts down to where the satyr’s fleshy torso gives way to furry hips, and there her attention halts. Snagged on his rather impressive—and rather erect—member. “Oh, you’re…you’re ready to go. Now.”
“I’d love to have your mouth on me,” he says.
Her eyes flick back to his, and her rosy cheeks turn ashen. “Me? Mine?”
“Yes, lovely.”
She lowers her voice to an anxious mutter. “Should I? It…it would be research, I suppose. But…but, uhhhhhhhh?—”
I fear she’ll make that sound forever, so I give in to my urge to step between them. Facing Edwina, I say, “If you’re thinking this is a good way to earn a point in our bet, think again. Our terms require an exchange of intimacy behind the closed doors of our bedrooms. There are no closed doors in the north wing, Weenie, and our bedrooms are back at the dormitory.”
The relief on her face is clear. She leans to the side to address the satyr. “I’ll have to decline, but I do appreciate the offer.”
He gives her another gentlemanly nod, then saunters off to proposition his next option.
“He should be careful,” she says, voice low. “He could poke an eye out with that thing.”
Just like that, she has already recovered from the interaction and moves on to admire the erotic display in the next alcove, this one featuring a couple sharing a large wingback chair.
Edwina releases an excited gasp, tugging on my shirtsleeve. “Oh, look at the tender way she pays attention to her lover’s nipples! Isn’t that just gorgeous? What I wouldn’t give to have my pen and notebook.”
One of the women in the alcove opens her eyes to frown at how close Edwina has gotten in her visual study.
I pull her back with a light touch to her shoulder. “You know, this club may thrive on voyeurism, but your attention is a little too invasive.”
She finally notices the glare the woman is giving her and clasps her hands in an apologetic gesture. Yet her gaze only grows more intense as the couple returns to their lovemaking. Edwina’s voice lowers to a whisper, her words slow and wistful. “She flicked her velvety tongue over the hardened, rosy peak of her pert, teardrop-shaped breasts?—”
“Do not narrate,” I bite out. “Blooming hell, you’re embarrassing?—”
“William, is that you?” The female voice has my spine going rigid.
“Fuck.” The last person I want to see is Meredith. Spurred by panic, I take Edwina’s hand in mine and pull her across the room to the hallway at the other end. The corridor is lined with doorless rooms, all filled with more grunts and groans, louder slaps of flesh, and the whimpers of aroused spectators. I drag Edwina quickly to the other side where we’re greeted by a blessedly cool breeze. Here, the lighting is even dimmer and the doorways are lined with sheer curtains.
We rush through one doorway onto a circular balcony, but the balustrade is occupied. A dryad with green leafy hair perches nude upon the rail, her head thrown back, her balance precarious, while her lover—a lizard fae, based on their green scaly skin—feasts between her open legs.
“Oooh!” Edwina says, startling the couple. The dryad almost loses her balance on the rail before she catches herself. “That’s so dangerous but so sexy!”
I drag her away as fast as I can. Thankfully, the next balcony is empty. Breathing slow and deep, I gather lungfuls of soothing air. As I reach the balustrade, I plant my forearms on the rail and let my head hang as I recover my composure. I’m so far from being William the Poet right now, it’s laughable.
The relative silence on the balcony calms my racing pulse. A light breeze muffles the sounds of pleasure coming from inside while music from downstairs gives me something else to focus on.
After a few moments, Edwina comes up beside me. She leans against the balustrade and assesses me with a furrowed brow. “Are you all right, William?”
Her gentle tone paired with the sound of my name—not Willy, not Mr. Haywood—eases me even further. Still, all I can manage is a nod.
“I was too preoccupied to notice before, but you don’t like it here, do you? Is it too stimulating for you? Are your…your masculine urges too strong? I won’t shame you if you have an erection. I got an eyeful of satyr cock, Will. I don’t think you have to worry about surprising me with what you have.”
“Did you just turn an attempt to comfort me into a slight against my manhood?”
“Slight is the word for it—I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t tease you when you’re in such a sorry state. It’s just too easy.”
My lips pull into a grin as I shift to face her. She’s right. It’s easy to tease each other. As easy as breathing and as comforting too. A few barbed words from her, even cleverly veiled ones, and I’m already feeling like my normal self. Not my false persona but just me. It’ll do for now.
Her brows knit together and she steps closer. One hand falls on my bicep, and I recall the way she put her hands on me earlier. It makes my pulse kick up, in a far more pleasant way than the frantic racing I experienced after hearing Meredith’s voice.
“Really, though,” she says. “Are you all right?”
“I am. I just…I have a history here, and it reminds me of things I’d rather forget.”
Her hand leaves my arm, making it feel colder without her touch. “That woman who called your name…was she a former lover?”
“No, not exactly.” I debate not telling her anything. Why should I? She doesn’t need to know. But I want this bubble of calm to last, if only for a little longer. “I participated in the north wing activities only once.”
Her expression brightens. “How was it? Educational? Enlightening? No, damn me.” She slaps her hand to her forehead. “Of course you didn’t enjoy it. That’s what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?”
“Basically, but your first instincts aren’t far off. The north wing isn’t just a voyeurism club. It also serves to help actors grow out of stage fright. If an actor can participate in, enjoy, and perform something so intimate as sex in public, then surely they can act before an audience. That’s always been Grayson’s intent, at least. As I told you earlier, Grayson was my mentor. While he isn’t affiliated with the university, he’s always hosted parties for the students and alumni and does what he can to encourage the various arts. His advice helped me grow into one of the most highly praised actors at the school. I was deemed brilliant. A prodigy in the making. Faerwyvae’s next star. There was only one thing I failed at when it came to acting, and that was love scenes.”
She frowns. “As in…”
“Whether it was a kiss or a lovemaking scene, I would lock up. Despite my ample sexual experience in my personal life, it was the one thing I couldn’t fake on stage. The one thing that turned my acting skills to shit.”
“Oh, right,” she says. “Because pureblood fae can’t lie. Which means you couldn’t pretend to be in love. But then…how do fae act at all if they can’t lie?”
“The most talented fae actors can say or do anything during a stage performance without being thwarted by the magic that keeps our kind from lying. If they can seamlessly shift into another persona, they can state that which is true for that character, even if it misaligns with their regular self. I was one of those talented actors.” I’m dangerously close to revealing what few know—that I can take such talents off the stage too.
“That’s fascinating,” she says. “So you can lie, but only when you’re performing. What was the cause then? I’ve seen you flirt with strangers. I can’t imagine doing so on stage is much different.”
“Flirting is easy. Kissing is different, at least to me. I simply can’t kiss someone when I don’t feel genuine physical attraction, no matter who I’m pretending to be. So I’ve always settled for roles that didn’t involve romance—at least not kissing scenes. Then two years ago, I was granted an audition for a role that could have made me a headline star across the isle. A role that could have changed my life. A role that ended my career.”
I clench my jaw. I don’t want to say the next part. I shouldn’t say the next part.
But the confession leaves my lips before I can stop it.
“The play was The Governess and the Rake.”