Bound in Brass

By Jennifer Morningstar

The Two Aces. Victorian London’s most salacious secret, the club is a place where erotic fantasies are played out among clockwork automatons and aether-powered machines. Where nothing is off-limits and the pleasures are as wicked as the imagination will allow...

Tallulah Applewhite is an American widow abroad, finding all the pleasures Europe has to offer. She gets more than she bargained for when she ventures into The Two Aces and meets the man known as the Ace of Hearts. Their sexual encounters push her to the very limits of desire, and together they find just what her unhappy marriage was missing.

Horace Sterling has never wanted anything that he couldn’t have, but he’s surprised at how much he wants this fresh Georgia Peach. Uninhibited and alluring, she enflames his passion like no other. The only thing more scandalous than taking up with a widow who should be in mourning would be taking up with a married woman—and both he and Tallulah are in for the shock of their lives...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abigail Barnette
• Release date: Feb 1, 2022

Book preview

Bound in Brass

Jennifer Morningstar

This fun little story is dedicated to Stella Price, the steamiest of all steampunks.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Originally published as All Steamed Up: Infernal Devices by Resplendence Publishing, Copyright © Jennifer Armintrout 2011

This version Copyright © Jenny Trout 2021

Chapter One

The woman standing across the parlor of Wallace and Permilia Sterling’s London town home was the epitome of grace and poise, her statuesque figure seemingly poured into flesh from a late renaissance painting while possessing all the qualities of an upstanding Victorian woman.

She was also an absolute wildcat when it came to the finer arts of pleasure, and Horace Sterling thanked the gods of debauchery for the current fashion of long coats. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to hide the raging erection spurred to life by the knowledge he’d gleaned at The Two Aces, the highly selective and secretive sex club of which he was partial owner. Of course, the woman didn’t know him. And he didn’t know her name. The only thing he knew about her was that she was an American, from the softly lilting accent that drove him wild, and that he’d fucked her with abandon the night before while she’d been trussed up like a Christmas goose.

When they’d founded The Two Aces, Horace and his brothers, Wallace and Richard, had agreed to some very simple rules of conduct. First and foremost was protecting the secrecy of the club. They were not to divulge their names to any patrons, nor approach them socially. That had all fallen by the wayside when Wallace had found his then-fiancée, Permilia, trying to gain entrance to the club. And it was about to fall by the wayside again.

Brothers, forgive me, Horace thought to himself as he wandered through the guests assembled at the Sterlings’ latest social. He could not let an opportunity like this pass him by. The blonde was perfect for him, in every way.

Excuse me, he said, clearing his throat softly. You seemed dreadfully all alone over here.

The woman had been keeping to the farthest corner of the room, casting her gaze fearfully about. Now, she looked up at him with crystal blue eyes that had brimmed with tears of desire and endurance the night before, as she taken all he’d given her and never once attempted to utter the word that would have ended their rendezvous. At the club, she’d been a woman committed to even the roughest love play, but now she shrank without confidence from a simple dinner party. She was a mystery in desperate need of unraveling.

She dipped her head, that melodious accent illuminating her speech like rays of sunlight. I’m afraid I don’t know anyone, really. I was invited by Missus Sterling, as a way to…meet people.

Oh, she had met people, all right. Horace smiled and extended his hand. Horace Sterling. I am Mrs. Sterling’s brother-in-law.

Charmed, she said, giggling when he stooped to kiss her hand.

You’re not from around here, I gather, he said, and then, feigning forgetfulness, said, I’m terribly sorry, how rude of me. Would you like me to get you some punch, Miss...

Applewhite. Tallulah Applewhite. She smiled, displaying white teeth against sun-kissed skin that was anything but fashionable in foggy London. Of the Savannah Applewhites.

Tallulah. The names those Americans could think up.

Well, Miss Applewhite, he began again, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. Shall we venture to the punchbowl?

She nodded her agreement, but as they walked, she admitted, rather cautiously, It’s actually Missus Applewhite. I’m a widow.

Horace refrained from making the first crass remark that sprung to mind, something along the lines of, You probably fucked him to death, and the equally insulting, Thank God. Instead, he managed a very convincing, I’m terribly sorry. If I had known that you were in mourning—

I’m not, she said quickly, looking down at her mauve gown. James died over a year ago, in the war.

Politics not being his strong suit, especially when it involved the grim goings on in the colonies, he did not press her further. Well, my condolences. I’m sure he died a hero’s death.

No. My husband died a cowardly traitor to the Union. Fighting for the right to enslave his fellow man, she said, bristling. As quickly as the dark tone had fallen over their conversation, the sun broke through. One grows tired of such bloodthirsty, brutal people. I’m pleased to find much warmer company here, though.

We have to make up for the weather, somehow. A widow. How…odd. He’d assumed she was just a bored, married woman abroad.

It is rather exotic, to a person from my part of the world, she said with a smile at his joke.

Does it not rain in Savannah?

Oh, it does rain. Fearfully. But the rain here makes an extraordinary stench over the whole city and not just the riverside.

She was perfect.

At the refreshment table, he dipped out some punch into a crystal cup and passed it to her. I say, it’s terribly crowded in here. Would you like to accompany me on a stroll about the garden?

She sipped her drink and looked uncertainly to the window. Is it usual for the English to skulk about gardens at night?

Madame, I assure you, I never skulk. He nodded to the doors at the rear of the parlor, closed against the light fog in the air. "I cannot promise that the stench-bringing rain will hold off, but think of the adventure. When you return to Georgia, you’ll be able to tell all of your American friends