Dangerous Gentlemen

by Beverley Oakley

  “I thought you might like that,” he whispered as he gently rubbed the raised bud of her sex, his desire to please her evident as he experimented with different approaches to stirring her blood. “What about this? No? Then what about this?”

  His tongue circled her areola, flicking over her nipple and causing her to arch her back in pleasure. She cupped his face against her breasts, kissing his soft, dark hair and thinking this must be the closest to heaven she’d ever get, for she surely had lost her ticket there if being good and virtuous was a requirement.

  She didn’t care. She was never going to find happiness through marriage. Not when competing with a sister like Araminta.

  He was a considerate lover. She knew that, even though she had no one with whom to compare. After he’d fully aroused her, he undressed her carefully, admiring each piece of skin, each limb he uncovered, and when he had her completely naked he gazed at her appreciatively.

  “No one has ever looked at me like that,” she murmured, touching his cheek as he knelt to position himself at her entrance. He was huge and her insides churned with excitement and desire. She swallowed, watching the concentration on his face as he caged her with his lean, muscled body. “Plain Hetty is what they call me.” Though Wicked Hetty was a more apt moniker. She didn’t care. Her temperature had soared and her heart was pounding, sweat prickled her skin and she wriggled, parting her legs and pushing forward so that his shaft was suddenly buried within her.

  “Magnificent Hetty.” He exhaled on a groan before driving into her in a series of quick, eager thrusts that had them climaxing together within moments.

  He laughed when his breathing had subsided and he pulled her against him. “I usually last longer than that. What spell have you cast upon me, my marvelous work in progress? For I think you might have remained plain had you not fallen into my hands in the nick of time.”

  The kiss he planted on her lips was tender but within minutes he was ravishing her once more with double the enthusiasm of their previous proceedings.

  Later, in the quiet aftermath of their lovemaking, Hetty idly stroked his lean torso while he, misinterpreting her silence, said, “Have no fears. I shall instruct Madame Chambon to release you from your contract so that I might continue to enjoy you exclusively. I find you utterly charming and I want to keep you safe, my little Henrietta.” His look was thoughtful as he toyed with her right nipple, making her squirm. “At the first opportunity I shall call upon Madame Chambon and discharge my obligations to her. Then I shall install you in some charming bower so I can enjoy you whenever I wish.”

  The contemplation of such a scenario fortunately blinded him to her shocked response and by the time he returned his gaze to hers, she’d mastered herself. “Before you say a word, my enchanting Henrietta, let me repeat my assertion that I have no need to know why you chose this path, though I do not imagine it was something you embarked upon lightly—”

  Oh Lord. Yes, she’d chosen her path. By accident, it was true, but she’d been mistress of her destiny from the start. The astonishing sense of power she found in making her own decisions had propelled her onward. Whoever would have imagined Miss Henrietta Partington was capable of such boldness?

  “I don’t ever want to be with another man,” she whispered urgently and the idea that this would all come to a terrible finale brought tears to her eyes.

  He toyed with her hair as they lay curled in each other’s arms. “Truth be told, I’m too fond of you to see that happen…and I don’t want to share you.”

  Of course he was not asking her to marry him, he wanted her to be his mistress. But a man chose a mistress because he desired her.

  He chose a wife for dynastic reasons.

  “Madame Chambon is out of town until the end of next week,” Hetty managed weakly, hoping her lame response would give her the time she needed to extricate herself from the consequences of her lies.

  “Then as soon as she returns, I’ll arrange terms by which you’ll be entirely my responsibility. In fact, your wish is my desire. Tomorrow you shall accompany me in search of a townhouse where you shall have everything just as you like it.”

  He was eager to please her, which was delightful, however matters were proceeding rather too fast.

  “What is it?” he asked, concerned by her lack of enthusiasm.

  “I…I’ve heard men can discard their mistresses at any time. What…what security will I have?”

  There was uncertainty in his laugh. “I’m assuming innocence, not avarice, motivated your question.”

  Fortunately he seemed entirely mollified when she declared, “I told you I only ever want you!”

  “Just as I want only you. I do not offer my affections lightly, dear heart, but you have worked your way under my guard.”

  Pleasure washed through her before it was diluted by concern. “I’ve heard there’s a Miss Araminta Partington who has caught your eye. Perhaps you were thinking of marrying her.”

  Sir Aubrey laughed, shaking his head. “She’d eat me for breakfast. No, dearest Hetty, you are all I want and need.”

  “One day you will want an heir,” she said softly.

  He put his finger to her lips. “Now is not the time to talk of such things. Suffice to say that Miss Partington, while exceedingly beautiful, fails to amuse me as you do with your artless ways and your diverting conversation. Dear heart, I look forward to dining with you each night and hearing of your latest shopping exploits as much as I look forward to bedding you, for you would imbue both with wit and enthusiasm. Miss Partington, on the other hand, thinks only of her own amusement. I could not endure a wife like that.”

  Hetty had never been so happy. But she had mixed feelings when he added, “Sadly, darling Henrietta, you embody all the virtues I seek in a wife.” There was genuine regret in his expression before he feathered a line of kisses along her jawbone. “You do understand that I can never marry you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Fortune favored Hetty as she crept into the kitchen unobserved several hours later, for the sleepy boot boy had left the kitchen door open. The cook was not yet about and Hetty met none of the servants as she slipped into her bedchamber.

  Araminta, of course, was not awake, so Hetty was able to sink wearily into her bed, relieved her clandestine activities had once again gone unnoticed.

  Her last waking thought was that she wished she didn’t have to wait another two whole days before Jem could meet her. For her entire future hinged upon what was revealed in the letter he’d promised to show her.

  It seemed only five minutes had passed before Araminta was pulling her hair and saying in outraged tones, “No sleeping cap? How low your standards have fallen, Hetty.”

  Hetty braced herself for Araminta’s inevitable grilling before her sister sat heavily on the side of the bed, saying waspishly, “You and Cousin Stephen certainly had lots to talk about, despite your megrim. I heard the two of you in the study. I hope you don’t imagine he’ll consider making you an offer, for he’s already declared he will not marry his cousin.”

  Still groggy, Hetty murmured, “Like you, Araminta, I’m sure I won’t receive an offer in my first season.”

  Araminta ignored this, though the flare in her eyes indicated the jibe had not gone unheeded. She rose, saying airily, “Mama and I are going for a walk a little later and Papa is down from The Grange. He arrived when we were at Lady Kilmore’s and says he wants to see you. He was vastly put out you’d not made the effort to greet him at breakfast.”

  “I didn’t know he was here.”

  “Well, he’s taken it as a grave insult. Of course he knew not to expect me, since I was up so late, but you came home early and talked all night with Cousin Stephen.”

  Hetty raised her eyebrows, wondering who Cousin Stephen had been talking to, but she wasn’t about to tell her sister it wasn’t her. “I came home because the close air at Lady Kilmore’s made me ill.” Hetty glared at Araminta. “And maybe I still am. You didn’t trouble you
rself to inquire, Araminta, did you?”

  “Well…” Araminta had moved to sit at the dressing table by this time. Even after such a late night and in dishabille, which was a refashioned old gown of their mother’s and which of course she’d not be seen wearing in public, Araminta looked vibrant and exquisite. “Jane would have told us if there was anything to worry about. But you’re as hale and hearty as a dependable old donkey, Hetty. We’ve always said it.”

  The description had been given Hetty by a fond uncle many years ago and it still had the power to wound. He’d described Araminta as resembling a glossy, raven-coated, highly strung magnificent stallion and Hetty as the faithful donkey whose dependability made up for its unremarkable dung-colored hide. Oh, he’d meant it kindly, for his point was that he preferred dependability over uncertainty any day. Needless to say, Araminta had taken it as a compliment and was happy to bring it up in front of Hetty whenever the occasion arose.

  It was only the memory of Sir Aubrey’s disparaging remarks about Araminta the previous night and the fact he wanted exclusive rights to Hetty—even if it wasn’t in the form of a legal union—that enabled Hetty to crawl out of bed in a cloud of joy, despite her sister’s unkind reference.

  A joy short-lived, for as she put her shawl about her, Araminta, who was toying with her hair, announced, “Sir Aubrey has invited me to promenade with him this afternoon.” She sent Hetty a sly look from beneath her lashes as she twisted her neck, clearly interested in Hetty’s response, which was obviously transparent.

  Affecting a show of sympathy, Araminta reached over and patted her arm. “Poor Hetty, I know you’ve admired Sir Aubrey from afar and indeed I can see why but he’s never asked you to dance or paid his addresses in the ballroom, has he?” She placed several pairs of kidskin gloves on the dressing table and held out her hands to admire her long, elegant fingers. “I can’t imagine how dreadful it must be to be so plain that you’re ignored by the one gentleman you evince a desire to know. Or should I say the two, for perhaps you think Lord Debenham might be your consolation prize since you seem to know so much about him too.”

  With a sigh, she rose from the dressing table, adding with even greater self-absorption than usual, “I’ve been thinking…” She cupped her face with her hands as if her thoughts had plunged her onto the horns of a dilemma. “Do you think my sprigged muslin will do for my outing with Sir Aubrey or would you recommend my blue sarcenet? I’ve heard you say it sets off my coloring rather finely.”

  “I only said that when you’d not leave me alone without saying something flattering,” Hetty muttered.

  But Araminta wasn’t listening.

  “The sprigged muslin, I think,” she said as she wandered to the door. “It’s refreshingly modest at the same time as being highly modish.” She turned. “And I think it would be a nice idea if you popped your head in to see if Mama needs anything. You seem to have rather neglected her lately.”

  “Is she all right?” Hetty asked anxiously.

  Araminta shrugged. “She was fine when she went to bed last night so I can’t imagine anything’s changed. Now I must find Jane and ask her to see if my walking shoes have been cleaned. I shall be highly annoyed if they haven’t.”

  Hetty heaved a sigh of relief when Araminta left her to her own musings and ablutions.

  The excitement that had consumed her earlier became a weight of doubt and misery. Sir Aubrey had pledged to go walking with Araminta this afternoon? What sort of betrayal was that? Was he not supposed to be choosing a house today where he could visit her?

  The kernel of fear and doubt grew. By all that was great and good, how was she going to get around that one? Very well, he’d said he preferred Hetty and perhaps he did. But Araminta was the sister he was able to meet respectably in public and Hetty was the secret.

  The lying, deceiving sister who had such a secret.

  Unable to settle, she paced the room, chewing her fingernails as she thought how little time she had to extricate herself gracefully from the mess she’d created.

  Tomorrow when she met Jem, she told herself, everything would magically resolve itself.

  * * * * *

  To her surprise, her father greeted her with a great show of fondness when she stepped into the drawing room. Fondness and a surprising degree of admiration.

  “My dear Hetty, but you are blooming,” he told her as he put his hands on her shoulders to study her more closely. “You’re turning into a beauty before my eyes. Isn’t she, Sybil?”

  Araminta, seated in a chair by the window, flicked a page of The Lady’s Magazine she was idly perusing and said, “A couple of people have remarked upon it but she still hasn’t the figure to fit into any of my clothes. Mama, what do you think of this walking dress?” She tapped a fashion plate in front of her. “I could have it made up in blue. Blue sets off the sheen of my hair. Sir Aubrey remarked upon it the other night. You know he is escorting me on a walk through Hyde Park this afternoon.”

  “I thought Mama said you were not to associate with Sir Aubrey,” Hetty said balefully.

  “What’s this?” Lord Partington, now ensconced in a leather armchair, looked up from the newspaper he’d just opened. “Sir Aubrey? The fellow whose wife took her own life after he was mixed up in the Castlereagh affair a year or so ago?” His complexion turned a noticeable shade darker.

  “Nothing was proved.” Hetty spoke the words so sharply all heads turned on her.

  “Stephen will accompany you,” Lady Partington said in decided tones. “I shall send a note ‘round to him this morning. If he knows it’s important, he’ll put aside whatever he’s doing.”

  Her husband harrumphed as he turned the page he was reading. “I’m sure all it will require is a note from you, my love, and he’ll come running.”

  Hetty noted his tone with surprise but Araminta had moved on to other topics. Namely the entertainments to which she’d been invited. “Of course I’ll see that the invitations are extended to Hetty.”

  Hetty felt her heart bloom as her sister smiled warmly at her, though some of the gloss was taken off by Araminta’s next words. “Papa is right, you are looking a good deal better these days and it’s my duty to ensure that you are noticed, also, Hetty.”

  Ensure that she was noticed? It was a painful truth that Hetty had been overlooked for most of her life, having a sister like Araminta, but Hetty wasn’t sure that now was quite the time she wanted to be noticed.

  Surprisingly, Lord Partington evinced a desire to take a walk with his wife and two daughters just after luncheon. Hetty didn’t think such a thing had ever happened before but as the sky was a clear azure blue and the breeze fresh and fragrant, she supposed her father was motivated by the weather.

  In fact it was so they’d not be overheard by the servants.

  “Several things have happened since you girls came to London, which has necessitated my going away for a while.” He cleared his throat and stared straight ahead as they made their progress along the busy pavement.

  Hetty glanced at him. His complexion was unusually ruddy—a deepened reddish hue not caused by the outdoors. And while his wife had fixed her gaze upon him, he seemed unable to meet her eye.

  Hetty was surprised when her mother said, more sharply now, “It’s high time you told the girls, Humphry.”

  After further throat-clearing and prevaricating, Lord Partington got to the point. “The truth is, there have been several financial difficulties at home—”

  Lady Partington cut in. “Both financial and domestic. Let’s not beat about the bush, Humphry. The girls need to know so they can be prepared.”

  Humphry’s shoulders slumped and his chin nearly touched his chest.

  Araminta was the first to speak, or rather gasp, “It won’t affect my dress allowance or my portion, will it, Papa?”

  More loud throat clearing was little comfort and it was their mother who explained in crisp tones, “Your father has made a rather large and unwise financial decision. H
is man of business is not entirely despondent, however, until—”

  Hetty put a comforting hand on her mother’s while Araminta wailed, “We’re ruined! Is that what you’re saying, Papa? We’re ruined and we’ll have to go out and work as governesses unless we marry quickly.” There was both genuine distress and craftiness in her expression as she cut into her parents’ responses. “Before the scandal breaks, we must find husbands, isn’t that what you’re saying?”

  “Well, now, Araminta, though there is some truth in—” her father began, but Araminta had already come up with a solution.

  Looking decidedly more cheerful, she said, “I shall do my part, Papa. In fact I solemnly vow that I’ll have made a grand match before two weeks is up so you need not concern yourself over me.” She pinched Hetty’s arm. “Now you, also, must make sacrifices, Hetty, but instead of being a governess, which would be such a terrible reflection on the family—and since you’ve made it plain you’ll have nothing to do with Mr. Woking, who would offer for you if you only smiled at him—I know that old Lady Fotheringay is looking for a companion.” She looked expectantly at Hetty. “I know her niece so I shall make inquiries—”

  It was their father who cut in, his voice raised in both anger and exasperation. “Neither of you will make the kind of sacrifices that will see you wed in haste to unsuitable husbands or forced to work for your livings.” In an undertone, he added, “Sadly, I have seen that fate visited on undeserving young women. Bear in mind that you are a great deal more fortunate than others in your situation.”

  “Indeed you are,” Lady Partington said, also under her breath, and Hetty glanced at the two of them. She’d once overheard a couple of gossiping dowagers in a quiet corner of a ballroom referring to “Lord Partington’s secret brood”. Until she’d become more acquainted with the ways of the world, the whispered conversation had made no sense.