Read The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series for Free Online

his own
appetite. He admired her embracing of her raw desire and her formidable skill
in manipulating his emotions.

 
    He knew, without question,
that acquaintance with her would prove his undoing, so that no satisfaction
would be had elsewhere, no matter whom he invited into his bed. No conjured
debauchery could compete with Mademoiselle Noire’s unadulterated
wantonness.

Chapter Seven
    Torment

 
    MacCaulay blundered blindly up the stairs, arriving eventually
back upon the street, where the rain-spitted night and chill wind brought him partially
to his senses. Grim horror beat within his chest, knowing that he had crossed a
threshold from which there was no return.   He could not escape her image: mouth contorted in gasps of torture and exaltation;
body convulsed in the euphoria of passion; and her eyes frenzied by the
intoxication of lust.

 
    He waved off his carriage, needing
to feel the cool air on his cheek and shake off the power of the memories
assailing him. His feet took him where they might, past the homes of men of breeding and fashion: Devonshire House,
where the Cavendish family resided behind forbidding brick walls; Stafford
House, which was more a palace than St. James’ and had hosted some of the most
glittering gatherings of the century; Bridgewater House, with its fine frontage
onto Green Park; Holland House, headquarters to some of the most brilliant men
of the age and celebrated for its library; and Grosvenor House, with its
distinguished colonnades and priceless gallery .
The exercise served only to remind him of the society to which he should be
keeping. Yet, his thoughts remained with ‘her’.
    MacCaulay spent the darkest hours of night in torment, swollen
with desire, which no self-fornication could ease.   He finally succumbed to sleep, but awoke
soon after, feeling great mental discomfort and a penetrating ache in his loins.  

 
    Such was his frustration and wretchedness
over the following days that nothing could divert him. The hours stretched out,
banal and meaningless ; beyond that, the mundane weeks
and months. It was intolerable. By night, his dreams left him exhausted and unfulfilled.
By day, his misery plunged him into a chasm of despair.

 
    He sought understanding of his
feelings. Was this pure lust: a desire to possess and conquer: to bring this
woman beneath his heel? In part, this was true: he yearned to take her as the
African had done. He must claim her body and consume it, until her flesh fused
with his and nothing else remained. He would take her at every orifice, so that
his body became part of hers, blending in a fiery explosion of heat and light.
The thought left him reeling. Her power over him was like a diabolic contagion.

 
    Yet, there was something
else. He felt her uncompromising exhibition of her basest animal impulses as a
revelation: a miracle of honesty, against which the rest of his life stood in
counterfeit. It was as if she had been sent to awaken him to his true self and
to lead him on some unsung path.

 
    He knew that his infatuation
was inspired not just by a physical ache but by a
deeper need. He hungered for her body, in all its sensual perfection, but also
thirsted for the essence of her very marrow.
    It could not be love: a condition
he held in contempt. He knew it could only be described as obsession.

 
    Nevertheless, he could not
escape from his conviction that, with her, his life would be glorious: an
exploration of uncharted waters. Without, he would desiccate to dust.

Chapter Eight
    Divine Couplings

 
    Five days and nights passed:
the longest MacCaulay had endured. He knew not what
action to take - whether to pack his bags and remove himself from all
temptation, or to fling himself at the seductress’ feet. He knew now why men
joined monasteries perched on remote mountain outcrops, or the French Foreign
Legion, to sweat away their vitality in the harsh desert climate of North
Africa. They sought oblivion.

 
    Heart heavy,