A Rivalry of Hearts, page 11
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.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EDWINA
My mouth falls open. William has surprised me a lot this evening, first with his discomfort in the north wing, then with how candidly he’s been speaking to me ever since we stepped onto the balcony. But I never could have anticipated this. “You starred in The Governess and the Rake? The stage play of my book?”
He rubs his brow. “My tale doesn’t have a happy ending, Weenie.”
Oh, right. He’s only telling me this to explain the source of his panic after fleeing the voyeurism room. It takes no small effort to bury my vanity and avoid asking him questions about my play. Was it lovely? Did the audience swoon? What were the costumes like? Instead, I give him an encouraging nod.
“As you can probably guess,” he says, “the lead role included not just a kiss but a sex scene. Multiple, actually. Not true sex in the stage adaptation, of course, but a rather convincing imitation of it. I knew it would be a challenge for me, but I needed that role. I needed a boost to my career and the income that could make a significant dent in our debt. While I may have been a prodigy at university, out in the real world, I was just a dandelion in a vast garden of curated roses. So I was desperate to get the part. And I did. My audition was exquisite, all because it didn’t include a kiss. Yet I knew I couldn’t avoid the love scenes for long. I came to Grayson for advice, and he suggested I participate in the north wing. He thought it would help me get comfortable performing intimate acts before an audience.
“I chose Meredith as my partner. We were old friends from university. I didn’t have feelings for her, but I was, at the very least, attracted to her.”
A prickle of envy jabs me in the chest. Of course he was attracted to her. I saw her myself before he dragged me away. She was tall with pouty pink lips, gorgeous curves, and straight black hair.
William shifts to lean his backside against the railing, arms folded over his chest, eyes distant. “I was so nervous. More than any audition. Any performance. But Meredith did her best to distract me. I managed to initiate a kiss, though I can’t say it was a good one. Not even my attraction to her could make up for my terror at having an audience. We progressed to touching, but I hardly felt like I was inside my body. I must have blundered my way through enough to convince Meredith I was ready for more, for she then proceeded to remove my shirt, then her chemise. As soon as her top was around her waist, I had reached my limit. My head was spinning. I hated the way I felt. Hated what I was doing. And that is when I vomited all over her.”
My mouth falls open. “You…vomited. On her.”
“All over those beautiful breasts of hers.”
I can’t stifle the snort of laughter fast enough. “I’m so sorry.”
He gives me a small smile. “Apparently, I am in no way cut out for public lovemaking.”
Another burst of laughter leaves my lips, but I cover my mouth until I can recover. With my words half trembling with mirth, I ask, “So, then what? You relinquished your role and quit the show?”
“Oh, Ed, my sordid tale has only just begun.”
I find myself leaning closer. “Do tell.”
“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”
“A little.”
I expect him to clam up and realize how much he’s divulged, but he still wears that half smile. “Then let me conclude with the worst part yet. No, I did not take the rational route and quit the show. Instead, I powered through every kiss scene as best I could. The director was sorely disappointed in my poor performance, but I promised I would work on it. Then it was time to rehearse the first love scene. And it wasn’t just any rehearsal. Our director invited some of his colleagues to watch, a producer, a casting director, and a talent agent. Big names in the industry, ones you absolutely want to make a great impression on. Can you guess what kind of impression I made?”
My eyes go wide. “Please tell me you didn’t…”
“I, William Haywood, threw up all over the beloved actress Greta Garter.”
“Greta Garter? You were cast opposite Greta Garter?” Even I know of the Faerwyvae-born human actress. Her career is new, but her rise to fame has been astounding. So much so that she’s even left the isle to perform in other countries. The month before I left Bretton, I attended the theater with my family and was delighted by her performance in the lead role. She’s as beautiful as she is talented.
“Not once, Weenie, but twice.”
“Twice?” I’m so mortified and amused that I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
He nods. “The first time, I tried to play it off like I was unwell. The second time, the director realized I wasn’t cut out for the role. He fired me, but not before lecturing me about my failure to disclose my shortcoming, as he called it, when I was cast. He had every right to be angry. I’d wasted his time and created a production delay while my role was recast. And even though what happened was never made public, word spread behind the scenes. I was never cast in anything but a supporting role again.”
