Night of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  Her cheeks flushed. “Derek, I’m asking that you please listen to what I’m about to say.”

  That tone was flat. Uncompromising. He didn’t like it. At all.

  She averted her gaze. “I almost didn’t come to England. I almost went to Persia with a friend, but I didn’t think it was fair to disappear into the night without telling you about it in person. Not after everything we shared and all the letters we exchanged.” She hesitated. “I came to London to break off our engagement and announce that I am leaving to Persia and I hope you will understand and accept it.”

  His gaze snapped to her in disbelief, those words pummeling him through the chest like a newly sharpened saber. It was as if he had been sending all of himself into a void for seven years. He’d always thought, given the ten weeks they spent together in their youth and the countless genuine letters they had exchanged over the years that she had grown to feel something for him. Only it was obvious she didn’t feel anything for him.

  He felt like heaving up his chair and smashing it into mere splinters at the nearest wall. The only thing that kept him from actually doing it was the fact that the chair belonged to his grandmother. “Are you telling me there is someone else? Is that why you’re going to Persia?” Bloody hell, he couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? “Are you physically involved with another man? Is that what you’re saying?”

  She pursed her lips, clearly offended. “I don’t do kisses, Derek. I’m a respectable lady.”

  A respectable lady who had betrayed his heart. He’d dedicated seven years to the idea of her and them. Seven. She was all he’d ever known and all he’d ever wanted to know and she was going to—

  He curled his hands into fists to keep himself from altogether standing up into her face and roaring. “The contracts are all signed, Clementine. My mother sent out over three hundred goddamn invitations weeks ago. The wedding takes place in six days. Six. What the hell are you doing waiting until six days before the wedding to tell me we’re not well suited?”

  She was quiet.

  Did she honestly think she could do this to him? After pulling the wagon along for seven whole years? “I’m sorry to say you’re already mine. This is done. I signed my name on the line. Eight different times.”

  Her gaze cooled but her façade, as always remained the same. Regal. “Don’t you dare to speak to me as if I were an object you signed for.”

  He narrowed his gaze, his pulse thundering. “Begging your pardon, Miss Grey, but an object stays wherever I put it. And obviously, I can’t say that about you, can I?”

  She angled toward him. “Neither of our parents had a right to make such a life-altering decision for us. This wasn’t the path either of us would have ever taken. Do you not see that?”

  He stared in a quaking attempt to stay calm. “I only see a woman making excuses to be with someone else. So who is he? Some goddamn American boy from your Broadway Society?”

  She sighed. “It isn’t what you think. He is my dearest and closest friend.”

  “Really? And this so-called friend is now taking you to Persia for the rest of your life? Is that how he sold all of this to you? Are you really that naïve? Or do you also think I’m stupid?”

  She gave him a withering look. “Not all men require a woman to lower their décolletage and offer up a kiss. He is a very respectable man. In fact, he is royalty. And to a select few who are privileged enough to stand in his presence, he is known as Prince Nasser.”

  Oh now, shite. How was he to compete with that? He gripped the sides of the chair until his fingers pulsed. He tried to keep his voice polite but it stayed rough. “So how the devil did you meet this prince? While you were traveling abroad? While you were— Christ, that certainly explains why it took so goddamn long for you to answer any of the letters I sent to you week after week. Because you and your special friend were too busy—”

  “There is no need to invoke the devil, Christ and God in one breath, Derek. Now keep your voice calm.”

  “It is calm,” he rasped, barely able to contain it. “Am I yelling at you? No. I’m not. I want to, and in my opinion I have every right to, but I’m not. Now how the devil did you meet this man? I have the right to know more about him and whatever the hell this is. Don’t you think?”

  She sighed. “I met him this past October. He had travelled from Persia to New York to visit certain members of Congress who were hosting a charity event I attended with my father. We shared many mutual interests and became close friends. My father welcomed all of his visits given his revered name. I’ve never been to Persia, so when he invited me to go with him, I agreed. I was supposed to leave with him straight out of New York without my father knowing, but I told him I couldn’t go without seeing you one last time.”

  His throat tightened. “How kind of you.”

  She hesitated as if struggling with what she was about to say. “I’m not doing this to hurt you.” Her voice wavered. “In fact, I’m doing this to ensure I don’t hurt you.”

  Like that made any sense.

  He couldn’t understand it. Some pompous prince showed up into her life for a few weeks and she fell madly in love. Whilst he, Derek, showed up into her life and had been in it since 1823, practically kneeling at every turn and writing love letters Shakespeare couldn’t pull off, and she still couldn’t bring herself to love him?

  A knife-like jealousy not only fully twisted his gut, but ripped it. He hardened his voice. “I’d sooner duel him in Hyde Park and get arrested for it than let some royal prick take you to Persia. You tell him that.”

  Her startled gaze met his. “Cease. I could have disappeared into the night without you ever knowing where I went, but I didn’t. I am giving you the honor of knowing that I genuinely respect you and that every letter I ever wrote to you was, in fact, genuine in its nature and response.”

  As if that made him feel any better. He felt stupid knowing how he’d always carried her letters with him in his coat pocket, and how he’d read them whilst lounging in his own bed late at night, thinking of better things to come.

  He set his shoulders against the chair. “So you feel nothing for me?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “That isn’t entirely true.”

  “You’re running off with another man. That, to me, is true.”

  “He is my friend.”

  Damn her. Did she really expect him to believe that? “Right. So why the hell wouldn’t you let me kiss you if this man is, in fact, your…friend? A friend wouldn’t mind.”

  She swung back to the marble side table and shifted the ash pan with a finger, lowering her gaze. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “You’re announcing your devotion to another man six days before our wedding. It’s hard not to be offended.”

  She shifted the ash pan with her finger again and bit her lip. Dragging her reticule off the marble side table, she turned toward him. “One of several truths I couldn’t put into writing is this: you require an heir and I simply would not be able to give you one.”

  He almost fell out of his chair. “What do you mean you wouldn’t be able to?”

  She brought her reticule tightly against herself, pressing her fingers into it. “I am not opposed to whatever physical relations happen between men and women. In fact, I have always been curious about it, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want children. I don’t. Not ever. And Nasser, being my friend, doesn’t expect any from me.”

  He slowly rose from his chair. This kept getting worse. “Is that what he told you?”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not getting pregnant. ‘Tis obvious you are a man of high passions and will expect children, especially given your title. I cannot and will not give them to you.”

  Mother of God. “How the devil do you know this Nasser will keep his word to you? How do you know he won’t force himself on you in the middle of the night?”

  Her expression remained still. “He and I share an understanding few ever will.”


  An understanding he clearly wasn’t worthy of. He wanted to walk out of the room and hit every wall in the corridor knowing this was happening to him. “So you expect me to accept this? You expect me to entrust you to another man merely because—”

  “Derek, please.” She averted her gaze. “You already signed all of the contracts. My father must fulfill his side of the agreement given this is a breach of promise. It was yet another reason as to why I came out and waited to tell you. So you could sign everything and get the money.”

  He set his shoulders, refusing to appear rattled. “So you’re buying me.”

  A soft breath escaped her. “Try to understand that I never had the kind of life you did. There was very little laughter in my home. I was never taught how to be a good wife or a good mother and I refuse to subject a child to feeling a devotion for me merely because I gave birth to it. I know myself, Derek. I know what I would and wouldn’t be capable of. Any form of affection is not in my nature and it would be cruel of me to subject you and a child to it. I have no doubt you will be an exemplary father. I also know you’ll be an excellent husband. But not to me.”

  He swallowed back the ache in his chest unable to believe what she was saying.

  “Surely there must be someone else you could share your life with,” she prodded. “Haven’t you ever wanted to…kiss someone else? Anyone else?”

  He tugged at his collar, almost wanting to rip it off to keep it from agitating him. Only one. Lady Beatrice, who had been a dazzling debutante of nineteen back in 1822, a few months before he’d met Clementine. He had pined for his pretty neighbor for a full year before she astounded him one evening at a party his mother was hosting by grabbing him by the lapels of his coat when he was walking past an alcove and forcing him into an open-mouthed kiss in the shadows of his own house. It wasn’t quite as exciting as he had imagined it would be mostly because Lady Beatrice then proceeded to cry, claiming she was set to marry a very old man of sixty-two. It made him feel used but it also made him feel sorry enough for her to offer up more than a few passionate and heavy-handed kisses that included the touching of her breasts and thighs. She ended up marrying the old marquis a few months later, which ended their brief, quick kissing association.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Clementine added. “Do you mean to say there were that many? Or so few?”

  He glared. “Don’t bloody insult me. I’ve only ever kissed two women in my goddamn life.” Lady Beatrice and a prostitute. Neither of them as memorable as he wanted it to be.

  Her eyes widened. “You’ve already impregnated two women?” she rasped.

  He pulled in his chin. “No. Of course not. What are you—”

  Those blue eyes flared. “You admitted to kissing two women. Two. I’m not ignorant, Derek. I know full well that kissing a woman on the mouth impregnates her.”

  He paused, realizing she was serious. She clearly knew nothing about relations between men and women. Which meant…she hadn’t been debauched by this Nasser. She hadn’t been touched.

  A half of a breath escaped him. In some way she was still his. “Kissing doesn’t actually lead to children, Clementine.” He held her gaze. “Pregnancy happens through other means.”

  She froze and then averted her own gaze. “I knew that.” Her tone indicated otherwise.

  She was truly an enigma. She was so sheltered in one aspect of her thinking yet overly hardened in another. He sighed. “There is no need to be ashamed about what you don’t know. Given the way society reacts to any form of physical affection, I thought the same when I was younger.” When he was eight. Until a stallion mounted a mare in the field and he ran to the gamekeeper about it, demanding the man save the mare. The gamekeeper laughed and sat him down on the nearest fence and explained every single last detail of copulation using two dirt-crusted hands. Derek had avoided his parents for an entire week knowing they were getting naked.

  He knew it was his duty to say it. He owed her and them to say it. Because she needed to know what this Nasser might do to her if she allowed herself to run off with him. “When a man is ready to impregnate a woman, or pleasure himself, which also leads to children, all of her clothes come off along with his own. That is how it starts.”

  She stared. “And why on earth would the clothing need to come off?”

  This was about to get awkward. “What I am about to say may keep you from ever being alone with a man again. Do you still want me to say it?”

  She eyed him. “Keep it to ten words.”

  He lowered his chin. “I would need at least a hundred for you to fully understand.”

  She edged back, her breaths uneven. “If you can’t keep it to ten, Derek, I would rather we end this conversation.”

  Sensing she was about to dart out the door, he inwardly groaned. How did one explain sex to a wide-eyed virgin? One didn’t explain it. One did it. And he certainly didn’t want to use his hands the way the gamekeeper had, waggling fingers into a hole. “Fine. I’ll…” He huffed out a breath and glanced up toward the ceiling in a stupid attempt to focus. “Give me a moment.” He counted out what needed to be said several times and then finally decided on, “Our clothes come off and my lower half penetrates you.” There. That was ten.

  Her cheeks colored. She glanced at the flap of his trousers and snapped her gaze back to his. “What do you mean your…lower half penetrates me? Penetrates what?”

  He cleared his throat twice knowing she had just looked at the flap of his trousers. “The uh…the delicate area between your thighs that produces your monthly menses. I would…push in.”

  “Push in?” Her hands jumped to her skirts as if she were intent on protecting it. “Do you mean it hurts in the same manner a menses does? Or worse?”

  He huffed out a breath. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know the measure of a woman’s pain, but given it involves penetration, the first time is probably anything but—”

  She snapped up a hand. “I would rather you not say anymore. I’m not comfortable with this conversation.” She angled away, still holding onto her skirts. “Perhaps one of these two women you’ve already kissed would consider marrying you and enduring your…penetration.” She said it disapprovingly. As if him kissing two women was worse than her leaving him for another man.

  He stared at her, anger biting into every breath he took. “The first one I kissed was well before you ever came into my life. The second one I kissed and penetrated was only a few months ago because I was trying to get some goddamn experience.” He tried to keep himself and his words calm, but couldn’t. “Am I really that worthless in your eyes? That you aren’t even willing to give me a chance after I waited seven years for you? How could you use some pathetic excuse of not wanting children merely to—”

  “It isn’t pathetic, Derek. Nor is it an excuse. I’ve always known I would never marry or have children. Long before I met you. I started hiding away money my father gave me when I was ten. I wanted to ensure that by the time I was older, I’d have enough to go out into the world and be independent. I’ve saved over ten thousand since and had planned to talk to you as I am now before walking out into the world on my own. Nasser simply provided me a better way of addressing the situation. Because in time, despite the amount I have saved, I would have eventually depleted my funds. And aside from my painting, I really have no other talents that would allow me to survive on my own.”

  He swiped his face and sat down in his chair, unable to stand. She had to go and tell him all of this six days before the wedding. He was going to be publicly humiliated and everyone in London would whisper about the fact that even after seven years of betrothal, he couldn’t win her. “I’m going to speak to your father about this. Perhaps he’ll be able to make me understand why you think you’d be better off with someone else. Because I have no idea what to make of any of this. It doesn’t make any sense. You want to be independent but you’re going off with a man?”

  Clementine’s eyes widened. She hurried toward him, dragged her cha
ir over to his and sat, leaning close enough for that citrus-like bergamot scent to make him breathe in. “Please don’t announce any of this right now until I talk to him myself. My father would only blame himself. And he already blames himself for so many things after the way my mother— It’s why he drinks. It’s why he—”

  She froze as if realizing she said something she shouldn’t have.

  His mind reeled and everything that had ever come into question about her father snapped into place and into focus. He always remembered the scent of cognac on that man. Always. Even years ago. It lingered in the air like cologne. And just yesterday, in less than a half hour during their contract negotiations, Mr. Grey had finished a full decanter of brandy. A full one. It astounded Derek. Any other man would have staggered after consuming a whole decanter of brandy. But Mr. Grey merrily carried on with their conversation and the contracts with a smile. The man’s words hadn’t even slurred. “Are you telling me your father is a drunk?”

  A breath escaped her. She squeezed her eyes. “Please don’t…don’t tell anyone. Everyone would lose respect for him.” She reopened her eyes, tears glistening within them. “He doesn’t drink as much as he used to. He falters, like all men do, and goes back to it from time to time, but he has learned to stand on his own. Which is why I’m ready to leave. I know he’ll be able to survive without me.”

  By God. The poor thing had been raised by a drunk. A drunk worth over eighteen million dollars. No wonder she was overly serious and untrusting. He softened his tone so she knew he was on her side. “Did he ever physically hurt you? Did he ever—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “He would never. He loves me. When he drinks, he is silly and overly jolly. Which is why he does it. It makes him feel happy and invincible.” She touched a hand to his arm with the tips of her fingers. “I knew you wouldn’t take this well. Which is why I came out to tell you in person. I felt like I owed you this much. We share a history and we wrote each other a lot of meaningful letters.”