Duchess Quartet - A Wild Pursuit Part 4

"You were so disdainful of me and yet-something-I thought I saw something in your eyes."

He growled again, that deep male sound that made her thighs tremble. "So you were longing to kiss me, were you?"

It was frightening to hear it aloud. Esme chose to keep silent, turning her cheek against his shoulder so he

couldn't see her eyes.

"So kiss me now, then," he said. And his voice had that dark, insistent throb that she couldn't disobey. It made her feel ravis.h.i.+ng rather than pregnant. She didn't know why she'd ever thought he was priggish: He

kissed her like a wild man. With one last gasp of rational thought, she said, "But Sebastian, I meant itwhen I said you have to leave. Tomorrow. It's too dangerous now that a house party is arriving." "And what shall I do for a living, eh?" "You'll have to go back to what you did before." "Before..." His voice was dark now, velvet dark, m.u.f.fled against her skin. "I spent all my time before arguing with a certain lady." "You were extremely vexing," Esme said. "You were always scolding me because I was brazen, and-" He bent and kissed her shoulder. "Brazen," he agreed. "Improper." He dropped another kiss on the little juncture between her neck and her collarbone. "Strumpet. I'll have to lend you that pamphlet on the Ways of the Wicked." "And all because I was having a wee flirtation with Bernie Burdett," she said, grinning up at him. "Ravis.h.i.+ng man that he was. How I miss-"

"That Bertie," he said against her mouth.

"Bernie!"

"Whatever," he growled. "The pain he caused me!"

She reached up and put her hand to his cheek. "Bernie and I never had an affair. It was a mere

flirtation."

"I know that." He smiled down at her then, a lazy, dangerous smile. "Bertie would have made a tedious

lover." He dragged his lips over the sweetness of her cheek and the long delicate stretch of her neck.

"And you, my darling Esme, are not a woman to tolerate tedium in your bedchamber."

"And how would you know, sir?" she said, sounding a little breathless. "You have something of a lack of

experience in these matters, wouldn't you say?" It was one of the most joyous memories of her life when the beautiful Marquess Bonnington threw off his cravat in Lady Troubridge's drawing room, announced he was a virgin, and proceeded to lose that virginity.

"It would be no different if I were Adam himself, and you Eve," he said. His eyes were burning again.

"No one can make love to you the way I do." His hands slipped from her shoulders to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, shaped their exuberance in his hands. She arched up with a gasp. His knee nudged her legs apart, and with one swift motion, he pulled her to the end of the bed, where he would put no weight on her belly.

Then he was there, bending over her, and she was laughing, and to him, it felt as if there were only the two of them in the world. He and his intoxicating, ravis.h.i.+ng mistress, his very own Esme, his infamous lover...

As if his garden were the first garden itself.

As if his Esme, with her plump mouth and her seductive wit, were the very first woman in the world. She moaned, and he shook with desire. Took up a rhythm that he knew drove her to distraction, made her whimper and grow incoherent. Standing there, making sweet, slow love, he was the only man in the world... or the first... it didn't matter.

Marquess Bonnington was well and truly ravished.

Chapter 5.

Antic.i.p.ation.

Stephen had made up his mind to approach-not seduce-Lady G.o.dwin. One couldn't use a disreputable word of that sort in respect to such a delightfully ladylike woman. He organized his campaign in the same orderly fas.h.i.+on with which he approached all important arguments undertaken in Parliament.

First, Helene G.o.dwin had eloped at age seventeen, which surely indicated a certain unconventionality, even if she showed no signs of it now. Second, the lady's husband proved to be a reprobate, tossing his wife out the front door and establis.h.i.+ng a changing show of young women in her bedchamber. Nonetheless, third, the lady had maintained an irreproachable reputation. She would not be an easy woman to win. But, finally, he fancied that he did have a chance of winning. A long shot, perhaps, but that blush... She blushed whenever she saw him.

Stephen grinned to himself. He was used to a.s.sessing the odds of any given victory in the House. He gave himself a forty percent chance of victory over Helene. Sufficient odds to make it a challenge. Already he felt much more himself than he had in the last few months. Enclosure Acts just weren't enough to keep a man's interest. He had been suffering from a healthy dose of l.u.s.t.

A deliciously bashful countess, intelligent, musical and neglected by her husband, would solve all his problems.

He strode into Lady Rawlings's Rose Salon and paused for a moment. The house party had apparently been augmented by neighbors of Lady Rawlings; country gentlefolk drifted around the room in little groups. The countess was sitting next to the fireplace, talking to their host. Her skin was so pale that it looked translucent. Frosty, almost. Like snow or ice. Stephen loved ices, sweet and cool to the tongue.

He was far too adept a campaigner to approach Lady G.o.dwin immediately. Instead he walked over to greet an old friend, Lord Winnamore, whom he knew well from various skirmishes between the Houses of Lords and Commons.

Winnamore was as amiable as ever. "Another escapee from matters of business, I see," he said, greeting him.

"I should be in London," Stephen admitted. Come to think of it, what was Winnamore doing in the deeps of Wilts.h.i.+re?

"Life has a way of creating distractions," Winnamore said. He was watching Lady Arabella.

"Thank goodness!" Stephen was startled by the vehemence of his own exclamation. It certainly wasn't as if he ever would consider deserting the House before his term was up. Or even at that point. There was no threat to his reelection, after all.

"This isn't the sort of party where I'd have thought to meet you," Winnamore said, giving him a shrewd glance over his spectacles.

"I am finding it quite enjoyable," Stephen said, checking to make certain that Lady G.o.dwin was still in the corner. In another moment, he would stroll in that direction.

"Enjoyable, yes. Respectable, no. Have you met Lady Beatrix yet?" Winnamore said cheerfully, looking at the door to the salon. Stephen looked as well. Lady Beatrix was making what she clearly considered a spectacular entrance. Apparently the curls of yesterday had been compliments of a curling iron; today her s.h.i.+ning copper hair was straight as a pin. Yesterday, her skin had been sunkissed; tonight it was pale as snow. Yesterday her lips had been ripe as a cherry; tonight they were a pale, languid pink. Even her pert expression of the previous night had been replaced by a faintly melancholy gaze-except if one looked very, very closely, mischief brewed.

"That young woman is a work of art," Stephen said, not without admiration.

"A lovely child, in fact," Winnamore said. "She is a great comfort to Lady Arabella."

Stephen could think of no reason why Lady Arabella, known far and wide for her three marriages and various other dalliances, would have need of comfort, but he kept prudently silent. Besides, Lady Arabella herself swept up to them that very moment.

"Mr. Fairfax-Lacy," she cried, taking a grip on his elbow, "I must insist that you greet my niece. Dear Esme is not as nimble as she is normally, and so I have appointed myself the duty of bringing sufficient conversationalists to her side."

It was suddenly quite clear to Stephen why he had been invited to this particular house party. Lady Arabella had selected him as a prospective husband to her niece. Well, there was nothing new in that. Matchmaking mamas had been chasing him for years.

He bowed to Lady Rawlings but sought Lady G.o.dwin's eyes as he did so. She was just as lovely as he remembered, pure and delicate as a-he couldn't think. Poetry was hardly his forte. She was blus.h.i.+ng again and looking rather adorably shy.

Too shy. A moment later she jumped to her feet like a startled gazelle and fled across the room. He'd have to go even slower than he had planned. He didn't look over his shoulder at the countess, but sat down next to Lady Rawlings.

For her part, Esme was watching Stephen Fairfax-Lacy with a good deal of interest. Unless she was mistaken (and she was never mistaken when it came to men), the man was attracted to Helene. Marvelous. Poor Helene had suffered so much from the cruelties of her careless husband. A kindly, handsome, respectable man such as Mr. Fairfax-Lacy would do wonders to restore her sense of confidence and allow her to hold her head high before that reprobate of a husband.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked, remembering rather belatedly that she was nominally, at least, a hostess. Arabella had taken over all the duties of running the house, the better for Esme to concentrate on her supposed confinement. "Is your chamber acceptable?"

"Truly, it has been all that is comfortable," he said. And then changed the subject. "I much enjoyed Countess G.o.dwin's waltz. Her husband is not invited to this gathering, I presume?"

Yes! Esme felt all the exuberance of an old friend. Helene appeared to have made a remarkable impression on Fairfax-Lacy. "Absolutely not," she hastened to say. "Helene and Rees have had little to do with each other for years. He has other interests. She and her husband have an entirely amiable friends.h.i.+p," she added. One wouldn't want the M.P. to be frightened off by the notion of an irate husband.

Stephen was watching Helene talk to Bea on the other side of the room. Esme didn't quite like the contrast that conversation presented: Bea was such a vividly colored young woman that she made Helene look pale and washed out. "If you'll excuse me," she said brightly, "I must confer with my butler." She allowed Fairfax-Lacy to haul her to her feet and then trundled off toward the door, stopping next to Helene and Bea.

"He was just asking for you!" she whispered to Helene. Helene looked adorably confused. "Who was?"

"Fairfax-Lacy, of course! Go talk to him!" Helene looked across the room, and there was Stephen Fairfax-Lacy smiling at her. But she felt a strange reluctance; it was all she could do to hover next to the door and not flee to her bedchamber. Her life, to this point, had not been easy. In fact, although she only admitted it to herself in the middle of the night, sometimes she felt as if she must have been cursed at birth. It had only taken one foolish decision-the foolish, foolish decision to elope with an intoxicating man by the name of Rees-to ruin her entire life. But in the last year she had realized that if she didn't do something about it now, the rest of her life would follow the pattern of the past seven years. The years hadn't been unpleasant: She lived with her mother and she was welcome everywhere. But she had no life, no life that mattered. No child.

She glanced again at Fairfax-Lacy. He looked like a gentleman, not like that savage she had married. Perhaps, just perhaps, she would even like having intimacies with him. It wouldn't be terrifyingly messy and embarra.s.sing as it had been with Rees. It would be... proper. Acceptable. He was quite lovely: all rangy, lean, English gentleman. And without a doubt it would curdle Rees's liver to see her with such a man. If anything could curdle her husband's liver, given the qualities of brandy he drank. So why wasn't she walking straight into Mr. Fairfax-Lacy's arms?

Suddenly a pert voice spoke just at her left elbow. "Shall I walk you across the room again?"

Helene blinked. Bea's eyes were sparkling with mischief. She repeated. "Shall I walk you across the room, Helene? Because I believe you are expected."

"Ah-"

"This way," Bea said efficiently, taking her elbow and strolling toward the far end of the room, where Stephen waited. "He is quite lovely, isn't he?"

Helene was so nonplussed that she couldn't quite bring out an answer. "Who?" she finally said lamely.

"Mr. Fairfax-Lacy, naturally!"

"I thought you found him Old Testament."

"That too. But it seems obvious to me that the two of you are perfectly suited," Bea said in a coaxing voice, as if she were taking a mare over a high jump. "There he is, a perfect specimen of the English gentleman, and here you are, exactly the same in a female form. Both impeccably virtuous too, which must add l.u.s.ter to your friends.h.i.+p. And I think he's quite, quite interested in you," Bea said confidentially. "He looked straight in your direction when he entered the room. Whenever I speak to him, he simply glances around the room. Normally"-her smile grew-"I am used to complete attention."

Bea had on a dinner dress that had neither a front nor a back. One could only guess how it stayed above her waist, given that her plump little b.r.e.a.s.t.s threatened to escape her sc.r.a.p of a bodice. Men must simply slaver over her, Helene thought enviously. She herself was wearing a gown of Egyptian net over a dark blue silk. She had felt very a la mode in her chamber, but now she felt dismally overdressed, like a dog wearing a sweater.

But Bea seemed to follow her train of thought perfectly. "I'm certain that he doesn't like my gown," she said. "Last night at dinner he kept looking at me as if I had something stuck between my teeth. Come along!" She jiggled Helene's arm. "You don't want to wait too long, do you? What if Arabella manages to convince the man that he should wed Lady Rawlings? You could hardly have a liaison with your friend's husband!"

Helene thought about that as they moved across the room.

"You see," Bea said, not quite as softly as Helene would have liked, "he's looking at you right now!"

But when Helene looked up, it seemed to her that Stephen was watching her companion, although with an expression of deep annoyance. She swallowed and curtsied before Stephen Fairfax-Lacy. "Sir," she said. Bea had glided away without even greeting Mr. Fairfax-Lacy.

He smiled down at her, and Helene realized again what a good-looking man he was. There wasn't a whisker on his face, not like her husband, who always had a shadowed jaw by evening.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm quite well."

There was a moment's silence while Helene thought desperately of a conversational tactic. "Did you read this morning's paper?" she finally asked. "Napoleon has escaped from Elba and is in France again! Surely the French army will not support him."

"I believe you are quite correct, Lady G.o.dwin," Stephen said, looking away. He had decided to play this

game very, very slowly, so as not to startle her.

Helene felt a crawling embarra.s.sment. How on earth could she have ever thought to seduce a man? She couldn't even carry on a simple conversation.

"What do you think of the fact that Catholics cannot sit in Parliament?" she asked.

He blinked, not prepared for philosophical reasoning. "I have long felt that the prohibition should be rethought," he said finally.

"I believe it has to do with the wordings of the oaths they would have to take. Wouldn't it violate their

religious vows to take Parliamentary oaths?" "Most of the men I know don't give a fig for those oaths," Stephen said. Helene heard a faint bitterness in his voice and wondered about it. Why was Mr. Fairfax-Lacy in Wilts.h.i.+re rather than sitting in the House of Commons?

"Why should we expect Catholics or Jews to be more circ.u.mspect than Anglicans?" he continued.

"Surely to establish oneself as a Catholic in this country, given its Anglican past, implies a deeper fidelity

to religion than one might expect from an ordinary gentleman," Helene said. She was quite enjoying herself now. He wasn't regarding her in a l.u.s.tful fas.h.i.+on, just with the sort of normal engagement one might expect during a conversation.

But she waited in vain for a reply. He appeared to be looking over her shoulder.

"Mr. Fairfax-Lacy," she said, with a bit of sharpness to her voice.

He snapped to attention. "Yes, Lady G.o.dwin? Do forgive me."

"Is there something interesting that I should see as well?" Helene said, deciding on the basis of his really

quite charming smile that she wasn't insulted after all.

"It is merely that impudent little chit, Lady Beatrix," Stephen said. "I truly can't imagine what Lady