by Unconquered
She touched his hand in a gentle gesture. “It is really quite simple, Kit,” she said, deciding to try Mirza Khan’s story for the first time. “I went to St. Petersburg to meet Jared. We had planned to sail home together, a second honeymoon, you know. I was barely there when I was seen by Prince Cherkessky. He must surely be mad. He had me kidnaped and taken to his estates in the Crimean area. I was drugged. I went in the custody of the prince’s own body serf, a man named Sasha. When I asked this man why the prince had kidnaped me I was told that I had been taken to await the prince’s pleasure.
“I must tell you I was never mistreated; rather, I was quite cosseted. I never saw Prince Cherkessky again, for he never came to his estates in the Crimea while I was there. Then, several weeks ago, the Tatars attacked the prince’s estate and took all the women and children to sell as slaves here in Istanbul. Now all I want to do is get home to my husband and our son. Oh Kit, are you certain you cannot take me with you? Couldn’t you get permission?”
“I only wish I could.”
“Then I really have no choice but to remain here,” she said. Then, realizing how that had sounded, she quickly added, “I shall be delighted to accept your hospitality, Mirza Khan.”
“May I carry a personal message to your husband, Miranda?”
She thought a moment. What could she say? How could she explain? By the time Kit arrived she would have been gone a year, and by the time she finally got home they would have been separated for over two years. Suddenly she felt shy. Surely it would be easier when she saw Jared. “Just tell him I love him,” Miranda said softly.
Then she stood up. “I am really suddenly very exhausted, Kit. Mirza Khan was quite surprised that I walked all the way from the Crimea.”
“Walked?!” He was astounded. “Your poor feet!”
“At least a full size larger,” she teased, and then she bent and kissed him in a sisterly fashion. “Hurry, Kit! Please hurry! I want to go home to Jared and to my baby. I want to go home to Wyndsong.”
That night, Kit Edmund stood on his quarterdeck watching the twinkling lights of Istanbul recede in the distance, wondering how he was going to tell Jared Dunham that his beautiful wife was still alive. Perhaps he ought to approach Lord Swynford. No! Lady Swynford! Amanda had, in the face of devastating evidence, refused to believe that her twin was dead. She had steadfastly refused to wear mourning for Miranda. Kit himself had been witness to a scene at Almack’s when a crusty dowager had taken it upon herself to criticize not only Amanda’s colorful gown, but the fact that Amanda was appearing in public at all.
Young Lady Swynford had listened politely, and then replied in her clear, sweet voice, “I do not believe that my sister is dead, madam. And she would be the first to insist I wear no mourning. Miranda knows how sallow my skin looks when I wear black or violet.”
The old dowager had gasped. “Mad as a hatter!” she pronounced. “Well, at least Swynford’s got an heir on her, and that’s a mercy!”
Adrian Swynford had been furious with his wife, one of the few times Christopher Edmund had ever seen the mild young nobleman angry. “Why can you not accept the truth?” he demanded.
“Because,” said Amanda stubbornly, “I know Miranda is alive. I feel it. Miranda is out there somewhere. And,” her voice became crystal clear as she looked directly toward Jared, who was with Lady Belinda de Winter again, “any respectable young woman seen in the company of a married man surely risks her reputation.”
Adrian Swynford grasped his wife by the arm and practically dragged her from Almack’s ballroom. As they went, Amanda’s voice was again heard quite clearly as she said, “Go gently, my lord. I am breeding again, you know!”
Princess Dariya de Lieven and Lady Emily Cowper collapsed in each other’s arms, laughing so hard that tears rolled down their cheeks. No one had ever seen the two proper matrons—the backbone of Almack’s group of patronesses and the social arbiters of all the ton—so overcome with hilarity.
“Oh! Oh!” gasped Emily Cowper, wiping her eyes with a delicate scrap of fine, lace-edged white lawn, “it is almost as good as having dear Miranda herself back.” Then she lowered her voice. “Do you really think there is anything to what Amanda Swynford says, Dariya?”
The princess shrugged elegantly. “You English are so reluctant to credit feelings, yet many people do. I have known stranger things, Emily, than a twin who insists her other half is still alive. It is possible that Miranda Dunham survived.”
“Then where is she?” came the exasperated reply.
Again the princess shrugged. “I don’t know, but if I were she I should hurry home. Belinda de Winter is zeroing in on Lord Dunham like a robin on a fat worm.”
Belinda was so certain that Jared would declare himself by the end of the current season that she was emboldened to do something she would not otherwise have done because it put her reputation at risk. She seduced him, letting him believe, of course, that it was he who had done the seducing.
She had planned it carefully, for it had to appear to be happening spontaneously. He had refused to accompany her on a picnic being planned by a group of young people, claiming that he was too old for such childish nonsense. She pouted prettily, and he laughed.
“Come now, Belinda, does it really mean that much to you? Do you really want to go out to the country and sit in the damp May grass?”
She sighed. “I expect you think me childish, but I am not really a city girl, m’lord. London is wonderful, and quite exciting, but I do miss my home. This is the first year in my entire life I have not gathered primroses and bluebells still wet with the dew on May Day morning. I love the countryside!”
“Then I am sorry, my dear, to have disappointed you.”
“Could we not have our own picnic?” she suggested daringly.
“My dear girl!” Jared protested.
“Oh, Jared! Who would know?” Catching his hands, she looked up at him eagerly. “Please! You are permitted to take me driving. Your cook could prepare the basket, and I could tell my aunt that you had offered to accompany me shopping, and then were taking me for a drive.”
A sane voice warned him against such folly, but she pleaded so adorably, and he was feeling reckless and bored. He had never even kissed her, but now he leaned forward and touched her lips with his. “You are a persuasive minx, Belinda,” he said. “Very well, we will have your picnic.”
They departed one bright May morning for what he promised was a perfect spot six miles from the city. A wicker basket was tucked carefully beneath the seat of the high-perch phaeton, which was being pulled by the smartest stepping ebony team she had ever seen. She knew that he had paid a fortune for them only last week at Tattersall’s, boldly outbidding a representative of the Prince Regent himself.
She chattered lightly about nothing of importance, maintaining the illusion of girlish exuberance. Who would ever doubt her innocence? Belinda had been sexually active since eleven, losing her virginity at twelve, but her indiscretions had always been discreet. She had never involved herself with people of her own class, preferring the lower classes, who dared not brag of their conquest with the young miss lest they be charged with a crime. Men had been transported for less. The Duke of Northhampton was the only man of her own social class with whom she had involved herself even briefly, and he would certainly say nothing. No, Belinda smiled smugly to herself, her reputation was spotless.
The picnic spot Jared had selected was secluded and charming. On the far side of a daisy-filled meadow, it was bordered by a stream, which was edged with soft green willow trees. Securing the horses to a tree, Jared lifted Belinda down and, taking the basket out, walked to a grassy spot by the water. Belinda took the carriage robe, and spread it on the wet grass with a little flourish.
“Oh, Jared,” she sighed. “It is simply too lovely.”
What a dear girl she was, he thought, smiling down at her. She was so petite—an inch shorter than Amanda—that he sometimes felt foolish standing next to her.
“I am glad I have pleased you so easily, Belinda,” he said.
“Everything you do pleases me,” she said softly, lowering her dark blue eyes shyly.
“Thank you, my dear,” he answered sincerely, touched by her girlish confession.
Belinda blushed. Attempting to change the subject, she asked, “Shall we eat, m’lord?” She sat down on the robe and began to spread the contents of the basket out on it, exclaiming with delight at the goodies she found. There were tiny sandwiches of cucumber and watercress, miniature meat pastries, chicken wings encased in puff pastry, little strawberry tarts, early cherries from France, and a glass container of lemonade.
“It is perfect except for one thing,” said Belinda.
“And what is that?” Jared asked, wondering what he could have possibly forgotten.
“The desserts will stay cooler if we have some ferns to shade them. I believe there must be some by the water, perhaps around the bend in the stream beneath those trees. Will you fetch some for me, Jared?”
“Of course.”
No sooner had he gone than Belinda reached for the lemonade container. Uncorking it, she poured equal portions into the two silver cups he had packed. Into one of the silver cups she carefully emptied a paper of white powder she had had secreted in her bosom. The powder dissolved almost instantly. Belinda looked carefully around to be sure she had not been observed, and smiled to herself. The silver cup of lemonade now contained a powerful aphrodisiac, and once Jared drank it his senses would be so fired that he would have to be a saint to resist her. He would seduce her, and she would allow it to happen. Within the pocket of her gown was a membrane of chicken’s blood which she would smear on her thighs at the appropriate moment in order that her virginity might be attested to.
Belinda did not expect Jared Dunham to propose marriage directly after the seduction. He was no green boy. He would think about what had happened between them, and she would accept the blame for their actions and be sure he was allowed no further liberties lest he think her a wanton. Just a taste of the fruit to whet his appetite, but no more. By the end of the season he would propose.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked, sitting next to her and handing her a bunch of cool green ferns.
“At how very happy I am this minute,” she said.
Jared was touched. How charming she was, how innocent, how very different from Miranda. Belinda was all sweetness and softness. She would never leave her child to go tearing off in search of a husband who had expressly forbidden her to leave England. No, Belinda would be obedient and predictable. She would never break a man’s heart. She was a real woman.
“A sandwich, m’lord?” She held the bone-china plate out to him.
They ate slowly. Jared was more relaxed that he had been in months. She was really quite lovely. Her full, young breasts swelled enticingly above her scooped neckline, contrasting with the girlish white muslin dress with its pink sprigs of apple blossom. Those round, smooth fruits beckoned him, and when she leaned forward to refill his lemonade cup he felt himself looking down her gown at her large, pink nipples. The sight sent an ache into his groin. Jared was appalled. He didn’t lack for women. Why should this young girl excite him so much?
“It is really quite warm for May,” she commented. “I am quite faint with the heat.” And she leaned back against him, her snow-white shoulders and chest his for the taking. His arm slipped around her waist and, dipping his dark head, he placed a kiss on her plump shoulder. “Oh!” she cried out softly. Turning in his arms, she said, “You must not be so bold, m’lord.”
“Would you deny me a little kiss, Belinda?” he teased her.
“You may kiss me only on the lips, m’lord,” she said solemnly. “I do not believe it is quite proper that you kiss me at all, let alone on my shoulder. But if you do not think me bold, I should like it if you kissed me as you did the other day.”
My God, she was innocent! he thought. He pulled her into his grasp and kissed her mouth. Belinda melted against him triumphantly, accepting kiss after kiss, pretending to let him guide her, shivering with genuine pleasure when his velvet tongue touched hers. She felt his hands seeking her breasts, and protested faintly although the truth of the matter was that she was reveling in his touch. Her potion had obviously worked, for he was hot with his lust for her, and she almost laughed aloud with victory.
He freed her full breasts from her bodice, crushing them, kissing them, enjoying their softness, their lily-of-the-valley-perfume scent. Bodly he sucked on her nipples while she protested with mewling little cries and pretended to push him away, but there was no stopping him now. Impassioned, he pushed her gown up, drawing her undergarments down, all the while murmuring at her as a drunken man does.
“Let me, Belinda. Let me love you, my darling. Ah, God, you’re too sweet!”
“Oh, Jared, you mustn’t! I don’t think you really should! Oh! I shall be ruined!”
She barely had time to get the blood-filled membrane from her pocket before he was thrusting into her. She gave a little shriek which he muffled with his mouth, and struggled against him. Jared assumed she was merely attempting to protect her virtue, but Belinda was fighting to get her hand between her legs so she could crush the pouch and bloody her thighs. Finally she succeeded, and then she burst into tears, sobbing piteously. He attempted to soothe her with kisses, apologizing for his behavior. Taking up her cue, Belinda nobly assumed full responsibility for his actions.
“It is all my fault, Jared,” she wept daintily. “I should not have suggested that we picnic alone. Oh, I am so ashamed! What must you think of me!”
“I think that you are a dear and trusting girl, Belinda. I can only apologize for my behavior.”
“You do not think badly of me?” She put on her best woebegone face.
“No, I do not, and I hope you do not think badly of me.”
“Oh, no, Jared! I could never think badly of you!”
The innocent declaration only made him feel worse. Damn! He had behaved badly, very badly. He had seen blood on her thighs, too, which meant that he had taken her precious virginity. He had not, however, forced his way through her maidenhead, which seemed odd. It hadn’t been like that first night with Miranda. Miranda! Oh my darling, he agonized, why did you leave me! Making love to Belinda only reminded him of his beloved Miranda.
Belinda de Winter was certain that Jared would declare himself shortly, by season’s end at the latest. So she was not surprised when, one day, her maid brought word that Lord Dunham was waiting to see her in the morning room, along with her guardians, the duke and the duchess. This is it, she thought, coolly triumphant, pinching her cheeks as she peered into her dressing table mirror before hurrying downstairs. The duke and duchess would be so proud of her!
“Oh, miss, it’s so exciting!” bubbled her maid, and in a rare show of generosity Belinda de Winter gifted her maid with one of her lace handkerchiefs. “Oh, milady, thank you!” the woman cried.
“To remind you always of my good fortune,” she said archly, and hurried downstairs to receive the reward of all her labors.
Her godmother and the duke were both looking rather grim, which seemed odd. She curtseyed politely and prettily, and sat down next to the duchess.
“Belinda, dear,” said her godmother, “Lord Dunham has asked our permission to speak with you on a certain matter.”
Belinda looked suitably coy, casting her eyes downward in a show of modesty, and murmuring, “Yes, Aunt Sophia.” Lord! Weren’t they going to leave them alone? No one moved. Obviously not. Oh well, thought Belinda, the more witnesses the better!
Jared Dunham sat down on the other side of her, and began to speak words she had never expected to hear. “Lady de Winter—Belinda—before the gossips begin, before you can be injured, I must tell you that my wife, Miranda, has been found alive. I know that you will rejoice with me. It is indeed a miracle, and yet my miracle is apt to jeopardize your reputation. You must now understand that anything I might ha
ve said must now be forgotten. I regret any pain or embarrassment I may have unwittingly caused you.”
She was stunned, infuriated, outraged, but her saner self held her in check. “How happy you must be, my lord,” she said, forcing a smile. “I, of course, fully understand your position, and you must have no concern for me now that your dear wife is so fortuitously restored to you.”
Jared Dunham stood, looking much relieved, and bowed to the duke and duchess and then to Belinda. He left the room. Only when they heard the front door close did the duke say, “Bad luck, my gel! Well, the season’s not over by a long shot. If you took my advice you’d settle for something less showy with a good income.”
Belinda’s face blotched most unattractively, and her blue eyes bugged. “Shut up, you old fool!” she snarled. “The American was my ace in the hole, and I bloody well mean to have him! I won’t be the laughing stock of the ton! I won’t! Without a penny to my name, and with my charming relations, who else will have me!”
“Belinda! Apologize to your Uncle Algernon at once!” scolded the duchess. “Lord Dunham’s wife is alive and that is the end of it. It is unfortunate, but there it is.”
“You’ve had other respectable offers, my gel,” said the duke, totally unperturbed by Belinda’s show of temper. “What the hell’s the matter with young Lord Arden that you sent him packing? Boy’s one of the best judges of horseflesh I’ve ever met.”
“Two thousand a year, and a moldy, tumbledown mansion in Sussex?” scoffed Belinda. “Be serious, uncle. I could spend two thousand a year on negligees alone.”
“Plenty of people have lived well on less, miss. Reconsider young Arden, and I’ll restore his mansion as a wedding gift to you both. You could do a hell of a lot worse. At least he’s young and virile.”
“I could do better!” Belinda snapped back.
“I’ll not pay for you to have another season in London, miss,” warned the duke. “I’ve three gels of me own in the nursery almost ready to be fledged. Forget the Yankee, and find yourself a decent husband quick, or it’s back to Hereford at season’s end for you, an old maid. Think of that, my gel!”