Mastering the Marquess (Bound and Determined)

by Lavinia Kent

  Did she jiggle and flop? She jumped a little, watching the movement of her breasts. The tips of her nipples rubbed against the fabric, sending a little frisson through her whole body. It was sinful.

  The whole dress was sinful.

  Yesterday she would have decided not to wear it, afraid of what her husband would think, afraid he would be surprised, would think less of her.

  Now she was not afraid. She knew he would be surprised, but that didn’t have to be a bad thing.

  She rather thought he’d been surprised by her last night, and didn’t think he’d minded in the least.

  Indeed, that was putting it rather mildly.

  Red began to seep up her chest and onto her cheeks. Thinking about last night was heating her whole being from the toes up.

  Geoffrey would be here soon. Her body tingled at the thought. Her breath caught as she thought of him seeing her in the gown … and seeing her remove it. She imagined the hot glow in his eyes—and how she would feel being examined, being watched.

  He’d seen her in her chemise—would he find this different?

  She pivoted again, watching how the fabric clung to her curves, outlining even the cleft of her behind. It was quite different, nothing at all like the loose chemise she wore to sleep.

  Enough. If she kept thinking like this she’d either go up in flames, become a puddle on the floor, or attack her husband the moment he walked into the hall. Maybe not attack, but seduce. Or perhaps she should allow him to seduce her. Geoffrey did seem to like control, and she had to admit that she had few complaints.

  No. She picked up the delicate silver mask that covered the upper half of her face and tied it into place. There was a reason she had decided they should attend the masquerade, and she would not change her mind now.

  Being in public would give them the space they both needed.

  Running fingers through her loose curls, she arranged them about the edges of the mask, hiding the strings that held it in place. Her hair was loose except for one small clip that held some of it high on the crown.

  Should she have braided it? He’d always liked it plaited tight about her head—but then, last night …

  Was she going to second-guess every decision that she made?

  A simple gilded sheaf of wheat and one ripe pomegranate were all that accompanied the gown. She could not begin to wonder how a pomegranate had been procured at this time of year.

  She was ready. It was a little early, but delaying would only make her more nervous.

  One last look in the mirror.

  Yes, the dress was decent—if only barely so.

  A twist of the handle, thirteen steps down the hall, a left turn, and down the stairs. Would Geoffrey be there, waiting for her?

  She was halfway down when a footman crossed the marble floor below her.

  He looked up, startled by her presence. “Forgive me, my lady. I was hoping to catch you before you came down. His lordship sends his regrets. He has been delayed and will meet you at Lord Willis’s house. Do you wish me to send for the coach now?”

  Geoffrey was not coming home first. It felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach, or at least she imagined this was what it must feel like: hollow and empty and breathless.

  Her features did not move as she continued to descend the stairs. “Yes, that would be wonderful. I will wait in the blue parlor.”

  Perhaps he had a good reason for being late, a reason that had nothing to do with her.

  If only she could believe that.

  And if only—the thought suddenly struck her—she had any idea what her husband’s costume was. The very idea of not recognizing him again was almost more than she could bear.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “She is not here.” The footman spoke firmly.

  “What do you mean she is not here? I stopped by my father’s home and was told that my sister was spending the evening with the Countess Ormande. I wish to speak with either my sister or the Countess. Now.” Swanston made certain his tone betrayed his fury.

  The footman paled. “I am sorry, my lord. They were here earlier, but they are not now.”

  “And where did they go?”

  “I do not know. Perhaps when the coachman returns he can provide the direction.”

  “That is not acceptable.” Swanston took a step forward, letting his stick tap upon the marble floor.

  The footman’s gulp sounded throughout the entryway.

  Swanston took another step.

  “I truly do not know where, my lord. But …”

  “But …?” Another step.

  “… they were in fancy dress.” The footman stepped back.

  “Fancy dress?”

  “Your sister was dressed as a fairy. She had gold sparkles in her hair, and wings. She wanted large ones but Lady Ormande recommended the smaller ones.”

  Swanston was not going to inquire why there were multiple wings about. “And the Countess. What was she wearing?”

  “A red dress and strange hair. I cannot exactly describe it, but she did have a crown.”

  That was not helpful, but the general description was. They had to be at the Willises’; there was nowhere else fancy dress would be appropriate tonight. Damn. He could have driven over with Louisa and still found his sister.

  He had not wanted to chase all over town looking for his sister. In fact, it was the last thing he wanted to do, but from the time he’d heard that she was with the Countess there had been no choice, his having been unable to forget the Countess’s last, threatening words.

  At least he knew what their costumes would be.

  Just as he knew his wife’s.

  Where was he? It was not like Geoffrey to be late. She had tried to understand his not arriving to accompany her. Sometimes things happened. His lateness did not have to be because of last night.

  But where was he?

  Louisa stared at the crowd of kings, monks, Roman legions, and more than one shepherdess with fat sheep. She was beginning to worry again that he was avoiding her.

  Had last night been too much for him? Had his father been right, after all? Had she repulsed him with her passion?

  No. That was nonsense.

  Geoffrey was Charles. And Charles was anything but afraid of passion. Charles had encouraged her every ardent desire. He would not turn away from her because she’d begun to reveal her passions.

  “There you are.”

  Louisa turned to find Bliss, with wings flapping behind, hurrying across the ballroom toward her.

  “I’ve been looking for you for what seems like forever,” Bliss exclaimed.

  “Looking for me? Is your brother here?”

  “I have no idea if Swanston is here or not—frankly, I’d rather just assume not. He always tries to get me to stop doing whatever I am doing. He can’t believe I am not causing trouble.” Bliss stopped and fiddled with her skirts. The girl had so much energy it was impossible to imagine her completely still.

  “If not because of Swanston, why are you looking for me?” Louisa hoped she did not sound too impatient. Her only true concern was finding her husband. Earlier it had seemed like a good idea to avoid him for a while, but “a while” had passed and she was anxious to get things settled between them.

  “Oh, I’ve got someone I want you to meet. I know she has much to say to you.”

  She? Louisa had no idea what Bliss was talking about, but as Geoffrey didn’t appear to be here yet she figured she might as well find out. “Lead the way, my lady.”

  Bliss gave a little chuckle at the unnecessary use of her title and then, grabbing Louisa by the arm, hurried off, sidestepping dancers and taking little notice of the many people who tried to wave her down. It was clear that Bliss was liked by all.

  Bliss drew to a stop before a pair of heavy oak doors. “She’s just in here. I do hope nobody saw us. It would be a shame if someone told Swanston.”

  Told Swanston what? But before Louisa could ask, Bliss had opened the doors
and slipped through, leaving Louisa little choice but to follow.

  The room was poorly lit, a single candle burning upon the mantel. The circle of light extended about halfway across the room, the corners left in blackness. It appeared empty.

  Louisa looked about confused, but Bliss only smiled, a little girl with a basketful of puppies.

  “I am so pleased to finally meet you.” The voice was low and husky but very feminine.

  Still glancing about, Louisa tried to peer into the darkened corner that the voice had sounded from as she placed her pomegranate and wheat on a side table. A silhouette drew her eye, but she could make out no details.

  “I am sorry, but do I know you?” She squinted into the dark.

  “I could perhaps say we have met, but we have not been introduced.” The figure moved forward.

  Red. The woman was wearing a red dress of quite a startling shade. It appeared black in the shadows, but when the light from the candle hit it, it shone near orange.

  And then the Countess Ormande stepped into the light, and Louisa felt as if she’d been grabbed and held still. She didn’t know what it was about the woman, but something about her was both controlling and strangely intimate. And her dress—Louisa had never seen such a creation. The tight, heart-shaped bodice pressed her breasts up until they almost popped, a fashion that had not been common for decades. The skirt hugged her hips like a second skin; was it made of leather? Her hair was even stranger, rising up on each side of her head around a small crown, causing the appearance of yet another heart. What was she supposed to be? Louisa was sure that the viewer was supposed to wonder. Red and hearts? The Queen of Hearts?

  Tearing her eyes from the Countess, Louisa focused on Bliss, who didn’t seem to feel there was anything bizarre in the atmosphere. She was rolling back and forth on her feet, excitement swirling about her.

  “Your costume is wonderful,” Louisa told Bliss with sincerity. “I am not sure I’ve ever seen you look so …”

  “So ordinary,” Bliss supplied.

  “That was not what I was going to say.” Although perhaps there was some truth to the sentiment. Bliss did have a tendency to be a little outrageous and flamboyant. She could never have been described as ordinary. Her fairy costume, while beautiful, was quite within the realm of the expected. The delicate gold wings and sparkling gown could have been worn by any young woman wishing to appear attractive.

  Bliss smiled. “I know. But it is what you meant. I wanted to dress like a mermaid and have servants push me about in a great tub of water. My dear friend Lady Ormande persuaded me otherwise. And I am going to count that as an introduction. It is clear that you know each other—or at least of each other. What I don’t think you know, my dear Louisa, is that Lady Ormande used to be—”

  “That is enough, Bliss,” the Countess said, her tone taking command of the room.

  “But …” Bliss wanted to share her secret, but all she could do was drop her eyes and begin to twist her hands.

  “I do appreciate the introduction, but I do believe it would be best if I spoke to Lady Swanston alone.”

  “If you really think it best.” It was very clear that Bliss was not speaking her true feelings, but she would not go against Lady Ormande.

  “I do.” The Countess walked over to Bliss and, leaning forward, kissed her on the cheeks, a soft parental blessing. Only the Countess seemed anything but motherly. No mother would have slid her hand down Bliss’s bosom in quite such a manner. “Just go. I will explain everything later.”

  With a long sigh, Bliss flounced from the room, her wings dancing as she moved.

  As soon as she was gone, the Countess closed the door with a firm click.

  “And what was it that Bliss wanted to tell me and you did not?” Louisa asked, trying to hold her ground.

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell you—I definitely think you need to know. I am just protective of young Bliss and don’t wish to upset her. She knows some but not all of what I must tell you.” The Countess walked over to the settee and sat down, patting the space beside her.

  Louisa wanted to demur, to choose a seat far away, but she did wish to learn whatever secret the Countess wished to impart. Taking small steps, she walked over and sat beside Lady Ormande. Her throat clutched as Lady Ormande slid closer until their thighs touched.

  “What Bliss was so eager to tell you, what she found so fun, is that I was Swanston’s mistress for quite some time.”

  Louisa’s mouth dried in an instant. “You were what? Bliss found that fun—introducing us?”

  The Countess patted Louisa’s thigh gently, then left her hand there. “I believe that Bliss took joy in her perfect brother’s not being such a paragon. He is always protecting her from disgrace, and I believe she thought it wonderful that he might have a little scandal attached to his own name.”

  “Oh.”

  “I think I have expressed it badly.” Lady Ormande ran her hand up and down Louisa’s thigh. “She did not mean it badly. I believe she is merely happy that her brother is a real person. And I think she thought I could help you. She knows that Swanston can be intimidating and thought you might need a friend who understood.”

  What on earth were these women thinking? It might have helped her if she’d known Geoffrey had a mistress before her talk with the duke, but how was this supposed to help now? And as she remembered that conversation she could only wonder which talk was more awkward, more odd. She seemed destined for these intimate chats that nobody would ever believe had taken place. “And you thought she was right? Thought that it was appropriate that we talk?” She was beginning to feel angry.

  “No, I did not feel it appropriate and I certainly did not find it fun. This is as difficult for me as it is for you.” The Countess ran her hand a little farther up Louisa’s thigh, the fingers firm through the thin skirts of Louisa’s costume.

  Somehow Louisa did not believe that Lady Ormande found this as difficult as she did. In fact, although she could not have said why, she was convinced that the Countess was enjoying the situation. “Then why …?” She let her voice trail off.

  “Because I do care for Geoffrey, for Swanston, and I want to be sure that you understand what he needs and are capable of giving it to him. Your husband is a very unique man.”

  “I do agree with the latter statement, but am unsure what you mean by the first. Why should I not be able to provide my husband with everything he needs?” Louisa worked to hide the displeasure she had felt in hearing the Countess call her husband “Geoffrey.” Deep in her heart she knew it was important to show no sign of weakness.

  “Do you truly not understand my question? If you do not then you are not the wife Geoffrey needs.” Lady Ormande began to stroke her thumb up and down Louisa’s thigh, the gesture completely inappropriate for any but a husband or a lover—and certainly not what one would expect from another lady.

  The worst of it, however, was that Louisa could feel herself respond as the strong thumb swept over thin muslin, chafing it against sensitive skin. She tried to slide away, but the Countess held her firm.

  “Now don’t be like that, my sweet Louisa. I do hope you don’t mind me calling you ‘Louisa.’ I do so want us to be the best of friends.” The Countess’s thumb stroked up again, higher. “And don’t tell me that you haven’t noticed that Geoffrey can be a bit—or perhaps more than a bit—domineering at times. And yes, I am talking about in bed. Tell me, has he tied you up yet? And how many ways has he found to fuck you? The man is nothing if not innovative, and I can only imagine the fun he’d have with a sweet little submissive like you.”

  Louisa stiffened her spine. “I hardly think that—”

  “Oh, I know that no one likes to admit that they like to let someone else take control, but it is very clear, my dear. Do you think I don’t feel you shiver as I stroke you?” The Countess moved her hand until her fingers brushed the juncture of Louisa thighs. “I feel your muscles tighten beneath me. You don’t want to like
it, but you do. You like my taking control. I imagine that Geoffrey can make you orgasm just by telling you to.”

  Louisa had wondered a moment ago which conversation was stranger, this or the one with the duke. She wondered no more. This was odder than anything she had ever imagined, and considerably more enraging. Holding herself completely still, she turned her head and stared straight into the Countess’s dark eyes. “I do not wish to discuss such matters with you. These things are private—between a husband and a wife.”

  Lady Ormande smiled, and her full ruby lips parted, revealing even white teeth. Her long red tongue slipped out, leaving a glisten spread across the lower lip.

  Louisa had to fight not to stare.

  “I was expecting almost this exact reaction, but I wanted you to know that I am here for you if you ever need a friend who understands. Being with a man like Geoffrey is not easy. You may love him—love what he does to you—but that will not make it easy. He does not want it to be easy. If it starts to become easy he will grow bored. No, you must always strive to do more—to take more. Tell me, has he brought out the whips? Or the candles and hot wax?” The Countess gave a little shiver. “Oh, the things you have to look forward to. And do you cry? Geoffrey always had a thing for tears.”

  “I really must be going.” Gathering all her strength, Louisa pushed to stand, shaking off the Countess’s touch.

  “So soon, and you have not even asked about my costume. I thought it quite clever.” The woman turned her head so that her eyes were level with Louisa’s breasts. She pursed her lips and blew, the hot, warm breath penetrating the fragile fabric and hitting Louisa’s nipples. Another wide smile.

  “I do not believe this is the time to talk of costumes. And I do not see what is so clever about the Queen of Hearts.” Louisa wanted to bite back the last. Betraying weakness was a mistake. It would be best to hide all her disquiet from the Countess.

  “Oh, but I am not the Queen of Hearts.” The Countess rose to standing also, almost, but not quite, brushing against Louisa’s full length. She reached out and grabbed Louisa’s hand, placing it first upon her pale, cool cheek and then sliding it up her oddly piled hair.