by Anita Mills
“Is that better?”
“No, but it makes me think I am doing something for it.” He opened his good eye to stare into the swell of her breasts as she leaned over him, and his arm reached to circle her waist. He heard the sudden rush when she sucked in her breath, but she did not pull away. For several seconds he held her, leaning into her, and attempted to still the desire that raged within him. He did not want to give her a total disgust of him.
She stood motionless save for the tremor in her hands and looked down where his head rested against her chest. The flickering light from a brace of candles played off the thick blond waves. For a fleeting moment she wondered if he would think her like any other, like another conquest, and then her hands came up to caress his disordered hair.
Her breasts were full and soft where he pillowed his head, and they smelled of the small lilac sachet she’d worn between them earlier. He pulled her onto his lap, leaning back slightly to cradle her, giving him access to more of her body. As his fingers fumbled with the ties of her wrapper, she caught at his hand.
“Tony … I . . .”
“We talk too much,” he whispered back just before his lips met hers, playing against them softly until they parted. And once again she was overwhelmed by the warmth and strength of him. His tongue teased, tempted, and gave strange new sensations that were far headier than any wine. When he raised his head to look at her at last, his eye glittered with desire, but his voice was oddly gentle. “I’d not do anything against your will, Leah.”
It wasn’t fair—he was making her confused heart choose something her body wanted and her mind denied. “I … I don’t know what I want!” she blurted out.
“Poor Leah.” His hand reached out and his fingertips stroked her arm lightly through the fabric of her wrapper and gown, traveling from her shoulder to her wrist, and sending a shiver coursing the opposite way. “I know what I want.”
Passing her tongue over suddenly parched lips, she could only stare mutely through widened eyes into his face. “A devil’s bargain, Leah,” he whispered. “You let me touch you, and I swear I’ll not do anything you do not like.” His hand closed over hers and his fingers massaged hers with a lightness that belied the look in his eye. While his expression tantalized her, the softness of his voice reassured her. He nuzzled her hair with his chin and his cheek as she hid her face in his shoulder.
Using his palm, he smoothed her hair over her back and then massaged the stiffness there. Oddly, even though she knew what he meant to do, she’d never felt quite so warm and secure. This time, when he worked the ties at her waist, she did not protest, and the silk wrapper fell away from her thin lawn nightrail. Shifting her weight in his arms, he tipped her back for his kiss, and as his tongue took possession of her mouth, his fingers undid the buttons at the neck of her gown.
Her eyes, which had been closed to savor the sensation of being so near him, flew open in shock as his warm hand discovered her breast, but wordlessly his lips reassured her, tracing soft kisses from the corner of her mouth to an earlobe, as though what he was doing to her was nothing bizarre. He returned to explore her mouth leisurely now, but the hand that closed over her breast massaged it, sending new sensations, new anticipations to her very soul. He was touching her where no one had dared, and she not only did not care, she wanted more.
This time, when his mouth left hers, it nuzzled and nibbled down to the sensitive hollow of her throat, trailing fire and giving shivers of delight at the same time. She arched her head back and moaned low in her throat. His head bent lower and his tongue found her breast, tasting, teasing, sending waves of desire through her.
“A devil’s bargain”—the words took on meaning somewhere in the depths of what was left of her rational mind. She didn’t care if he were the devil himself as long as he did not stop.
Abruptly he eased her off his lap, standing as he did so. She felt a momentarily loss, a deprivation, and then he was lifting her, carrying her to bed. Somehow her gown managed to slide off in a heap on the floor as he laid her down. He stood over her, his eyes devouring her hungrily, and then he followed her down, caressing her even as he undressed himself.
The fleeting thought that she might wish to stop him was obliterated by the feel of his hands on her bare skin, and after that, nothing mattered beyond her own intense need. Wealth, title, reputation—all the things that had stood between them melted away in the fire of their union.
Later, he lay beside her, stroking her damp hair back from her face, watching her catch her breath, seeing the glow of the candles casting their light on her moist skin. Her hair spilled across the pillow in waves of honey- colored satin. She still swallowed to master her tumultuous emotions, and her lashes lay like smudges against her cheeks. When she dared open her eyes to look at him, they were like ringed smoke, still smoldering from the fire that had been between them.
“Sorry?” he asked soberly, his heart pausing for her answer.
“No,” she answered solemnly. And then a slow smile spread across her face and sparkled in her strange eyes. “But I know why ‘twas called a ‘devil’s bargain,’ my lord. Anything that feels that good must be exceedingly wicked.”
25
It was a full month later that they returned to London. After receiving word that Jeptha Cole’s health was steadily improving, Tony extended their trip to include Italy, where they explored the seaside city of Venice, visiting the Doge’s Palace and floating down the canals in gondolas. Jeanne complained of the dampness and Blair grumbled abut the lack of plain English fare at the tables, but Leah was oblivious of it all as she basked in the glory of a newfound love. As for the jaded Viscount Lyndon, the accomplished flirt and consummate rake, his wedding trip was the best time of his life.
On their arrival in Dover, Tony had had to hire a third coach in addition to the two that had originally brought him and Leah and Blair and Jeanne there when they’d started. And thus they rolled into Lyndon House with one full carriage of boxes filled with objets d ‘art, French and Venetian fashions, collectors’ books, furniture, and gifts for everyone from the dowager and Jeptha Cole to the lowliest tweeny.
As Blair unpacked his master’s clothing and sorted it for cleaning, Tony met Leah in the hallway. “If you do not change your mind and take my mother’s chambers, I fear this carpet will never last,” he teased her wickedly.
“A little walk is good for the body, my lord—and ‘tis said to invigorate the mind also,” she retorted with a grin. “Besides, I should quite dislike giving up my view of the garden.”
“Minx!” His eyes measured the distance from his room to hers, and he shook his head. “I calculate that you mean to make me walk the equivalent of an extra five and one-half miles per year then.”
“Five and one-half miles? That has to be a mistake, Tony.”
“No. ’Tis about forty feet from here to there, after all, twice a night for three hundred and sixty-five days—”
“Twice a night?”
“When I retire and when I arise—’tis twice, isn’t it? Unless, of course, you mean to make the trip half the time—then ’tis but two and three-quarters. Either way, consider the poor rug—it has been in my family since I was in short coats.”
“Well, maybe when winter comes and the garden turns …” She let her voice trail off, dangling the possibility.
“Jade!”
“You are dressed to go out,” she noted suddenly.
“The house is at sixes and sevens with the unpacking, and I cannot abide disorder. Besides, I had thought to go round to my clubs to stifle the rumor that I must surely be dead, my dear.”
“Oh.”
“And I had thought that perhaps you would wish to take the carriage when ’tis unpacked and pay a call on your father.”
“Tony, I do not know anyone here but Jeanne and Blair. I mean, these are your servants, and—”
“You have met them. Just tell Mrs. Fitch what you need and she’ll see you
have it. And if it requires the ordering of something beyond what is here, I am sure that Max will tend to the matter on the instant.” Reaching out to lift her chin with his knuckle, he smiled at her. “What you have, my dear, is a severe case of dependence. The sooner you take to the ordering of the servants yourself, the sooner you will make yourself mistress of this house in fact as well as name.”
“But we have just gotten home!”
“Would you like me to join you at your father’s for supper?”
“Actually, I would eat here—’tis my first night in this house, Tony.”
“All right. I’ll be home in time to dine then.” He dropped his hand and stepped back. “There are stacks of cards in the tray from those who have been to see us whilst we have been gone. Perhaps you would wish to select some, that you may begin paying morning calls.”
“I do not know any of them.”
“The sooner you are out and about, the sooner the ton will welcome Viscountess Lyndon. Take Aunt Hester with you,” he advised.
“But I scarce know her either!”
“She would be happy to go, Leah—all you need do is ask her.” Leaning to brush her lips lightly, he whispered, “Believe me, there are no delights at a club that can compare with yours, my love.”
After he left, she wandered through the house looking for something useful to do and discovered absolutely nothing. It was not like she was in her father’s house, where she’d had the ordering of everything for years. Lyndon’s housekeeper, the indomitable Mrs. Fitch, assured her kindly, “Don’t worry your head about anything, my lady, for we know how to go on here,” and suggested, “you must be overtired from traveling and will be wanting a nap.”
Leah stopped in Lyndon’s library to admire the large collection of books accumulated by the Barsett family over several hundred years. Many were in canvas slipcovers to protect them, while others were locked in glass-fronted cabinets. Idly she wondered if Tony had read many of them. Moving to his desk, she discovered both the letter tray and the card tray from the hall table. He’d been right: there were a number of cards left during their extended absence, and some of the best-known names amongst the ton were there—Sally Jersey, Princess Esterhazy, Mrs. Bagshot, the Cress well sisters, Lady Renfield, Lady Benbrough—and there were conspicuous gaps also. Certainly there were those who meant to ignore her. Just as she was about to put the cards back in the tray, her eye was caught by a folded paper most notable for the rather heavy scent emanating from it. Curious, she opened it and her heart sank. In a decidedly feminine hand, the writer thanked Tony for the gift of a ruby pendant, stating, “It becomes my dark hair and has afforded me many compliments.” Her stomach knotting, it finished with, “When you are returned and your little Cit no longer amuses you, I am here.” It was signed with a graceful, looping E.
Carefully refolding the perfumed note, Leah was certain now that Tony had lied to her, for the date on the missive was a mere two weeks before. Then, to be judicious, she tried to think when he could have sent the necklace to Elaine Chandler. Certainly not while they were gone, not when she’d been with him almost every minute. Perhaps he’d sent it before they left. Pocketing the note, she was determined to ask him. And she sincerely hoped he had an answer.
In a small but elegant house many blocks away, the Earl of Rotherfield greeted Elaine Chandler with three words. “They are back,” he told her before she’d had time to refuse him entry into her house.
“Who?” She feigned ignorance, knowing full well whom he meant. Stepping aside with ill grace, she followed him into the small drawing room. “Oh, very well, Marcus—so Lyndon and his ill-bred bride are back! What is that to me now, pray? What can that possibly mean to me—or to you?”
“There is the matter of one thousand pounds,” he reminded her with deceptive softness. “I understand that the tradesmen grow impatient.”
“Tradesmen are always impatient,” she snapped.
“I thought you still wanted Lyndon back.”
“It would be foolish for me to care what happens to anyone, Marcus.”
He gave an uncharacteristic crow of triumph. “My instincts, as always, are impeccable, my dear.” He leaned against the mantel and flicked open his snuffbox, taking a pinch. And when he finished sneezing into his delicate lace-edged linen handkerchief, he announced baldly, “I am here to help you.”
“Really? As you did the last time? As I recall it, you dallied with the Cit whilst I was humiliated. No, Marcus—I want no more of your schemes.”
“You prefer I remove him by, er … more convenient means?”
“For God’s sake, my lord, they are wed! What do you expect me to do about that?” she demanded, pacing the open area restlessly. “She is as lost to you as he is to me!”
“Not quite.”
“What do you want with her, anyway?” she cried out, not wanting to admit the thought that came to mind. “Kill him and she will not thank you for it.”
He appeared not to attend her, turning his attention instead to a lovely crystal bowl that graced a table beside the fireplace. “Another trifle from Carrington?” he hazarded. “My dear, the old roué is become far too particular in his attentions. You’ll not get Lyndon back with him.”
“I don’t want Tony back!”
“Tell that to Carrington, my dear—it will not fadge with Rotherfield.”
“I despise you!” she spat at him.
“And I am not overfond of you either, Elaine—’tis what makes us such excellent allies, after all. None would suspect us.”
“And just how do you think I am to insinuate myself back into his life even? He gave me short shrift the last time I attempted the task.” She managed a brittle, bitter little laugh.
“Write to him, pester him—I leave that to you.” He reached into his coat and drew out a sheaf of banknotes. “There is one thousand pounds here, Elaine. I suggest you pay your bills with it. And I will expect you to seek out Lyndon as soon as possible.”
“How?”
“I do not care if you have to play Caro Lamb to Anthony Barsett’s Byron, my dear—you will do it.” Executing the briefest of bows, he favored her with that strange, enigmatic look of his. “Until next we are met, Elaine.”
She watched from behind the lace curtain at her window until his smart black coach and four pulled into the street and disappeared. Turning back to the money he’d left on the table, she picked it up and shrugged. It was one thousand pounds, after all.
Having encountered Tony an hour earlier at White’s, the earl gambled on finding Leah at home. And despite the decidedly stiff reception from Lyndon’s butler, he was not destined for disappointment. Informed by that disapproving fellow that he would ascertain if Lady Lyndon were receiving, Marcus Halvert scarce had time to take his seat before he had to rise to greet her. His critical eye went first to her waist and then to her face. She was even lovelier than he remembered her as she extended both her hands in greeting.
“Lord Rotherfield—’tis a pleasure to see you,” she murmured, trying not to be embarrassed as he drew first one hand and then the other to his lips in a gallant gesture. “Er … pray be seated, my lord. We are not yet settled, and Lyndon is at one of his clubs, but—”
“I did not come to see Lyndon, my dear. After your rather precipitate marriage, I feared for your happiness, you know, and am come to see how you fare.”
“ ’Twould be improper of me to state it even if I were miserable,” she reminded him.
“Are you miserable?”
“No.”
“My dear Leah, it is of the utmost importance to me, I assure you. I have not forgotten your reluctance to wed Tony Barsett, and I quite understood the reasons.”
“ ’Tis best to forget that, sir, for I am wed to him, and am reconciled to him now.”
He leaned across to where she’d taken a seat and possessed himself of one of her hands. “Tell me you are content, and I shall forget the matter.”
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br /> “I am as content as may be, my lord.”
“I would still stand your friend, Leah.” His black eyes penetrated hers while his hand still lay in her lap. “Your friendship means much to me.”
His words touched her—he’d asked for no favors and had made no improper advances—he merely offered that which gentlemen seldom offered to females. And despite what Tony had said of his awful reputation, she was flattered. “I thank you, sir,” she answered sincerely. “I quite count you a friend also.”
“You may have need of one now that Tony is back in London. My word of advice, should you ever need it, is to turn the other way when you suspect his, er … indiscretions, my dear, for there will be none to last. If naught else can be said of Lyndon, his eye never remains on the same bit of fluff long.”
She stiffened and drew away her hand, and for a moment she thought to give him a sharp set-down for his presumption. But there was no guile in his eyes. “I do not expect the problem, my lord, but I shall try to remember the advice. Would you care to stay to partake of tea?” she added to turn aside the subject.
“Alas, no. I am promised to my man of affairs at four.” Rising, he bowed over her hand again. “I did but wish to assure you that you may always turn to me as a friend.”
It was a strange visit, one that she could not truly fathom, but she was grateful for the sentiment. Sighing, she reached to pick up the third volume of Glenarvon. She was going to have to purchase it before she lost her subscription to Hookham’s over it, she supposed. Not that she held much hope for Calantha—Caro Lamb’s heroine was so enamored of the dastardly Glenarvon that it made no sense. And if the Lamb woman truly modeled her heroine on herself, then Sir William ought to have clapped her up in an asylum. Resolutely she opened the book and sought her place, using Elaine Chandler’s letter for a bookmark.
When Tony returned home to dress for dinner, his servants, beginning with Horton, the butler, and ending with Blair, all took it upon themselves to tell him of Rotherfield’s call.