Pleasure and Purpose Read online

  "I do believe you've struck him dumb, my dear." Cillian laughed. "And the sight of our dear Edward without words is a rare one, indeed."

  Edward gave them both a half bow, Cillian and then Stillness, and when she extended her hand to him he kissed it. His fingers held hers, squeezing gently as he looked into her eyes.

  "You look lovely," he told her.

  Cillian coughed and held out his hand, too. "And what of me, dear one? Don't I look lovely, too?"

  At that, the room erupted into laughter, and Edward took Cillian's hand to shake but not kiss. "As always, my prince."

  This made Cillian simper and grin, and they all took their places at the table, Edward at the head with Cillian on one side and Stillness across from him on the other. This supper ought to have been no different than any other they'd shared since the brannigan had begun, but Edward found the presence of his Handmaiden had changed it greatly. Not from anything she did, of course. Stillness was as cordial and spot-on perfect in her social manners as she was when alone with him. She knew the proper forks to use and how to fold her napkin. She was, in fact, better trained in etiquette than any of them there, and yet he watched her gaze follow the conversations around them and watched as she sipped her wine out of turn and realized she had done so deliberately so as not to embarrass Lady Marvina beside her, whose manners seemed to have been learned rather less than perfectly.

  Pride filled him, though he had no right to feel it, for he hadn't trained her. He didn't own her. But watching Stillness make everyone around her feel comfortable with just the right amount of laughter, the perfect responses, by not being better dressed or spoken or mannered . . . yet at the same time being the epitome of a fine lady . . . yes, Edward felt pride.

  Edward watched as Alaric gave subtle service to Larissa, making sure her cup was always filled, fetching a wrap for her shoulders without her having to ask. He could have been any devoted suitor, but there was more to it than that when viewed by a knowledgeable eye. Edward wasn't the only one to see it. Cillian noticed, as well. When the party moved to the library for coffees and cordials, Cillian pulled Edward aside by the elbow. "Yon Alaric is smitten."

  Edward looked to where Alaric sat at his lady's feet, looking at her with clear adoration in his eyes. "I think it's a good match for him."

  "Do you?"

  Cillian's curious tone turned Edward's head. "I do. Don't you? He clearly adores her, and she—"

  "She'll chew him up and spit him out again." Cillian spoke fondly, almost in admiration.

  "She's a vicious witch."

  Edward looked at the Lady Larissa as she bent to feed Alaric a bit of something from her dessert plate. Soft affection gleamed in her eyes, and they laughed together as she spilled cacao on his chin. "I must respectfully disagree with you, my lord. The lady and the gentleman appear to be in great accord."

  Cillian snorted and pulled his tin of herb from his jacket pocket. He rolled a cheroot as he answered. "You can't convince me you're truly overjoyed for him." He held out his cheroot for Edward to light.

  "Of course I am." Edward pulled out his silver matchbox. Cillian's hand closed over Edward's wrist. "I gave you that matchbox."

  "Yes." Edward met his gaze without hesitation. "You did." Cillian stared into Edwards eyes without blinking, then bent his head toward the lit flame.

  "She won't share him."

  "I wouldn't expect her to." Edward reached for Cillian's tin without asking and rolled a smoke of his own. "But she'll not keep him from his friends."

  "She might, if she knows he's in love with you."

  Edward looked up at Cillian, who was smiling, and then to Alaric, who was busy with some story that involved a great many hand gestures and much laughter from all watching.

  "Don't pretend you never knew it." Cillian's exhaled smoke wafted into Edward's face.

  "You're far from stupid."

  "Don't." Edward shook his head a little. "Leave it alone, Cillian." Cillian merely gave him a sly grin. "I don't blame him, Edward. You did save him from his own smart tongue more than once. I'm half in love with you, myself, and you loathe me."

  Edward drew in more fragrant smoke and held it in his lungs while he traded stares with Cillian. The argument wasn't worth it. Cillian would have his way, as he always did. As he always had and always would.

  Edward let the smoke seep out to hang in the air between them, solid as secrets. "What game are you playing?"

  Cillian's gaze cut toward Stillness. He said nothing when he looked back to Edward. More smoke curled from his nose.

  "No."

  Cillian's brow raised. "You shared her with Alaric."

  Edward scowled, wishing he'd had the forethought to lock his doors. "She's not to be shared, Cillian."

  Something shifted in Cillian's gaze, a flash of emotion Edward couldn't identify. He'd have thought it might be grief, real pain, if he didn't want to refuse to believe Cillian incapable of such feeling.

  "I want her. I want a woman I don't have to fear breaking. And she won't break. I can see it in her. She's been well used, Edward; The chit's got scars."

  "She doesn't." Edward's stomach twisted as he looked at her again, his lovely Stillness.

  "Not on her skin, perhaps. But then, those aren't the ones that most matter. Are they?" Edward turned, infuriated by Cillian's languid tone. Their faces but measures apart, he glared into the other man's eyes. He smelled liquor and smoke on his breath and saw triumph in his eyes, and Edward backed off a step.

  "Your mercy, my prince," he said coldly. "I overstep."

  "You used to overstep all the time," gritted Cillian. "When we were friends."

  "I won't share her."

  "And when she leaves you and I hire her, how will you feel then?"

  "You don't get to choose your Handmaiden," Edward said before he realized Cillian mocked him.

  "But she will leave you, Edward. She has to."

  Edward shook his head, letting his eyes follow the curves of her face as she laughed across the room. "We're not in school any longer. Why must you always want what I have? She's not a horse or a jacket, Cillian!"

  "She's your Handmaiden, dear one." Cillian finished his cheroot and crushed it out in the ashsaucer on the nearby table. "And she also craves what you've been denying her. Doesn't she? She doesn't merely tolerate it. She yearns for it. Am I wrong in thinking so?" Edward said nothing in his fury. Cillian had ever been able to do this to him, reach inside and twist all the keys that wound him up. He would give him nothing.

  "But then, I would wager you haven't tried her out in that manner. Have you?" Cillian's smoke-rasped voice lowered. "You haven't stripped her down, tied her hands. You haven't yet beaten her. Even though the thought of it makes your hands shake and your prick want to burst."

  "No." One word, grudgingly given, and Edward cursed himself for even that. Cillian's low chuckle was like a finger running along the back of his neck, and Edward hunched his shoulders against it.

  "I know you want to. You always did adore that. Crossing their flesh with stripes. How many times did we work together, my dear Edward? You behind her and I beneath, tasting her while you fucked her and ran your fingers over the welts you'd given her? How many girls did we share that way?"

  It had been too many. And not enough. Edward's throat closed as heat rose in his face and crept down his stomach.

  "They loved it, and you did, too. You still love it, dear one. Why don't you give in to what you really want?"

  Cillian's breath blew against Edward's face as he stepped up behind him so close his body pressed along Edward's back. The rest of the party dissolved into shouts and cries of laughter, oblivious to the drama taking place in the corner, and Edward was grateful for that.

  "She can take what you give her, Edward, or they wouldn't have sent her to you. The Order of Solace doesn't make mistakes."

  "What / can give her," Edward said, his jaw clenched so tightly each word was painful.

  "Not you."


  Cillian's low laugh blew more scent of herb across Edward's cheek. "I only want to share her, love, not have her all to myself. Maybe it's the closest I'll come to having you back again."

  "You are a manipulative, wicked son-of-a-bastard, Cillian." Edward had called him worse, with more affection. Now the words sounded hollow and without effect. He couldn't stop thinking about the picture Cillian had painted of bare flesh, crossed with stripes made by his hand.

  "And once you were my friend," Cillian whispered. "And now you're not, and I want it back."

  "You can never have it back. I told you that."

  Cillian nodded, and again the flash of what couldn't have been genuine sorrow appeared in his gaze. "So let me pretend for a while, Edward. Grant me a boon. For old times'

  sake."

  "No."

  Edward had no trouble discerning the emotion in Cillian's eyes this time. "You'll give me what I want, or I'll tell Lady Larissa that her new pet was fucking your Handmaiden in your bed not more than a half day before she arrived for the brannigan. Think you the lady would take kindly to that? Think you she'll still take Alaric's troth, then?" He laughed without humor, lifting his chin. "What? You know I'll do it."

  "I know you're vicious enough to, aye. But why hurt Alaric?" Cillian looked toward the others, still making merry. "Because hurting him hurts you. Because you care more for him than you do me. Because I want what I want, and I have the means to get it."

  "Even if I allow this, I will never hold you as the brother of my heart again."

  "Stop blaming me because you allowed me to be noble."

  Edward wanted to throttle Cillian. To punch that pretty, vicious-speaking mouth and watch the bright blood stream down. And in times past, he'd have done it, but now. . . much had changed.

  Cillian's face tightened. "Stop hating me for loving you enough to keep you safe. Tonight. Or else I'll tell Larissa the truth about her lover. I'm no longer noble enough to lie for the sake of friendship."

  With that, he stalked off to sit in the corner, joined in a moment by Persis, who offered worm and more herb, which Cillian took.

  Edward loosed his cravat a touch and wished for something cool to drink. In the next moment, he had it, the cup pressed into his hand by small, soft fingers. He blinked and looked down at her, Stillness, the woman who had come to give him solace.

  "Go to my room," he told her. "And wait for me there." Because she was obedient she went without the questions another woman would have asked. Edward looked at Cillian. The prince gave him a small nod.

  And it was done.

  Chapter 8

  Stillness didn't know the cause of the tension between Edward and Cillian, but she didn't doubt she'd learn it soon enough. Until then, she readied the room for his return. A roaring fire, scented oils sprinkled on the flames. Herb rolled in paper and set out for smoking. A jug of worm and glasses, as well as whiskey. She'd just put her hand to the kettle, thinking of tea, when the door opened.

  He didn't enter alone, and Stillness hung the kettle on its hook when she saw what guest accompanied him. She straightened. Edward, scowling, came forward to take the glass of whiskey she poured.

  "My lord Cillian," Stillness greeted. "My lord Edward."

  "You don't have to call him your lord, Stillness. He's not." Edward tossed back the whiskey and handed her the glass. "Only I am.

  This seemed to amuse Cillian, though he shrugged and nodded in agreement. "Very true." Stillness looked from one to the other. "Edward?"

  He'd closed himself off from her again, gave no hint of his thoughts or emotion. "You are a good Handmaiden."

  "Thank you." She looked briefly at Cillian, who lounged in Edward's chair, tapping a finger against his lips as he watched her.

  Edward, too, glanced at the prince. "This is a duty to you. Serving your patrons."

  "Yes." Stillness didn't understand why he asked her these things, but she could do nothing but reply.

  "All of them, the same to you. As any other."

  Stillness paused before answering, speaking only when he finally turned his dark eyes toward her. "Each patron is unique to me at the time of my service to them. But the same when all is done. Yes."

  His shoulders twitched. She reached for him. He pulled away.

  "And tell me again how you like to ease your pain."

  At once, looking at him and the man he'd brought with him, Stillness understood the reason for Edward's questions.

  "Pain of the flesh helps me to forget the pain in my soul," she said quietly. Cillian shifted in his chair with a small noise. Edward gripped the mantle, his shoulders hunching. Stillness didn't touch him.

  "You want pain." Edward's voice was hoarse, but not with dismay. And she knew more, then, of how best to serve him and bring him the solace that was her purpose. She knew how to give him what he needed, and as she went to her knees in front of him in the Waiting, her heart ached even as her body roused itself in anticipation. This meant she would have to leave him, at last.

  "Yes," she said. "I crave it."

  She felt his hand upon her hair, and she shivered.

  "Then you shall have it, Handmaiden, for it well pleases me to give you what you want." In springtime, ice over running water cracks and chips until at last the water that has flowed beneath it all winter can bubble to the top and wash away the rest. That was how Edward seemed to her, once he'd made the decision to give in to his desire. Like a stream that's been warmed by the sun enough to wash away the ice.

  He wasn't new to this; she'd seen that in him already. The ability to command. The expectation of obedience. What she had not seen was the extent of his capacity for dominance, and how easily he took control of it.

  The thrill of it, the tone of his voice as he told her to take off her clothes, the assessing gleam in his eye as he studied her all thrilled her, and her clit tingled. Cillian groaned, low, when she revealed the gems dangling from her nipples and her clit.

  "She is perfection."

  Stillness stood as Cillian circled her and Edward watched. Cillian's breath ghosted over her bare shoulder as he leaned in close from behind her. He didn't touch her, and she understood something else. Cillian might be the master in all other places, but not with Edward. Here, now, Edward was the prince.

  "She wears the jewelry like a queen, Edward."

  She watched her patron's face, heat swirling through her when his mouth tightened into a proud smile. Her clit twitched as the gem dangling from it swung gently.

  "She does. Touch her skin."

  "Like sateen," murmured Cillian, obeying. His long-fingered hand, smooth, the hand of a man who didn't work, slid over her hip and thigh.

  Her nipples grew tauter at that simple, knowing touch. Cillian's hand dipped between her legs to toy with her soft curls, but it was Edward's gaze that touched her. Edward who made her clit throb against the constriction of the metal clip. Cillian had become her patron's hands.

  "Do you want to taste her, Cillian?"

  "I do, my dear one," Cillian breathed into her ear.

  Whatever had happened between him and Cillian in the past, it had been put aside for now. At least most of it had.

  "Do it, then." His command brooked no argument, as he loosed his cravat, then his buttons and began to take off his shirt.

  Cillian moved her a few steps back until her buttocks hit the edge of the desk, and she leaned against it. He pushed apart her thighs and studied her, exposed. The dual sensation of his eyes on her quim and Edward's gaze upon her face made Stillness giddy.

  "Is it the first time a prince has knelt at your feet?" Cillian's amused question made her look down.

  "No," she said, and he laughed.

  Still laughing, he dipped his red-gold head between her thighs and licked her. Stillness drew in a deep, gasping breath when his tongue flickered along the tiny chain, then across the metal clip. The sensation was enchanting and agonizing too, but in the next moment he'd slipped the bauble from her skin. She cried out at th
e release and her hips leaped forward, pressing her to his ready tongue. Cillian laved and licked her, using a finger to press inside her. Edward watched them as he got undressed.

  "Stillness. Come here."

  Cillian moved aside, and she went to Edward with slow steps, her legs atremble with the passion Cillian's mouth had aroused in her.

  "Go to that wall. Put your hands flat upon it, just past the width of your shoulders. Your fingers will be spread wide. You will close them together should you need relief. Do you understand?"

  She nodded. Few of her patrons had understood the need for such signals, and again her nerves tingled with arousal at Edwards skill. The plastered wall felt cool beneath her hands. She leaned toward it, the gems still attached to her nipples swinging freely. She waited, tension building with every moment.

  She heard the open and close of his cabinet.

  "You're not going to bind her?"

  "No." Edward's sharp voice made Stillness twitch, though not with fear. "She needs no binding. She'll obey."

  She heard the sound of leather drawn through hands. The rustle of clothing. Her mind slipped open and down, finding the beginnings of her own solace.

  "Very nice," came Cillian's next words, admiring. "I remember that one." Two men, discussing their tools as if they were blacksmiths talking about hammers and vises rather than crops and cat-o'-ninetails. What would he use on her? The sting of thin leather straps or the different burn of the crop?

  Slick moisture slid down her thighs in readiness. Stillness waited. Her breathing slowed.

  "You are beautiful."

  She wanted to thank him but couldn't find the words.

  "Are you ready?"

  She nodded.

  "You will count. Do you understand? I will give you ten, to start."

  "Yes, sir." She found her voice to say.

  Every muscle twitched with anticipation, the tension of which was more difficult to bear than the pain would ever be. She took in a slow, long breath in preparation, making a conscious effort to relax, but it had been so long since she'd had this. So long since anyone had understood how to give her what she needed—not the back of a hand to her cheek in anger. Nothing in anger, but careful, perfect punishment administered with consideration . . . and love.