Pleasure and Purpose
Megan Hart
Pleasure and Purpose
Megan Hart
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page Praise
Stillness
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Honesty
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Determinata
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
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Praise for Megan Hart and her novels
“Ms. Hart is a master . . . I am absolutely in love with [her] writing and she remains on my auto-buy list. Take my advice and add her to yours!” —Ecataromance
“Megan Hart is one of my favorite authors . . . The sex is hot and steamy, the emotions are real, and the characters easy to identify with. I highly recommend all of Megan Hart’s books!” —The Best Reviews
“Terrific erotic romance.” —Midwest Book Review
“Unique . . . Fantastic.” —Sensual Romance
“Megan Hart is easily one of the more mature, talented voices I’ve encountered in the recent erotica boom. Deep, thought provoking, and heart wrenching.” —The Romance Reader
“Probably the most realistic erotic romance I’ve ever read . . . I wasn’t ready for the story to end.” —A Romance Review
“Sexy, romantic.” —Road to Romance
“Megan Hart completely wowed me! I never read an erotic book that, aside from the explicit sex, is [also] an emotionally powerful story.” —Romance Reader at Heart
Five Principles of the Order of Solace
1. There is no greater pleasure than providing absolute solace.
2. True patience is its own reward.
3. A flower is made more beautiful by its thorns.
4. Selfish is the heart that thinks first of itself.
5. Women we begin and women we shall end.
Stillness
Chapter 1
Stillness Faine had never been assigned to a house so modest it didn't have a name. What sort of man was Edward Delaw, to hold such a high position within the Court of Firth and yet abide in a house as humble as this? She paused with her hand on the front gate to look it over before making her way down the crushed shell path to the front door.
"You be all right, mistress?"
She turned to look back at the driver of the carriage she'd hired to bring her from Pevensie station. "Yes, Thomas, thank you. Master Delaw is expecting me." Thomas gave the house a dubious look. "You sure? He might've sent for you, if he was."
"I arrived early," she assured him. "The mountain pass thawed a bit sooner than anticipated. I was able to travel more swiftly than the Order predicted. I'll be fine." He looked her over. She knew he saw a small woman with dark blonde hair pulled into a thick braid spilling down her back. She was clad in a dark plum traveling gown of modest Cut and sturdy fabric. She carried a trundle-bag in one hand and her overcoat, too heavy for the early spring weather, in the other.
She wondered if her appearance disappointed him.
"Right." He nodded again and clucked to the horses. "Well, I'll be back this way tomorrow after, if you need a ride back."
She returned her attention to the house. Spring green ivy climbed redbrick walls, and the gabled roof spoke of cozy, tucked-away garret rooms. Smoke from the chimney wisped its gray tail against the background of blue sky.
Shells crunched beneath her soles, and ten strides took her to the front door. She smiled at the sight of the knocker, a pixie's face done in copper with the ring through its nose. Fine details showed the owner of this house had a sense of humor and style, too, no matter the lack of lavish wings and gardens.
She took a moment to center herself before she knocked. Each assignment was to be met face forward, but every time she faced a new patron her stomach churned. The trick was to keep her inner turmoil from showing. After all, a patron who sent to the Order of Solace for a Handmaiden had certain expectations.
She recited the five principles under her breath and calm overtook her. Before she could lift the knocker, the door opened so fast she stumbled. In the next moment she was pushed back by the man ejecting himself from the doorway.
"Later," he was saying over his shoulder. "Hello! What's this?" In one swift motion he moved and spoke, reaching for her to keep her from falling. His fingers gripped her upper arm while the other hand came around to grab her wrist. He pulled. Nessa regained her feet.
"Who are you?" the man she thought must be Edward Delaw demanded. He let her go, and Nessa shook the folds of her gown around her ankles, straightening her appearance swiftly. "I'm your Handmaiden, my lord Delaw. You sent for me?"
"You weren't due for another fortnight."
"I was able to travel faster than anticipated. I trust it's not an inconvenient time for my arrival?"
"I'm just off to Pevensie to see Prince Cillian's latest toys. I'll be home later. See to it Margera gets you settled." He looked down at the worn trundle-bag at her feet. "Is that all you brought?"
"Aye, my lord, I—"
"Ah, yes." His lips tightened in what might have been meant as a smile. "Yes, the Order informed me I'd be responsible for providing for you. Very well. I shall make arrangements for that while I'm in town."
He started off down the path again, shouting out to the man who'd brought round a prancing black horse from the back of the house
. "Oi, Peter! Hurry, lad, I must be off!" Her new patron swung up on the back of the horse, slung the leather bag Peter handed him round his neck, and urged the horse into motion.
It wasn't the most illustrious -greeting she'd ever had, to be sure. "Hello," she called as Delaw vanished down the lane. <
Peter turned, eyebrows lifting. "Hello. Pleading your mercy, but— ah, yes. You must be the Handmaiden, and thank the Invisible Mother you've arrived."
"I am." Nessa paused as Peter strode toward her and bent to lift her bag. He opened the front door for her. "Though I fear I must ask . . . why so happy to see me?" Peter chuckled and stepped aside to let her through. "Because he's a right bit of a cranky bastard, our lord Edward, and frankly, Mum and me is afeared if he don't get some solace, he'll rant himself into apoplexy."
"Ah." A simple enough answer, and not unexpected. "I'll do what can.
"Mum! She's here!" Peter led the way down a short hall toward the back of the house. The scent of baking bread and other good smells set her mouth watering. Her stomach made a loud, embarrassing noise. Peter laughed.
"Mum'll take good care of you. Get you fed. I'll take your bag up to your room."
"Thank you, Peter." Nessa smiled at him, and he gave an exaggerated bow and a wink.
"Mum!"
The plump woman bending over to pull something from the oven straightened, her cheeks flushed. "Sinder's Arrow, Peter, must you holler like you've been stabbed? Who's this, then?"
"It's—" Peter stopped. "Your mercy, mistress, I didn't catch your name."
"Stillness." She stepped forward to greet the other woman. "Stillness Faine." Margera snorted. "Someone's parents on the worm, were they?" Nessa took no offense to the suggestion her parents abused the hallucinogen-laced wine popular among the wealthy. "Stillness is the name I was given when I joined the Order of Solace. You may call me Nessa, if you'd prefer."
Margera gave Nessa an obvious looking over. "I'm Margera. The affrighted one in the corner's Abbie."
Abbie squeaked at being so singled out and backed farther into the corner.
"Hello, Abbie." The girl didn't return Nessa's smile, but Nessa took no offense at that, either.
"She's afeared you'll bite her." Margera jerked her chin at the girl. "Abbie takes care of the downstairs, here. I told her not to worry, that you were certain not to bite. At least, not her."
Abbie squeaked again and fled the kitchen. Margera looked after her with a shake of her gray curls. "She's tetched, I swear on the Holy Mother's Milk. Peter! You leave those sugar buns alone, else I swear by the Arrow I'll cut off your fingers!" Peter muttered, grabbed up a handful of the buns, and fled after Abbie. Margera turned to Nessa. "He'll be the death of me. Do you have children?"
"No." The question never failed to sting, no matter how much time passed.
"I suppose you'll be wanting some food."
"I would be grateful, yes. I'm fair famished."
"You could use a hearty meal or two, by the Quiver." Margera's disapproval was clear in her tone. "A good wind could blow you away."
Nessa laughed. "Hardly. My last patron preferred me to be slender."
"The master don't like stick-figured women."
Nessa watched as Margera sliced a brown loaf and set the pieces on a platter along with a crock of butter and a flagon of milk. The cook added a meat pastry and gestured toward the rough-hewn table for Nessa.
"If it pleases my patron for me to be thicker, I'll do my best to be so." Nessa sat, mouth already watering.
"I expected a bit more paint and glitter." Margera bent again to the oven to pull out several pans of bread.
"I've been traveling a fair distance, and for a while. It would hardly have been convenient to gaud myself up for that, would it?"
Margera shook her head and handed Nessa a knife for the butter. "I suppose not. You'll leave off paint and primpery, but you'll starve or stuff yourself to change your body for a man?"
"I will do whatever I can to provide my patron with solace." Nessa thickly buttered her bread.
"Anything to provide him solace. Including servicing him in the' bedchamber, aye?"
"If he requires it," Nessa replied calmly. The bread was delicious and settled her grumbling stomach straight away.
"So then," said Margera with a curl of her lip, "what makes you different than a whore?"
"Whores are paid for what they do," said Nessa without rancor. "I'm compensated for what I give."
"And what's that?"
"Solace, of course," said Nessa, and set her attention back to her food. Night had fallen by the time Edward came home, exhausted, frustrated, irritated. Fury, at least, had passed several hours before, when he'd forced himself to realize it would do naught but give him a headache.
Cillian Derouth had to be the least fit young man ever to wear the crown of Prince of Firth. He was arrogant, vain, reckless, immoral, and, worst of all, intelligent. A stupid, reckless, and immoral lout could have been molded, convinced to reign in his debauchery, controlled. Cillian was smarter than nearly everyone around him, including his father, King Allwyn, all of his advisors, and his lordling companions. Smarter even than Edward himself, as much as it pained him to admit it. It had made Cillian dangerous. But then, he'd always been so, even when they were lads in school, though then he'd been joyful, too. Time and circumstance had added madness to Cillian's list of other attributes, and Edward had no small part in the blame for that. No small part, but much guilt, and playing constant guard dog for his former school chum at the order of that man's father did naught to assuage it.
Leaving his horse in Peter's care, Edward went into the house, seeking a stiff drink and his bed. If he were lucky, he'd get the chance to sleep the night through without dreams. The line of light beneath his door stopped him with a startle, before he remembered. She'd arrived today.
The Handmaiden. He'd forgotten. Edward sighed, aggrieved. Now he would have to speak to the woman, deal with her, when he wanted only the comfort of his bed. He pushed open the door, and stopped just inside.
She'd straightened his sitting room, which had not seen the attentions of a maid since he'd run the last one off for clumsiness almost two months before. She'd done more than tidy; his desk and the fireplace mantel, even the bookcases and his cabinet, gleamed, free of dust. She'd arranged his reading chair and the tapestry rug in front of the crackling fire, a small table set with a cup and teapot in front.
The woman herself knelt on the rug, one hand faceup in the palm of the other in her lap. Clad no longer in a dusty gown, she wore a deep blue dress with a high collar and buttons running from neck to hem. She looked up and smiled as he entered.
"My lord Delaw."
The kettle whistled. The Handmaiden got to her feet in a single effortless motion and took it from the fire. She poured steaming water into the pot and settled the cozy over top, then hung the kettle back in its place. Every movement smooth, precise, efficient. Still smiling, she came to stand in front of him. She had to tilt her head to look into his face, the tiny thing she was. Her eyes were the color of her gown.
"May I help you out of your coat?"
Edward knew a Handmaiden's function. He'd had to sign a slew of documents stating he understood his responsibilities to her and what she was to provide in return. He'd not hired himself some sort of glorified cleaning wench, nor a doxy, but something both and neither. He understood her function, but seeing it, her smile, the way she moved, knelt. . . the way she'd knelt... it was more than he'd expected.
He put up a hand as though to ward her off, though she'd not even done so much as reach to touch him. "I believe myself capable of removing my own coat, thank you." She tilted her head, her expression curious. "If it pleases you. Though I'm here to serve you and would be well pleased to make you comfortable."
Edward stared a moment, noting the curve of pale brows and pink blush of her lips.
"You're prettier than I expected."
Her smile widened a bit. "I'm happy my
appearance pleases you." She seemed to be waiting for something. "You made me tea?"
"Yes."
"Tea at this hour will keep me awake. I need sleep."
"It's of my own blend," she said gently. "Made of herbs that promote an easy rest." Impressed but unwilling to admit it, Edward grunted. "Very well." She was two steps behind him as he sat, but the wench managed to be in front of him before he'd had time to cross his legs. In silence, she knelt at his feet as she poured the tea and offered it up to him. When he took it, she sat back and placed her hands in that peculiar position in her lap once more.
He sipped the tea, which was indeed of pleasant aroma and sweet flavor. "It's good." She smiled again. "I've run a hot bath for you. It will have cooled for your comfort when you've done with your tea."
Edward paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. "How have you managed this? The tea? The bath? You didn't know when I'd come home."
"True, but it's my pleasure and my purpose to know such things," she told him. "I wouldn't be a very good Handmaiden if I couldn't do something as simple as watch from the window for you to return."
He studied her. "What is your name?"
"Stillness, my lord."
He raised a brow at that. "An unusual moniker."
She smiled. "It's the name I was granted upon joining the Order."
"I see." He didn't, really. Edward knew the function of the Order of Solace, but little of its inner workings. "Do you like it?"
"My name?"
"Aye. Stillness. Do you like it?"
