He turns to the window. What is she doing to him?
“Please, Julian.”
She calls him by his name. Next to the things she did to him when they were together, it’s the ultimate seduction. Will the vixen stop at nothing?
“The lord said he’ll give me a crown if you lie with me,” Mallory says. “A crown, sire! A quarter of a pound. A crown for a few minutes of your time. I make a shilling a week. I have to work five back-breaking weeks to make one crown. The other smuts, with all their experience, make three pennies a customer. Even Brynhilda’s tits fetch her barely six. And the lord is offering us a crown! Why can’t you help me? You did it the other night.”
“The other night, I did it for free.” He pulls his hand away from her.
“You may have done it for free,” Mallory returns cruelly. “But Marg and I knew he was watching us. We got paid for touching each other, and I got paid a bonus for touching you. Two extra shillings after you broke in.”
“Did you split that with Margrave?”
Mallory’s face is cold. “She makes plenty as it is.”
Julian is astonished. “The other night … that was you performing for him?”
“I beg pardon, sire, I hate to be impertinent, but … are you aware where you are? Where you and I both work?”
“Quite aware, thank you. I just thought you had been performing for me. My mistake.” Julian stares into his hands. This is Josephine’s acting life. Mary Collins told her lady mother: all she wanted was to be up on a stage. Josephine told him she invented a stage everywhere she went. Well, here is what the stage looks like in 1666.
Minutes pass. He pulls up his velvet sleeve, counts the ink dots. Seven. A week has passed since his first night here with her. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll do it. But tell your lord it’s a crown only if he leaves the room and spies through the hole.” Julian pauses. “It’s two crowns if he stays in the chair.”
Mallory beams. Julian doesn’t beam.
Without hesitation, Fabian agrees to two crowns. They should’ve asked for more, Julian thinks, as he pushes the heavy bed farther away from the man’s repugnant feet, and he and Mallory undress. Julian wishes he had money he could offer her instead of the toady watching them from three floorboards away.
He and Mallory stand naked in front of each other.
Julian really wants to touch her.
Can he even perform in front of Lord Odious?
Why, yes, it turns out he can.
He does it by trying to forget that Fabian exists, though that’s less easy than it sounds, what with the barrage of winded wheezing commands spitting forth from the man’s foaming mouth as he sits in the nearby chair and directs Julian—as if Julian has no idea what to do on his own.
Why are you standing there? Kiss her. You’re in a pantomime of love, Fabian says. So pantomime.
They kneel on the bed. Julian cups Mallory’s face. It’s not a pantomime, he whispers to his maid and his princess, as he kisses her, kisses her until her nipples harden and he hardens and everything else on her softens.
Fondle her.
Pull on her nipples until she moans.
Tug on her until she squirms.
Lay her down, pour some wine on her.
Open her, eat her pussy.
I didn’t tell you to talk to her, what did you say to her?
Do you like that, Mallory?
Yes, sire.
Do not ask her what she wants or what she likes, you do what I want, you do what I like. Turn her over. Get behind her. Grab her, so she stops moving. Pull out all the way, so I can see. Now thrust all the way in. Tell her to hold on to the headboard if she needs to.
Hold on to the headboard, Mallory.
The orders are barked only to Julian. But Julian knows, Fabian is not barking. He is begging. He’s beseeching Julian to be his proxy with the maiden. All things he cannot do himself, Fabian does through Julian. But Fabian’s shallow panting is so distressing that at one point, Julian lies flat on top of Mallory, even though his instructions were expressly not to. He stops moving and covers her body with his to shield her from the fat lord’s jealous gaze. Easing one arm under her, Julian slows between her hips and presses his face against her cheek, to cover her ear. It’s going to be okay. Are you okay?
I’m fine. She pats his back. It’s not me he covets, sire. It’s you and your able-bodied youth. He’s not looking at me. He’s watching you. It’s your strong legs he desires, and your arms that hold your weight and hold mine. Your hard stomach. Your hard everything.
They kiss in a prolonged moan as if they are real lovers.
I’d like to kill him, Julian says.
No, no, not until we separate the fool from his money, says Mallory.
Julian laughs, Fabian shouts, Julian loses his rhythm, and rhythm is so important in love.
Stand on the floor, have her kneel in front of you. Tell her to suck your cock, but do not discharge in her mouth. So what if the floor is hard. I want to see her on the hard floor. She is getting two crowns from me. She can take a little discomfort in her knees for two crowns, can’t she? Because you’re about to give her more discomfort than that. Tell her to get on her hands and knees. Yes, right on the floor.
Julian is in his own bed when he hears a soft tap. Mallory steps in, dressed in her morning clothes, gray apron, black skirt.
“Am I disturbing you, sire?” Her voice is a whisper.
“No.” He sits up.
The candles have been blown out, the room is dark. Uncertainly she closes the door behind her.
“I think the lord was pleased.”
“And that is what I was aiming for. To please him.”
Even in the night, he sees her blushing face. “I just wanted to say thank you for tonight.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m sorry to have put you in such a spot. He’s a peculiar man, I grant you, but he is generous, and very little is required of me.”
“And thank you for that.”
She stammers. “I meant to say that usually not very much is required of me.”
“What about the other night with Margrave?”
“Yes,
