That Wicked Harlot (A Steamy Regency Romance Collection Book 2)

by Georgette Brown

  She hoped she was right.

  *****

  “Diana Worthley must be mad as Bedlam bringing that wicked harlot here!” exclaimed Anne Barrington to her nephew.

  She had dragged her daughter, Juliana, a young woman who had had her come out the year before, the length of the ballroom to make her displeasure known to Radcliff.

  Radcliff had arrived late and missed the dinner, but the topic on everyone’s tongue for hours seemed to be Miss Sherwood. Having just returned from Sussex but a few hours earlier, he had had little desire to attend the ball, and only his friendship with Lord Pinkerton obligated him. He had contemplated making a brief stop at Mrs. T’s to see Darcy, never imagining that she would be here.

  “I knew Diana to indulge that grand-nephew of hers,” Anne went on. “You know what they say of him.”

  “The Viscount Wyndham?” asked Juliana. “He is most flawlessly dressed!”

  “Juliana! Never you mind that one. Future Earl or not, I would never choose to invite him.” Anne turned to Radcliff. “What devilry do you think that hussy is about?”

  Glancing toward the center of the ballroom where Miss Sherwood was being twirled about by Rutgers, Radcliff replied in a bored tone, “At the moment, dancing.”

  “She means to insult us further!”

  Following her uncle’s gaze, Juliana thought aloud, “She looks quite regal.”

  Radcliff had to agree with Juliana. He had always found that Darcy carried herself with a dignity he had initially interpreted as aloofness, but tonight, perhaps in defiance to all those who would shun her, she walked with an aura of majesty as if she, and not the others, deserved to be here. Only once or twice did he glimpse uncertainty in her eyes.

  The first instance was when she faltered in the quadrille. He had noticed no one dared approach her for the first few dance sets and had been tempted himself to ask her for a dance. But he wanted to observe her from afar and determine what her motivation might have been in coming. Was there truth to Anne’s concerns?

  It was Lord Pinkerton who shocked his guests and paved the way by being the first to ask Darcy for a dance. Darcy had appeared content to simply watch the others dance, but she clearly could not refuse the host. Others followed with their requests.

  She was not the best of dancers, Radcliff noticed, and looked, at times, painfully out of practice. The waltz was the worse. She and her partner had to make their way to the outskirts of the masses flying by to collect their footing and regain their position in time to the music. Nonetheless, she remained throughout her movements, as Juliana noted, regal.

  Regal and provocative. Radcliff did not doubt that half the cocks in the room must have stirred upon seeing her. Even from halfway across the room, he could tell that the outline of her nipples were made visible by the way her dress—she might as well have been naked given the lightness of the material—clung to the contours of her body. His first impulse had been to approach her and cover her with his coat. It disturbed him that so much of her was on display for he had certainly not authorized this show. Her body belonged to him.

  “Well, Radcliff?” Anne asked. “What do you mean to do with that hussy?”

  Narrowing his eyes at his aunt’s imperial demand, Radcliff replied, “Ask her to dance.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  WHILE ANNE ATTEMPTED to digest if his words were in jest, Radcliff bowed to his cousin, and strode over to Darcy. He had had enough of watching other men with their hands upon her.

  “I should dearly like to give my feet a rest,” Darcy was saying to the assembly of men about her as she sat down next to Lady Worthley, who sat observing the spectacle while fanning herself. “And the waltz is clearly my weakest dance.”

  “It depends on your partner,” Radcliff interjected.

  She raised her eyebrows. He could not tell if she was pleased to see him or not.

  She shook her head. “No one can make me appear to dance the waltz well.”

  Ignoring the snickers, he held out his hand and returned, “Prove me wrong.”

  She looked at his hand and hesitated.

  “Miss Sherwood said that she means to rest a while,” one of the young men informed.

  Radcliff kept his stare trained on her until she met his gaze. It was not a request he had put to her but a command.

  With reluctance, she rose to her feet. “Very well. Care to make a wager of it, my lord?”

  Her last two words wrenched his insides. He wanted no more than to sweep her off her feet and carry her someplace to ravish her.

  Brazen little tart, he thought to himself. Even as she submitted to him, she sought to have the upper hand.

  “A hundred guineas,” Radcliff proposed. Knowing full well she could not afford such a price, he added, “in exchange for two dances.”

  She smiled in triumph. “Done. You part with your money too easily, Baron.”

  “Who will judge the winner?” one of the young men asked.

  Radcliff stared hard at Darcy. “Anyone you please, Miss Sherwood.”

  His confidence jolted her. She could easily have selected from the eager men who would have liked nothing less than to see Radcliff fail, but her sense of fair play compelled her to turn to Lady Worthley.

  The woman’s gaze landed on Radcliff, and he felt a strong sense of disapproval from those mature eyes.

  “Very well,” Lady Worthley assented. “You best be off for the music has begun.”

  He led Darcy to the dance floor and encircled her waist without ceremony. She would see that she belonged in his arms and his alone.

  She resisted when he pulled her body close enough to his that her nipples grazed his chest.

  “Surely this is not an effective position?” she hissed.

  “On the contrary, the closer you are to me, the less likely you will step on my feet as you did with the poor lad you danced the first waltz with,” he explained. “Step back on your right foot when we start.”

  Before she had time to respond, he stepped towards her and swept her into the stream of dancers moving clock-wise about the ballroom. The waltz was a difficult dance with women who turned into pudding in a man’s arms, but Darcy’s rigid frame allowed him to maneuver her easily about the floor.

  “Keep your eye to me and not your feet,” he instructed, wanting her to relax and relinquish control. “Trust me.”

  To his surprise, she agreed. Her steps became more fluid and a small smile spread across her face as she began to enjoy the dance. Radcliff smiled in return. The music ended all too soon for him. He did not want to release her from his arms.

  “Well, my dears,” greeted Lady Worthley when Radcliff had escorted Darcy back to her seat, “this was no easy task you gave me, but I fear, Miss Sherwood, that you owe the Baron two dances.”

  “Those dances will have to wait,” a voice said behind him, “for he is promised to me for a few sets.”

  Penelope. He felt a possessive hand upon his arm as he turned to his mistress, whom he had near forgotten was even here.

  “I beg your pardon for having eluded you the entire evening thus far,” Penelope said. “I simply had too many friends to visit with before I could contemplate dancing, but now that I have dispensed of my duties, I am quite at your disposal for the rest of the night.”

  Radcliff bit back and retort and turned back to Miss Sherwood.

  But she was gone.

  *****

  “How charitable of you to ask her to dance,” Penelope said.

  Radcliff barely heard her words as he scanned the crowd and spotted Darcy leaving the ballroom with Lod Wyndham. Why was she always in that man’s company?

  “But I think it time you bestow some of your generosity elsewhere,” Penelope continued. “It has been weeks since I saw you last—not since the day your aunt paid us a most unexpected visit. I recall we left some business unfinished?”

  “Do you mean to tell me that your other lover has not entertained you well enough?” Radcliff asked brusquely.
>
  She furrowed her brow into a frown.

  “I have known for some time, Penelope,” he revealed upon glimpsing the panic in her eyes.

  Penelope laughed nervously. “Well, we are peas in a pod, then? Only your tastes are a bit more peculiar. I could never be as free with my standards…Is it because she holds the deed to your cousin’s estate?”

  “I see that Cavin Richards is headed our way,” Radcliff noted as he disentangled her fingers from his arm. “I am sure he can satisfy your next dance set.”

  Leaving her to her lover, Radcliff headed in the direction where Darcy and Henry had disappeared. He had always suspected theirs might have been no mere friendship, despite what he had heard of Henry’s proclivities. There were certainly those who went with either sex.

  The evening being warm, there were many guests who had taken themselves into the dimly lit but well manicured garden. It was a source of pride for Lord Pinkerton, who had imported flora from all parts of the world and retained the garden maze that had been all the rage in the last century. The discreet couples ambled near the steps in plain view of their chaperones. The more mischievous couples ventured into the maze.

  Radcliff headed to the maze.

  Lord Pinkerton once boasted it could take a novice days to find his or her way out of the intricate shrub-lined alleys, but delights in the form of statues, fountains, and benches greeted almost every turn and dead-end. Radcliff knew his way about only after having spent countless hours in the maze since childhood.

  After first encountering one couple giggling behind a bush and another in a quarrel, Radcliff rounded a secluded corner and found Darcy sitting by herself on a bench. She was gazing up at the sky with her back to him. In this part of the maze, only the light of the moon and stars served as illumination. A small breeze moved the faint tendrils of hair at the base of her neck. He was almost reluctant to disturb her peace.

  “I hope you did not think you could escape payment?” he asked quietly. “You owe me two dances.”

  “I never welch on a debt, Baron,” she responded without turning around.

  He approached her bench. “Where is the future Earl of Brent?”

  She shrugged. “In the garden somewhere. What is your interest in him?”

  Radcliff pressed his lips together. Her nonchalance was maddening.

  “None at all,” he replied, “only that I find his manners wanting for leaving a young woman alone in a dark garden.”

  “Henry and I have been friends since we were children,” she said, finally turning to look at him. “He knows that I can fend for myself. I am no helpless maiden.”

  “Only friends?” Radcliff could not contain the jealousy that crept into his tone.

  “Henry was one of the few who cared to be in my company.”

  The warmth with which she clearly regarded the Viscount both softened Radcliff’s feelings toward Henry and enflamed his jealousy. The young man’s companionship with Darcy was still far too cozy for comfort.

  He sat down next to her on the marble bench, facing the opposite direction. Even with all the flowers in bloom, he could smell the light musk of her perfume. He would have preferred she wore no scent at all for he favored her natural fragrance.

  “Still, he should not have left you,” Radcliff maintained as he leaned towards her and said in a low voice. “A man could easily come upon you with intents of mischief.”

  She looked at him with a playful smile. “But then I should scream so that all in the garden would hear me.”

  Radcliff wrapped a hand about her neck, unable to resist the lure of her. “And by the time anyone could work their way through the maze to aid you, the crime would already have been committed and the assailant fled.”

  With his thumb, he tilted her chin up towards him. Her eyes seemed to have captured the stars and sparkled their light at him through the darkness.

  “What sort of man would have such wicked intentions?” she asked.

  “The simplest of men. You look far too ravishing not to be noticed.”

  He could wait no longer and crushed his lips on top of hers, pulling her to him. It had been too long since last he tasted her. In their days away, any idle moment was filled with thoughts of her. It was as if his desire for her was even greater in absence.

  He thought he heard her sigh as he devoured her with his mouth. She gave a muffled protest at his vigor. He wanted to be gentle, but his hunger for her was too great. She could not tease him with her sensuous attire or by dancing with all those other men and not expect him to claim her in any way his body dictated.

  He leaned her back onto the cold marble of the bench and pushed the feeble fabric of her gown down to suckle her breast. The nipple hardened instantly for him. He groped the other breast with his hand and heard her moan. His desire pressed against his pants, seeking to mate with her. Having gone days without her, he feared he would not be able to last long if he did not take her soon.

  His hand found the hem of her dress and he followed her leg up towards her womanhood. She was wet. So deliciously wet.

  After teasing her clitoris until her breath became an uneasy pant, he pushed himself off her to remove his coat. He would have preferred to remove his cravat and shirt if he could, but it would take too long to reassemble his attire.

  With her head hanging off the marble bench, her back arched, and one knee pointed towards the sky, Darcy looked like a virginal sacrifice in a pagan ritual. He pressed his mouth into the stretch of her neck and then down into the crevice of her collarbone. He had already pulled his eager erection from his pants and positioned himself on top of her.

  He plunged into her, and the bliss that greeted him was like the first taste of food for someone who had been fasting a fortnight. He was meant to be here. With her. In her softness, her wetness, her warmth.

  The sound of voices startled her and she raised her head to look at him with nervous eyes.

  “We will be discovered here,” she whispered and attempted to push him off her.

  “Unlikely,” he responded without moving. “This is no easy part of the maze to reach. I wonder how you managed to discover it.”

  “Yes, if I can find it, then others may as well.” Again, she tried to free herself from under him.

  “Then let them.” He stroked in and out of her.

  She glared at him. “That may be well for you, but I have no intention of insulting our hosts, especially given that I had not formally received an invitation.”

  “Then why did you come?” he asked in earnest.

  She smiled wryly. “Your mistress advised me that it was an event not to be missed.”

  For a moment, Radcliff paused. So Penelope had been to see Darcy. He should not have been surprised. Perhaps he should have ended his relationship with Lady Robbins as he had thought to do many times before he had even met Darcy.

  “What else did she advise you?”

  “I ought not betray a confidence shared in sisterhood.”

  He could not tell if she was being coy or truthful. He thought he detected a hurt tone, and her renewed struggles seemed almost angry.

  “Let me go,” she demanded.

  “No,” he refused and moved once more against her in a motion that enabled his arousal to graze the bottom of her engorged pleasure bud. “I have been without you for days and as sure as hell have no intention of stopping now.”

  Letting out a cry of frustration, she hit him on the upper arm and strained against his chest. The wriggling of her body beneath his only served to arouse him more. Grabbing her wrists in one hand, he locked them underneath her head and thrust further into her. He bucked his hips against hers until he could no longer tell if she writhed in protest or pleasure.

  Her moaning signaled that her resistance had been replaced with desire. She cried out in ecstasy this time, her body shuddering against his. Only then did Radcliff give in to his own climactic end. Grunting low, he shoved himself into her, spilling his seed deep in her womb in what felt
like a dozen waves.

  He felt like collapsing atop her but knew that her neck and arms must have been sore from her precarious position. He gently pulled her on top of him to the ground and allowed her to rest her head upon his chest. Her eyes were closed and her breath had returned to a more moderate rhythm. Both the feel and sound of her breathing had a calming effect on him, and he felt a tremendous sense of peace.

  As he massaged the back of her neck and stared up into the night sky, he wondered if he could ever let her go.

  *****

  Radcliff helped Darcy fix her gown and her hair so that only the most detailed scrutiny would tell that she had been mussed. Women always bore the greater vestige of coupling, and as he gently cleansed her thighs at the fountain, he felt desire stirring once more. He held back the urge to undo all their efforts and take her again.

  “You still owe me two dances,” he told her after he had led them out of the maze, marveling at how much more beautiful she looked after being ravished.

  “You never said they had to be tonight,” she returned playfully.

  “Was it not your intention to see me humiliated?”

  The words had no sooner left his mouth before he wished he could retract them.

  Her eyes were unreadable, but she removed her hand from his and said curtly, “Consider yourself granted a reprieve, Baron.”

  She returned to the ballroom, leaving Radcliff to curse to himself. He had not meant what he said. True, it had been her purpose to provide him a set-down, but he could have chosen better words. Surely she could see that he could have avoided her the entire evening but chose not only to speak to her but to dance with her—and with the knowledge that he would not only set tongues wagging but had effectively invited upon himself the horrified lamentations of his aunt Anne.

  “Quite an engaging creature, I must say,” Lord Pinkerton pronounced as he came up behind Radcliff. “Although I can’t say I agree with Lady Worthley’s contrivance, it is a shame that Miss Sherwood should have been hiding from us all this time.”