A SINFUL EDUCATION
Pleasure Garden Follies 2
Layna Pimentel
Erotic Romance
Secret Cravings Publishing
www.secretcravingspublishing.com
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A Secret Cravings Publishing Book
Erotic Romance
A Sinful Education
Copyright © 2013 Layna Pimentel
E-book ISBN: 978-1-61885-846-7
First E-book Publication: August 2013
Cover design by Dawné Dominique
Edited by Tabitha Bower
Proofread by Rene Flowers
All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Secret Cravings Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
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Dedication
For my daughters. Words can’t describe how much you young ladies make me a better person, in every regard.
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A SINFUL EDUCATION
Pleasure Garden Follies 2
Layna Pimentel
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
Sussex, England, 1819
Charles Avonlea, the Earl of Bridgeton, sat behind his desk just as sour as the weather plummeting from the sky. Heavy rain, thunder, and flashes of lightening had shaken every window in his family estate for over two days. And with the precipitation came his mother, who escorted his elderly Aunt Agatha from the country.
His family’s estate on the outskirts of Sussex offered many commodities, but not the one he desperately needed at this moment. Solitude. What he would not do to return to his townhouse in London, away from his doting relatives. Both women meant well, but when they put their minds to it, they embarrassed him deeply. Especially when the season came around.
Their conversations always started and ended with when he would marry. As far as they were concerned, he was wasting time. They incessantly reminded him they did not have much left, though he would wager differently.
While his mother pretended to put on airs that she was lonely, he had heard her giggling with some of her lady friends about gentlemen who came to visit every so often. The mere thought of her engaging in activities with a man at her age made him shudder. Who would have guessed women in their advanced years still wish to—?
Why in heavens name am I thinking about that?
Suddenly, the front door slammed shut, and his aunt cursed aloud for all the manor to hear of her aversion to being drenched.
“Now, now,” his mother chided, as he pictured her passing her belongings to the butler. “If I remember correctly, Aunt Agatha, you were the one who insisted on traveling right away. I would have been happy to have waited out this dreadful weather.”
Avonlea’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. And so it begins. He rose from his seat and walked around to the desk when his mother’s displeased tone echoed down the corridor.
“Where is that ungrateful son of mine? And would someone bring me some tea before I catch my death?”
He stood there, pondering what could have her in such a mood. He stepped into the doorway, leaning against the frame, and folded his arms across his chest. “Mama, I would say welcome home, but you look as if you wish you were not here.”
She gave him a frightful scowl, swatting at him. “Pish posh. Can’t you see the condition us crones are in? We are tired, hungry, and most of all, wet! Be sure the fire is nice and hot, for when I return
to the parlor with your aunt, we have much to discuss. Now run along, I won’t be but a few moments.”
Avonlea could already imagine the conversation they would have. You must take a wife. I am not getting any younger. Your father’s legacy demands you produce an heir. What on earth is taking you so long in choosing a wife? Are you secretly a molly? Oh, yes, he could hear them both now. Niggling at his delay. But the trouble was not of what his dear mama thought.
His difficulty lay with his lack of trust in anyone, or anything, these days. That, and the fact that he had a deep feeling his past would come back to haunt him.
Shortly after graduating from Oxford, both he and the Marquess of Stoughton were enlisted by the war office. They only spoke of their time in university, and their assignments overseas were kept in silence. Nathaniel had been sent on one mission, while Avonlea was stuck spying for the crown in France and Italy.
He had traveled many places, witnessed the poorest of living conditions, and over-indulged too frequently. Lady Fortune had been good to him so far—that news of his romps when he should have been working had not made it to London. But that day would come. His visits to brothels and smoke houses would make for good gossip, the war office would question his honor, and his family would be scandalized.
Then, there was the matter of falling in love with a fallen girl, who had been expecting a child last summer. In the midst of making preparations to return to England, she had disappeared from his apartment and was later found in a back alley, not far from the smokehouse he had patronized.
T’was in that moment he concluded his work for the war office, advising them there was nothing left to discover, and returned to England. The thought of falling again, much less to marry, only brought back terrible memories.
Avonlea stalked toward the fireplace, added more logs, and then shifted the others at the bottom. Ash plumed upward, the dust making his nose twitch. The crackling of the additions drowned out his previous thoughts.
Life was unpredictable, much like a fire. A slight breeze could whoosh in and wreak mayhem. And that mayhem, at present, was called Mother.
She entered the parlor, gossiping away with his aunt.
He stood, holding out a chair for first one and then the other at the small round table facing the front yard. The sky was still quite dark and dreary, but the rain seemed to have stopped for the time being.
When he sat, his butler poured the ladies some tea and a port for Avonlea. “Will that be all, sir?”
He nodded, though he was tempted to find some excuse to keep the man in the room with him.
The butler left the parlor, closing the doors behind him.
“So ladies, how can I entertain you this evening? I imagine it won’t be over a game of whist.”
“You, young man, are remiss in your duties. We expect an announcement by the end of the season. We are tired of waiting, and…and if you do not choose a wife this season, we will arrange to have your inheritance amended.” His mother glared daggers at him, a cold and empty gaze that penetrated to his soul. He knew in that instant she meant every word and would not hesitate in wielding what power she had left as a dowager countess.
He downed the contents of his glass as if they were his last. Avonlea preferred to enjoy the sweetness of the deep purple tones of the liquor, but it seemed the conversation would end up making him crazed. Every muscle from his neck down tensed to a frightfully uncomfortable level. Christ. She cannot be serious? “Mama, Aunt Agatha, I do not take threats well. I understand you mean well, but I am not ready to take on a wife.”
“Who said one has to be ready? You marry, and then you carry on with your affairs of the estate. Besides, what are you waiting for? Love? ’Tis a female inclination, not a man’s. And hear me now—I do not threaten the inevitable. I simply remind of what’s to come, if no action is made.”
Avonlea supposed his inheritance could be amended, but that would take months, even years. And who exactly does she think I will lose my estate to? Hmm.
There was always his cousin, Albert, who was presently taking up residence in his expansive manor in Scotland. Would the man really trouble himself in coming so far? Besides, while Albert made his own riches at gambling whenever he sought out the tables, his family’s fortune afforded him the security and comforts of the privacy he required upon his return to England. Perhaps it was best not to tempt fate.
His mother set her teacup down with a clatter. “There are a handful of young ladies I have my eye on. Would you take care in paying attention? I will only mention their names once, and I will begin arranging for some informal meetings.”
Avonlea’s inards twisted and knarled with anxiety. Would fate be so cruel to make him go through this again? The painful memories were too much to even give thought to in the presence of his mother and aunt. At least the woman had suggestions. Though, he could not wait to hear what prizes she had to offer. “What if I had my own list of women I was considering?”
His mother scoffed. “Pray, amuse your ailing aunt and I, who is on this supposed list?”
Of course, she’d ask me for examples. “There is Lady Emily Thompson, the Marquess of Stoughton’s sister. I have also considered—”
She gasped loudly. Her bright blue eyes widened with visible shock. The look alone spoke volumes. He was in trouble. “You will not tarnish our family’s reputation by bringing in a Thompson. Scandal will only follow. Or did you happen to miss last season’s events?”
How could he? It was as if the devil had his hand in the unfortunate and untimely deaths of the Duke of Brimley and the Duchess of Downsbury. He could not have been happier that Nathaniel and his marchioness finally were together.
And then there was the marquess’ sister. Emily was an attractive girl. She had somehow managed to get under his skin. He had thought of her on occasion these last few months. He had even departed Madame Martine’s without finishing the evening’s festivities. There were moments whenever he saw a redheaded young lady, when he somehow wished it had been her.
Yet here was his mother exclaiming how much she disapproved, even though Emily had played no part in the scandal. “If that is your only objection to the girl…her familial relations cannot be helped. One cannot be at fault for who they have for a mother. Pity that. Though, you have piqued my curiosity. Pray tell, who do you think would be my match?”
“At the top of my list of recommendations is Lady Eloise Morton.”
“Was that not the chit Lord Thompson’s mother tried to pawn on him?”
“How eloquently put, you clod. More politely put, she was jilted. She’s nice, comes from a good family, and she’s pretty enough.”
“Pretty enough! What in damnation does that have to do with anything?”
“A pretty one is easier to take to bed than an unsightly one.”
While his mother spoke the truth, he was beguiled more by a woman who spoke her mind. He needed a companion who was sharp-witted, one who did not cower at the first sign of a challenge.
“La! Do not tell me you prefer slightly unconventional girls, Charles?”
“No. Though, a plain girl would not make many demands, nor have high expectations,” Avonlea chided while he tapped the edge of the table, waiting for his mama’s reaction. When she swatted him, he only laughed in response.
“My dear boy, I am simply considering our lineage. Think of the excellent structure you have. Were it not for the inheritance of my mother’s eyes, and your fathers very appealing… Nevermind that. Anyway, I have the most handsome of men for a son, who’s an Earl at that. So, begin to behave as one.”
Avonlea smacked his forehead. “Mother!”
“What? Besides, think of the darling children the two of you would have.”
His aunt nodded at the comment. The conversation had clearly gone too far.
“Mama, Aunt Agatha, I am going to my chambers now to forget everything you’ve just said. If I find a wife, it’ll be on my own. The day I need my mother to find me one is
the day I take a vow of celibacy. Am I understood?”
He got up and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. His mother’s words rang loud in his head. A pretty one is easier to take to bed than an unsightly one. What would ever possess her to say such a thing? Though his vow of celibacy was nothing but malarkey, he wanted his mother to stop meddling, so he needed to act right away.
* * * *
“How precious they are, Isabel. They rival any other babies I have seen!” Emily crooned, cradling the female twin. She envied her glowing sister-in-law, and the brood she and her brother had created. One day she would be a wife and have children, mayhap a whole house full of little ones. Warmth washed over her—content children meant a happy mother and household. One day this could be my family.
“Your brother mentioned this was your first time around young children, but I will take your saying so as a compliment.”
“I do hope I will get to see them often. Mama is in such a state, still. I hope she gets over the fact you are the new marchioness. She has only had months to get used to the idea.” Mama would never get over it. Emily knew her far too well to expect anything less. The woman was likely to take her vengeance to the grave, if permitted.
“I do, too, but for the meanwhile, I have other matters with which to occupy my time.” Isabel winked at her as she rubbed her son’s arm.
As Emily leaned back into the chair, a nursemaid lifted the sleeping babe from her arms. She was jealous of her brother and his wife. They had found each other and happiness, even after all the interference and scandal. She hoped one day to have a husband who would love her the same way.
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