Ripe for Pleasure

by Isobel Carr

The mail coach rocked precariously. Charles winced as the scrawny woman beside him dug her elbow into his bruised ribs as she flailed to retain her seat. The wound Leo’s bullet had left was a fiery, throbbing reminder to stick to his purpose. A string of startled oaths erupted from the rooftop passengers, and the same tiresome woman clapped her hands over her ears, pressing the black silk of her bonnet hard against them.

  News of his cousin’s betrothal had reached him via the dowager, precipitating this uncomfortable and harried trip north. He’d always thought Leo a fool, but this was beyond anything. Bad enough that his cousin had been spoiled and indulged until he believed the universe centered entirely upon him, but now he was set to besmirch his family name by bestowing it upon a whore.

  That the duke and duchess would allow such a thing was beyond reason, beyond understanding. At least Lady Glennalmond had fully partaken of his horror. Never before had he felt the slightest bit of sympathy with her, but in this, they were of one mind: The wedding had to be stopped.

  She’d paid his passage on the mail, ensuring that he would arrive before the dowager, upon whom the wedding ceremony waited. He’d promised to unite his voice with Glennalmond’s in protest. To talk sense into Leonidas. To do whatever it took to see that the wedding didn’t happen.

  The coach swayed wildly again, another chorus of oaths bursting forth from the roof. Charles smiled at the discomfiture of his fellow passengers. Especially the spindly governess who continually poked and prodded him with every bony joint in her body.

  Did Augusta know to what lengths he was willing to go to ensure that Leo didn’t have his way this time? He had an inkling that she might. She’d been quite emphatic about preventing the wedding and had laid the entire dilemma at Beau’s door, blaming her for running off and alerting her brother before the duchess had time to get Mrs. Whedon safely out of the country.

  And she was right. Something had to be done about Beau as well. She was entirely too cocksure for her own good, a terrible hoyden who’d bring nothing but shame to her family. Rather like Leonidas, when one thought about it.

  And there was still the matter of the prince’s treasure to sort out as well. Charles bent his head to one side, his neck popping audibly as he stretched. Yes, he and his cousin were due for a serious reckoning, and Leo was going to pay in full for all the trouble he’d caused.

  • • •

  Viola held her breath as the low rumble of a distant argument erupted into full-blown shouting. The modieste brought in from Edinburgh to make her wedding gown was frozen in position, lips pinched closed on her pins, fingers holding the silvery drugget to Viola’s corseted torso. The heat of her fingers leaked through the layers of fabric. The gentle pressure threatened to send Viola tumbling over.

  The duchess and Lady Boudicea were staring at each other, tension evident in their shoulders and necks. The sound of a door slamming caused everyone to jump. The shouting continued, growing louder, angrier.

  “Glennalmond is an ass.” Lady Beau’s voice broke the silence, and Viola gasped for air. The modieste tsked and set a pin.

  “Whether it’s true or not, dearest,” the duchess said with a wry tone, “it’s rude to call your eldest brother an ass. Leave such remarks to Leonidas.”

  Lady Boudicea rolled her eyes and Viola gave her a weak smile. The brothers had been at each other’s throats for days. It was enough to make Viola wish she’d never agreed to postpone the wedding until Leo’s grandmother could be fetched from London.

  “Lord Glennalmond has a right to his opinion,” Viola said.

  “No, he doesn’t,” the duchess said with a hint of asperity. She closed the ladies’ magazine she’d been idly perusing and tossed it onto the table beside her. “He has an obligation to accept his father’s authority and to support his decision.”

  “And if His Grace were to decide he’d had enough of this nonsense and sent me on my way? Would Lord Leonidas also have an obligation to accept his father’s authority and decision?” Viola asked.

  The duchess made a rude sound, blowing air out her nose in a little huff. “Yes,” she answered plainly. “Though I doubt very much that he would.”

  “So they’re too similar for their own good?”

  “If only they were. No, my dear, they’re as dissimilar as brothers can be, aside from being stubborn, which comes of being Scottish and entirely too sure of their place in the world.”

  “Which comes from being the sons of a duke,” Viola said baldly.

  A trill of laughter erupted from the duchess. “Yes, I rather think you understand perfectly. It’s rare that either of them sets their will against the duke’s, however.”

  Viola caught both lips between her teeth. Yes, she understood whom she was marrying. Did Lord Leonidas? If his brother wouldn’t bend, wouldn’t accept her, could he live with that estrangement? Could their marriage survive it?

  “Stop worrying about Glennalmond,” Beau said. “Rosy pictures of family harmony aside, they’ve never been close. Charles was the bigger loss. To all of us.”

  “Beau!”

  “Mamma!” Lady Boudicea parroted back. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. And you know it is. If Leo’d brought home an heiress, Glennalmond would have said she had a squint. If he’d brought home a diamond of the first water, Glennalmond would have found fault with her dowry. He’s contrary and prickly and downright impossible most of the time.”

  “And he’s your brother.”

  “I’m well aware of that fact, and I love him—don’t think for a minute I don’t—but half the time I’m not sure he loves me. And so, Mrs. Whedon, please don’t take his tantrum to heart. When the deed is done and you’re Lady Leonidas, he’ll come round. I promise.”

  “I’m not sure I have any right to hope or expect that he will. He’s not wrong. I am a very poor bargain for his brother in the eyes of the world.”

  “This isn’t about what the world thinks.” The duchess fixed them both with a steely eye. “This is about family. Glennalmond will come round, because, however put out he might be at the moment, eventually he’ll remember that family comes first.”

  “Either that or Leo will beat some sense into him,” Lady Boudicea said in entirely too cheerful a tone.

  CHAPTER 34

  Languid as a cat, Viola stretched beside Leo till her extremities quivered. She made a happy, contented sound and pillowed her head upon his chest, damp skin to damp skin. Leo wrapped one arm around her and twisted one dangling curl around his index finger. Her hair never ceased to amaze him. It was pointless to even resist the urge to touch it, the almost constant need to touch her.

  He’d been a bastion of self-denial since his arrival and kept to his own rooms each night. Had kept his hands—and everything else—to himself, doing a fair imitation of a proper affianced gentleman. It had gone smoothly enough until Viola had crept into his room an hour or so ago.

  He traced the shell of her ear with a curl-wrapped finger. “My mother says I shouldn’t ask about your first marriage or your refusal to invite your parents to bear witness to ours.”

  “And so you find you can’t stop yourself.”

  He chuckled, and she pulled away slightly, attempting to sit up. He kept his hold on her hair, and she swiveled about to face him.

  “Do you mind my asking?”

  “No.” Her finger circled on his chest, tracing an invisible pattern. “But I’m not certain you’ll like—or even understand—the answer.”

  “To not even write to tell them. It seems—”

  “Unnatural?” she asked. “My parents never answered a single letter after I eloped. I’d shamed them, disobeyed them. I put myself outside their circle of responsibility, beyond their ability to love. You look horrified. Don’t be. Ours wasn’t a warm family to begin with.”

  “Was he so unworthy, your first husband?”

  She laughed, but her eyes were bleak. “I was the unworthy one, not Stephen. He was the son and heir of a baronet, but his parents disapproved, and
my father was dependent upon Sir Henry for his living. ‘The life of a vicar is a hard one, full of denial and piety. We should all know our place in the world and be grateful for it. Seeking to exalt ourselves is defiance of God’s plan for us.’ ”

  The bitter tone of what were undoubtedly family maxims turned his stomach. “And you dared to be ungrateful for what your father thought God’s plan?”

  “Well, I dared to believe that God helps those who help themselves, and that Stephen loving me might also fall within God’s plan.”

  “Heresy, clearly. For who could possibly love you?” He ran one finger down the side of her face.

  She bit his hand hard enough to sting, the smile lurking in the corner of her mouth attempting to work its way up to her eyes. He rubbed at the mark she’d left.

  “Defiance was my crime. My sin.”

  “Hence your defense of Glennalmond.” When his mother had told him, Leo had known some such thing must be at its core.

  “I can’t stand for there to be discord between the two of you on my account. It’s not worth it.”

  “There you’re wrong. You are worth it. My brother will come round. See if he doesn’t. He’ll be at the church, Friday-faced as a wet cat perhaps, but there all the same.”

  “Under duress.”

  “No, Father told him to take himself off if he couldn’t behave. The only compunction to appear is love. My brother may not like me very much, but that’s not what matters.”

  “Well, then, you’re far luckier in your family than I.”

  Leo nodded again, anger flushing through his veins. Whatever her failings, she’d deserved better from her family, and she deserved better from his brother. Glennalmond couldn’t see past the “what” to the “who.” Of course, he had much the same problem with his own wife.

  “And your husband’s family?”

  Viola snorted and shook her head. “They blamed me when Stephen died. It was my fault for forcing the estrangement. My fault for taking him away from them. My fault he’d contracted scarlet fever. My fault our child had as well.”

  He didn’t realize she was crying until a sudden smattering of tears traced their way across his skin. “Here now, love.” He sat up and wiped his thumbs across her cheeks. She shook her head violently, hair flying, cutting him off. His mother had mentioned the death of her husband, but not that she’d had a child as well.

  “They were enraged that I had the temerity to live, useless and unnecessary as I was,” she said, her voice gruff.

  “And your own parents?”

  “Sent a letter along much to the same effect.” She wiped at her eyes and pushed her hair back. “My own vile conduct had landed me where I was, and their death was a judgment upon me. If it hadn’t been for my husband’s best friend, I’d have ended up in the workhouse.”

  Leo held his breath, stifling the urge to comment. He might be a scoundrel who’d seduced his way into her bed for money, but he’d never betrayed a friendship as that gentleman had. No, not gentleman. He didn’t deserve the title.

  “Perhaps I should have done better by him.” Her breath shuddered out of her.

  “You?” He couldn’t keep the indignant note out of his voice.

  “Yes, me. I was alone in the world, save for poor William, and I clung to him quite tenaciously. You can’t possibly understand what it was like to be a penniless widow at seventeen.”

  “I’d guess it was terrifying.” And unfair. It was probably a good thing she hadn’t invited her parents because he wasn’t entirely sure he could be civil to them.

  “At first, it was just bewildering, but William took care of everything.” Her expression softened. Jealousy twisted in his gut like a bad supper. Ridiculous, but there all the same.

  “And misery loves company.”

  “Yes, I rather think it does. And we were miserable, the pair of us. We were miserable friends for nearly a year before we became equally miserable lovers for a few short months.”

  “And then?”

  She shrugged. “One day I woke up and just knew that if I didn’t find a way out, I’d end up flinging myself into the Thames. I missed Stephen. I missed our child. And though I was past wishing I died with them, I couldn’t let them go while William was there to remind me of them. Luckily, a way out promptly presented itself in the form of one Lord Doneraile. William was appalled—that was the first inkling I had that he hadn’t thought out what we were doing any further than I had—but he was relieved, I think, in the end. He’d become trapped every bit as much as I.”

  “So you’ve no regrets about your career as a courtesan?”

  “I might be brought to admit regret for its necessity, but given my options? No. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know any successful courtesan who does. Grace Dalrymple? Sophia Baddeley? Elizabeth Armistead? You’d find not an ounce of regret among them. And don’t forget, if my parents had taken me back, or I’d chosen the workhouse over my virtue, we’d never have met.”

  “Which would have been a very great shame indeed.” He pulled her up and rolled her beneath him, pinioning her hands over her head.

  “I agree, my lord.”

  Leo kissed her hard. “In a few days’ time, I, too, will be able to tease you with your title and call you my lady, but for now, I’m of a mind to enjoy the thrill of having Mrs. Whedon in my bed. She’s above the touch of a second son like me, you know.”

  “Yes, so I’ve been told. But sometimes she, ah…” Viola gasped as his hand slid between her thighs. “She, ah, makes exceptions.”

  He slipped two fingers inside her and bent his head to tease her clitoris with his tongue. “Why would she do that?” He blew across her damp flesh, and then fastened his mouth over the sensitive peak.

  “Talent. Oh, God. The thrill of—oh, sweet—”

  And then she stopped talking entirely… unless repeating his name in all its various combinations counted.

  “You get everything, damn you.”

  Viola forced herself awake, pushed her hair from her eyes and struggled free of the bedding that tangled about her legs like a shroud. She knew that voice. Knew it and had hoped never to hear it again. Had been promised she’d never hear it again by no less a personage than the duke himself.

  “Charles, I’ve told you,” Leo said, “there’s nothing to get. The treasure is not there.”

  Charles’s laugh rattled about the room like a drunk. Viola reached over the side of the bed and fished frantically for her dressing gown. Naked was decidedly not how she wanted to encounter Leo’s cousin.

  “So you say, but if there’s no profit in it, why marry a whore?”

  An angry huff was Leo’s only response. Viola slid her arms into her dressing gown and closed it as best she could while still seated in bed. The two men were in the far corner of the room. MacDonald stood near the fireplace, rubbing his shoulder. Leo was beside him, his back to the bed, wearing only a pair of linen drawers.

  “The only reason for such insanity is that you may not have the treasure, but she does. Why else make a fool of yourself? Why sully the halls of Skelton with such an addition? Do you think I’m stupid, Cousin?”

  “No, Charles. I think you’re determined to see the worst in the world. The worst in me. The worst in Mrs. Whedon. The worst in Father even. And I think you’re so angry you don’t even understand that what you see are your own delusions.”

  “So now I’m mad, am I? And here I thought you were the madman in the family.”

  “What do you want, Charles?”

  “What do I want?” Anger and sarcasm dripped off his words, making Viola’s skin break out in gooseflesh. “Justice for my family. For the MacDonalds. A new beginning, for them and for me. The usurper’s German head on a spike, and our true king on the throne.” His voice rose until he was shouting. “What do I want, Cousin? I want what’s mine. I want what’s right.”

  “And you think I have it?” Leo spun about as Viola spoke. His cousin shot up from the windowsill, moonlight flashing
along the barrel of the small pistol he held in his hand. Viola’s stomach clenched. Why had she left Pen sleeping in her room? If she’d brought the dog along, none of this would be happening.

  “You must,” Charles said, “for I don’t, and Leo here wouldn’t have any reason to do something so vile as marry a doxy if there wasn’t some irresistible inducement to force him to the altar.”

  “And you think it’s the prince’s treasure.” Viola nodded, mind racing for options. Certainly his shouts must have woken someone by now.

  “Yes,” Charles spat out.

  “Why would I want to share it with your cousin? A younger son, who wants nothing so much as a life in the country surrounded by horses and dogs? Wouldn’t I be better off as a wealthy courtesan in some Continental capitol where these things are understood? Or as a wealthy widow with a new name in some Irish hinterland?”

  MacDonald made a strangled, inarticulate sound of pure rage. “No! Because you know I’d find you. You know I’d be coming for what’s mine. You need my cousin because he’s the only thing between you and me.”

  “So what do you want here, tonight?” Viola laced her voice with disdain. “Do you think I brought it with me in a strongbox? Or do you think your cousin is simply going to let you steal me—and it—right out from under his nose?” She advanced on them, keeping MacDonald’s attention locked firmly on her. “What’s your plan?”

  He was gawking at her now, shaking with rage. He cocked the gun and pointed it not at her, but at his cousin. “I think you’ll leave with me now, and I think you’ll do it because you don’t want to watch me shoot Leo. And I will. After all, it would only be fair, seeing as he’s already shot me.”

  Leo cleared his throat, and Viola cursed him under her breath. If she held his cousin’s attention, he just might be able to overpower him.

  “What if I told you where it was?” Leo said. “What if I took you to it?”

  “So you admit you have it. That it’s real. That you’ve been lying to me all this time.”

  Leo nodded, hair swinging about his shoulders. “You could leave tonight with directions and a letter for the footman who guards Mrs. Whedon’s house and the treasure.”