by Megan Mulry
Archie stood up from the table and tossed his napkin back onto his chair. “I’ll thank you to mind your own damn eyes and let me mind mine.”
Christopher was clearly nonplussed. “Very well. I’ll see you next week at the masquerade. I’m going as Dionysus; why don’t you go as Ampelos?”
Leaving the room with as much quiet dignity as he could muster, Archie seethed inside. Why did Christopher have to turn everything into a sordid game? He walked off his anger, trudging through the snow-dusted sidewalks along St. James’s, then along Piccadilly, and through the bare trees of Berkeley Square, until he reached his front door. The footman had the door open before Archie reached the top step.
He removed his hat and handed it to the servant, along with his greatcoat. “Is the marchioness at home?”
“Yes, my lord. She and Miss Farnsworth are in the library.”
“Thank you.” He tried to set aside Christopher’s prurient suggestions, but he couldn’t help imagining Selina and Beatrix in some preposterously compromising position when he entered the room. He knocked lightly, and Selina’s sweet voice beckoned him to come in.
She was standing next to Beatrix, and glanced at him over her bare shoulder. Both women were dressed as Grecian goddesses. Selina lifted the diaphanous white fabric so as not to trip, and ran to greet him. “Are they not spectacular? We’ve been adjusting the clasp at the shoulder and pinning the hems to get it just right. For Devonshire’s party next week, remember?” She kissed him on the cheek and then lifted a gold-feathered mask to cover her face. Her blonde hair was piled high on her head, with a delectable tangle of unruly curls trickling down her neck.
“You are splendid as always, my love.” He leaned in and kissed her bare shoulder.
“Darling. It’s the middle of the day.”
“I want you now,” he whispered, and an answering tremor of desire rocked through her body where he held her hip.
“This instant?” she teased, keeping the gold mask in place.
“Upstairs. At once.” He looked over Selina’s shoulder and smiled at Beatrix. “I’m so sorry to intrude. We shan’t be a moment.”
Beatrix smiled and lifted a similar gold mask to her face. She was dark to Selina’s light: her chestnut hair a sharp contrast to her creamy skin, her deep chocolate eyes rich compared to Selina’s of pale green jade. “Farewell, sweet Sappho.”
“Farewell, wise Athena!” Selina replied, laughing as she tripped out of the room and followed him up the stairs.
They were both breathless when they reached the master suite. He pushed the door shut behind him and tore at the fall of his trousers. Selina stepped slowly away from him, keeping the mask in place as she lifted the gauzy fabric of her costume with her free hand. As she revealed more and more leg, he felt more and more like a rutting Pan come to defile her.
“This isn’t going to be pretty,” he growled.
“Good,” she purred. “I hate pretty.”
Before she could get out of reach, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him. His cock pressed into her soft belly through the fabric; she gasped and pushed harder against him.
He shoved the fabric out of the way and held Selina so she was firmly against to the wall. He reached his fingers to her slit and felt how ready she was for him. She looked up at him, eyes ablaze with lust and invitation.
Her voice was seductive and irresistible. “Ready and waiting as always, my love.”
He thrust into her with one powerful stroke, and her head tipped back against the wall with a thud.
“It’s only you, only you who can do this to me.”
He knew it! Damn Christopher Joseph and his lascivious imaginings! Only he did this to her!
“And you, Selina—” He slammed into her again and again, both of them wanting this powerful, unequivocal declaration. “Only you.” He thrust again and knew he was stroking her inside and out, exactly where she wanted—needed—him the most, and then she cried out her pleasure, grasping desperately at his lapel with one hand and squeezing her breast with the other.
He held still, thrust deep inside her, while she quaked around him. Her eyes were glassy, but open enough to lock onto his. As wave after wave took her, she never looked away. She was his damn it. His.
She ground out the last of her pleasure, coiling one leg around the back of his hip, and then she bit down on her lip and used her inner muscles to push him over. “Mine,” she whispered. He came and came, his legs barely able to keep them upright through the storm of ecstasy that overtook him.
Her head fell forward against his shoulder, and she sighed. “I am in love with the Marquess of Camburton.” She said it with a hint of wonder, as if the fact still perplexed her.
“I am in love with the Marchioness of Camburton. Madly in love.”
She looked up at him and caressed his cheek. “Not mad, darling. Just the opposite of mad.” She kissed him as his cock slid out of her body. “Are you finished with me for now?”
He kissed her palm. “Yes. For now.” When he reached for his handkerchief, about to clean himself off, Selina smiled wickedly and slid to her knees.
“You and your silly handkerchiefs.” She licked him clean and buttoned his trousers, leaving him immaculately attired and partially aroused, before returning downstairs to continue her preparations with Beatrix for the costume ball.
He had set up a small laboratory in town several years ago, and he spent the rest of the afternoon testing the new version of the vaccination that he’d been working on. It was by far the most stable he’d achieved, and he was looking forward to sharing his work with Jenner the following week. If they could get the vaccination to stabilize in the mercury distillation, then widespread distribution—and the complete eradication of the disease—would not be far behind.
The following week, he, Selina, and Beatrix had an animated supper before getting ready for Devonshire’s ball. The invitation was for ten o’clock, and they’d decided not to attend either of the other parties beforehand to which they’d been invited.
Feeling well pleased with his work—and his wife—he returned to his dressing room after supper. Selina had ordered a costume for him as well, a patrician toga with an elaborate cape and preposterous crown of golden laurels that matched the hand-held masks worn by Selina and Beatrix. His mask was made of exotic amber feathers—“to match your eyes,” she’d told him—and it tied in the back.
When they met in the hall at half past nine, the three of them were a trio of Greek gods.
“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” Selina cried. “All my favorite people in one place.” Beatrix slid her hand into Selina’s arm and Selina slid hers into Archie’s. “You will finally get to meet the dashing Christopher Joseph,” Selina told Bea.
He nearly tripped at the mention of his friend’s name.
“Careful, Archie! You’re not accustomed to walking in a dress!” Selina laughed.
“It’s not a dress,” he said with haughty good humor. “It’s a toga.”
“I forget you’re such a man, darling. Very well. You are not accustomed to walking in a toga. Have a care.”
He helped each of the ladies up into the carriage, and they rode the short distance to Piccadilly. Even though Devonshire House was only a few blocks away, the narrow winter streets were congested with snow and traffic, and it took them nearly an hour to get there. They spoke of Selina’s excitement about her next book, about her upcoming meeting with her publisher, and Beatrix’s future concert schedule. She would be performing primarily in England and Scotland for the next year, which made Selina sigh with pleasure.
By the time they arrived, the party was in full froth and all three of them buzzed with anticipation and excitement.
The past few weeks in London had put many of Selina’s demons to rest, at last. Her parents held no sway here. Her cousin, the Marquess of Hartington and future duke of Devonshire, William Cavendish, was a popular man about town who insisted on including Selina in all of his numer
ous social gatherings. She had visited her aunt in Tavistock Street several times, as well as having her for supper. Aunt Diana was enamored with Archie and his gentlemanly ways, and thrilled that Selina had been able to keep her close ties with Beatrix even after she and Archie were married.
All of their costumes were from Aunt Diana and the prop room at the theater where her latest show was now running. Tonight felt like a celebration of all the strands of Selina’s life finally weaving together in a harmonious whole. The crush at the front of Devonshire House was a pretty kettle. The press of aristocrats in costumes and cumbersome headgear, capes, and coats, created a sea of hot, teeming flesh. In the commotion, she lost her grip on Archie’s hand and looked at him desperately as the throng pushed him farther away from her. He gestured toward the ballroom and pantomimed that he would meet her there.
She held tighter to Beatrix. “Can you breathe?”
“Yes.” Bea smiled. “I love this kind of crazy mash vat.”
Selina took a deep breath and tried to assume some of Beatrix’s festive enthusiasm. Ever since her time in Yorkshire, she had never done well in tight, crowded spaces. Her breathing tended to become shallow, and a sheen of cold sweat formed on her upper lip and brow.
“You’re fine,” Beatrix whispered, soft and close to her ear. Bea squeezed her hand, and she settled somewhat. “I’m not letting go.” Bea gripped her fingers tighter to let her know without words that she was not going to be abandoned in this conflagration.
Trying to steady her breathing, she finally caught a glimpse of a long hall that led off from the front entry. The footmen were frantically trying to collect all the coats and shawls without stemming the incoming tide of people. At last, she and Beatrix were through the worst of it, but when she turned to face the ballroom, she saw it was nearly as crowded as the front hall had been. She’d very much been looking forward to a night of gaiety and had known it would be crowded, but she was starting to feel ill and asked Beatrix to join her in a quiet room for a few moments.
“Of course. Do you know your way round the mansion?”
“Vaguely . . .” She looked up and saw Christopher Joseph emerging from a room at the far end of the hall. “Christopher!”
He smiled when he saw her approaching, and something flipped in her stomach. He looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed, and it reminded her hotly of their time with Archie in the laboratory at Camburton Castle.
“Lady Camburton, what a pleasure to see you again. And this must be Miss Farnsworth.”
Beatrix curtseyed and kept her gold mask over her face. “Athena, at your service.”
Selina still felt as if the crowd were pressing in on her, even though the three of them were now relatively alone in the hall. “I need to sit down. Is there someplace quiet nearby?”
“Right this way.” Christopher put his hand around her waist before her legs gave out, and led them into a small library. There was a man standing behind a desk, and he looked up with a playful smile. “Christopher? Back so soon?” When he saw that Christopher was now accompanied by the two ladies, he continued more seriously. “Pardon me. How may I be of assistance?”
She realized it was Geoffrey Standiford, one of Cavendish’s cousins from his father’s side, and he was dressed as a twig-and-vine-covered satyr. “Hello Geoffrey,” she tried lamely, then collapsed onto the silk sofa. “I’m having a bit of a swoon, I’m afraid.”
“Allow me to fetch Camburton.”
“Yes, would you? That would be lovely. I believe he’s in the ballroom. Don’t upset him, if you please. Just tell him I’d like to see him privately, or some such.”
“Very well. He’s become a protective husband already, is that it?” Geoffrey was a few years younger than she, and he carried himself with the jovial gait of a carefree man about town. He had chosen his costume well.
After the door closed behind him, she saw Christopher staring after him for a few extra seconds, then he turned back to look at her with a residual smile.
“A new friend, Christopher?”
He laughed and waved her off. “These young men are all so curious. Who am I to tamp down his enthusiasm for new experiences?”
“Come sit and talk to me until Archie arrives. I don’t want to spoil the evening for everyone. I’m feeling better already.”
Beatrix returned from the sideboard with a glass of water. “Drink this, darling.”
Christopher watched them as Selina drank and Bea fussed with the pillows behind her, then caressed her cheek in that familiar way, with her knuckles. It had always soothed her, from as far back as she could remember. When she was finished drinking, Bea took the glass from her hand without asking, and returned it to the tray with the decanters.
Christopher definitely had something on his mind, and Selina wasn’t able to ignore his curious expression. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Sitting on the edge of a wingback chair, Christopher slung one of his legs over the other and rested his forearms on his thighs. “Like what?”
Bea came back to the sofa and sat at the far end, lifting Selina’s feet and putting them on her lap.
“Are you two lovers?” Christopher asked plainly.
Selina and Beatrix both laughed.
“What do you think?” Bea asked provocatively, letting her palm run up Selina’s leg, beneath the white layers of her silk costume.
Christopher only smiled. He nodded once, then stood up and walked toward the sideboard. “I need something stronger than water, I’m afraid. Anyone else fancy a bit of Dutch courage before poor Archie arrives?”
“What do you mean by poor Archie?” Selina sat up straighter so she could see Christopher over the back of the sofa, and pushed Bea’s hand away from her leg.
“Yes. Whatever could Mr. Joseph mean, Selina?” Bea asked peevishly, her arms crossed in front of her beautiful chest. “That perhaps Archie is not as fully aware of our circumstances as you would like to believe? That you have been lying to yourself and him in the hopes that everything between us would just—” she snapped her fingers loudly above her head like a flamenco dancer “—miraculously become clear to him.”
Christopher poured a healthy serving of amber liquid into the glass and downed it in one gulp. Then he poured a more appropriate amount, walked back to the seating area, and took up his spot on the edge of the chair again, as if he didn’t want to take a seat and participate entirely.
“He doesn’t know.” Christopher sipped his drink and stared at Selina, then Bea.
All feelings of claustrophobia and paranoia evaporated. She felt a wave of something far worse. She stood up and began pacing behind the sofa. “It’s simply not possible. He smells you on my body. He is with us all the time. I hold your hand. I—”
The door swung open. “Selina! Are you all right? I’ve been looking all over and— Oh, hello, Christopher.” Archie dropped his gaze to his rabble-rousing friend with a look of contrived disinterest. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Yes. Fancy that.” Christopher took another sip of whisky. “I’d be happy to leave—”
“No!” She cried, then realized her voice was shrill. “I mean . . .” Composing herself, she continued, “Would you please stay while we get to the bottom of this potential misunderstanding?”
Christopher smiled that lazy, provocative smile of his and slid all the way into the armchair, settling in for the duration, it seemed. “You know how much I love to get to the bottom of things, Lady Camburton.”
Archie stared at Christopher and breathed through his nose; she had never seen him more like an angry bull. She almost laughed, but when he turned to her, his eyes were so full of anger and hurt, she gasped. “Archie?”
“Are you all very amused?”
A chill crept over her skin. One of her shoulders was bare due to the costume, but she suddenly felt cold and naked all over. “No. Darling, no!” She reached for him, but he pulled away.
“Do you love her?” He pointed to Be
atrix without looking at her, as if she were some piece of trash on the floor.
Selina took a sharp breath and stood up ramrod straight. “Of course I love Beatrix. I have never said otherwise.”
“I am not talking about platonic love, Selina,” he boomed.
“Neither am I,” she whispered. She spoke without fear of the truth, although she feared her marriage might well be floating away just as the words floated into the barren silence.
“How could you?” Archie’s eyes revealed so much pain and confusion, and then raw accusation so palpable she took a step away from him. He straightened and all the emotion drained from his face, just as it had that morning at Rockingham. The loving, joyful Archie was gone; the cool, distant Marquess of Camburton had returned once more. And just as she had that morning, she dove at him. So much more was at stake now. They were married. She was likely carrying his child.
“Don’t do this. Nothing has changed!”
He stared down at her hands where she gripped the white fabric of his costume. “Unhand me.”
The silence in the room crackled and none of them said a word. He never looked at Christopher or Beatrix, only at her. When she didn’t remove her hand, he tugged his arm away.
“I need you.” She wept shamelessly.
He stopped at the door with his back to her. “I’m sure your lover will console you in your time of need.” He left the room without a glance.
Archie left Devonshire House in a fog of his own disbelief and rage. A few people called to him and he may have replied, but he never stopped walking, except to demand his greatcoat from the footmen who were still trying to retrieve all the coats from the crush of newly arriving guests.
Some doyenne asked after his mother, and his look must have frightened her. The woman recoiled when he nearly growled, “She is not in town.”
For the first time in his life, he hated Vanessa, for her free-spirited nature that he did not inherit; and then for her controlling, demanding nature that he did.
“Archie?” Christopher was pulling at his arm.