Three Times the Scandal (Georgian Rakehells) Page 11

  Ned, who could usually be relied on to create entertainment, had chosen to confine his typical incendiary antics to the indoctrination of a group of young greenhorns into the noble art of roistering.

  This left Darleston in the uncomfortable residence of his own mind. He hated to admit it, but he’d become rather obsessed with Fortuna. The mere fact that Lucy had demanded he not flirt or indulge in any other pleasure with Miss Allenthorpe made him want to fuck her above anything else. Considering she was both too tall and too slender for his tastes, he had to wonder over the processes of his own mind. Maybe it was also partly Giles’s fascination rubbing off. Either way, he couldn’t entirely remove her from his thoughts, which owing to the dismal entertainment around him, were decidedly rude.

  “Stop smirking, it makes you look like a lummox,” Lucy remarked.

  Darleston blinked slowly but Lucy failed to clear from his vision. Temper soaring, he clenched his fists and willed himself calm. If it weren’t for the cursed, abysmal weather, he’d have suggested to Giles that they take a carriage ride north into the countryside, find a few accommodating inns, and Lucy, Sir Hector and the rest be of the world be damned.

  “Miss Morton is looking a perfect fright again,” Lucy said.

  Darleston vaguely perused the crowd, and found Clemencè being ushered towards the pianoforte by her mama. She began a melancholy piece, which strained her voice on the high notes.

  “Can you believe this will be her fifth season and not a snippet of interest?” Lucy’s observation was made with a disquieting degree of catty delight.

  “She’s garnered plenty of interest,” Darleston remarked dryly. He’d known plenty of bloods who’d been moon-struck over her delightful little face, and remarkable eyes. And her hands, and her bosom for that matter. “She’s simply too selective.”

  “You should set her straight, dear. Inform her that Giles has cast her aside for the favours of another cock-hungry trollop.”

  “Lucy!” He shrugged her from his arm. “There was never any formal agreement between Giles and Miss Morton. It was merely a suggestion. Besides, he can’t stand to be in her presence. I find her obsession rather incestuous myself. Just because one alliance between their families came to an abrupt end doesn’t necessitate them arranging to form another.”

  Lucy leaned in close to him, so that her lips brushed his cheek. “You’d be the one to know about all things incestuous.” She laughed and jerked away from his touch. “I believe that moment before the fire the other night is the most pleasurable time I’ve enjoyed with you in seven years of marriage. Having your brother present clearly kindles the flames of passion you purport to have.” Her palm drifted towards the front of his breeches.

  Darleston took a swift backward step. “Watch your tongue, Lady Darleston, there are others present.”

  Lucy gave a bemused sniff and preened, stroking the ridiculous white ostrich plume in her headdress. “Heavens, Robert. You’re so formal tonight. It must be the fault of that ridiculous coat you’ve chosen, but abysmal taste does appear to be a family trait.” Her gaze swung to the earl and countess. The former wore powder blue full-skirted coat, the latter a hooped gown of canary yellow and scarlet. Neddy, still surrounded by his young protégés had opted for an unfortunate pea-green colour that clashed with his fiery hair. “I swear you all deliberately vex me.”

  Darleston tactfully held his tongue, and silently mourned the Morton’s transformation of their old stag parlour into a music room. Did nobody understand that a male refuge was essential at this type of gathering? He turned his back on his wife, but she followed him as he wove a path amongst the gilt chairs, and stopped him by the refreshment room door. Her fingers dug into his sleeve.

  “I believe I shall invite Neddy to our suite tonight. The pair of you have such appealing symmetry.”

  “Are you deliberately attempting to repulse me?”

  “Oh, fie!” She snapped open her fan under his nose. “It hardly repulsed you the first time. I think you might indulge me again.”

  He’d never considered himself a violent man, but the urge to lash out and wipe the smirk from her face had him clenching his fists. Teeth gritted, he loosed a formidable growl instead. “Stay away from my room. I’d rather straddle a pox-riddled whore than lie with you.”

  Two livid red spots of colour burned through the layer of carefully applied paint on her cheeks. “You’re my husband,” she barked far too loudly, causing voices around them to still.

  “Unfortunately.” His voice was low, but deadly. He’d intended it as an end to the conversation, but if nothing else, his wife was tenacious.

  Her eyes narrowed to thin cat-like slits. “You’re supposed to plant your seed in my belly, Robert. Perhaps, I should mention your lack of interest in that area to your father.”

  He grabbed the bib front of her dress, fingers sliding between the fabric and skin, and pulled her so close that his lips moved just an inch from hers. “You’ll keep your tongue to yourself woman, unless you’ve a particular desire to see Cattlewick again.” He held on tight, even when she struggled. “I’m told the barn is still habitable, though the roof is barely on, and the main house is hardly fit for chickens.” Her resistance wavered at the mention of the dilapidated property her father had settled upon her as her dowry. Cattlewick Farm had been a joke from the outset. It was as promised, a fourteenth century farmhouse, but what had been neglected in the details was that it was almost entirely ruined, consisting of two unfurnished habitable rooms out of a total of eight, and had a fresh water spring flowing through the main parlour.

  “You wouldn’t send me there.” For a moment she actually seemed wary.

  “Would I not?”

  “Robert,” her voice oozed silk. She peered up at him through her eyelashes, the very picture of ripe innocence.

  Darleston wasn’t fooled. “I can only assume your interest in my person is due to a lack of other playmates. What troubles abound, Lucy? Has flagellation fallen from fashion, like my coat?”

  “Shhh!” Crocodile tears glinted in her eyelashes.

  He glanced left and right, realized too late that they’d already drawn considerable attention. Increasingly, conversations were stopping and heads turning in their direction.

  Lucy shielded her mouth with her fan. “That’s all they want, but not all I desire. I need a man who can fuck me afterwards. I like a hard cock wedged inside me after they’ve reddened my behind.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but he caught every plaintiff word. She was desperate, almost as desperate as he was to be rid of her.

  “You’d best prevail upon some other man. I can barely get it to stand for you. The only reason it worked between us two nights ago was because I’d already had my appetite whetted by another.”

  That remark would sting, he knew, and enjoyed watching her bite back an insulting retort. She dared not utter it, as their host had appeared at her side.

  Andrew Morton beamed brightly at them, his sallow skin, pockmarked across the cheeks and brow. Clemencè may not have ensnared a husband, but clearly the family’s beauty definitely ran along the maternal line. “Is there a problem, Lord Darleston?” he enquired, having performed a stiff bow.

  “Only in that my wife is a whore, sir, and begs a good hiding. The centre of your ballroom seems an inappropriate venue.”

  Briefly taken aback, Morton gave him a hesitant smile. “Perhaps a room upstairs?”

  Darleston only just managed to bite back an expletive. He’d meant to shock the man. Giles’s dislike of the Mortons had rubbed off on him and he had no patience with the man’s interference.

  Morton peeped up at him, then his head turned and his gaze settled upon Lucy’s plump breasts. She smiled, and a pinkish flush warmed Morton’s sallow skin.

  “Thank you, but no,” Darleston said. “I think we’ll take our leave. Say good night to Mr. Morton, Lucy.”

  “Goodnight, Mr. Morton.” She curtsied with her head bowed submissively, whilst no doubt already
calculating her future line of attack. Her hand lay rigid along his arm, until their carriage door shut. Then she collapsed against the velvet squabs in a fit of giggles.

  “Oh, you’re exquisite, Robert. You truly are.” She slapped him hard across the thigh, before hugging herself as tears of laughter began to tumble over her cheeks. “You won’t swive me yourself, but you’ll consent to pimp me out.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “I never suspected Andrew Morton for a moment,” she continued, her voice high and giddy. “Never, never, suspected. Oh, but I shall enjoy his hand on my arse. He has such lovely big hands. Did you notice that? And a lovely big cock. He was positively straining to conceal himself as we left.” She squirmed against the upholstery so that her thighs rubbed together, the resulting friction added an extra sparkle to her sudden glow. “Yes, yes,” she muttered continuing to jiggle.

  Darleston slouched against the ox-blood leather in dismay.

  “Oh, but—” Her laughter abruptly ceased to be replaced by something he could only describe as pure malice. “That’s it. That’s why Giles hates him so much. He can’t bare the idea that his precious Emily was probably having her naughty little backside spanked before being roundly fucked every night.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Why I bet Morton did it to her with a hairbrush, a nice flat silver-backed one. Probably shoved it up her cunny too, got her all excited for his prick.”

  “I said, stop it!”

  “Oh, I shan’t, Robert.”

  His reflexes reacted faster than his wits. He had his cane in the air and against the carriage top before he’d actually made the decision to leave. “Stop the carriage, John.” He swung open the door and dropped down into the mire of filth and slush in the gutter. Irritably, he swatted the dirty gobbets of mud that splattered his coat. “Drive on. Take her ladyship home. I’ll make my own way.”

  He stood back from the road beside a row of snow-encrusted railings and watched the carriage rumble away. It was another bitter night, but walking would keep out the chill. At least the air was relatively sweet, the wet scent of snow masking the usual stench of the gutters. He headed east to where he knew he could find what he was looking for. In the glow of a wavering streetlamp, he took stock of his possessions—three guineas and a pocket watch, nothing of genuine value. Certainly nothing he would mourn the loss of.

  He crossed the street to a house, and was let in by a bearded man in a dress.

  Chapter Six

  “Emily! No, no… Please, Emily... Please wake up.”

  The cries tore through Fortuna’s own dreams of languid sensuality and forced her into wakefulness. Beside her, Giles lay naked, his arms clamped tight around the pillow, cradling it to his chest. As she wriggled over to him, another deep pitiful whimper escaped his lips. “Giles?” She sought his brow and found it bathed in sweat. “Everything’s fine, you’re dreaming. Wake up.”

  He took a deal of shaking to rouse. Finally, he blinked uncertainly up at her. “Fortuna,” he said after a rather significant pause.

  “You were calling for someone…a woman.”

  “Not you, by your expression.” An enormous yawn stretched his mouth, which he masked with his hand. “I’m sorry, how inconsiderate. Do you want me to leave you in peace?”

  She grinned and shook her head, refusing to think the worst. She traced the contours of his face, where a day’s growth of stubble peppered his jaw, leaving it curiously abrasive. “I’d much rather you stayed. It’s nicer together.” She could count on one hand the nights she’d occupied a bed alone. She and Alicia had shared since childhood.

  “You’re not jealous of my dream woman?”

  “It sounded more like a nightmare. Besides… Is Emily your sister, Giles?”

  A wary glint lit his eyes, but he nodded. “I seem unable to completely let go. We were close, or were before her marriage.”

  Fortuna moved her caress to his lips and smoothed a finger over their delicate surface, causing him to shiver. A low rumble of arousal vibrated through his chest. When the velvety tip of his tongue teased her fingertips, it set a shiver of pleasure chasing through her limbs.

  “Come closer,” he purred.

  “I’m not sure I should,” she giggled, stretching out her toes into the warm bedding. “I suspect you might do something wicked.”

  “Oh, I promise you, I will.” A large hand settled over her bottom and urged her astride his lap. He dragged the covers up over her shoulders cocooning her in warmth and the hazy musk of his scent. “Fortuna, I do believe you’re the most enchanting creature I’ve ever met, the most bewitching, the most beautiful, and definitely the tastiest.”

  Fortuna put a hand to his stomach to hold him back as she recalled how they had licked dollops of frothy lemon syllabub from each others skin. Bowls and silverware, the remains of dessert, still lay scattered across the floor surrounding his bed. The sharp contrast of cold and hot had had her writhing off the bed, pleading for him to possess her again. Which he’d obediently done, but not until she’d first licked the lemony froth from his rampant cock.

  The memory of tasting him like that set her cheeks aflame. It was so intimate, joyful, but it had left her overpowered, her arousal hiked to volcanic proportions. She shifted a little, uncomfortably aware of how wet the memory was making her, and how closely her quim was now pressed to the taut muscles of his abdomen.

  “Shuffle back a little.”

  Giles coaxed her down so she straddled his hips and his cock rose up against her bottom. He wasn’t stiff enough to give her pleasure yet, but rising. The thought of him entering her again sent another stream of pleasure coursing through her body.

  “Now, closer.”

  The sharp buck of his hips set her flying forward. She caught herself just short of squashing him. Her arms braced either side of his head.

  “You do realize I may never let you leave this bed again.” His eyes shone with sin and affection as she flicked her sheet of blonde hair over her shoulders. Their mouths met, and his tongue stroked hers in welcome as he drew her deeper into his embrace.

  Fortuna felt herself falling. The descent so swift it was impossible to prevent. The bed beneath them seemed to spin. Elated, but curiously nerve wracked she clung to Giles. While he held himself at the ready, she relished the slow glorious sliding together of their genitals.

  Earlier when he’d filled her, their motion had been frantic, the whole episode one marathon of desperate coupling as they tried to get as close as possible as quickly as they could. This time it was slower. It felt as if he were pouring golden light into her, filling her up with great bursts of energy. Fortuna fluttered her muscles around him and drew him deeper. More, she demanded, and he gave. He took her nipples one at a time into his mouth and sucked until her mewls of pleasure lapsed into speechlessness. Only then did he really begin to fuck her.

  The pleasure mounted, infused every part of her body. Fortuna clawed his chest. She loved the feel of him insider her, had already learned to crave certain of his touches, such as the way he entwined his fingers in her hair as he bucked into her. With Giles, she could be true to herself. Nothing was forbidden.

  She felt no shame, only intense fiery pleasure. How different from that first time, when she’d been embarrassed by the mere sight of her own skin. She would never deny that her first time had been pleasurable. It had been a wild ride, shocking, but also breathtakingly sweet, but with Giles, she felt something different again, something altogether more wholesome and wonderful. She thought it was the knowledge that he cared for her. If only she could be absolutely certain of that fact.

  A loud crash from downstairs froze them both.

  Giles rolled her over and was off the bed, before her body even had the chance to mourn his loss. Naked, he palmed a candlestick and stood poised by the bedchamber door.

  Her ears pricked to every sound, Fortuna remained huddled against the mussed pile of pillows with the covers pulled up to her chin.


  The stairs gave an eerie creak.

  Surely this was the end of her adventure. Somehow she’d been found out. The thought of being bound to Sir Hector squeezed her heart, making her breaths seems short. Oh, but she was compromised. She’d be disgraced, and yet, some of her fear had lost its edge. She had faith that Giles would keep her safe. Her gaze shot to him. He was poised, weapon brandished, ready to strike. Still, she trembled as the brass doorknob rattled and turned.

  The shadowy figure tumbled through the door. For a moment, Fortuna wasn’t certain if Giles had felled him, or whether the man had simply stumbled. Either way the string of expletives the intruder loosed was certainly colourful.

  “Neddy!” Dovecote dived on the fool and hauled him upright. “What the devil are you playing at? How did you even get in?”

  “I did knock. S’cold on the doorstep, and nobody heard, so I gave the drawing room window a bit of a jiminy.” Neddy removed the remained of a bowl of syllabub from his foot and placed it on Giles’s dressing table.

  “You climbed in?”

  “You would have done the same.” Neddy brushed his snow-wetted hair from his eyes. In the dim light, the auburn-red was dimmed to chestnut brown. “Say, do you mind if I sit down? Heads spinning a bit.”

  The end of the bed sagged as he flopped upon it.

  “You mean you’re drunk,” said Giles.

  Fortuna pressed her hands to her lips to mask her chuckle.

  “Ridiculous. I just hit my head on the way upstairs.” He stuck one foot out, for Giles to relieve him of his boots. “You really ought to warn people that the ceiling’s so low.”

  Neddy glanced round at her and gave a sly wink making her suspect that at least some of his drunken behaviour was faked. His waistcoat and white cravat were undone to reveal the expanse of his throat and chest. His topcoat she suspected might be the grey puddle blocking the door that Giles kicked into the corridor.

  “I see you furthered your acquaintance in my absence,” Neddy said, as he took in Giles’s nakedness and Fortuna huddled beneath the sheets.