by Jen YatesNZ
As they awaited their turn to disembark before the Esterhazy’s mansion, he eased his body along the seat a little, hoping to cool his obvious excitement before they alighted. It had never occurred to him the Heavenly Iceberg could reach that place in his psyche he’d usually reserved for his ‘fantasizing about Jassie’ performances at the Matrix Club.
It was a dark place in his soul, a place he went, imagined he’d always need to retreat to, to ease the tension that built within him from time to time; a tension that rode him with the need to control and dominate; a tension that demanded a partner who’d submit—eventually—to the spectacular satisfaction of them both.
He’d never imagined he’d find such a partner in a wife—a lady born and bred. He was beginning to hope Lady Sherida Dearing might be that diamond among river-run metal. His damned body wanted to know—now.
…
Mama made it painfully obvious Sheri was not to seek refuge on the seat at her side. Dom settled beside her on the opposite seat, his masculinity overwhelming and muscular thigh pressed firmly the length of hers. The grip of his hand under her gown was strong—and distractingly intimate. She felt claimed, heated, breathless, anticipatory—and none of the questions she needed to ask or statements she needed to make for her own self-preservation would come to mind. Dominic Beresford stole every sense she had, rendering her helpless to resist what his body offered.
Did he know? With his experience how could he not? That realization only heightened her agitation and she tried to pull her fingers loose. His dark head bent close.
‘Don’t fight me. You won’t win,’ he growled.
The dark promise in the harshly whispered words and the intimate warmth of his breath against her cheek set internal horses galloping low in her belly, their hooves thudding down into that secret place between her legs that ladies weren’t supposed to know about. She could barely sit still for the agony of need that made her want to forget everything, even her mother sitting opposite, climb onto his lap and beg him—
Dear God! How could she ever make herself do the sensible thing when her body hummed and ached for every wicked delight he offered her—regardless!
‘We need to talk,’ she finally managed to grind out when they were walking into the brightly lit salon. Sheri had floated through the Princess’s effusive greeting and whispered congratulations. The tiny woman had been practically sizzling with importance knowing what no one else did and being chosen to host its revelation. Sheri had concentrated on smiling and staying upright on legs become decidedly insubstantial.
Augusta had seen her old friend, Lady Mary Osborne, and quickly settled in for a coze. Dom looked down at Sheri for a moment, his green eyes searching hers as if he knew her every thought, every wicked secret.
He reached for her dance card. There were only three dances this evening and they were all waltzes. Princess Esterhazy loved to waltz and could always be relied upon to include that most romantic of dances in her entertainments. Dom wrote his name by each of the dances then handed the card back to her with a slow, heated smile.
‘Tonight you’re all mine, Sherida Rosaleen.’
His gaze was so intent it seemed they stood alone in the room. Then he smiled and briefly touched her hand.
‘I agree we need to talk—but later. We can’t be seen to be arguing when our engagement is to be announced within the hour!’
‘But—’
‘You won’t win, Sher. Remember, I told you so in the coach.’
Sheri gritted her teeth.
‘How do you know we’ll argue?’
The question was out of her mouth before she thought how naive it was.
‘That look in your eye!’ He leant a little closer to her than was strictly proper and for a breathless moment she thought he’d kiss her right there in Princess Esterhazy’s stunningly decorated salon with all the ton milling about to see. ‘Just smile at me and let the tongues wag about that!—I need to go and have a word with Lord Hadleigh. Keep me a seat for the entertainment.’
Before she could force words of any sort past her quivering lips he added, ‘There’s your friend, Lady Harewood, waving to you.’
Thankful to have something else to focus on, to keep her thoughts off belonging to Dom and what ‘you’re all mine’ implied, she crossed the room to where Lady Sally was talking with a group of young women, all friends from their first season—married, every one of them.
Breaking away from the group, Sally took her arm and said, ‘Walk with me!’
When they were half hidden by a potted palm and a statue of David in all his naked glory, Sally said, ‘I heard the most amazing piece of gossip today, Sher.’
‘Oh damn,’ Sheri muttered.
‘It’s true then? Wolverton fought Baxendene—over you?’
Temper boiled to the surface again.
‘He promised not to!’ she hissed. ‘Yet he went straight out and sought Bax with the deliberate intention of breaking that promise!’
‘It’s romantic!’ Sally said, eyes shining. ‘No man’s ever gone to battle for me! But why? I mean—they’re cousins and have always seemed quite cordial with one another.’
‘Lord Baxendene made-an improper suggestion to me. But—there’s something going on between them and Dom won’t tell me what it is. Says it’s ‘gent’s business’!—I heard about the fight—and maybe a wager—from Melissa Wyvern of all people! I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it—and our engagement is being announced tonight!’
‘Oh!’ Sally squealed then slapped her hand over her mouth. Eyes wide and shining, she said, ‘Oh Sher, that’s such good news! Don’t let this other spoil it for you. You make the perfect couple. I’ve always thought so. Just relax. Men will be men and we only give ourselves the headache trying to understand them. I’d turn a blind eye to an awful lot to have the Duke of Wolverton in my bed!’
‘Sally!’ Sheri whispered, shocked to her toes. ‘But you love Harewood!’
Lady Harewood giggled.
‘I do. But it doesn’t stop me from appreciating another beautiful man. And they don’t come any more beautiful, or virile—or downright tempting—than Dominic Beresford! Just keep that in your mind and forget all the rest,’ she advised.
Sheri closed her eyes and sucked in cooling air.
‘I seem to have trouble doing anything else,’ she confessed.
Princess Esterhazy’s voice cut across the chatter in the room calling everyone to take their seats for the first musical section of the evening.
Lord Hadleigh escorted her Mama to a seat and settled beside her. She’d noticed him hovering about her mother quite a bit recently, but was distracted as Dom took his seat beside her, one arm draped proprietarily along the back of her chair, his knee touching hers under the ice blue froth of her skirts. Deeply aware many eyes were on them rather than the entertainment, Sheri sat upright so as not to risk any contact between his gloved fingers and her naked shoulder. He was definitely making a statement, and in such a way tongues were wagging. While she abhorred being the subject of gossip, she had to admit there was a long-suppressed, girlish part of her that wanted to squeal with delight.
She was so setting herself up for disaster; for, without his love, how long did she think she could hold his attention—supposing he didn’t abandon her in their bed the first time he looked upon her?
Should she have warned him? How did a well-brought up young lady go about initiating that conversation? Besides which, the habit of concealing the ghastly imperfection was lifelong and ingrained. She didn’t know how to reverse it.
Hand-clapping and a muttered ‘thank God that’s over’ from Dom brought Sheri back to awareness. The recital was finished, guests were rising and footmen were dashing about moving the chairs back against the walls.
Dom took her hand, laying it on his sleeve and holding it firmly in place. Looking down at her, he smiled, a little quizzically and a lot intimately. In that moment there was just the two of them. She was his only foc
us. She was living her dream—almost.
It wasn’t perfection. She had the man, but would never have his love. How often did one experience perfection? Prince Esterhazy escorted Augusta across to them and suggested they move up and make the announcement from the orchestra dais, where the Princess was already calling everyone to attention.
As soon as they were on the dais the Prince stood back, leaving Augusta clinging to Sheri’s arm on her other side.
Looking down briefly, Dom gave her a small reassuring smile, and raised his head to face their audience.
‘Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen. Prince and Princess Esterhazy have graciously allowed me to usurp a few moments of their wonderful evening to make an important announcement and I thank them for their forbearance.’
A breathless hush had fallen over the room. Sheri faded out the individual faces before her, seeing only an unidentifiable mass of humanity. Some would be happy for her. A few of the gentlemen would be resentful she’d finally succumbed and they’d not been good enough. Every unmarried woman would probably want to break their fans and stab her eyes out with the sharp remains.
Mamas with eligible daughters were no doubt already casting her the evil eye.
But the Duke of Wolverton was hers and suddenly it was easy to smile up at him as if she was besotted—because she was.
‘Lady Sherida Rosaleen Dearing has done me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage.’
Taking her hand in both of his he raised it to his lips and Sheri didn’t know which was louder, the banging of her heart or the congratulatory applause. The Duke of Wolverton was a first class actor. He was almost convincing her he was as happy in this moment as if Jassie stood beside him. Lowering her eyes, she chided herself for the unworthy thought.
‘Now I hope you’ll join my fiancée and me on the floor for our first waltz as a betrothed couple.’
Sheri turned to Augusta. Her face was alarmingly pale and her eyes were moist.
‘Are you all right, Mama?’
‘I’m so happy, Sher,’ she said, squeezing her hand then dabbing at her tears with a dainty lace edged handkerchief.
The Prince stepped back to Augusta’s side.
‘May I have this dance, my Lady?’
Augusta’s pale cheeks brightened just a little and she allowed His Highness to assist her off the dais and onto the dance floor.
Dom stepped down, placed his hands at Sheri’s waist and lifted her down, swung her into his arms and pulled her close.
‘Now I can hold you as I wish and perdition to all old tabbies who say otherwise!’
The gates of heaven had opened and Sheri told herself basking in the moment was the only option. Words and gestures of congratulation and best wishes flowed around them and when they finally left the floor she was flushed and guardedly happy. Augusta was already back in her chair, triumphant but still terribly pale.
‘I’m going to have to give in and ask you to take me home, Dominic,’ she said as soon as they approached. ‘All this excitement has been the last straw. I’m so delighted but I think my head is going to split at any moment!’
They took their leave of the Esterhazy’s who were hovering nearby, and slowly made their way through the crush of people still wanting to shake the Duke’s hand and bow over Sheri’s.
They rode home in silence, Augusta with her head back against the seat and her eyes closed. Dom sat close, their fingers entwined, but unlike last night they still wore their gloves. Excitement simmered through Sheri’s blood though she had to own to a deep disappointment if this was all the night afforded her.
There were still questions she needed answered, possibly even an argument they needed to have about making and keeping promises.
The fact they’d made their betrothal public tonight meant neither of them could cry off except in the direst of circumstances. For some reason Sheri couldn’t fathom, the knowledge she was now bound by oath to the Duke was peculiarly exciting, perhaps because she couldn’t help speculating as to what means Dom would employ to overcome her doubts and annoyances.
Now the decision had finally been made five weeks seemed an interminable time to wait for that deeper level of intimacy she’d been wanting forever—only ever with the Duke of Wolverton.
Then he’d have the right to look upon her and—he’d know. Her heart began pounding again at the thought, at her ultimate fear he’d reject her in abhorrence. Unless she could prevent him ever seeing—somehow—
‘Here you are, Aunt Gussy,’ Dom said as they drew up before Parmenter House. He leapt out as soon as the footman opened the door and waited to help her down. Sheri rose to assist her to stand.
‘No need for you to come in yet, Sheri. It’s still early and it’s your special night. You could go back to the Esterhazy’s and enjoy the rest of your evening. Mercy will take care of me!’
‘But Mama, clearly you’re ill! I should come in with you.’
‘I’m not ill!’ Augusta snapped. ‘Just a little—pulled—with all the excitement. Nothing a powder and an early night won’t mend. Besides, you’re betrothed now, as good as married, and you’re not a green miss in her first season! Do you not agree, Dominic?’
Sheri had followed Augusta out of the coach and all three turned to face the steps and Lomas who hurried down them.
‘There,’ Augusta said, slipping her hand through the butler’s arm. ‘Lomas will see me indoors and Mercy will take over from there. Go on! I don’t need either of you!’
Sheri stood with her mouth agape as her very proper Mama sailed up the steps on the arm of the butler.
Dom chuckled.
‘Dismissed, I do believe.’
…
The moment the door closed and while Sheri was still absorbing the fact her mother had practically abandoned her and not looked back, Dom swept her into his arms and lifted her back into the carriage.
‘Alone at last,’ he growled, following her in and slamming the door.
They were now able to sit facing the horses, which was a more comfortable way to travel. That was the only thought Sheri was allowing in her head. If she entertained any other she’d probably succumb to outright panic.
‘Are we going back to the Esterhazy’s soiree?’ she asked, more to keep from thinking of that moment in his arms than because she really cared.
‘I’ve heard enough caterwauling and key-mauling for one night. Besides, we need to talk!’
‘Oh—we—do!’ Sheri agreed. ‘So where are we going?’
‘We’re just going to drive, my beautiful Sher, just you and me with no one to see—and no one to know—what we say or what we do. And the first thing I’m going to do is release this beautiful hair.’
His fingers speared into the tight, thick coil at her nape, loosening pins which pinged against the seat and disappeared God-knows-where. They would never find them again in the dark.
‘Dom—you can’t—!’
‘I have,’ he murmured, fanning her hair about her shoulders then cupping her face in his bare hands.
‘Wh—where are your gloves?’ she whispered.
‘Probably on the floor. Tonight I want to feel you! Take yours off and put them in your reticule because if I remove them they’ll end on the floor also. I want your hands against my skin!’
Sheri pulled back and gripped her eager fingers tightly in her lap.
‘We need to talk first, Your Grace. I have—’ He leant in and kissed the end of her nose. ‘— questions!’
‘I know. But I’m going to kiss you—so you know what’s really important here!—Now, remove those gloves,’ he murmured, pulling her hands apart, ‘or I may—destroy them.’
Snatching her hands from his grip, she quickly undid the tiny buttons at her wrists, drew off the gloves and deliberately and slowly rolled them together and stowed them in her reticule.
‘Now, Wolverton, we talk.’
A strange excitement was swirling through her body, escalating deliciously as he loomed over her, p
lanting his hands against the back of the coach either side of her head.
‘No more formality—or distance—between us, Sher. Call me Dom or Dominic—’ He leaned in and lightly brushed his lips over hers. ‘Or Master.’
The last was uttered in a throaty purr that vibrated against her lips as he swooped down and took her mouth in a punishing kiss—and for a crazy moment she almost thought she’d agree.
‘M—master!’ she exploded, and his mouth closed on hers; hot, demanding, masterful! Dominic Beresford was kissing her as if no other woman existed in his mind or touched his heart.
His incredible mouth was shaping to hers, his hot tongue thrusting between her lips, dancing with hers. It was every secret fantasy she’d ever indulged, beyond any dream her maidenly imagination had been able to invent.
There was something important she needed to remember—to say—to ask—
Her mind had dissolved, slipped out of her grasp on the desperate little moans of need escaping from somewhere deep inside her. Oh God, she’d needed this—for so long—
Call him Master, he’d said. Her whole body quivered, like a tightly furled flower responding instinctually to the warmth of the sun and the whispering promise of summer rain. Her hands stole up to cup the lean cheeks, the fingers of her left hand lingering over the ridge of his hero’s scar. Sliding upwards she encountered the midnight curls of his hair and savored the silkiness of it around her fingers.
Then his hand was in her hair, holding her head firm for his demands and her own hands were forgotten. She simply clung, for his other hand slid between them to find the ties of her evening cloak, loosen them and pull it open. She assisted with a little shrug of her shoulders. Then his fingers trailed down the bare skin of her neck and his lips followed. Her head fell back, baring her throat, begging for his ravishment.
‘What did you promise to Bax?’
Sheri stilled, the fiery liquid flowing through her veins solidifying, chilling to an alarming degree. Hands that had been gripping his head and holding him to her, thrust him away. Sitting upright in her corner, she drew the cloak back around her neck, holding it tight with trembling fingers.