A Basket of Wishes

by Rebecca Paisley

  Marianna wanted to scream. She knew then that not only had she lost the wealthiest, most powerful man in the country but she had also lost her own title as the most beautiful woman in England.

  “’Tis supremely wonderful to meet you, Marianna Chesterton,” Splendor said, trying desperately to understand what it was about the haughty woman that had caught Jourdian’s attention in the past.

  Was it Marianna’s thick dark brown hair? Her sparkling mahogany eyes, her generous ruby lips? Or were Marianna’s breasts what Jourdian liked? Splendor had never seen such a large bosom, and she wondered if Jourdian had ever touched those full breasts. If he had ever kissed or suckled them.

  She looked up at Marianna’s face again, not caring at all for the way the woman was staring at Jourdian. It was painfully obvious that every wish Marianna had ever made concerned him.

  Splendor felt a bit of silver magic fill her closed fist, magic that would quickly turn Marianna into a horned frog. But she resisted releasing the magic, choosing instead to continue studying the woman who had once roused Jourdian’s interest.

  She glanced at Marianna’s jewelry. It looked to her as if Marianna had bathed in a tub of rubies and pearls and that all the gems had stuck to her body. Did Jourdian like a woman to wear a lot of jewelry? He’d offered her jewels once, and she’d refused.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have.

  “What an interesting name you have, Splendor,” Marianna commented. “Or perhaps interesting is not the word I seek. Peculiar, I think, is a better description.”

  “Beautiful is the best way to describe Splendor’s name,” Jourdian countered. “A beautiful name for the most beautiful woman here.”

  “Yes, she is quite lovely, Jourdian,” Marianna said, feeling her insides begin to boil. “In a simple sort of way, of course. But then, she cannot help her humble beginnings, now can she?”

  “No more than I can help mine,” Jourdian replied, subtly reminding Marianna that his own mother had been a peasant before marrying Barrington.

  “Oh, Jourdian, surely you jest!” Marianna tapped his chest with her fan. “You are the son of a duke! She is the daughter of—”

  “In my eyes, she might as well be the daughter of a king,” Jourdian snapped. He curled his arm around Splendor’s waist.

  “How very gallant,” Marianna replied silkily.

  “Aye,” Splendor said, smiling into her husband’s eyes. “That is what Jourdian is. Gallant. And I am in love with him.”

  Marianna wasn’t blind. She saw the glow of profound emotion floating within the duchess’s infuriatingly gorgeous eyes. “What a romantic you are, Splendor. Tell me, where did you live prior to moving into Heathcourte three days before your wedding? You must have been in dire straits. We heard that when you came to Jourdian, you had not a stitch on. Why, you poor little thing. You—”

  “If indeed Splendor was ever a poor little thing, she isn’t anymore,” Jourdian said curtly. “Now, if you will excuse us, I should like to dance with my duchess.”

  Quickly and firmly, Jourdian led Splendor to the dance floor. Taking her into his arms, he began to swirl her around and discovered her to be an extraordinarily graceful dancer. But why wouldn’t she be, he asked himself.

  Her bare feet never touched the ground.

  “You are a wonderful dancer, Jourdian. I—I hope that we can attend many balls together,” she murmured.

  He saw intense worry cloud her lovely eyes, but before he could question her, he noticed a group of women nearby. They were staring at him and Splendor, their mouths moving almost as quickly as Lady Briggs’s and Lady Holden’s had.

  “I wish I could hear what they’re saying,” he mumbled. Splendor glanced at the women Jourdian was watching. “Your wish is granted, husband.”

  Silver dusted the air. The moment the twinkles disappeared, Jourdian found that he was able to hear every word the women were saying.

  “He obviously doesn’t care enough about her to give her jewels,” one lady said. “All she is wearing is her wedding ring.”

  “And one would think he would provide her with a lady’s maid,” another woman added. “Look at her hair. Why, she hasn’t done a thing with it, but has merely let it hang all down her body. Take her out of that gown and give her a pail, and she would look just like a milkmaid.”

  “His Grace doesn’t appear at all happy, either,” yet another lady observed aloud. “That frown of his is quite the most ferocious I have ever seen.”

  “Well, he had to marry her, you know,” a fourth woman spat. “Imagine a man of his wealth and standing being saddled with such a bit of riffraff.”

  Potent fury sluicing through his veins, Jourdian released Splendor and started toward the malicious women.

  But they scattered instantly, vanishing into the crowd so quickly that he lost sight of them within seconds.

  “Jourdian?” Splendor tapped him on the shoulder.

  He looked down into her compelling violet eyes, immensely relieved that she hadn’t heard the vicious things the women had said about her. He might not love her, he mused, but he’d be damned if he was going to permit anyone to hurt her tender feelings.

  She belonged to him. And he would always protect what was his.

  “I’m going to dance you toward the doors, Splendor, and once we’ve passed through them I want you to take us home.”

  “I shall have more time with Marianna first.”

  “I don’t understand your sudden and bizarre interest in Marianna, and I demand that you—”

  “This is my first human ball, Jourdian. Would you deprive me of—”

  “Yes.”

  “You are acting uncivil.”

  “And your impulsive and completely infuriating little manner of getting us here to the ball was such a civil thing to do,” he replied sarcastically.

  “You—”

  “Jourdian, old boy,” a man said as he approached them. “So sorry to interrupt your waltz, but I confess that I could not wait another second for an introduction to your duchess.”

  Jourdian glared at Niall Marston, the earl of Moore. He’d never paid much attention to Niall’s rakish conduct with other men’s wives in the past, but this was the present. And Splendor had obviously caught the rogue’s interest. The man’s wide blue-eyed gaze might as well have had teeth, for he was devouring Splendor with all the fervor of a starving tiger.

  Jourdian felt a sudden and intense hatred for the man.

  “I am waiting,” Niall said.

  Sensing that many ears were straining to hear his reply, Jourdian complied. “Niall, this is Splendor.”

  Quickly, Niall picked up Splendor’s hand and planted his lips upon her slender fingers. Her skin felt like warm silk, and her delicate flower scent quickened his breath. “Enchanted, Lady Amberville,” he murmured, his mouth still pressed against her hand.

  “Splendor,” Jourdian said, pulling her hand out of Niall’s grasp, “this is Niall Marston.”

  “The earl of Moore,” Niall added arrogantly. “But please call me Niall.”

  “And you must call me Splendor.”

  Niall felt his mouth water as he watched her lips move. A connoisseur of women, he knew instinctively that her kisses would be sweeter than wild honey. “You cannot know how anxiously I and others have been waiting to meet you, Splendor. I always suspected Jourdian would marry an exceptionally beautiful woman, and now I see that my suspicions were absolutely correct.”

  Jourdian had heard enough. Pulling Splendor into his arms again, he was just about to sweep her into the throng of other dancers when four more noblemen approached, all begging to be introduced to Splendor.

  Irritated beyond his limit, Jourdian made all the introductions. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse us? My wife and I were dancing, and I—”

  “Don’t be so selfish, Heathcourte,” Niall said as he returned to Splendor’s side. “You enjoy Splendor’s company every day.” And every night, he added silently, his eyes resting on her sm
all but gorgeous breasts. “The rest of us, on the other hand, have only just met her.” He smiled into Splendor’s eyes. “Might I have the pleasure of this dance, Lady Amberville?”

  Niall gave neither Splendor nor Jourdian a chance to answer. With speed and grace, he spun Splendor clear across the dance floor to the other side of the room, his desire soaring when he remembered hearing that she wore nothing beneath her gown.

  “You are Jourdian’s friend?” Splendor asked.

  “Yes,” Niall lied, knowing Jourdian had never considered him a friend.

  “And are you Marianna’s friend as well?”

  “Marianna?” Niall took a moment to ponder Splendor’s questions, guessing that the lovely duchess of Heathcourte had heard the rumors concerning Jourdian’s past interest in Marianna.

  Splendor’s curiosity would work in his favor. “I am well acquainted with both. And I think it shocking that the two of them cannot seem to keep their eyes off each other. I’m sure it’s painful for you to witness their mutual attraction, and even more painful to know that there is naught you can do about it. Your husband is a man who gets what he wants, often at the expense of others. You do have my deepest commiseration.”

  Splendor didn’t know what to say, what to think. Did Jourdian still harbor feelings for Marianna? If that was so, her chances of winning his love were fairly nonexistent.

  “You’re remarkably light-footed, Splendor,” Niall said, pulling her closer to his body, closer to the fire her beauty had ignited within him. “Dancing with you is like dancing with a summer breeze.”

  She couldn’t help but feel the bulge of his lust press into her belly. Intuitively alarmed and instantly revolted, she tried to pull away from him.

  Niall wouldn’t let her. “It’s obvious you are not familiar with a waltz,” he said, his fingers caressing the length of her spine. “A woman is held close to the man.”

  “So close that she feels repulsed by his attentions?”

  He didn’t miss the way her lavender eyes flashed. Violets afire, he mused, and the passion of her anger merely whet his appetite. The woman was like an angel from hell or a she devil from heaven. He didn’t know which, but he thoroughly enjoyed the unusual blend of innocence and sensuality.

  Bending down to her, he pretended to whisper in her ear. Splendor went rigid, hating the way his wet lips felt on her neck. This man was not Jourdian’s friend. No friend would behave in the manner Niall Marston was behaving.

  A bit of punishment was in order, castigation that would make him think twice before pawing another man’s wife again. She spied two open doors that led to a courtyard illuminated with a multitude of lanterns. “Let us walk outside for a moment, shall we, Niall? I realize ’tis cold, but—”

  “Ah, but I’ve your beauty to keep me warm, haven’t I?” Already she’d succumbed to his charisma, he thought. She could barely wait for his sensual attentions. Smiling triumphantly, he led her toward the doors.

  “’Tis a glorious night,” Splendor said as he escorted her into the yard, away from the house, away from the lights.

  “And you and I both know a way to make it even more glorious.” Confidence and lust seeping from his every pore, Niall ushered her into the black shadows of a cluster of tall trees.

  The second he stopped, Splendor felt his mouth on her throat and his groping hands all over her body. She wondered how many other women had been victim to his voracious sexual appetite.

  “What a feast you are, Splendor,” Niall panted, trying to work his fingers into the top of her bodice. “And how I enjoy such a sweet banquet.”

  “And how I will enjoy showing you how it feels to be very nearly consumed, Niall.”

  Silver stardust exploded in the air, coating Niall from head to toe.

  He vanished.

  “Splendor!”

  The sound of her husband’s voice sent Splendor floating back to the house. “Jourdian—”

  “Where have you been? Where’s Niall? Damn it all, one second the two of you were dancing, and in the next second you were nowhere to be seen!”

  “Niall had to leave.”

  “Did he touch you?” Jourdian’s anger was rising like steam from a kettle.

  “Aye, that is what he did. And I did to him what he deserved to have done to him. He is a man who takes great delight in gobbling up women as if they were naught but succulent fruits laid out on platters for his choosing and pleasure. He is now learning what it is like to be the food that feeds such a ravenous hunger.”

  Jourdian waited in vain for her to continue. “What did you do to him?” he demanded.

  “He hangs above a pit of starving crocodiles.”

  “Crocodiles.” Jourdian smiled. He couldn’t help it. Just the thought of Niall at the mercy of a mass of snapping reptiles tickled him thoroughly. “How long will you keep him suspended above the crocodiles?”

  “A month.”

  “Splendor,” he scolded softly.

  “Oh, very well. Another hour or so.”

  “Fine. Let’s go home.”

  “First tell me in all honesty what it is you feel for Marianna Chesterton.”

  “What I feel—”

  “Do you love her?”

  “Love her!”

  “Niall said—”

  “I don’t give a damn what that—”

  “But I give a million damns about what he said.”

  “Jourdian. Splendor.”

  They turned and saw Percival Brackett standing in the doorway that led into the ballroom.

  “Is there trouble in paradise?” Percival asked, leaning against the door frame. “I and several others heard your shouting.”

  Jourdian stared at the black silk turban on Percival’s head. It took him only seconds to understand that beneath the turban, Percival was as bald as Ulmstead had once been.

  “The latest fashion in menswear,” Percival explained upon seeing Jourdian’s reaction. He reached up and patted the headpiece. “I assure you that every man in society will be wearing one soon. You received my letter, I presume.”

  “I did.”

  “We should like to buy the fruit orchards from you, Percival,” Splendor said.

  “What?” Jourdian blurted. “Splendor—”

  “If you will sell the orchards to us we would be supremely happy.”

  “Oh?” Percival smiled a lazy smile. “Of course, Lady Amberville. I’d be happy to. But you should be aware of the fact that their value has tripled since I acquired them.”

  At that Jourdian smiled, too, a dangerous smile that matched perfectly the ominous expression in his eyes. “I knew the orchards would prove to be lucrative, but I never imagined they would triple in value within only days of being purchased.”

  Percival shrugged. “What is this world coming to, I ask you? Prices soar with each passing day.”

  “Be that as it may,” Splendor said, “we will buy the orchards from you as soon as you are prepared to sell them. And I warn you now that we shall pay only a fraction of what you paid for them.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Percival replied smoothly, casting an amused look at Jourdian.

  “If you will excuse us, Bramwell?” Jourdian said. He took Splendor’s hand and led her back into the ballroom. “What did you think you were doing, Splendor?” he ranted quietly. “The orchards are none of your concern, damn it all, and I would appreciate it very much if you would leave the Amberville businesses to me.”

  “Percival will soon be begging you to buy the orchards from him, Jourdian, and when he does, ask no questions about why he wants to sell. But do haggle over the price. You will get those orchards back for much, much less than you originally thought to pay for them.”

  “I recall you telling me not to buy them several months ago. It was the day you had all those apples and berries inside your robe.”

  “Aye, I remember that day. But I have since thought of an answer to the problem with the orchards.”

  “What problem?” />
  “You will see. But Percival will see first. And then, when the orchards are yours, the problem will disappear.”

  Jourdian stared down at her. “Splendor, what—”

  “Jourdian!”

  He saw Marianna hurrying toward him. Bloody hell, would this night never end? “My sincerest apologies, Marianna, but I’m afraid we must leave your party and—”

  “Leave? Why, I wouldn’t hear of it.” Giving him her most seductive smile, Marianna decided then that since she could not be his duchess, she would most certainly be his lover. Jourdian had been intensely attracted to her not so very long ago, and she felt sure she could recover his attentions if she set her mind to it. True, his bride was uncommonly beautiful, but the chit barely had a bosom to speak of.

  And Marianna knew Jourdian preferred large breasts. She’d caught him staring at her well-endowed chest on numerous occasions.

  “Don’t you remember how you helped me slice my cake last year, Jourdian, darling?” she asked, stepping closer to him so she could press her bosom against the muscle in his arm. “Indulge me and help me again this year. Your assistance will be your birthday gift to me.”

  “I’ll help you, Marianna,” Percival offered, arriving by her side and reaching for her hand.

  She yanked it away from him. “Splendor, dear, you don’t mind if I borrow your husband for a bit, do you?”

  “Aye, I do mind, Marianna.”

  Her words were stern, but Jourdian heard the pain in her voice. She thought him in love with Marianna, and Marianna’s blatant advances did little to convince her otherwise.

  But he could convince her. Convince her and every other person at the ball that he wanted nothing to do with any other woman.

  Fully aware that everyone in the ballroom was watching with avid interest, he encircled one arm around Splendor’s tiny waist and draped the other around her shoulders. Love was not among the feelings he had for her, he told himself, but whatever emotion he did possess for her would now be known to one and all.