by Cheryl Holt
Something was bothering Caroline, and Britannia was sick of her moods and sass. One moment, she’d be smiling and happy, another miserable and morose. Had she heard the rumors about Edward? Was she reconsidering?
Caroline climbed in and settled herself, but she continued to peek out the curtain.
“Mother?”
“Yes?”
“Does Father have a … a … mistress?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But what am I to think?”
“It wasn’t the Earl!”
“Who was that girl with him?”
“Be silent!”
“But—”
“I don’t have to sit here and listen to your rude insinuations.” She started to tremble, her wrath bubbling up like soup in a pot. “If you mention the topic again, I shall slap your mouth.”
The threat was sufficient. Caroline’s curiosity was retracted and refocused inside the coach.
After a painful interval, she insolently inquired, “Do you ever regret marrying Father?”
“What a ludicrous question. Of course I don’t.”
“Are you satisfied with your life?”
“I’m perfectly content.” Her face was so brittle, she was amazed it didn’t crack.
Out of the blue, Caroline said, “I don’t want to marry Mr. Shelton.”
“So? No woman ever wants the man who is selected for her. You’ll grow to tolerate him.”
“I can’t go through with it. Would you speak to Father?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“I can’t do it.”
“Your wishes have no bearing on the situation.”
“Why can’t I have an opinion? I’m the one who will have to live with him. Not you. I’ve heard terrible stories.”
“They’re not true.”
“How can you say that when I haven’t told you what they are?”
“It doesn’t matter what they are.”
Caroline studied her as if seeing her for the very first time, and in the worst display of sentiment, tears welled into her eyes.
“You don’t care about me, do you?” Caroline accused.
“Don’t be absurd. I’m your mother.”
“You don’t like me; you never have.”
Britannia glared, her patience exhausted. If Caroline was determined to drag them into a mire, then Britannia would oblige her. As calmly as if they were discussing the weather, she replied, “No, I don’t. Not really.”
“Why not? Am I so unlovable?”
“You were a difficult child, Caroline.”
“How? How was I difficult? I did everything you ever asked. For years, at your insistence, I pursued my fruitless betrothal to Wakefield, and now, I’ve accepted this odious arrangement with Mr. Shelton, and I never once objected.”
“Do you assume that makes you a saint?”
“Yes, that’s precisely how I feel: Saint Caroline. I’m about to be sacrificed at the altar of your peculiar whim. You seem so bent on my marrying Mr. Shelton. Why are you?”
“Your father has decided on it.”
“You and Father were arguing one day. He said he’s weary of supporting me. Was he serious?”
“What do you suppose?”
“Was he?” Caroline pressed.
“Yes.”
“If I backed out of my betrothal, would you let me continue residing with you?”
“No. I’d cast you out. You’d be disgraced, shunned by the entire world.”
“I don’t want to end up like you,” she rudely pronounced. “I’ll speak with Father, myself, about canceling the engagement.”
“Yes, by all means,” Britannia sneered. “Talk to him. Boast of how recalcitrant and ungrateful you’ve become. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to have you tell him all about it.”
“He’s fond of me.”
“Is he?”
“He’ll listen.”
“No, he won’t. He’s a selfish man—the most selfish I’ve ever known. You’re naught but a bother to him, and if you presume differently, then you’re a fool.”
Declining to quarrel further, Britannia shut her eyes, pretending to doze, though her reflections were in turmoil.
Caroline had to marry Edward. There was no other choice.
All those years ago, when Edward had seduced Britannia, she’d believed his lies and had yielded to him, but he’d acted with malicious intent. At the liaison’s conclusion, he’d waltzed away without a second thought, and Britannia had been left to suffer the consequences of his feigned regard—for twenty-five years!—while he’d suffered no consequences for his wicked deed, at all.
Well, revenge was a hearty meal, and Britannia had waited forever to dine on her feast of vengeance. With her scheme so close to fruition, she wouldn’t be denied the chance to use Caroline to extract punishment. She had to see the expression on Edward’s face when she informed him of what he’d actually done by marrying the girl who’d always been there—right under his nose.
Caroline would be his bride—whether she wished it or not—and if she was getting cold feet, it was time to move things forward. The wedding date wasn’t set in stone, and perhaps it would be wise to hold it even sooner.
She nodded with satisfaction. Caroline would be wed before she knew it, and in the interim, Britannia would watch her like a hawk. The child was spewing strange ideas, and Britannia had to discover why.
Nothing and no one could be allowed to interfere with Britannia’s plan.
* * *
“Good-bye, darling.”
“Good-bye.”
“You’ll talk to her, won’t you?”
“The moment I arrive home.”
Bernard smiled at Georgette, his latest in a long line of infatuations. He’d been in love so often, with so many pretty girls, but for some reason, she’d captured his fancy in a way none of the others had.
He didn’t understand why he was so obsessed with her. He’d bribed her with gifts and courted her like an attentive swain, but she wouldn’t succumb to his advances, and the more she resisted, the more he desired her. She was like a grand prize, being dangled just out of reach.
She was petite and slender, a waiflike creature, with beautiful brown hair and big brown eyes. She made him feel manly and strong, capable and indispensable to her happiness. When she gazed up at him, as she was now, looking innocent and adorable, so in need of his help and protection, it was difficult to refuse her anything.
“If you don’t get the divorce arranged,” she mentioned, “I’m not certain my mother will let you keep visiting.”
“Why not?” The old bat was constantly hovering, so there could be no impropriety.
“She claims gossip is spreading.”
The notion infuriated him. Why couldn’t people mind their own business? His peccadilloes were his own private affair.
“What is being said?”
“Well, that you aren’t sincere in your affection.”
“Of course I’m sincere. How can you doubt me?”
“I don’t! But Mother is afraid that you’ll tire of me, and after you go, my reputation will be ruined. I won’t be able to show myself in Polite Society ever again.”
“I’ll take steps to begin the legal proceedings at once.”
Her grin lit up the room. “Do you promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
She threw her arms around his neck and gave him the sweetest peck on the lips. At having her slim, tiny body crushed to his, he pulled her nearer and deepened the kiss, his hands roving over her, his lust instantly out of control.
She submitted until he grazed her breast; then, breathless and overcome, she yanked away.
“Please, Lord Derby,” she protested, “you know I can’t.”
“I know. Forgive me.”
“It’s torture, having to wait and wait for you to be free. I can’t bear it.”
“I can’t, either. I’ll speak to the
Countess again.”
“Will you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re too kind to me.”
“And I’ll be even kinder in the future.” He gave her a parting, fatherly kiss on the forehead. “Now I must be off.”
“Will you be by tomorrow?”
“Most definitely.”
She escorted him to the door, waving merrily from the stoop till he was out of sight. The second he could no longer see her, he started missing her.
He couldn’t go on as he was. Georgie was so vivacious and fun, and she made him feel twenty years old, like a young buck on the prowl. His world was all boring duty, all tedium and monotony, but when he was with her, he forgot his responsibilities.
He couldn’t abide the thought of returning home, of sitting through another stuffy supper with Britannia. She’d be nagging. Caroline would be glaring at him, bitter over her pending nuptials. Adam—who’d discovered Bernard’s passion for Georgie—would be piously reproachful of Bernard’s late arrival.
He wanted to be separate and on his own. He would give the management of the estates over to his attorneys. Then he’d send Adam abroad so he didn’t have to observe his surly face. He’d hurry Caroline’s wedding to Edward, and he’d divorce Britannia.
There would be no one to interfere, no one to chastise or condemn. He and Georgie would be together at last!
* * *
“Is he gone?”
“Yes, thank the Lord.”
Shaking with relief, Miss Georgette Lane walked to the sideboard and downed three quick brandies, indulging her tendency to over-imbibe; then she went to the foot of the stairs as her mother, Maude, plodded down.
“I didn’t think he’d ever leave,” Maude muttered.
“Neither did I.”
“Did he bestow any trinkets?”
“Not today.”
“But you were with him all afternoon!”
“I know.”
“Cheap bastard.”
“No, he’s not.”
Georgie defended him by holding up her hand to display two of the rings she’d received prior, but her mother wasn’t impressed. Whatever Lord Derby opted to give, greedy Maude whined that it should have been more.
It had been Maude’s idea to split off from their traveling troupe, to try to make a new start—through swindle and vice—in London. How could they have guessed that Lord Derby would present himself as such an easy mark? And so fast, too!
Georgie was weary of the entire wicked charade.
“I suppose he felt at liberty to fondle and poke, though,” Maude complained.
“Doesn’t he always?”
“You didn’t let him do anything relevant, did you?”
“No. He touched my breast; then I acted all panicky and made him stop.”
“You’re the most convincing virgin.”
“That’s what he presumes I am.”
“Keep it that way.”
“I’m trying my best.”
Georgie hated her part in their scheme, but was willing to persist all the same. Ages ago, she could have yielded and become his mistress, but Maude had done a thorough investigation of the perverted codger. He was a fickle fellow, whose attention was prone to wandering. The trick was to keep him coming back, to keep the gifts and promises flowing. If she could snag Derby, the rewards would be indescribable.
“I don’t understand men and their penchant for girls,” Maude was saying. “You’re so skinny, and your chest is so flat. He should just find himself a boy.”
“I don’t believe he’s partial to boys,” Georgie replied.
“What the hell is he looking for then?”
“You said it yourself: He wants to be young again. He assumes that having a youthful bride will change everything.”
“Stupid fool.”
Maude proceeded on into the parlor and poured herself a brandy, while Georgie stared out the window in the direction the Earl had gone.
Would he really shame his wife with a divorce? Would he break up his family, stun his friends, horrify his children? Would he do something so terrible—just for her?
It was the most preposterous notion imaginable, and the man was an idiot to even consider it.
“There ought to be a law,” she mumbled; then she went to join her mother for another stiff drink.
* * *
Edward Shelton climbed out of his carriage, his hat pulled low to shield his identity, and he scurried through the gate and was swallowed up behind a hedge. Since it was a dark night, and a disreputable section of town, the chances of his stumbling on an acquaintance were slim to none. Yet, a person couldn’t be too careful. His peers would ignore many bad habits, but not all of them.
He rapped on the door, using the secret knock the madam had devised, and immediately he was ushered to a private salon.
With his wedding to Caroline only a few weeks away, his lust was at a fevered pitch. There were so many things he wanted to do to her, so many things he wanted to teach her, and his fantasies were driving him wild with anticipation.
He was still furious that she’d evaded him when she was small. With her big blue eyes and silky blond hair, she’d been like a perfect, porcelain doll. Throughout her childhood, he’d tried to steal a brief grope or kiss without her parents knowing, but he’d never been able to lure her away.
Though it was aberrant and foul, the undeveloped female body excited him. His whole life he’d grappled with the scurrilous urges, but they were too powerful to fight, and he’d ceased his struggles to control them.
Caroline was much more mature than he liked, but she would—if he was lucky—birth many, many daughters who resembled her, and he’d have them in his home and available to enchant him for decades to come.
Everything had the most wonderful way of working out for the best!
The madam appeared. She was a malodorous, buxom woman, whom he couldn’t abide, but she knew her business. Nothing surprised or shocked her, not even his most depraved requests.
“What’ll it be, sir?” she queried.
“I’d like a tiny girl, with rosy cheeks and rosy lips—like a little doll. I want the youngest you have in the house, but she shouldn’t be too experienced. I want to scare her a bit.”
“I think I have someone you’ll enjoy very much,” the woman said without hesitating.
Edward handed over a purse full of money, and the woman hurried off to fetch the child of his dreams.
* * *
“I have to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Ian snapped at Jack.
“It’s a confession.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
Ian was reeling from the prior night’s encounters. Too much had transpired in too short a time. He’d finally bumped into John, but he’d been too much of a coward to walk over and offer the apology that was owed, or beg for the forgiveness that was craved.
He’d met Caro’s family at the theater and had allowed her mother to hurl public insults. The altercation had tossed him into an abyss of despair, and for hours he’d hovered outside Derby’s mansion, in the rain and the wind. He’d wrongly entered Caro’s bedchamber and dallied with her till dawn, sneaking out after the cock had crowed.
He felt drained and confused. He hadn’t slept a wink, was grumpy and exhausted, and the last thing he wanted to do was have a philosophical chat with Jack.
“Can’t it wait?” he asked.
“No. I should have spoken up days ago.”
“Very well. Sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Sit!” Ian gestured to the chair opposite. “I’m not about to strain my neck glaring up at you while you blather on and on.”
“All right, if you feel I must.”
“You must.”
Jack plopped down, and he stared at the floor, unable to begin.
He seemed very young, very unsure. He carried himself so well, was so reliable and courteous, that Ian frequently forgot h
is true age. Just then, he looked so much like John, so much like the captivating, insolent rascal who’d gotten himself into so many jams and who’d always come to Ian for advice and assistance.
Ian couldn’t remain angry, and his ire faded.
“What is it?” Ian repeated more gently.
Jack hemmed and hawed, then admitted, “I had sex with Rebecca.”
“You what?”
“I … I … had sex with Rebecca.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I didn’t mean to. It just … just happened.”
“How does sex just happen?”
“It was sort of an … an … accident.”
Ian wanted to laugh, but didn’t. He wasn’t positive what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t anything close to this. He was very still, studying the boy, trying to figure out how he should react.
He wasn’t upset—when he probably should have been. He wasn’t hurt—when he probably should have been. He didn’t feel betrayed or let down, so what should be his response?
He and Rebecca had a different relationship that was incomprehensible to others. They were both on a reckless course, circumstances causing them to behave badly, so they were a good match. They understood each other. Neither condemned the other for lapses in judgment, just as neither hoped for improved conduct. They were friends; they were cordial; they were excellent together in bed.
“Jack,” he started, “Rebecca is my mistress.”
“I know; I know.”
“She and I have an arrangement.”
“I know that, too.”
“Yet you proceeded anyway.”
“Yes.” He peeked up. “I realize that this is where I’m supposed to apologize, but I’m not sorry.”
“You’re not?”
“Well, I’m sorry that I deceived you, but I’m not sorry for what I did with her. I liked it very much, and I won’t lie to you.”
“I see.”
“It was actually quite spectacular,” he muttered.
“I don’t need any details, Jack. I’ve fornicated with Rebecca on many occasions. I’m aware of her numerous charms.”
Ian sighed. For the life of him, he couldn’t decide what was best. He couldn’t have his brother copulating with his mistress, yet he didn’t want to be shed of either of them. It was difficult to acquire a suitable paramour, and he wasn’t in the mood to search for a new one. Obviously, a brother was irreplaceable.