All the Secret Pleasures [I Love Rogues Anthology]

by Thea Devine

  "Plotting strategy, you mean."

  Corinna ignored that. "And as well, Simon, everyone knows I am not looking for a husband. I have made that plain and clear."

  "Everyone knows women are contrary, you mean," Simon contradicted her. "And that when she says no, she might well mean yes."

  "Well, I don't, and everyone knows it. So do you now consider Lady Darfield. No. Do not. I have only just taken a good look at her. Could she be more prune-faced? It's as if she didn't wish to find a husband at all… Simon… don't walk away for heaven's sake." She turned to Richard. "Did you ever see anyone so singularly uncooperative?"

  Richard shrugged. "It may be there is no one here to his taste."

  Corinna considered this for a moment and nodded. "You may be right. Well, it means I must dig in my heels and try harder." She slanted a look at him. "Don't you think?"

  You don't want to know what I think … "Whatever you think best," he said, keeping his voice neutral. He knew what was happening, and he didn't want it to be so. But in that one lingering moment, he knew he was half in love with her, and he wished that all that energy and determination were focused solely on him.

  Chapter Eight

  Corinna awakened the next morning after a night of hard-riding coupling, satiated and serene, languidly stretching her naked body and inhaling the scent and residue of her shadow lover thick on her skin.

  He could not stay away. Every exigency of seeking a wife was set by the board with his voracious possession of her. If she wished for anything, it was that he were free solely to be her lover. But he was a man, and must look for a wife, and set up his nursery, and she would do anything she could to help him.

  So with all that, things could not be better, she thought, shivering deliciously. Things were wonderful, in fact, and everything was working out just the way she had hoped. Better than she could have imagined actually, because now she had gained so many new friends, she had the perfect lover, and she had a purpose.

  And she had no constraints, and no restrictions, and she could do whatever she wanted. And she had a great ally in Lady Apperson in their mutual desire to see Simon married off this season.

  And then, there was darling Richard with his caustic wit and his touch me not air. Richard came calling so often that Lady Apperson wanted to know if anything were up in that direction. But Corinna could hardly think about Richard in a romantic way when her body still resonated from the previous night's coupling with Simon. And what was Lady Apperson thinking, anyway?

  They were both there to take luncheon with her this rainy afternoon, and to plot strategy for this evening's event, since Simon was so intent on being so willfully obtuse. But then, why should that surprise her? This was the very reason she had offered to help him, the ungrateful wretch.

  Still, there wasn't a one among the ladies they had so far seen that he could stand for more than thirty seconds. He had every excuse—too young, too fidgety, too thin, too heavy, too poor, too blithery, too fair…

  She was out of patience with him, and she said so, roundly, adding, "Are you not as frustrated as I am, Richard?"

  "Oh no, my lady. I'm enjoying this rondo enormously."

  "Rondo?" Lady Apperson asked, perplexed. And then her brow cleared. "Oh!" She sent Richard a thoughtful look. "Oh…"

  "Well, we must do something. Time is wasting, and all the good girls will be snapped up and gone before Simon can make a move. So… what should we do?" She looked at them both brightly. "Oh, come. Who is new this evening? Who has not yet been seen?"

  "You," Richard drawled.

  "Oh, pooh—I am out of contention as you well know. I like my situation, and my independence, too well. And I am well chaperoned."

  "Oh indeed—no one could crash your bed," Richard murmured, and Corinna looked at him sharply.

  "Not unless I wanted him to," she retorted, her tone warning him not to pursue this thought further. But it made her stop long enough to wonder just how much Richard knew. And just what Richard might really want of this friendship.

  No. She had set the boundaries. No one could mistake her intent. It was Simon's future they were there to discuss.

  Lady Apperson watched this interplay with an eagle eye, comprehending suddenly with a blinding clarity everything that had not been evident before, and then she picked up the train of thought just as if they were in the midst of a conversation. "Well yes, actually, there is among the ladies this evening a newcomer, a Miss Hounslow. I don't know much about her—yet—but perhaps she will prove to be interesting enough to fix his interest."

  And if she wasn't, Lady Apperson thought, he ought to pretend, because nothing would jar Corinna's complacency better than a good dose of jealousy. And now she knew which way the wind blew, she thought, she must in good conscience advise him thus.

  And as for Richard—well, let that wind whistle where it might. Richard could take care of himself. And if he were falling in love with Corinna, so much the better. Simon could use a good dose of lover's jealousy himself.

  So here it was, two weeks into the season and Simon had not made his move, was content to let Corinna labor under the delusion he was looking for a wife, and Richard was getting very tired of the game.

  He had warned Simon, his conscience was clear in that regard, and certainly Simon had seen how well Corinna and he got along, and if that had not galvanized him, then—well—he had had fair warning, and it was time for Richard to make his play.

  The thing he did not know was whether Simon still shared her bed. He hated that thought, just hated it. And it wasn't something he wanted to confirm at the moment. Nor compete with. So he was better not knowing.

  And in any event, that was all about to change. Simon's Corinna, about whom he had heard for all these many years, was now fair game, and ripe for a lover who would take her in hand and marry her. No games. No delusions. Richard was a man who knew what he wanted, and even on this short acquaintance, Corinna was it.

  Meantime, Lady Apperson sought out Simon. "I truly don't comprehend what game you are playing with my Lady Corinna, but I'm warning you now, Richard is in it for real, and you need to raise the stakes and incite some response from her or you will lose her forever."

  "I'm sorry—what are you talking about?" Not that he could feign ignorance for more than one minute. Lady Apperson was as sharp as a shard and nothing got by her for long.

  "I am talking about this ridiculous charade you are enacting when it is perfectly clear to anyone who has half a brain that it is Corinna you want—still—and Corinna you will lose if you don't do something."

  "And what do you suggest I do?" Simon asked with dangerous silkiness.

  "Make her jealous," Lady Apperson said promptly. "For real. This seeking-a-wife protocol cannot play itself out without your making a choice. If you had made one already, perhaps things would have come to a head sooner than this. But now you have Richard playing counterpoint, and fast falling in love with her, and the two together—who do not play by the rules and who are already laws unto themselves—will cut you out faster than the patronesses at eleven."

  Well, he had planned for that very thing. When the moment was ripe, he had been going to make a choice, just to see how it would sit with Corinna. But now she must force his hand and he would be leading from a weakened position.

  What was that but a challenge? What was dear Richard but the smallest obstacle? He had still held one winning card—he was her lover and the one in her bed.

  He took note of Miss Hounslow in a most provocative way. She at least was interesting—she had milky-white skin and red hair, and there was an air about her that reeked of the country, but in a way that was enticing rather than off-putting.

  She was enjoying herself, for one thing. And the whole evening was not do-or-die for her. She wasn't desperate for a husband, and so she was magnetic in how she dealt with the people she met.

  She was no milk-and-water-miss, and she was rather lovely.

  The kind of girl it made
sense he might be attracted to. Or that Corinna would think it made sense.

  So he made a point to show Miss Hounslow some attention, while watching Richard and Corinna out of the corner of his eye. And later, Corinna accosted him, saying, "It seems you need no help from me after all."

  "Was my interest that pronounced?"

  "Only to those of us who have been waiting for this moment."

  "I count that as everyone in the room," Simon said.

  "She is very beautiful," Corinna said generously.

  "I hoped you would think so. But do not try to make a cake out of some flour and salt. There are many other ingredients to be added to mixture before it bakes."

  "Soup and cake," Corinna murmured, feeling a little disquieted. "All that heat required to make the raw ingredients into something palatable…"

  "You will like her," Simon said, taking note of her diffidence. "She is not a flower girl. Quite the opposite, in fact. Do let me make the introduction…"

  "No, I think not." Why was she feeling so fretful? This was perfect: Simon had found someone beautiful who seemed to have a half brain in her head. This was just what she wanted for him. To meet someone.

  Because after all, meeting someone was not the same as marrying her. That would take time—they would have a courtship and a long engagement and then they had to call the banns.

  All that time had to pass, so she could still have him while his lady-love waited for the moment they would marry and then she would have him.

  And after?

  She caught her breath. In all this seeking-a-wife business, and in all their voracious lovemaking, she had never really thought about after.

  After was beyond forever at this point. Not to be thought of or considered in any real time.

  But now, in the person of Miss Hounslow, it was not. It was sooner than forever, it could be real, Simon might well marry her, and Corinna would no longer have his sex.

  Oh dear lord… she felt breathless at the thought. Like she would just collapse from the thought. No more sex with Simon. And sooner than later now, with Miss Hounslow of the milky skin and lively eyes.

  No, she was reading too much into it: there was still time. Mustn't rush it. They'd only just met, and there were several possible other suitors buzzing around the redoubtable Miss Hounslow like bees around honey. It might not be Simon who won her hand after all.

  The tightness in her chest eased. It was just an evening out, after all. He would come to her tonight, she was certain.

  Maybe not, if he were too enamored of Miss Hounslow. She knew how that went: he would go home, and he would want to spend the after-hours thinking about Miss Hounslow. How she looked, the inviting shimmer in her eyes only for him, what they said, what they really meant, how soon he could see her again…

  Her breath caught again. No. Her imagination was galloping away and on no evidence whatsoever, other than Simon had spent a few minutes in conversation with her, and had had a very favorable impression.

  There. She took a deep breath. Now she felt better. And besides, he wasn't even anywhere near Miss Hounslow at the moment.

  "Miss Hounslow is quite the sensation tonight," Richard said quietly in her ear. "It won't take the rest of the month before someone engages to marry her. Perhaps it will be Simon. He seemed particularly attentive."

  Corinna swallowed bile. Richard was either being malicious or making idle gossip, and either at the moment was untenable. "She seems a cut above the usual innocents," she said finally. "Like she has some wit and intelligence. She is exactly the kind of girl Simon should seek."

  "I think so too, because that then takes him away from the pursuit of anyone else."

  She looked at him sharply, and then chose to misunderstand. "But there hasn't been a lily girl who even measures up to this one country-bred vestal. Not a big field to chase, if one chooses to be really candid about it."

  "There's always you," Richard said. "Any number of eyes are on you, Corinna my dear. Including mine."

  "Oh, don't do this, Richard. Don't. I'm perfectly content as things are… I have no interest in setting up my nursery—I'm too old, in any event, and I have become set in my ways. I am my own mistress, I can do as I will, have the companionship I choose, and all without the nonsense that goes with a lasting commitment. Why would anyone in my position choose otherwise?"

  Did the words ring hollow? Richard was too astute.

  "Because finding the ideal sensual companionship is a treasure beyond price, and at that moment, you will want to make it yours forever."

  She couldn't help it—her gaze skewed right to Simon, and she knew Richard saw it.

  But Simon was conversing with Miss Hounslow, and suddenly she felt very vulnerable, and she was aware Richard saw it, because he leaned into her body, blocking that view, and he whispered in her ear, "Simon is otherwise engaged, Corinna. So think it over—and let me be your lover—no—let me be your husband."

  Richard was too close, too intimate, too tight with Corinna, and Simon felt himself steaming up like a train engine, imagining every prurient thing Richard could be whispering in her ear.

  Things a lover would say in the shadows, in the night. Things he couldn't even begin to think about saying to the delightful and virginal Miss Hounslow, with all her wit and countenance, even if he were to consider her as a wife.

  Enough of this. No, not enough, because Corinna was looking just a little stricken and not at all like she wanted to hear whatever Richard had to say. Nor had her gaze moved an inch away from him and Miss Hounslow. So perhaps the strategy was profiting him.

  But to what avail? Corinna's deep distress? That had hardly been his intent; he had thought in fact that the mere discussion of a possible wife would turn her feelings from friendship to something deeper. And if not that, then their stormy lovemaking, night after night, had to have touched her deeply and at a level where she could not abide the thought of him with someone else.

  Fine. He had reckoned without taking into account the laissez-faire years she had spent on the Continent, where such things were common and merited barely a passing glance.

  A lover here, a lover there—it meant nothing, it was a way to pass the time, perhaps, and make life interesting, especially for a widow who was in comfortable circumstances and thought not to breed or marry ever again.

  All of that had been made plain, of course, but he was ever a romantic, waiting for his moment, and now it had come, he was talking with Miss Hounslow and Richard looked about to eat the shell of Corinna's ear.

  If he so much as grazed it with his lips or tongue, Simon would kill him. Period.

  Who ever thought Corinna would cause so much sensation? But then, she had underestimated her value as both entertainment for the ton, and as an eligible and beautiful young widow of some wealth.

  Who would not be interested in her in either regard?

  Lady Apperson had the right of it: he had the advantage, and he was wasting time.

  No more smokescreens. Corinna was his, whether she knew it or not, and now it was time to make it known. Things had come to a head, and he had to play his one leading card: he was the one in her bed, the one between her legs. It was time to make her know it—time for the lustiest, most potent, and powerful seduction of Corinna… all the secret pleasures, all for Corinna, in the shadows, in the dark, this very night.

  Chapter Nine

  Corinna was so disturbed by Richard's proposition and Simon's attentions to Miss Hounslow, she could hardly sleep that night.

  Simon had found all the ingredients for making soup. The perfect Miss Hounslow with her shimmering eyes and sweet knowing smile was the perfect spice for his matrimonial concoction. Perfectly young, of perfect age to bear children, and perfectly full of the liveliness and wit to keep him reasonably interested and on his toes.

  Oh, but in bed… ? Simon in bed with Miss Hounslow, rooting between her legs?

  She couldn't bear the thought—she wouldn't think about it, that or Richard's
headlong and ridiculous proposition that had come like a bolt of lightning out of nowhere…

  What was he thinking?

  Where was Simon? With Miss Hounslow? Touching her? Kissing her? Learning how to love her and want her?

  She jumped out of bed and began pacing agitatedly.

  Why should she care? Becoming this involved with a lover had not been her plan. No, the plan had been to care about nothing except her own comfort, her own pleasure. Why should she toss that out the window just because Simon had found a potential mate, or because Richard had some ridiculous notion he wanted to be more to her than a friend?

  Well, she shouldn't. She was losing perspective. And she was letting Simon and Richard turn her whole world upside down, as men always did, when she had vowed she would never allow that to happen.

  There. Now she was thinking right. Richard would get over his brainstorm, and Simon would eventually ask for Miss Hounslow's hand and she would happily dance at his wedding.

  The perfect ending for the perfect couple…

  Was he perfect?

  Perfect in the way that mattered most—

  She must stop thinking about Simon and sex…

  But perhaps that was the sticking point: the thought of any other woman in his arms, beneath his lustily pumping body…

  No no no…

  Every fiber of her being cringed. Sex was ever a person's downfall, and the hard lesson she was learning from this was that one should never take as a lover a man one had known since childhood because it was just impossible to let go.

  Unknown and capricious men were so much easier to relinquish because invariably they had traits and habits that began to grate, they were in love with themselves, their interest inevitably waned, or hers did, and voilα—gone, and the thing was done.

  This was something else altogether.

  Someone should have warned her.

  And she had the awful feeling that tonight Simon would come—she did not want him to come—and given the circumstances, she would have no choice but to end everything, unreasonably soon.

  He came. Soft as a cat, he came into her room, almost as if Fanny had opened the door and welcomed him in, he came. One moment she was alone in her bed, the next he was there, a length of shadow limned in the candlelight, he was there, and Corinna had not one word to say.