Page 21 of The Seduction of Viscount Vice

“So things are going well with Lady Mairi?” said Sin, perching on a chaise.

More than well. Mairi had actually stayed the night after their incredible interlude on the pirate ship. In between hours of kissing, touching, and sometimes slow and sensuous, sometimes fast and rough fucking, she’d lain naked in his arms where she belonged and finally talked a little about her years in Paris. Her employer Yvette du Bois. Ramsey and Olivier. The work she’d done as a seamstress and prop mistress at the original Worldly supper and entertainment theater.

The last few days had been never-ending because he hadn’t been able to see her; she’d been caught up in final preparations for the opening of Madame Yvette’s new venue. Actually, he couldn’t help thinking that Yvette sounded damned lazy and manipulative—ten years of six-day-a-week service from two people, and now the setting up of an entirely new business, seemed a very high price for one act of kindness.

“Well enough,” he said with a shrug, knowing that would irritate both men beyond words. They were as bad as their wives when it came to wanting details.

“When are you going to see her next?” said Devil.

“Tomorrow, I hope. We’ll both be free then.”

Sin grimaced. “This arrived.” He handed over a thin envelope. “From your investigator man.”

“Thank you.” Vice took it and tucked it into the inner pocket of his black evening jacket. Tonight was one of the rare occasions he wouldn’t be performing onstage.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Not right now. I’m sure it will only confirm what I already know, and I still have some tasks to complete for our dear Charlie’s dominatrix show. That flogging bar has a hairline crack in it; the last thing we want is it snapping in two.”

Hours later though, he wasn’t nearly as cool and calm.

What the hell was wrong with everyone? Fallen was usually a crush at this hour, but they’d had about half their usual number through the door and half again had left as soon as Charlie had finished her act featuring three brawny and particularly disobedient young men.

“Wonderful show as always, Vice. Wish I didn’t have to leave so soon, but my wife is expecting me at a damned charity ball.”

He nodded and shook yet another escapee lord’s hand, but the smilingly apologetic liars were getting damned tiresome.

“Bloody hell,” said Sin, coming to stand beside him. “Another one leaving? Is there an odor here I cannot smell?”

“Perhaps. But I must be equally immune. I’m hoping it’s nothing to do with the food, that’s about the only thing I can think of. Our domme was her usual excellent self, everything looks adequate…”

“And the harem is in fine form,” added Sin, frowning. “There haven’t been any incidents of drunkenness or abuse, either. Or rabid protesters.”

“Fuck,” muttered Vice. “Maybe this is how the apocalypse begins. Fallen members losing all interest in sexual play does scream that the end of the world is nigh.”

“It can’t be us. If our members were sick of pleasure, there would have been a gradual decline, not a sudden purge. And yet…when have they ever chosen a ball over a show here?”

“Sin! Vice! There you are, dear boys. Splendid show. Do pass on my congratulations to that delightfully naughty lady.”

Vice bowed low to the Prince Regent, a sick feeling curling in his gut. Surely he wasn’t leaving, too. Usually their hardest task was getting rid of the man. “A brandy, sir?”

“Normally I would, of course, but tonight I must pass. Mrs. F and I have another party to attend. A grand opening!”

“A grand opening?” said Sin politely. “Of what?”

Their future king looked at him askance, then his face cleared and he burst out laughing. “Oh dear boy, don’t you know?”

“Know what?” gritted out Vice, all patience gone.

“You have competition! A new pleasure club has opened over on Charlotte Street. Called Worldly. Isn’t that clever? Because they have themed pleasure rooms from around the world. Quite looking forward to taking a peek, actually. Never say you didn’t get an invitation from Madame Yvette!”

Ice encased him. “Beg pardon, sir?”

“I say, Vice,” said Prinny with concern. “You’re looking a trifle ill. What in Hades is wrong?”

“He’s fine, your highness,” said Sin smoothly, shooting him a worried look. “Who did you say you got the invitation from?”

“The owner, Madame Yvette. She owned a high-class brothel in Paris, but nowadays every man and his friend are running those over there, so she and her staff moved to jolly old England. Lucky for us, eh? It will be most interesting to compare it to Fallen, what?”