The Charming Jezebel

by Farmer, Merry

  Saif watched the two men go, worrying about whether having both of them pursue Lady Malvis would work in his and Ophelia’s favor or against it. Either way, it was too late. The gears were already in motion.

  Talking with Aunt Millicent’s friends—or rather being talked at by them and given far too many words of dubious advice about catching a husband—was a burden at the best of times, but as Ophelia watched Saif dancing with Lady Malvis, setting their plan in motion, it was all she could do not to scream and tear her hair out.

  “Lord Ainsley is a decent fellow,” Mrs. Hanover said with an assessing nod. “If you can stand all the chatter.”

  “Mr. Appleton is a better choice, I think,” Lady Esmerelda said. “He may not be a peer, but he owns extensive lands in Dorset.”

  “My sister and brother-in-law would prefer that their daughter marry a man with a title,” Aunt Millicent said with a superior air. “I was sent here with her specifically to arrange such a union.”

  Ophelia fought not to bite her lip or fidget. She was desperate to know how Saif was getting along. So much so that she hardly heard the blunt conversation about her marital prospects.

  “She’s not so much of a beauty that she can have her pick,” Lady Esmerelda said, squinting at Ophelia. “But she is charming in her own way.”

  Rescue came in the form of the Marlowe sisters—and their father, unfortunately—entering the room. Lord Marlowe was clearly searching the ballroom for someone, most likely his friends, so Ophelia decided to gamble.

  “I beg your pardon, Aunt Millicent, but I see my friends have arrived.” She nodded to the Marlowes. Aunt Millicent looked as well. “May I join them?”

  “Lord Marlowe is with them,” Aunt Millicent mumbled, then said. “Yes, dear, do go over and make yourself presentable.”

  Dread of Lord Marlowe made her walk slowly, but she broke away from her aunt’s group and headed for her friends all the same. By some stroke of divine intervention, Lord Marlowe stepped away, dodging around a few guests to approach Lord Cunningham, well before Ophelia reached them, saving her from actually having to speak to the odious man.

  “Ophelia.” Alice grasped Ophelia’s hands and drew her immediately into their circle. “Do you have any news?”

  “Only that things appear to be moving along as planned,” Ophelia said. “Saif has arranged for a smaller, more discreet wagon to take you away from the house after midnight tonight. One of Lord Herrington’s tenant farmers will hide you in his cottage until the searchers have gone off in the wrong direction. Then a carriage will take you to the coast where you can board a ship for London.”

  “It sounds so dangerous,” Imogen said.

  “Dangerous, but I believe it will work,” Ophelia reassured her, squeezing her hands. “All we have to do—”

  “Is that Lady Malvis?” Lettuce interrupted, standing straighter and staring at the retreating figure of Lady Malvis.

  “I believe it is,” Ophelia said. Saif had told her that Lady Malvis would be involved in his plan to retrieve her key, but she had been so consumed with getting the Marlowe sisters away from Hadnall Heath that she hadn’t asked for details.

  “She’s still wearing your key necklace.” Lettuce’s thoughts appeared to align with Ophelia’s.

  “I think Saif is working on retrieving it,” Ophelia said.

  “I’ll fetch it,” Lettuce said, straightening her gown and squaring her shoulders. “It’s the least I could do to thank you.”

  “Oh, I’m not sure that’s necessary,” Ophelia started. “It is part of the plan.”

  It was too late. Lettuce marched across the room as though she were intent on avenging a death. She followed Lady Malvis out into the hall before anyone could stop her.

  “Should we go after her?” Imogen asked.

  She was instantly distracted by the sight of Lord Herrington returning his dance partner to her friends as one dance concluded, then looking straight at her and heading in Imogen’s direction as the preamble music for the next began. The moment their eyes met, even Ophelia felt a burst of warmth. It would be a tragedy if Imogen and Lord Thaddeus couldn’t be together.

  But, of course, Lord Marlowe was near enough to see what was going on. He frowned, said something to Lord Cunningham, then started toward his daughters.

  Ophelia had to act, even if it meant sacrificing herself. She sent Lord Thaddeus a brief warning look, then stepped forward, right into Lord Marlowe’s path.

  “Good evening, Lord Marlowe,” she said, distracting him with what she hoped was a sweet smile. “You’re looking quite fine this evening.”

  Lord Marlowe seemed irritated at first, but when he glanced to Lord Thaddeus and found the young man talking to a group of other young men instead of pursuing Imogen, his scowl morphed into a wolfish grin.

  “Lady Ophelia,” he said. “What a surprise.”

  “Is it?” Ophelia’s voice wavered. She’d started something, and now she had to finish it. “A dance is about to begin and my aunt has been quite insistent in encouraging me to become better acquainted with you.”

  It was shockingly bold of her to say. Under any other circumstances, she would draw every kind of censure from those around her. But Caro’s house party had long since given up formality. Her forward words to Lord Marlowe were mild compared to some of what had been going on.

  “We should dance, then,” Lord Marlowe said. “I would find it quite diverting.”

  He offered his arm. Ophelia steeled her courage as she took it and let him lead her out to the dance floor. She could feel his gaze in every inappropriate place on her person, feel the infernal heat that radiated from him. But she promised herself that if she could just make it through one dance, her friends would be better off and her aunt would be appeased.

  At least the dance required other couples in close proximity. That was the best Ophelia could say as Lord Marlowe led her through the steps. He attempted to make small talk with her during the moments when they were touching—something he did with far too much familiarity. She would have given anything to be dancing with Saif instead of Lord Marlowe, but Saif appeared to be working on the next phase of the plan as he spoke to Lord Herrington and Caro near one of the windows.

  The dance was almost over and Ophelia was just beginning to believe she’d survived without any ill consequences when a resounding shout echoed from the doorway.

  “Marlowe,” Mr. Pigge shouted. “You’ll never guess what has just transpired.”

  The man sounded far too delighted, and when Ophelia twisted to look at him, she saw why. Mr. Pigge stood in the ballroom doorway with a weeping Lettuce at his side, Lord Ainsley and Lady Malvis only a few steps behind them. Mr. Pigge had a hand clutched around Lettuce’s wrist and a lusty look in his eyes. That was bad enough, but it was the sight of Lettuce that made Ophelia gasp and dash out of the lines of the dance and toward her friend.

  Lettuce was trying but failing to put on a brave face. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her lips were red and swollen. The front of her dress was torn and disheveled just enough to hint that she had been interfered with in an intimate way. If Ophelia wasn’t mistaken, she was also missing a shoe. A thousand horrific imaginings about what could have happened to the poor woman within the last ten minutes turned Ophelia’s stomach.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Lord Marlowe asked, striding past Ophelia to greet Mr. Pigge with a smile and a slap on the back. It was as though Mr. Pigge had done something Lord Marlowe approved of.

  “She’ll have to marry me now,” Mr. Pigge said.

  Ophelia slapped a hand to her mouth. The conversation she’d overheard from the wardrobe came back to her full force. Lettuce had thought she was chasing after Lady Malvis to retrieve her key, but Mr. Pigge must have intercepted her somehow.

  As if to confirm her fears, Lord Ainsley stepped forward. “It’s true,” he said. “Lady Malvis and I encountered each other in the hallway just outside of the Spanish parlor. She said she was on her way to me
et someone, but we fell into conversation about the West Indies and my upcoming trip.”

  “Get on with it, man,” Mr. Pigge grumbled.

  “Oh. Quite. Well, Pigge here went on ahead,” Lord Ainsley continued. “Lady Malvis and I stepped aside for a moment. From our vantage point, we watched Lady Lettuce storm past—Lettuce. That is an interesting name, isn’t it? Wasn’t there a famous lady-in-waiting at Queen Elizabeth’s court by the name of Lettuce?”

  “What you saw, Ainsley,” Mr. Pigge growled even louder.

  “Yes, yes,” Lord Ainsley laughed. “Anyhow, a few moments passed, we heard some sort of a disturbance, and when we investigated, well, we found Lady Lettuce and Mr. Pigge in an embrace that was quite passionate. I’m afraid some articles of clothing were out of place. It seems to be a clear case of lovers having an assignation.”

  “It’s not true,” Ophelia said, though no one heard her. “Lettuce would never—”

  It was no use. Lord Marlowe turned to the stunned ball guests and declared in a loud voice, “I am the most fortunate father in England, for I have not one but two daughters engaged to fine men now. And I’m sure a third is yet to come.” He nodded to Lord Cunningham, who laughed raucously in return.

  “Say something,” Ophelia pleaded, trying to meet Lettuce’s eyes. “Protest.”

  But Lettuce merely stood with her head bowed, her face covered by her one free hand. Whatever had happened with Mr. Pigge, whatever the extent of it, she was defeated. Her shoulders were stooped and she looked as though she might wilt to the floor at any moment. She was the picture of a woman who had accepted her miserable fate and wasn’t about to fight back. She had been compromised, and it was all Ophelia’s fault.

  Chapter 8

  Misery deeper than anything Ophelia had ever known pressed down on her. She couldn’t bear watching happy guests rush in to congratulate Lettuce, regardless of how undone she clearly was. She couldn’t bear to see Alice and Imogen hugging each other and weeping in the corner. Most of all, she couldn’t bear the smug expressions of Lord Marlowe, Mr. Pigge, and every other horrible man in the room who believed Mr. Pigge had done nothing wrong in the way he had secured his engagement.

  With a hand pressed to her mouth to stop herself from wailing or being sick, Ophelia picked up her skirts and fled the ballroom.

  “Ophelia,” her aunt called out somewhere behind her. “Cease this running at once. Decorum.”

  Ophelia ignored her. Why should she care about decorum when her heart was breaking?

  She sucked in a deep breath as she burst out of the ballroom and continued down the hall. A few guests who must not have felt like dancing lingered near the ballroom door in conversation. They glanced curiously at her as she passed, but no one tried to stop her.

  It wasn’t until she reached the hallway that held her bedroom that anyone stopped her at all.

  “Ophelia!”

  She stopped short, pressing a hand to her stomach and turning to find Saif striding purposefully down the hall toward her. His brow was knit in an expression of concern and fury, and also regret.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said as he reached her, sweeping her directly into his arms. “This is all my fault. I should have made certain Pigge didn’t leave the room when Ainsley did. I should have known my plan would give him this sort of opportunity.”

  Ophelia shook her head furiously, wanting nothing more than to sink into Saif’s embrace but feeling as though she didn’t deserve it. “It is my fault,” she said, sounding as though she were keening. “I should have done more to stop Lettuce from leaving the ballroom.”

  “Why did she leave?” Saif asked.

  “She saw Lady Malvis departing and thought she could retrieve my key.” Ophelia sniffed as bitter tears began to flow. “How foolish I have been to put so much stock in a tiny key that unlocks who knows what.”

  Saif rested a hand under her chin, tilting it up until she met his eyes. “You are not foolish for clinging to hope,” he said. “And I know hope is what that key represents to you.”

  “And now it is gone,” she said, unabashedly bitter. “The key and my hope for the Marlowe sisters is gone.”

  Saif studied her with a pained frown for a moment. A wealth of emotion radiated from him, but he said nothing. Instead, he kissed her lightly on the lips, then stepped back, taking her hand. “Which one is your bedroom?” he asked.

  Ophelia nodded dejectedly toward her door, then walked along with Saif until they reached it. He swept her into the room without checking to see if they were observed, then shut and locked the door behind them.

  “I would not rule out the Marlowe sisters yet,” he said, stepping close to her and caressing her face with one hand. “From what I have observed of them in the last few days, they have resources within them that might just release them from their terrible situations.”

  “But they seem so weak,” Ophelia whispered, glancing down.

  Saif paused, his hand cradling her cheek, his thumb poised to brush the heat of her blush. At last, he said, “Perhaps it is not their weakness that bothers you but your own?”

  His words felt like an arrow in her heart. She closed her eyes, pressing her face into his hand. “My whole life, I have been powerless,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I have lived my life at the whim of others. Others whose sense is questionable at best.” She glanced up at him. “But that is the fate of all women. None of us has the sort of power that men do.”

  “I wish I could deny it,” Saif sighed. “It is true even in my homeland.”

  “I want to be more than property,” Ophelia went on, the seed of righteous anger growing within her. “I want to take charge of my own life and be a person in my own right.”

  “You are,” Saif said, cradling her face in both hands. “At least, you are to me.”

  She wasn’t certain she should believe him. As beautiful as the last few weeks had been, their time together would come to an end, and then where would she be?

  “You are a revelation,” he went on, bending forward to kiss her lips lightly. “You are a goddess in human form.” He kissed her again, stirring her blood in ways that felt oddly perfect in her current state. “You have made me think and feel things in the last few days alone that have shaken the bedrock of the existence I’d been living. You’ve made me want to be so much more than I have been thus far.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” she whispered, falling more and more under the spell of his heat and the need pulsing within her.

  He laughed softly, spinning that need into fire. “You’ve done so much more than you could ever imagine,” he said. “I was more than happy to be a profligate prince, living a fast life in a foreign city. But now.” He kissed her more deeply, parting her lips and causing her to sway into him. “Now I want so much more.”

  As if to prove his words, he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. It didn’t matter that they both wore layers of fine clothing, she felt his body against hers, felt the thump of his heart as he kissed her and the swell of his erection as she leaned into him. She should have been shocked by such blatant evidence of desire, but instead she gloried in it. All she wanted to do was submit to him and let him ravish her in every way possible.

  He must have sensed what she wanted. His kiss intensified. He parted her lips with his, slipping his tongue along hers to taste and explore her. He didn’t seem to be in a rush, which was beautiful, as far as she was concerned. She mimicked his movements, desperate to learn all the ways she could please him as he pleased her.

  “Does your aunt have a key to your room?” he whispered at last, when Ophelia was so overcome by need that the rest of the world had faded away.

  It took her a moment of blinking and forcing herself to breathe to remember where she was and what was at stake.

  “No,” she said. “At least, not that I know of.”

  “Good,” he said with a rake’s grin, then slanted his mouth over hers in a possessive kiss.

/>   It was a subtle shift, but it was definitive. His kiss was as intense as a sunburst, coaxing her to lose herself to the feelings blossoming within her. His hand moved from the small of her back to caress her backside, pressing her harder against his erection. She knew what that part of him could do now, knew how good it felt inside of her, and without hesitation, she wanted to feel it again. But there was still so much between them.

  As deftly as she could with her mouth firmly his captive, she fumbled with the buttons of his jacket. Her fingers didn’t seem to want to work as she failed to do something as simple as slipping buttons through their holes. In frustration, she gave up and acted on instinct alone, sliding one hand over the front of his breeches to stroke him. Even through the fabric, he was impossibly hot and hard, and she groaned in delight.

  Her sounds were echoed by his, then by his throaty laugh. “What are you doing, my little jezebel?”

  She gasped at being called out and at the pet name. She tried to remove her hand, but he caught it and pressed it back into place. More than that, he guided her as if teaching her how to touch him. The lesson had her sex aching desperately.

  “I…I want more,” she said, echoing his earlier words.

  A devilish grin lit his face. “Then you shall have it.”

  He stepped back from her, his eyes never leaving hers, as he made quick work of the buttons she’d been so clumsy with. He threw his coat aside in no time and worked free the buttons of his waistcoat. The careless way he threw it to the floor without even looking where it landed sent a thrill through Ophelia. He removed his cravat, priceless diamond pin and all, with just as much disregard, then tugged his shirt up over his head and let it drop, revealing the broad expanse of his chest.

  She wanted to surge into him, to run her hands over his body, learning every inch of him, but he didn’t stop there. Still watching her intently, he unbuttoned his breeches, letting them fall loose, then thrust them down over his hips. His cock jumped to life, standing stiff and tall, his balls pulled in tight behind them.