Chapter One
Gomorrah
Mushrooms, he’d said.
One of the men who managed Gomorrah for the Earls of Camberwell had given her a crystal dish containing what looked like dirt, but it wasn’t dirt. It was dried mushrooms from the mysterious east.
She’d been seeing colors in the darkness for the past hour.
Colors bounced off the oiled-up skin of the man dancing for her.
He was small and muscular, shaved, and quite beautiful.
He only had a small piece of cloth around his privates to protect his modesty, but even so, she could see the bulge he had.
She’d been to Gomorrah several times and never bedded a man, mostly because she didn’t want to catch bugs or a disease they might have gotten from other patrons who were not so clean.
Truth be told, the only man who had ever bedded her had been her husband, but the last time had been years ago.
She couldn’t remember when. The closest she came to a naked man was the one slowly gyrating in front of her.
And he was glorious.
She took another drink.
The wine with the mushrooms had made her head spin a little, so she lay back upon a silk-cushioned couch and waited for the mushrooms to wear off.
They were mostly gone anyway. She was in a private room deep in the bowels of Gomorrah, a room that was sectioned off by curtains from the rest of the guild.
It was full tonight, as it usually was, and there was music and laughter all around.
She was on the level called Sins of the Flesh, as all four levels of Gomorrah had names, and on this level, men or women could live out their deepest sexual fantasies.
In the chamber next to her, she could hear a woman groaning as one of the male dancers pleasured her.
To each her own.
To the tune of a man in the corner of the chamber playing a wooden flute, the oiled-skin man dancing for her abruptly lost his modesty panel.
A flaccid manhood several inches long now hung proudly and she lifted her eyebrows at the sight, impressed that such a small man could have such a large male organ.
Her gaze lingered on it a moment as she wondered what such a sizable manroot would feel like, when the dancer began thrusting his hips at her, moving his hand to stroke his member.
When she looked up at him, surprised, he was grinning lewdly at her and licking his lips.
She frowned and shook her head.
The dancer was crushed.
The flute kept playing as the dancer rushed out of the chamber and she could hear a commotion outside. The dancer might have even been weeping. Shortly, the same man who had offered her the mushrooms entered.
“Lady de Tosni?” he said politely. “Forgive me, my lady, but was Dax not to your liking?”
Lady Caledonia de Wylde de Tosni shifted on her cushioned pillows. “Who is Dax?”
“The man entertaining you, my lady. Was he not to your liking?”
With a heavy sigh, Caledonia sat up. “Eros,” she said. “Have you ever known me to take a lover while I am here?”
Eros wasn’t his real name, but no one went by their real names at Gomorrah. He shook his head. “Nay, my lady,” he said. “But I thought—with the right bit of flesh dangled in front of you—mayhap you would change your mind.”
“I will not change my mind.”
Eros didn’t really understand that attitude because everyone came to Gomorrah for pleasure.
Those who refused it were oddities. “You know that our dancers and musicians make their money from your generous gratuities, my lady,” he said with some concern.
“Dax has been dancing for you for two hours. He must make his living.”
Caledonia frowned. “Since when I have I not been generous with those serving me?” she said. “Send Dax back in here and tell him I will compensate him. He needn’t worry.”
Eros nodded. “Very well, my lady,” he said. “Thank you. But… but you do find him attractive, don’t you?”
“He is glorious.”
“But not glorious enough to bed.”
“Not by me. I do not need any unexpected consequences, including a child or a disease. No offense to Dax.”
With a shrug to the odd lady who happened to be a regular customer, Eros headed out of the chamber while Dax quickly returned.
He was completely covered up from the waist to his upper thighs now, hiding that skin snake he’d tried to seduce her with.
If she wasn’t going to bite, he wasn’t going to flaunt it. She was banned from the privilege.
It was all Caledonia could do to keep from laughing.
Dax continued his gyrations as Caledonia lay back against the cushions again, drinking the sweet red wine and watching the roll of his muscles beneath his oiled skin.
But after two hours of the show, and Dax’s little tantrum, she produced a few coins for him and sent him away.
A quick discussion with Eros had two dancing women enter her private chamber, and they began to dance to the strains of the wooden flute.
It was a beautiful, fluid dance. Caledonia had two left feet when it came to dancing, so she appreciated women who could move so gracefully.
“Lady Callie!” A woman dressed in fine silks poked her head into the chamber. “I heard you were here. Back again, my darling?”
Caledonia recognized the woman who was in charge of all of the other women at Gomorrah and sat up again, smiling.
“Lady Lupa,” she said. “A pleasure to see you.”
Lady Lupa was an older woman with a Germanic accent and a big gray streak in her upturned hair.
She entered the chamber and came to sit beside Caledonia, who took her hand and squeezed it in greeting.
Lady Lupa looked like someone’s grandmother, but she was much more than that.
Savvy, astute, and attuned to business, she managed Gomorrah possibly more than Eros did.
She also carried an arsenal of daggers on her belt.
If any of the customers veered out of control, Lady Lupa was ready to defend her girls, as she’d done many times before.
Caledonia had a healthy respect for the woman.
“Enjoying Lady Feather and Lady River, I see,” Lady Lupa said. All of the female entertainers at Gomorrah were addressed as “lady” followed by a pseudonym. “Two of our finest dancers. You like them?”
Caledonia nodded. “I’m very envious of the way they dance,” she said. “I never could dance well. I find it so artistic the way they move.”
Lady Lupa smiled, watching Lady Feather and Lady River move gracefully. “They enjoy dancing for you because you appreciate it,” she said. “You are not like the men, who only watch them to become aroused. You watch them because of the sheer beauty of the dance.”
Caledonia nodded, watching the ladies bend over backward in the course of their dance.
“There is something ancient and timeless about it,” she said.
“I see ancient Roman women dancing when I look at them. I see women before time began, hearing the first strains of primordial music and feeling their bodies sway to it.”
Lady Lupa looked at her. “You are a philosopher, my lady.”
Caledonia chuckled. “Not really,” she said. “My father always called me a deep thinker. I suppose that means my mind wanders more than most.”
“He meant you are brilliant.”
“Coming from Rhun de Wylde, I do not think so.”
“That is your father?”
“Was.”
“How long has he been gone?”
Caledonia cocked her head thoughtfully. “Twelve years now,” she said. “But he would surely not approve of my coming to Gomorrah, so mayhap it is for the best.”
The smile faded from Lady Lupa’s face. “You are not our usual customer,” she admitted. “But you have been coming to us for a few years now.”
Caledonia nodded faintly. “A few, indeed.”
Lady Lupa’s gaze lingered on her. Lady Caledonia was something of a mystery to those who managed Gomorrah because, as Lady Lupa had said, she wasn’t the usual customer.
To begin with, the woman was astonishingly beautiful, clean, and healthy.
She had hair so blonde that it was white, with a sweet oval face and enormous, dark eyes with a slight tilt to them.
A pert nose and generous lips rounded out the glowing beauty, a highly intelligent woman who never came to Gomorrah for the usual reasons.
She didn’t gamble and she’d never once paid for the sexual services of any number of men at Gomorrah who would have gladly taken the task.
But she did come to drink.
Lady Caledonia could put away more wine than a man at times.
She drank, she closed herself up with burning hemp at times, and she would try anything intoxicating.
Today, it happened to be mushrooms that gave one a euphoria.
Lady Lupa had heard about it. She also came to watch the dancers, male and female, and she came to listen to the fine musicians Gomorrah had.
On occasion, they even had plays or poetry recitations, and she came for that as well.
She came for anything entertaining or thought-provoking, anything that opened her already open mind.
But it seemed to Lady Lupa that Lady Caledonia was a very lonely woman, in search of something she couldn’t yet find.
To satisfy something within herself that needed contentment.
Lady Lupa knew that Lady Caledonia had been married for several years to a man who was much older than she was.
He’d died of an illness, and Lady Caledonia spoke of her dead husband without emotion.
They’d had three daughters, three young girls who, even now, remained at home while their mother prowled the caverns of Gomorrah.
Lady Caledonia wouldn’t talk about her daughters very much, but when she did, she drank.
There was something painful there when she spoke of her children.
All part of the great mystery that was Caledonia de Wylde de Tosni.
“And I hope you continue to come to us for many more years,” Lady Lupa said. She was still holding Caledonia’s hand, so she gave it a pat and let it go. “If there is anything more you require, I hope you will tell me.”