Loved By The First

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Book excerpt

Chapter 1 - Raina

THE MOON GLOWS BRIGHT through the Bordeaux style etched windows of my Paris hotel room. I throw open the gold and black lace drapery and shudder, for the night sweetly beckons my blood into a frenzy. Across the brick street the words, “Revue du Moulin rouge” glimmers red under a four-bladed windmill. Furious music spirits from the new dance hall, with aroused chuckles and excited yells riding happily upon the summer winds. I step lively to the wardrobe and throw the doors open, but quickly sashay aside to avoid the pallid corpse that falls past me. It lands with a very undignified plop. Last night at the tavern, this stiff, one-toothed cretin took the tip of his steak knife to a whore’s eye. “Oh, not again deary!” the scantily clad woman had taunted him. “You think yourself quite the lover, but bore my old cunny to tears with that tiny prick!” He was already worse for drink hours before, and since no one protects these ladies of the night, she became known as “One-eyed Betty” amongst the laughter of his friends. But the demoness that has entangled my precious soul appreciated the opportunity, having been deprived for months of a vicious kill. Being here on this clandestine affair, and away from my human love has afforded me some freedom with my dark desires, and warms my heart back into a lively, playful state.

I step over the gaping chest cavity of the man to grab a sparkling aquamarine corset dress and hold it against my lean, hourglass form. I sit upon the gray satin chair in front of the vanity mirror, and the old maplewood legs creak. A candlelit lantern dangles from a long chain descending from the ceiling and enlivens the sparkle in my skin. I run a brush through my long tresses and with every stroke, it shines like liquid drops of sunshine. The flame flickers in my cerulean eyes and all of these visually stimulating features will serve me nicely in this evening’s sport: the capture of France’s most lascivious Duke, and keeper of intriguing state secrets. It is an unsavory road to those secrets, and I am just the vixen to travel it. I have been watching him these last days.  I have seduced his closest friends, and found the sordid rumors to be true. He does indeed do very bad things to very naked and vulnerable women. The naked part they consented to, the inhuman torture they did not. Nor did they deserve it, for all their worldly sins. So, perhaps I am their dark vigilante. I am the night’s curse, but also its willing servant. Though this mission is for Queen and country, the truth that has come to light strokes my fire and needs a reckoning. Hell can have him. I slip down the stairway and into the street.

The midnight hour approaches as I watch from the balcony of the underworld night club. The can-can dancers kick their feet high into the air to “Orpheus Aux,” revealing lacy bloomers and garter-held thigh highs. Frilly skirts shake wildly in their hands and their legs bend with the flexibility of their rich patron’s morals.

“Come, and lose your identity! Believe whatever you want to believe until the sun rises!” yells a man in a red waist coat and black top hat from the stage. The crowd whistles and cheers. The dancers end their performance by jumping high in the air and then hit the ground in forward splits. The musicians begin a new tune, slow and ominous, and the main event begins. The dancers put on their courtesan facades and gather in the middle of the large, elaborate dance floor.

“He’s here!” one of the girls, Lacey, whispers. In my short time of watching and listening within the walls of this place, I’ve gathered that she has been in and out of houses of ill-repute since she was a twelve-year-old orphan. But her legs are long, and her energy high, so landed a spot in the highly sought-after position of Moulin Rouge can-can dancer. Yet she dreams that soon she’ll leave this harlot haven. And on the arm of her true love, no doubt. That is why the scandalous idea of Henry, the displaced duke of Anjou and blood of the last King secretly visiting the Moulin Rouge, has her lips tightly pursed together, and a lively spark lights up her pale face.

The crowd goes silent. A young gentleman in a concealing black domino walks past each hopeful, cleavage popping harlot. From a distance, they glitter with beauty, each in a fetching and flamboyant costume. But upon closer look, their laugh lines are deep crevices of worry and their beauty marks- scars from pocks, covered with a thick layer of grease paint. He stops before the red-haired Polly for a moment. Not her. A fallen lady of breeding, Miss Pollianne Percilan will be filling your cravat with tears while your servants pry her prudish legs apart. She cannot fulfil your perverse fantasies, dear Duke. He glides past her with that over confident swagger that gives the upper class away, and meets the lightly painted eyes of sweet Suzy Savona. Her small stature and innocent smile hide her devious nature. He would surely delight in breaking her spirit, but would pay for it, with that large gold ring on his finger. But alas, he moves on.

I climb onto the lighted banister above them, and balance with the grace of a panther. He passes the beautiful and sought after Mistinguette with hardly a glance. She is a woman of notorious fame, and more trouble for him if things get too rough. Or perhaps he is aware of what will be left upon his pimmel in the morning after having her. His shining black boots squeak as he stops in front of poor Lacey. I leap from the high balcony and land gracefully on one knee before him. Mouths drop open. The women gasp. I slowly stand.

“This is my newest lady,” says Joseph Oller, the owner, who leads his girls in this dance of sin. His coffers are being filled to overflowing by Queen Victoria’s Ministry of Interior for his part in tonight’s events. “Never has she been touched by a man, my physicians have assured me.” He winks in my direction. His Lordship has hard, unkind features, and a leering smile that never reaches his eyes. The heated scowls of the ladies penetrate the room and the temperature rises.

“Isn’t it warm in here,” I croon and remove my shall. He snaps his fingers at one of the guards there to ensure his survival in this dodgy house of scandal. He brings a candle to my face. I flick my eyes up to lock into his and grab the candle. “Take me already.” I tip it over my full cleavage and the creamy wax drips with a tantalizing sizzle. “And see how I bring you to your knees.”