by EM BROWN
“My lord.”
Vale glanced toward the staircase and froze, hardly able to believe the vision descending the stairs was Harrietta. Her hair, which rose in a modest coiffure above her brow and descended to her shoulder in large ringlets, was unadorned by powder. He was glad she chose not to wear one of those large hats that were coming into vogue. She wore a slight touch of powder and rouge on her face. The wide square neckline of her décolletage showed off her collar impressively as well as the barest hint of the tops of her breasts. He commended himself on a grand choice of gowns and the mantua maker for her execution. Harrietta had long slender arms, made more dramatic by the tight sleeves and voluminous ruffles at the elbow. Her shoulders and the cut of her gown made her waist appear small enough for him to grasp with one hand. White satin shoes peeked from underneath the ornamented hem of her gown, and she carried an oriental fan.
“My dear,” he greeted, extending a hand to assist her down the stairs.
“I can hardly breathe for fear my stays will unloosen or that my hair may tumble from its perch,” she confessed.
“You need not worry for you will have swept the breaths of all who behold you.”
She glanced at him. “Pray do not mock or patronize. I have never before been fixed in such a manner.”
If only she knew the truth of what he felt. He wanted to preserve her as one would a porcelain doll while the devil in him wanted to tear every shred of the mountainous attire off her and take her. Instead he raised her hand to his lips.
“If I am insincere, may my soul be damned for an eternity,” he said.
It was no easy task to ease her into the carriage, and during the ride to the Granviews, he regretted that her exacting wardrobe made her conversation stiff. But the longer moments of silence allowed him to stare at her. This was what people expected the Marchioness of Dunnesford to look like. Regal. Elegant. Only he knew the true Marchioness. A woman of wild abandon. A woman without pretention. A woman who drove him mad.
“I shan’t be able to dance,” Harrietta realized with alarm.
Good, he nearly blurted. He would have no qualms summoning the carriage early and taking her home to undress her. It might take hours to undo what three dressing maids had accomplished, but he would relish every second of it.
“You’re staring,” she told him. “Is it the patch? Has it come loose?”
Vale examined the little star that had been affixed near the corner of an eye. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his own twitched with the desire to kiss her.
“Everything about you is perfection,” he assured her.
She heaved a sigh. “I have never been to a ball of such grand scale. Will the Prince himself truly be in attendance?”
“Perhaps.”
“Harold wouldn’t believe me if I told him I had met His Royal Highness.”
Vale thought of Harold with a smile. “I think he would have been more astounded to learn that we had married.”
“But I think he would have been happy,” she ventured with a shy glance.
She was right. Harold would have been. Which is precisely why Vale had married her. His debt had been repaid, if posthumously.
“And you, Harrietta, are you happy?” he asked her.
His question seemed to surprise her.
“I—as happy as one can be.”
There were words she had left unsaid. Perhaps as happy as one can be if not for...
He took her gloved hand in his to compel her to look at him. “Know this: I wish for you to be happy, Harrietta. I never would have offered for your hand if I thought that it would have caused you misery.”
She lowered her lashes too quickly for him to discern what was in her eyes.
“You have been kind to me, my lord. And to my family,” she murmured.
“Is kindness all that you desire, ma petite?”
Her eyes widened and her brow furrowed. She seemed in deep thought before she turned the question back to him, “What more could I wish for?”
Much more, Harrietta. Instead he answered, “If you should desire anything, it would be my pleasure and privilege to provide it to you.”
He lifted her hand, pushed back the lace edge of her glove, and pressed her naked wrist to his lips. It had an effect on her, he could tell, but whether her subsequent nervousness was because she relished his unexpected attentions or because she preferred he not make love to her was unclear. She kept her comments from thence to the ball, who else might be in attendance, how many members of the Royal family he had met, how envious her sisters would be if they could see her gown and how she would have to make them splendid gifts for their come-out so that they might not feel such disparities existed between them. He kept the tete-a-tete on light footing as well, inquiring about her day with Adia and what she had planned for the library, though the memory of her wrapped in the red drapes was beginning to raise his cock, so he had to quickly leave that last topic.
The Granview ball held little novelty for him, but it was completely new to Harrietta, and it amused him to see the event through her eyes. He kept her at his side as they greeted the other guests. And when she was introduced to one of the Princesses, Harrietta curtsied with such grace and smiled with such charm, that the Princess commended him on finding such a rare jewel for a wife. Lady Granview also offered her compliments when he finally relinquished Harrietta from his arm that she could speak to Charlotte. And as he watched Harrietta laughing and speaking with animation to his cousin, he suddenly felt he was the most fortunate of men.
“WHAT IS THIS I HEAR of a bet concerning Hettie in the books at Brooks’s?” Charlotte asked him later in the evening as they observed Harrietta on the floor with Lord Granview for the minuet.
“It is a poor attempt at mischief,” Vale replied. “I would not trouble myself with it.”
He was looking at Harrietta through his quizzing glass, the other swirl of colorful figures merely a backdrop to her presence, but he could sense Charlotte staring at him as if attempting to unearth some deep, dark secret from him.
“She is lovely tonight, is she not?” Charlotte inquired, following his gaze. “I must admit that I had thought her rather awkward when I first met her, but she has adapted to London society in a remarkable way.”
“She is a woman of surprising talents,” Vale agreed.
“And dispositions?”
When he did not respond, Charlotte continued her baiting. “I understand her to be quite the apt pupil.”
“Her dancing has been nearly flawless,” Vale supplied. “I detected only one misstep during the contredance.”
“And her skills elsewhere?”
“She is only mildly proficient at the harpsichord.”
Charlotte bristled with impatience when he failed to supply the answer she desired.
“And in the boudoir?” she finally let fall.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “That would be beyond my knowledge, dear Charlotte.”
“How irksome you are! You know quite well.”
“I protest I do not,” he said truthfully.
She frowned. “But how? You must. I know you to be a patron at Madame Botreaux’s.”
“And what does that have to do with the boudoir?”
She stamped her foot, then lowered her voice when her motion prompted glances in their direction.
“You are he,” she hissed. “The one in the black and silver mask, are you not?”
“What amusing observations you voice tonight, Charlotte,” he said placidly. “How many more do you plan to hazard before the night is over?”
“It only makes sense, but I take it Hettie knows nothing of your...your role at Madame Botreaux’s?”
“Why should she know of anything that I have to do?”
“I take it whoever wrote that bet at Brooks’s knows of Hettie’s visits to the Cavern.”
“Or perhaps they have merely to see her with Lord Elroy,” he said wryly as he observed Lovell making a leg to Harrietta for the cot
illion. “I think I had best assert my spousal privileges where her dancing is concerned.”
“Strange that you have taken such an interest in dancing when you used to find it rather a dull activity,” Charlotte observed archly.
He bowed to her. “I, too, have many surprising...dispositions.”
But when he went to claim Harrietta for the next dance, she professed to needing a rest and some cool air. He led her out into the gardens and found her a seat on a stone bench sculpted like a Corinthian column and tucked behind some shrubbery. He went to procure for her a glass of lemonade, which she downed without removing the glass from her lips.
“These are the most wretched shoes for dancing,” she explained as she removed them.
“But exceptionally pretty,” he offered, thinking that all those who had complimented her poise tonight might consider her differently if they saw her in her stocking clad feet.
“Allow me,” he said, reaching for one foot and placing it on his lap. He proceeded to massage the arch of the foot through the embroidered silk.
“Ohhhh.”
It was a moan that was quite familiar to him. He was glad the length of his waistcoat would cover the bulge that was forming at his crotch.
“Do you think it would be strange if I went without shoes the rest of the evening?” she asked.
Vale smiled. “It might be considered eccentric, but I never considered you one for convention.”
Harrietta laughed. “Is that a compliment or a slight?”
“A compliment, m’lady. You may think me at home with these persons considered my peers, but I must say that I felt most at ease in the company of your brother and your family.”
“Indeed? You did not find us dull?”
“Au contraire. You, Harrietta, are never dull.”
He rubbed the pad of her foot where she would have experienced the most pressure.
“One could become...easily accustomed to such attentions,” she murmured.
“Consider it a wifely right, among others.”
“Others? Such as?”
“Such as...this.”
With her foot still in his lap, he reached over and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled her to him and claimed her mouth for his.
Her lashes flew upward, but only for an instant, before her mouth melted against his. She tasted of lemonade and perfection. The supple lips were the softest he had ever known. Softer, it seemed, than when he had first kissed her. The blood pounded in his groin as he moved his lips over hers, taking her mouth tenderly and patiently though what he wanted was to press his mouth against hers with the full force of his unsatiated lust.
What he found most rousing of all was that she was returning his kiss. He was leading the dance, but her lips followed willingly. She was bent quite far at the waist to reach him, but she did not once pull back. He was about to reach for her, to crush her body to his, when a voice rang out.
“Lady Dunnesford!”
It was their hostess, Lady Granview. Reluctantly, he released Harrietta from his mouth. Harrietta quickly slid her feet back into her shoes and wiped the rouge on her lips that he had mussed.
“Ah, Lady Dunnesford,” Lady Granview said upon rounding the bush. “My husband said he saw you and Dunnesford come out this way.”
She turned to Vale. “Might I borrow your lovely wife for a moment? My sister does love your sense of style and was wondering if you might not advise her?”
“You flatter me, my lady,” Harrietta responded, “but I fear I would prove of little use.”
“You are modest. In any event, she very much would like to make your acquaintance.”
Harrietta glanced hesitantly at Vale. He wanted so much to refuse Lady Granview, but she was the hostess. He smiled encouragingly at his wife and allowed her to be led away by Lady Granview.
After taking several breaths to calm the pounding of his blood in his veins, Vale stood up. He went in search of Isabella. He found the Countess in the Granview library with her arms around Honora. The two of them had clearly just finished displaying their passions to one another. Honora rose upon Vale’s entry and gathered herself to give him and the Countess privacy.
“I shall miss you dearly,” Isabella said after he had explained his situation to her, “but I understand, of course.”
He lifted her hand to his lips in gratitude.
“Your wife is a lucky woman,” she added as her eyes brimmed with affection.
“I am the one lucky.”
“If not for my Honora, I might find myself wishing to be your wife. Cest la vie, no? Another life, perhaps, then.”
There was a knock at the door and Honora’s voice could be heard from the other side.
“Isabella, your aunt is looking for you.”
The Countess glanced at Vale. “Would you honor me with one last favor? Perhaps you could contrive to appear to have made love to me in here when you leave? Then I shall tell the world of the terrible row that we had and how you were determined never to see me again. Honora will comfort my broken heart, obviously.”
“Your servant, Countess.”
Before he stepped out of the library, Vale unloosened his cravat. The Countess blew him a kiss. He emerged from the room, feeling as if a new life awaited him.
Chapter Seventeen
FIRST VALE EMERGED from the room, straightening his neckcloth. Then after a few minutes, the Countess emerged, her cheeks flushed, her hair in slight disarray. It was clear to anyone witnessing the two of them what had transpired betwixt them, and Harrietta’s heart sank at the thought as she watched first one, then the other make their way down the hall. She did not understand him. How could he have kissed her, acted as if he were enthralled in her presence, but then make love to the Countess?
Their recent kiss had been no simple kiss. Granted, a kiss between them was no new event, but they had, except for the one in the garden prior to her come-out, been a friendly brush on the cheeks. An expression of friendship and brotherly affection. The one in her family’s garden had been different, had left her unable to form coherent sentences afterwards, had left her indignant and stupid. But the one tonight had differed even from that one. She had felt his hunger, thought she discerned longing in the manner in which his mouth took hers, completely covering her lips, her tongue, the air between them.
And perhaps it was because for a short span of time, she entertained the hope that something might come of that kiss that she now felt such misery. Her heart had soared too high and her fall was worse for it.
Of course he could make love to two women. He once moved seamlessly from one mistress to another, she had been told. Had had two women simultaneously lift their skirts beneath him, or so she had heard. He was no different than ‘my lord,’ for whom sex was a pastime—a diversion no different perhaps than riding or hunting.
Irritated at herself for imagining that Vale could be the husband of her dreams, she made her way to the card room. Lady Falconet waved to her from near the back of the room, and Harrietta went to join her, prepared to bury her sorrow in a good round of vingt-et-un.
“A THOUSAND POUNDS?!” Charlotte exclaimed.
“Hush!” Harrietta implored as she looked around the corner to see that the two of them were alone in one of the anterooms surrounding the ballroom.
“It dismays me to ask you,” Harrietta said, “but I know not where else to turn. It was the most wretched run of luck. I think Lord Elroy and Lady Falconet would not press me for it, but that Lady Falconet says that her banker, upon learning how much she had loaned to me, advised her to discharge all her debts. Apparently she has mortgaged all her property and can ill afford to lend money she does not have.”
“How convenient,” Charlotte snorted.
“It was my folly, and mine alone. I did not think that such luck could tarry for as long as it has. Lord Elroy was convinced of my progress.”
“He was, was he?”
“Charlotte, please do not speak with such
ill tenor of my friends. They have been naught but generous.”
Charlotte pursed her lips. “I would that I had such money, and I would give it to you even though I loathe the idea of it being handed over to those two, but at best, I would have a hundred pounds. My assets do not provide much liquidity. Have you spoken to Vale?”
“I could not.” Harrietta sank into a chair in defeat. “He thinks me a child at times, I am sure of it. And this will only prove his judgment of me.”
“Well?”
Harrietta looked sharply at her friend, then sighed. “I have been irresponsible. Oh! I would that I had never come across this cursed game of vingt-et-un. It seemed simple to master, and the game is finished so quickly that I was down hundreds of pounds before I knew it!”
Seeing her friend’s tortured expression, Charlotte went to place her arms around Harrietta. “You ought to speak to Vale. A thousand pounds is nothing to him.”
“But for him to hand it over to the two people he despises beyond all others? And after he had warned me not to consort in their company?”
Harrietta shook her head. She was devastated with her husband at the moment, but she could not bring herself to humble him in such a manner. Not even if the Elroys had a legitimate reason for their antipathy. There had been times when she had begun to doubt the strength of what Lady Falconet had told her. Times when she saw nothing but a noble generosity in her husband’s eyes. But now, feeling the weight of her own broken heart, she could see how Vale might have destroyed another.
“Perhaps I could secure a loan from a banker?” Harrietta realized, lifting her head. “I met a gentleman this evening who was in the banking business. Devil take it, what was his name? Adams. Addison. Or was it Anderson?”