by Peggy Waide
While the creme de la creme ate, Reyn listened to the soft tinkling of silverware and crystal as well as the innocuous ramblings of the lady whom he sat beside. Glancing down the length of the table, he smiled. His wife sat between two portly lords known for their grace, manners and faithful marriages. Thank God, he thought, she wasn't sitting next to his former mistress, Celeste.
Reyn continued politely to engage in various conversations, participated in the toast to Lady Damford, shared a cigar and a brandy with the men. At the first opportunity, he fled the room in search of his wife. Leaning casually against a pillar at the back of the salon, he waited for his wife's appearance amongst the throng of people who filtered into the room. He straightened when a masculine voice invaded his privacy.
"If you continue to scowl like that, no one this hemisphere will ever believe you a happily married man."
Reyn shrugged his shoulders with a cleansing breath, and turned to face the grinning facade of Tameron Innes. Reyn plastered a cheeky smile on his face and said, "Is that better?"
Tam looked aghast. "God, no, that is perfectly frightening. You look more like a pettifogger caught with his hands in the till."
Reyn reestablished his normal somber expression. "Save me from insipid old women, turtle soup and another discussion on the necessity of prunes in one's diet."
As he ignored his friend's grievances, Tameron said, "I rather enjoyed myself."
"I would certainly hope so, seated between the Countess Randall and Lady Simlett. I well imagine you have already established whose bed you shall visit later." Reyn raised a brow in speculation. "Or shall it be both tonight?"
"Me?" Tam guffawed. "Either you must be thinking of Woody, or you are so sunk in gloom and self-pity that you must accuse anyone of excess and gluttony."
"And shouldn't I be? Look at her." Reyn tipped his head in the direction of his wife. "Other than during our grand entrance, she has barely acknowledged my presence."
"And you? Other than hurling a stony glare her way, what have you done to represent the constant, loving husband?"
Reyn drew his lips into a tight, compressed line. "She is completely surrounded by fops and dandies, all probably attempting to solicit her favor now that she carries the marriage title. I can't even secure a spot near her."
"Never in my days have I seen you wallow in a corner, especially if you felt your territory was being encroached. Where is Agatha? I just saw them together."
"They were." Reyn nodded to a stout man with a ruddy complexion trying to hide behind a piece of marble statuary. "Agatha abandoned her charge to pursue the purse of Lord Helm. She wants benefactors to build an orphanage on the fringe of St. Giles."
Tam winced at the image. "The poor man. He doesn't stand a chance. Thank heavens they don't allow women in the House of Lords. Can you imagine the turmoil?"
"She is relentless in her causes."
"And we both love her for it."
Pointedly, Reyn looked toward Jocelyn. "Usually."
Grinning, Tam paused before he moved on to another topic. "I daresay Celeste has sent a few beckoning glances your way tonight. Is Jocelyn aware of your arrangement?"
"I have no arrangement," Reyn said adamantly, only to face Tameron's direct scrutiny. "Fine. I concede that I spent time with her during my last visit to London. Briefly. Nothing happened. I discovered her appeal no longer holds." Eager to turn the conversation away from him, he raised a brow to his friend. "Perhaps Celeste would also enjoy a sample of your lecherous ways tonight." The twinkle in Tameron's eyes alerted Reyn of the forthcoming retaliation by his friend's burgeoning wit. "Don't even speak what is on your perverse mind."
Witholding his original retort, Tameron said, "In that case, while you rescue your wife, I shall secure us some choice seats for the glee."
Reyn, wishing he and Jocelyn were alone in their own salon, groaned as he remembered they had yet to endure the vocal concert to be performed by the host's three daughters.
Adding insult to injury, Tameron mischievously whispered before he left, "Surely your wife has received sufficient offers for the duration of her London stay."
His thoughts solely focused on one woman, Reyn managed to look indifferent as he maneuvered through the crowd, blatantly ignoring various invitations to converse. He saw only Jocelyn. Draped in layers of sheer, gauze-like muslin the color of blue twilight, she looked exceptional. Hundreds of tiny pearls covered the lowcut bodice, immediately drawing one's eyes to the opalescence of her breasts. When he remembered the bounty hidden beneath her bodice, his mouth went dry, and he realized that Tam had spoken the truth. He never lurked in the shadows when poachers threatened his property, and according to law, Jocelyn belonged to him. And he was supposed to be courting her.
With new determination to reach her side, he lengthened his stride. When she saw him approach, she forgot her bevy of admirers and graced him with a smile so warm, so dazzling, it sent tremors down to the tips of his leather boots. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I believe I shall claim this lovely lady, my wife." The formalities spoken, Reyn presented his arm.
"Why, Lord Wilcott, I'm charmed," she teased merrily. "To what do I owe such congeniality?"
"Purely selfish intentions, I assure you. I wearied of watching every young fop in London dribble and drool over your breasts. Remembering their delightful bounty, I decided I wanted that enviable opportunity for myself."
Jocelyn's mouth fell open at the blatant reference to her body and his desire.
"Do close your mouth, my dear. Someone will think I said something scandalous to you."
Snapping her mouth shut, she whispered, "You did say something scandalous to me."
"Yes, but you liked it, didn't you?" He continued as if they were discussing the current price of wool. "Oh, don't deny it. I can tell by your rosy blush that you like my words, even if that saintly mind of yours refuses to admit it. Now, sit down and shush. Here are Agatha and Tam." He ushered her to their chairs, helped her sit, took her hand and placed it in his lap, his thumb rhythmically teasing her palm.
Jocelyn felt as though her entire body smoldered. One small spark and she would burst into flame. A softly spoken innuendo here, a discreet yet gentle caress there, Reyn had worked his magic well throughout the interminable recital. Relief must have shown on her face as he excused himself to enjoy a cigar with Tam, because he chuckled knowingly and gave her a wink. Thankfully, Lady Battingham and Agatha sat nearby. Jocelyn prevailed on their idle chatter to fill the void until her rattled senses calmed.
After the moment of distress had dissipated, pondering her husband's tactics and motives, she knew someone watched her. Sensing yet ignoring these feelings earlier, she now sought the source, and once discovered, she simply couldn't fathom the significance.
A beautiful woman, equal in figure to Venus and dressed in a golden gown, cast a look best described as venomous in Jocelyn's direction. Jocelyn experienced an initial spurt of fear, which she quickly transformed into disdain. She returned a provoking stare to the woman across the room and was quickly rewarded with the withdrawal of her mysterious combatant. Now, she needed to satisfy her curiosity.
Opting for discretion, she questioned the vapid woman next to her. "Lady Battingham, you seem to have a talent for remembering everyone's name and title. Would you be willing to share your secret?"
Lady Battingham twittered behind her fan. "Nonsense, dear. It simply takes time. The secret is knowing whom you should remember and whom you should forget." The older woman giggled, appreciating her own wit.
"I suppose." Jocelyn sighed. "I do want to make a good impression. Now, take that gentleman standing beside the large potted palm. I feel certain we have met, but I cannot remember his name."
Both Agatha and the matron scanned the room. Lady Battingham's eyes settled on the fellow in question first. "You mean Lord Halden?"
"Of course, how could I forget?" Nonchalantly, Jocelyn asked, "Is that his wife?"
Agatha nearly fell out of her
chair, but before she could speak, Lady Battingham answered. "Dear, no. That woman is Celeste Waverly. A widow of three years. And if you do not mind my saying so, she enjoys her freedom a bit excessively."
Abruptly standing, Agatha interrupted. "Mildred, my dear, I do believe Harry is looking for you."
Oblivious to the strain in Agatha's voice, Lady Battingham rambled on, more interested in idle gossip than discretion. "Inherited a lofty sum and blatantly disregards propriety, flitting from one man's bed to another. However, for the last year, I understand her lover has been-" The sentence ended with an audible gasp.
"Mildred," Agatha said. A warning seemed to accompany that single word.
"Has been-?" Jocelyn asked.
An odd croak, part whimper, part groan, escaped the matron's mouth. "Who?"
"The lover?" Jocelyn prodded, all the while wondering why Lady Battingham suddenly stammered like a mockingbird. And why did Agatha have that strangled look on her face?
"Her lover?" Lady Battingham repeated.
Agatha firmly shut her eyes. "Sweet mercy."
It was impossible for Jocelyn to believe, but the fan in Mildred's hand flew even more furiously. "Madam, are you feeling well?"
"No, not at all. Please excuse me. I feel the need for a breath of air."
"It's about time," muttered Agatha.
The exasperating matron rushed to her husband's side, leaving Jocelyn alone with Agatha. "For a moment, I thought she might swoon. What do you suppose had her behaving so oddly?"
"One never knows with Mildred. I assure you, whatever she meant to say is better left forgotten."
Jocelyn stared across the room. "Agatha, that woman, Celeste Waverly, looked as though she hated me."
"Nonsense, child. Simply too much excitement. In fact, I shall find Reyn. He can take you home."
Agatha allowed no time for Jocelyn to express an opinion, for she twisted away like a small whirlwind. Jocelyn sighed and turned covertly to study the woman across the room. Whoever she was, Lady Battingham clearly disapproved of her behavior. Other than her striking beauty, she seemed harmless enough, draped on the arm of Lord Halden. And yet, Jocelyn sensed something amiss. She watched Celeste send a blatant, sensual invitation toward someone else in the room. Discreetly, Jocelyn followed her gaze, and nearly fainted when she realized the recipient of the woman's admiration.
Reynolds Blackburn, Lord Wilcott-her husband.
Roused from her initial shock, she quietly scolded her ignorance. What a dolt. Of course the libertine had a mistress. Sharp talons tore at her heart as Jocelyn visualized the two entwined in each other's arms, sharing kisses like those he had given her.
The room seemed smaller, a hundred pairs of eyes focused directly on her. Surely everyone present knew of the lovers' relationship. The revelers probably anticipated, even hoped for, a potential scandal. The once pleasant evening evaporated, Jocelyn's only wish to escape to the solitude of Black House.
"Agatha said you were eager to leave." Reyn searched Jocelyn's face for signs of fatigue as he joined her side. Although she appeared well, she kept her eyes directed at the far wall. Her spine looked as though it might snap if she stood any taller.
"Yes," she said.
Reyn lifted one brow at her abrupt response. "I've already called for our carriage and said our good-byes." When he presented his arm, she purposely stepped forward. Once in the carriage, she practically smashed herself against the side panel. He remained silent for the first few minutes, then asked, "Is something wrong?"
"No.
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
"Yes."
"Did anyone badger you to death with questions?"
"No."
He leaned back in his seat and pondered her sudden change of mood. By his estimation, until he'd elected to visit with a few of his cronies, events had proceeded nicely. At the moment, a great northerner blowing on the Atlantic would have exuded more warmth than Jo celyn did. "I won't apologize for sharing a cigar with friends of mine."
"Nor should you. Being a man, and a duke, you may do what you wish, whenever you wish."
"What the devil does that mean?"
She turned to gaze out the window.
Fine, he thought. Silence was better than a one-syllable conversation with a woman more prickly than a currycomb. Thankfully the distance to Black House was short. He helped Jocelyn from the carriage and, following behind, watched her climb the stairs to her room. Neither bothered with the common courtesy of a good night as they slammed their respective doors.
More aware than ever that Jocelyn lay only a few feet away behind a closed door, Reyn lay upon his massive bed, hands clasped behind his head as he stared distractedly at the lingering flames in the hearth. A habit he seemed to be developing of late. "Infernal woman," he cursed.
Irritated beyond belief by her aloof behavior, furious that he cared, and frustrated by his intense physical attraction for the woman, he lay wide awake.
The mournful outcry that came from the adjoining room sent him bolting from the bed. Like a crazed man, he threw open the door to her room and, searching, turned his eyes to Jocelyn's bed. Caesar stood alert by Jocelyn's pillow, and although the room lacked any visible intruders, his wife seemed to be battling a private army.
With quick efficiency, Reyn lit the candle in the wall lamp above the bed table, lifted the cat away and clasped his wife's shoulders. She rewarded him with an immediate reaction. A keening wail escaped her lips as wildly flailing arms, intent on self-preservation, connected firmly with his jaw.
"Ouch! Damnation, Jocelyn. Wake up." His heart wrenched at the open, searing despair revealed in her eyes as her senses returned. Tenderly, he pulled her into his arms. "Sweetheart, you're safe."
Still lost in the darkness of her nightmare, desperate for the protection offered by his strong embrace, Jocelyn collapsed as Reyn, with a gentle touch and nonsense words, stroked and soothed her ravaged emotions. Comfort gave way to tears that fell unchecked onto his bare chest as he continued to hold her, eager to provide a safe haven until her reason returned.
He kissed her temple, her brow, each eyelid, a teardampened cheek, finally settling on her mouth. Whether she quivered from fear or anticipation he didn't know, and his caresses, initiated in comfort, grew bolder with passion. Intimately pressed against his bare chest, her rounded breasts reminded him of her near nakedness. His resolve crumbled. Crossing the barrier of her lips, he buried his tongue deep within the warmth of her mouth, stoking the fire. Jocelyn hesitated, as if retreating, then tentatively, she touched the tip of her tongue to his. Reyn groaned and pulled her closer. Suddenly, the woman exploded in his arms, perhaps exorcising her own demons, but for him, a man accustomed to passion, nothing mattered except fulfilling his desire.
Drawing back from her lips to seek out the hammering pulse at her nape, his mouth traced a line down her neck and across her collarbone. As if seeking sustenance, he sought and found the engorged tip of her breast, reverently caressing first one, then the other, through the fabric of her nightgown.
The texture of satin on bare skin teased Reyn. In order to fulfill the driving need in his loins, he pressed her down to the mattress. Slowly, with the ease of freeing a butterfly from its cocoon, he freed Jocelyn from her gown, his eyes feasting on every inch of skin he unveiled. Her breasts, bare for his plundering, beckoned again, and he fed on them with delirious delight.
His hands swept down her belly, down to the nest of auburn curls that guarded her femininity. For a brief moment, he sensed her hesitation as she clamped her legs together. He raised his head to witness her passionate expression laced with fear and confusion. He managed to speak. "I won't hurt you, moonshine. Let me give you this." As if she acknowledged the gift he offered, she dragged his lips to hers.
Her innocent response drove Reyn into a near frenzy, and he stroked her, invoking the dew her body so willingly gave. He encouraged her legs to part further as he taught her how to feed on her own passion. Her head thra
shed on the pillow and short gasps slid past her lips as her hips instinctively matched the rhythm of his hand and tongue. Lifting his lips from hers, he shuddered with need and pride when she reached her first climax with a sensual grace he never anticipated.
Her whimper sparked his sanity. Reyn cursed. What a lecher! His despicable behavior, his lack of control, had turned an act of compassion into one of seduction. Breathing deeply, stroking her lightly from shoulder to hip, he forced himself to sound calm. "Rest easy, Jocelyn, everything will be fine in a moment." Blast, he thought, it would take all night for him to regain his composure.
He knew the moment she found her wits, for she stiffened like a wet leather strap left to dry in the sun. With naked breasts, tousled hair and dark, angry eyes, she speared him when he leaned back.
"Jocelyn, I can explain."
"You cad... scoundrel... debaucher of innocents." Each verbal insult accented her movements as she jerked and tugged her nightclothes into place. As she unleashed a new litany of charges, she kicked and jabbed Reyn until he fell from the bed to the floor.
"Bloody hell."
"How dare you take such liberties?" she cried, her voice a high-pitched shriek.
"Good God, woman, you were having a nightmare."
"You baker-legged blackguard. You should be whipped, shot, or at the very least, beheaded."
Indignant over her tantrum, Reyn started to stand. "Be reasonable. It's not as if we consummated our marriage. You still hold your precious virginity tight within your body."
"Oooh" she screeched, hurling a pillow at his head.
As his feet caught in a discarded bedcover, he fell back to the floor. In frustration, he batted the cushion and launched his own attack. "Damn and blast, Jocelyn, I thought you needed protection."
"Is that what you call it? Mauling someone while they sleep? Protection-hah!"
As difficult as it was to maintain one's dignity while sprawled naked on the floor, he persevered. "You didn't seem to mind my mauling a moment ago."
When reminded of the recent moment of passion, as if she donned a veil of chastity, Jocelyn pulled the sheet to her chin. "No small wonder, I was half-asleep."