What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4)

by Adele Clee

  “Then he underestimates you. I attended one of his parties. I followed Tristan there as I desperately needed his advice. Yes, the guests lack morals. You’ll find their behaviour shocking. But you’re Mrs Chandler — the wife of one of the most desirable gentlemen in society. You’re the wife of a man who fought for his place, or so Tristan tells me, a man strong enough to succeed despite courting scandal. And your place is at his side.”

  Isabella’s encouraging words reminded her of something Matthew had said in Lady Holbrook’s garden.

  Do not intimate your looks or character are inadequate. Tell yourself any man would be privileged to call you his wife. Believe you are a diamond in a pond full of pebbles.

  Priscilla glanced down at her plain muslin dress “But I’ll court ridicule if I stroll into the ballroom wearing a simple ivory gown. People will remember me as the plain, ordinary wife of a notorious rogue.”

  “No, they won’t.” Isabella’s tone held a hint of mischief. “You’ll wear something breathtaking, something elegant yet daring. Every woman in the room will wish they were you.”

  While the fantasy sounded wonderful, disappointment flared. “I couldn’t possibly spend money on a new dress.” They were yet to agree on an allowance and with the vowel still unpaid she could not be frivolous. “And everything in my wardrobe is rather dull and uninspiring.”

  Lost in thoughtful contemplation, Isabella stared at the floor. Then she suddenly straightened, her eyes bright with excitement. “Stand up a moment. Let me look at you.” She took Priscilla’s hands and pulled her to her feet. “I’d say you’re an inch shorter and far more slender around the waist. We’d need to find a dressmaker willing to make alterations at short notice.”

  “I’m skilled with a needle and thread,” Priscilla said though was somewhat confused as to what she would be doing. “And my maid is an exceptional dressmaker. I have but two days before Matthew hosts another party.”

  “Two days is plenty. Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Less than five minutes passed before Isabella raced back into the room, her arms laden with vibrant yards of flowing fabric.

  Priscilla rushed forward to help. “Have you brought your entire wardrobe?” She removed the luxurious red dress from the top of the pile and laid it on the sofa.

  “Not all, just the garments suitable for your needs.” Isabella lined a sapphire blue gown, and another in black, in a row next to the red dress. “You’re welcome to have all of these.”

  Priscilla jerked her head in shock. “But I can’t take your dresses.”

  “I don’t need them. If everything goes to plan, soon my clothes will be too tight. They’ll only gather dust if left here, and it seems such a shame. Oh, and I have silk slippers to match.”

  Instantly drawn to the red dress, excitement bubbled in Priscilla’s belly as she stroked the sumptuous velvet. “It’s so generous of you, Isabella. How will I ever repay your kindness?”

  “It is I who am indebted. Had it not been for your sacrifice I would not have married the man I love.” Isabella offered a warm smile. “I will do anything to help you find happiness.”

  Struggling to contain a well of emotion, Priscilla put her hand to her chest. “Do you think I’m strong enough to enter the world of the dissolute?”

  “You’re stronger than you know.” Isabella touched her affectionately on the arm. “Now, let’s see if we can create something magnificent out of these.”

  Chapter 8

  “And so I told her to keep the blasted wig on for fear of what I’d find lurking underneath. I soon came to realise her timid smile was a way to hide the fact she had no teeth.”

  Lord Parson snorted. “Good God, Mullworth, I know you’re tight with the purse strings but what do you expect when you visit a brothel so close to the docks.”

  “I think I’d prefer the feel of gums to a mouthful of rotten teeth,” Chigwell said.

  Matthew stood amidst the group of revellers and feigned amusement at their bawdy tales. In truth, he was tired and longed for his bed. Not knowing how to deal with his wife proved to be mentally draining.

  “There’s a lot to be said for those who service sailors.” Mullworth chuckled. “Where else would a woman ask if you want to take a dip in the ocean of delights?”

  “A dip? Surely you mean a dunking.”

  Raucous laughter filled the air.

  “I once saw an advertisement for a woman offering her services in Whitechapel.” Chigwell flapped his hand to get their attention. “As well as an extensive list of attributes she bragged of having a good leg. Leg? Leg! I thought. What about balance?”

  Matthew cleared his throat. “It has nothing to do with only having one limb. The woman was referring to her stamina.”

  “Stamina!” Chigwell snorted. “Well, why the hell didn’t she say so?”

  “That’s why I prefer to keep a wife in watercolour,” Lord Parson offered.

  “A wife in watercolour? Is it the drink that makes you spout gibberish?”

  “Parson means he prefers to keep a mistress,” Matthew informed suppressing a weary sigh. Was he the only one sober? “In that the relationship is easily dissolved.”

  The gentlemen chuckled.

  “Well, we’d better hope Chandler here soon tires of his wife,” Mullworth said.

  The mere mention of Priscilla caused Matthew’s heart to pound too quickly in his chest. To lie in bed each night knowing her warm body was just a few feet away proved torturous.

  “And why is that?” Parson asked.

  Mullworth tutted. “How long do you think it will be before his wife puts an end to these flamboyant parties?”

  A look of horror marred the gentlemen’s faces.

  “Then we must find him a mistress,” Parson added. “Lucinda Pearce is an exceptional companion and has not taken her eyes off him all evening. He only has to move, and she locks onto him like a hawk.”

  An uncomfortable knot formed in Matthew’s gut. He wanted to crack a whip and throw them all out onto the street. And yet, their crude ways had never bothered him before.

  “I should warn you there is not a woman here who is as fascinating as my wife.” It was not a lie. There was something about Priscilla that had captured more than his interest.

  “Is that why you hide the lady away?” Chigwell joked.

  There were numerous reasons why Priscilla kept to her room. What sort of husband would subject her to a crowd of filthy lechers? Embarrassment played a part too. For some unknown reason, he wanted her respect, not her disdain.

  “I may share my house, but I’ll not share my wife.”

  “Then I hope Mrs Chandler understands what it is to wed a rogue,” Parson said, his attention drifting to a point beyond Matthew’s shoulder. “When Lucinda sets her sights on a man, there’s no getting away. The woman’s claws are sharper—” He stopped abruptly, made an odd puffing sound as though he’d popped a hot piece of pie into his mouth.

  “Good Lord.” Chigwell’s eyes bulged. “What have we here?”

  Mullworth moistened his lips. “The night has suddenly become much more interesting.”

  Matthew swung around, eager to see what commanded their attention.

  The lady in red stood confidently on the steps leading to the ballroom. It took a moment for his eyes to communicate with his brain, to acknowledge the identity of the delightful package of contradictions.

  While Priscilla’s angelic face radiated purity and innocence, her body was made for sin. In the subdued light, her curvaceous silhouette robbed him of breath. With her hair dressed in a simple coiffure, it was the golden lock dangling over her bare shoulder that suggested mischief.

  Heaven help him, his wife was stunning.

  “Oh, treat us to one of your insightful explanations, Chandler,” Mullworth said. “What do they say about a lady who wears red?”

  Matthew swallowed down the hard lump in his throat but could do nothing about the swelling in his groin. “They say
a woman who wears red craves attention. They say she enjoys teasing men, playing coquette. I say the colour merely reflects an inner passion. It is obvious the lady embodies an inherent feminine appeal and is wearing the dress to give her confidence. I’m in no doubt she has a point to prove.”

  “You can tell all that from the colour of her gown?” Chigwell said amazed.

  “No. I understand her motives because the lady in red is my wife.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “That lady is your wife?” Parson nudged Matthew’s arm. “Lord above, no wonder you’ve not looked at another woman all evening. And the rumour is you’d married a wallflower. One of those bespectacled sorts who stutters. Damn gossips. One should never believe a word they say.”

  Chigwell’s lips curled up into a lecherous grin. “Now we know why you keep the lady locked in her room.”

  Matthew stared at the ethereal vision before him. Were he not so bloody annoyed he’d have to fight the urge to gather her up in his arms and take her to bed. Nevertheless, he admired the effort it took for her to appear so self-assured.

  Numerous people diverted their gaze to examine the mysterious woman waiting on the stairs. In a matter of seconds, at least one randy lord would prowl through the crowd determined to snare his prey.

  “Please forgive me, gentlemen,” Matthew said, dismissing the mild sense of panic. “My wife is in need of my company.”

  Before waiting for a reply, Matthew pushed through the throng. Priscilla witnessed his approach. She bit down on her lip as their gazes locked, but drew on her newfound confidence to raise her chin by way of a challenge. He expected her to walk towards him. But she watched and waited patiently, her magnetic pull drawing him up the five steps.

  “Priscilla.” He inclined his head, struggled to drag his eyes from the mounds of creamy flesh swelling out of the bodice of her gown. Damn, he’d spent five restless nights picturing their magnificence. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Good evening, Matthew.” His wife offered a demure curtsy. “I grew tired of sitting upstairs alone. I thought I would join you for an hour or two.”

  Licking his dry lips, he scanned her from head to toe. “I feel a compliment is in order. It seems you have the ability to make elegance appear utterly sinful.”

  She brushed her hands down the front of the velvet gown hugging her body so tight he felt a hint of envy. “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve not spent a penny on my new wardrobe. The dress was kindly donated, and Anne was able to make a few adjustments.”

  Various emotions fought for supremacy while he considered her delectable form: jealousy, lust, rage. It was a new experience.

  “Had you sold the silver to pay for it, I would not have objected.”

  Despite her beauty, it was the blush rising to her cheeks that made his cock throb.

  “So you’re not angry that I’ve come to join the party?”

  They’d agreed never to lie. “I’m bloody furious. Indeed, I cannot recall the last time I was so damnably annoyed.”

  “Is that because I’ve gone against your wishes,” she said boldly, “or are you ashamed of the woman you married?”

  “I’m not ashamed of you, Priscilla. That is far from the truth.” Indeed, he admired her tenacity. “But you should know I’ll not be responsible for my actions should anything untoward happen. The men here are actively looking for their next conquest. They see a married woman as an easy target. And there are some who would relish the chance to declare me a cuckold.”

  A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Then you had better make it clear to whom I belong.” She peered over his shoulder as the first few strains of a waltz drew couples to the floor. “I assume it is acceptable for the host to dance with his wife.”

  A man who sought to remain detached from all emotions would refuse, make an excuse. While the waltz provided an opportunity to be close to one’s partner, in his house, there were no limitations. To press his body against his wife’s voluptuous form would be sheer folly.

  Sensing his disquiet she smiled, moved past him and descended the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  “I want to dance. As to my choice of partner, well, that decision lies in your hands.”

  “Priscilla, wait,” he whispered through clenched teeth, but the obstinate woman ignored him.

  Bloody hell!

  So much for her vow to obey.

  Though camouflaged amongst the crowd, he knew the ravenous beasts were circling. With no choice but to follow, he caught up with her in a few strides.

  As his hand settled on her waist, she swung around to face him. “One dance, Priscilla, and then you must promise to return to your room.”

  “Two dances, both of them with you, and then I shall leave you to enjoy your night in peace.”

  Two dances! A saint would struggle to rein in his urges.

  “Is that a promise?”

  Sapphire-blue eyes sparkled as they searched his face. “It is.”

  Breathing deeply to dampen his ardour, he held out his hand. She hesitated for a second, no more, and her fingers trembled as she laid her palm on top of his.

  Compelled by a sudden urge to claim and conquer, he curled his fingers around her hand and held it tight. He’d sworn to give his protection, and by God he meant it.

  “I must warn you,” she began as he drew her into the middle of the floor to join the other guests swirling about in perpetual circles. “I lack co-ordination when it comes to moving quickly. No doubt you are just as skilled at dancing as you are most things.”

  Matthew narrowed his gaze. “Is that an honest assessment of my character?”

  “What I know of it, yes.”

  “Considering the fact I’m in debt to a card-sharp I must assume you refer to my ability to rouse a pleasurable response from your lips.” He did not want to embarrass her with a more concise description.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “I’m surprised how quickly my body reacts to your touch. But I wonder, is it like that with everyone?”

  Matthew was momentarily stunned by her reply. He scoured his mind in a bid to offer an opinion. The simple answer was no. Women called out his name during the moment of release, they writhed and panted, confessed to feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. Yet never had he felt a genuine connection. Never had he trusted the response he received. Well, not until he’d met Priscilla.

  “No. It is not like that with everyone.” His blunt reply masked the sudden feeling of trepidation that rocked him to his core.

  “I see,” she said with a sigh. “No doubt my inexperience ruined the moment. It appears I am easily excited. As I said, I have never had a good sense of rhythm.”

  To say her candour astounded him was an understatement. “Priscilla, you misunderstand me. Your inexperience did not ruin the moment. It made the moment more pleasurable.”

  “Oh, but I thought—” She blinked rapidly. “Never mind.”

  A need to ease her fears took hold.

  “And there is certainly nothing wrong with your sense of co-ordination. You dance beautifully.”

  Wrinkles appeared on the bridge of her nose. “Beautifully is how debutantes dance. I am in a room full of sinners. I want to know how to dance in such a way as to stimulate and excite my partner.”

  “Your partner?” An odd growl escaped from his lips. “You’ll dance with no other man here but me.”

  A smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Then show me how to excite you.”

  Devil take him. All this woman had to do was speak to arouse him to the point of no return.

  “Priscilla, I’ll not—”

  “We agreed that everyone would think we were in love. Why are you holding me as if I were an elderly relative who smells of pottage? Hold me like you never want to let me go.”

  The lady was intent on rousing a response from him. What harm could it do? If everyone could see he loved his wife then perhaps it would make life easier. Lucinda Pear
ce would graze in pastures new, and it would serve as a warning to those gentlemen who thought to try their luck with the mysterious lady in red.

  “If you want excitement, Priscilla, I am more than happy to give it you.”

  She sucked in a breath. “But I want you to enjoy the experience too.”

  “Trust me,” he snorted. She had no idea what she was doing to him. “I will.”

  Without further comment, he pulled her tight to his body until her breasts pressed against his chest. The hand resting on her waist dipped lower, his fingers gliding down to draw her close. Their thighs brushed as he led her around the floor. The rapid turns and twirls caused their breath to come quickly. Their gazes locked.

  “Is this exciting enough?” The depth of his arousal was evident in his voice.

  “Can we not spin around a little quicker?”

  “You prefer fast to slow?” He clenched his jaw as he imagined covering her body and pounding into her again and again.

  “I do. I want to feel the blood rush through my veins.”

  Holy hell!

  “Then I suggest you hold on tight.” Offering a wicked grin, he swung her around and around. They were completely out of time with the music. No doubt they were attracting attention though he couldn’t drag his eyes from hers.

  They twirled until they were dizzy. She was so close her breath breezed across his cheek. The smell of roses swamped him. Sweet. Fresh. Stimulating. When she giggled, the sound sent a bolt of desire shooting through his body. His hard cock threatened to tear through the material of his breeches. Had they been alone, he’d have taken her where they stood.

  As the last few notes of the waltz played out, they slowed and caught their breath. Her cheeks flushed, her full lips parted. Damn. It would be another two hours before the guests departed. The anticipation of claiming his wife’s body would kill him.

  “My blood is pumping so fast I can hear it rushing in my ears.” Her eyes sparkled with desire. “I feel exhilarated. You really are a remarkable dancer.”