Night of Pleasure by Delilah Marvelle

anyone else about it?”
    This was anything but promising. “I really don’t think—”
    “Do you vow?” Andrew pressed. “On your golden name?”
    He was too soft. Derek thudded a fist to his chest. “It stays here. What is it?”
    Eyeing him, Andrew pushed up his coat sleeve and linen shirt, exposing the skin beneath. Raised uneven welts that created the word MENTULA were burned across his inner arm. It appeared fresh and was Latin for…
    Fear scrambled Derek’s mind and innards. A shaky breath escaped him as his gaze snapped to his brother’s face. “What the hell are you doing to yourself? What is this?”
    Pulling down the linen sleeve and the coat, Andrew grinned. “It’s my promise to her. I let her burn it into me. Hurt like hell but it was worth it.”
    “You let her burn the word PENIS into your arm?”
    Those eyes widened. “ Penis ? No, no. Mentula is an endearment. I asked.”
    Derek snorted. “It is not an endearment but an insult. Have you ever read the texts of Priapeia?”
    Andrew glared. “So you’re better read than I am. What of it?”
    “What of it? Jesus, I’m trying to— What rational woman burns a man’s arm with the word penis and claim it’s an endearment?”
    “She—” Andrew cleared his throat. Twice. “A few weeks ago, I hired this incredible birch mistress out of an exclusive brothel I’d never been able to get into until now. Her name is Elsa. And I love her.”
    Derek’s eyes widened. “You’re in love with a birch mistress you just met?”
    “Ey, now, real passion, when one finds it, burns fast. Not everyone can be like you and let things simmer for seven years.” Andrew pointed to the sideboard. “Can I have a drink?”
    Saint’s blood. Maybe he needed a drink. “You’re one and twenty, Andrew. You don’t need my permission to drink.”
    “Amen for that.” Striding over to the sideboard, Andrew pulled out a decanter of brandy and a glass. He filled it, tossed it back and set the glass down with a hard chink. “You would like her. I know you would. Much like you, she loves to fence and is incredibly good at it.”
    Derek dragged in a breath. He’d never met a birch mistress, but he’d heard more than enough about the strength of their arms to make his cock shrivel and invert. He had to get his brother out of this. Any woman burning the word penis on a man’s arm meant she would most likely slice it off next. “We need to talk.”
    Andrew swung toward him, his features hardening. “Don’t give me that.”
    Derek sighed. When it came to his brother, he always had to appeal to sensibilities the boy didn’t have. “Andrew, setting aside your own safety, and whatever is left of your arm, society would damn well turn its full wrath and judgment against our mother, Miss Grey, and every female ever born and related to the Banfield name. Including all of our female cousins, many of them who are looking to get married. What are you doing?”
    Andrew was quiet for a moment. “I was going to ask her to marry me.”
    Christ. “You can’t marry a-a… birch mistress . Never mind what society will think, our poor mother would ask for a blade to fall upon. She can’t even say the word ‘kiss’ without going into convulsions.”
    His brother closed his eyes. “Elsa isn’t a whore. She doesn’t have sex with men. Even I haven’t had that privilege. Men hire her for torture. Nothing more.”
    He couldn’t believe his brother was rationalizing torture. “You’ve lost your mind.”
    Andrew opened his eyes, a calm settling over his features. “No. I’ve found it. Through physical pain, I have finally learned to better understand and appreciate my own blessings.”
    Mother of heaven. Andrew didn’t know what he was talking about. No one knew him better than he did. As a boy Andrew would wail if a splinter so much as touched his finger and refused to even wrestle, saying it was too rough for him in nature. Never mind the woman being a prostitute, his