by Juniper Bell
His pulse quickened. Had Alicia’s usual lusty appetites returned? They hadn’t enjoyed their former scandalous activities in quite some time. He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t toy with me, chérie. I’m far too deprived to tolerate it.”
“No toying. Come see us tonight. The Duke will be back from his journey to Sussex. The Earl is on a hunting trip in Northumberland, so it will be just us.” She rubbed her head, catlike, against his lapel, fairly purring as she did so. “And I may have a solution for you.”
Chapter Three
Dorchester House—Master bedchamber—That night
If only society really knew what happened behind the locked doors of the Countess of Dorchester’s bedchamber. The rumors were rife, of course. It seemed the Duke spent more time at the Earl’s residence than he did at his own. The fact that they were distant cousins and the Duke of Warrington had long ago named the Earl of Dorchester as his heir did nothing to answer the persistent whispers.
They say the Earl loves his new wife almost as much as his stables.
And her bed is busier than the stables.
With three lords coming and going, it’s no wonder. But whose child is it?
I’d put money on the Duke.
Ten quid on the Earl.
The Marquis is a long shot, of course.
I give a thousand pounds to any man who dares to ask any one of the three lords that question.
How many society gossips would pay a thousand pounds to see the inside of Lady Alicia’s bedchamber now? The huge bed was rumpled, its linen in utter disarray. Alicia knelt on all fours, straddling the body of the Duke of Warrington. Stark naked and panting, she flung her damp, golden-wheat hair away from her face. It was getting in the way of her eager tongue, which was lapping at the Duke of Warrington’s cock in a voracious way that made the Marquis’ rod harden even further. The Duke’s eyes were half closed, revealing only the barest sliver of green showing through.
The Marquis ate up the sight of the Duke’s rippling muscles and powerful, jutting cock, so big Alicia couldn’t contain it in her little mouth. He’d lusted after the Duke for so long; but only once Alicia had fallen in love with the Duke, and he with her, had the Marquis been able to live his fantasy.
Beads of sweat dotted the Duke’s forehead, no doubt due to the strain of holding himself back from exploding into Alicia’s sweet mouth.
“Christ, my sweet,” he groaned. “It’s been too long. I can’t last.”
“Marquis,” mumbled Alicia through her mouthful of rutting manhood. “Hurry, I beg you.”
What was he waiting for? The Marquis settled on the mattress behind her, admiring her parted legs and the cunt that wept for attention. Gently he touched the pink, tender lips. She jumped in response, her bottom quivering, the puckered hole beckoning to him. This was his territory, and he reveled in it. He fingered her quim, feeling her sweet juices run hot and her body buck. God, she was ready, past ready. He increased the pace of his rubbing while she moaned and pushed her bottom at him.
“What do you want, little cat? You’ve been craving this, haven’t you, greedy little piece?”
Her frenzy only increased at his dark, dirty tone. He spanked her on one luscious cheek, then the other. A keening noise came from the area of the Duke’s cock. The Duke clenched his jaw, his body going rigid. The Marquis knew the signs; the Duke was so close one hard suck would bring him off.
Alicia knew too; she lifted her head from the Duke’s cock, which jutted huge and glistening into the empty air. The Duke let out a deep, suffering groan. Alicia looked over her shoulder at the Marquis with big, pleading eyes. Those eyes… Suddenly he saw Miranda’s face where Alicia’s should be. Tea-tinted, sable-lashed eyes clung to his, begging him to fuck her hard, make her scream.
The girl was haunting him.
He dipped two fingers in Alicia’s cunt, then used her own cream to lubricate her bottom hole. He inserted a finger inside, feeling the rim tighten, then relax. It hadn’t been so long, after all.
“Forward,” he ordered Alicia and, trembling, she shifted higher on the Duke’s body, so his rearing cock—so hard the veins stood out—reached her quim. The Duke’s hands shook as he gripped her hips and pressed her hot little nub with his thumb.
She cried out, exploding at the Duke’s touch. The Marquis met the Duke’s gaze over Alicia’s quaking back.
“Don’t let her go until she’s halfway to oblivion,” he said.
The Duke shook his head with a shaky attempt at a laugh. “I know better. Now do it, man.”
They breached her simultaneously. Like two men with one thought, they pierced her hot, already quivering body. Alicia gave a choked sound; her chest collapsed onto the Duke’s. Gerard pressed onward, feeling the reluctant give of her rear muscles. He felt the slide of the Duke’s cock through her walls, felt the mad tremors race through Alicia’s passageway. Her short, sharp cries reached him through the roar of blood in his ears.
“So good,” she kept sobbing. “So good, so good.”
“Fuck us,” growled the Marquis. “Fuck us hard.”
A roar wrenched from the Duke’s throat. His body arched into a taut bend so heartbreakingly beautiful it brought tears to the Marquis’ eyes. His own orgasm burst forth in an uncontrollable rush as he buried himself all the way to his balls. He clung to her shoulders, letting the hot pulse of ecstasy wash through him, carry him away across brilliant waves and soaring clouds to a distant, pure land. On its shores a figure waited, still and innocent. She turned to greet him and he saw her scar.
The next morning, a messenger arrived with the news that Miss Miranda Brown had disappeared.
* * * * *
The streets of London—two days later
I wasn’t sure why I had left in the middle of the night. Surely the Marquis de Beaumont would be relieved that I would no longer be his responsibility. Perhaps he’d been repulsed by what had happened between us. What did I fear, that he would come after me? That he’d take me in his arms and do more wicked things to me?
Or was fear the wrong word? Did I secretly desire exactly that?
I knew how to disappear in the dark streets of London, how to keep to the alleys and shrink against the walls. That first night I did so, but after that I gave myself a strict lecture. The Marquis is not chasing after you. He’s at his club, or he’s gambling, or he’s at a brothel, or whatever dissolute noblemen do when their hated wives die. Or perhaps the Marquise’s accusations were true and he was doing unimaginable things with three other members of the dastardly aristocracy.
My guardian had been a member of that class—as had I—so I had good reason to use such words.
I slept for two nights in the doorway of a butcher shop and an apothecary, respectively. I wanted to save my precious coins for a boarding house once I determined where to live. My small stash wouldn’t last long, so I would have to find new employment as soon as possible. On the next day, wrapped in my brown cloak, hiding my face, I made my way to the Hospital for the Criminally Insane. I’d heard it was so terrible that they would hire almost anyone—perhaps even a girl with a scar ugly enough to frighten a ghost, let alone a lunatic.
The ability to nurse patients back to health provided the only purpose to my life. The Marquis had no need for a nurse, unless it was to heal his blackened soul. But that would take more than one simple girl.
The hospital was located in one of the filthiest neighborhoods in London. The stench of rotting fruit and urine rose from the streets. Beggar children scampered this way and that, occasionally converging on a new arrival. They surrounded me until I turned my scar on them with a growl, then they scattered.
My flaw had its uses.
I waited for a drover to pass, then a crowd of young boys hooting and hollering. Across the street loomed a large brick building with iron bars on the window. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought I heard voices moaning and howling within. Even the criminally insane deserve healers, I told myself, and straightened my
spine. Just go, step forward, knock on the door and ask to see the director. I lifted one foot, took a deep breath—and found myself spinning in the opposite direction thanks to a firm hand on my arm.
I gasped at the sight of the Marquis.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled at me.
“S-seeking employment,” I stammered.
“Nonsense. You’re coming with me.” He still hadn’t released my arm, and now proceeded to tug me toward his carriage, a shiny black affair with a matched pair of equally black horses.
I planted my heels on the broken cobblestones. “No, I am not.” I tried to wrench my arm from his grasp but his strength was too much for me.
The Marquis swung back around to face me. He looked me up and down with narrowed eyes that sent a shiver through me. “I promised to take care of you. I never break my promises. Everyone knows that.”
“I didn’t ask for any promises.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“How is it irrelevant?” In my outrage, I used my normal voice, the one I’d been bred to, instead of my servant voice. “You can consider your duty to be discharged, as I intend to take care of myself. You need not concern yourself.”
If he noticed my haughty accent, he gave no indication.
“I’m afraid I can’t accept that, as I find you about to walk inside the Hospital for the Criminally Insane. I’d hardly call that taking care of yourself. Though I must say your time spent tending my wife may very well qualify you for such work.”
I ignored the insult to my former mistress. I knew she probably deserved it, and that she would have laughed gleefully at his cleverness. “I’ve been in worse situations.”
“As I well know.”
“I’m not referring to your wife.”
“No, you’re too kind to do that. That’s why I can’t let you go in that building.”
“Pardon me?”
The Marquis lifted a hand to my good cheek. I reared back. But he didn’t hurt me, merely shaped his hand to my face. He fixed his glittering black eyes on me. The intensity of his gaze made my knees tremble. The Marquis could hardly be called a handsome man, but I’d always found it impossible to be unaware of his presence. “You, my dear,” he said softly, “have a kind heart and an innocence that I refuse to see destroyed. You may think me the blackest of villains, but right now consider me your defender and guardian.”
Guardian.
Little did he know what a poor choice of words he’d made. I whirled and fairly threw myself down the street in the opposite direction. He swore loudly and his footsteps echoed behind me on the rough surface of the street. I had no chance of escape, but I gave it all I had. I dodged through the crowds, hoping I’d disappear among the dirty masses. I darted into crooked, narrow, stinking alleys. And still those footsteps pounded after me.
He finally caught up to me at a dank corner piled with refuse. Stray cats yowled and leaped away from the garbage. A rat scurried into the darkness. And an elegant gentleman clamped his hand on my shoulder and turned me to face his panting visage. “I’m not used to working this hard for a female,” he ground out, nearly as breathless as I was.
“I…can’t…go with you,” I panted.
“Why not?”
“Because… I’m afraid.”
“I’m sure you are.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped his dark forehead. “And I didn’t help with my actions in the library. Yes, I’m a reprobate. My sexual appetites are legendary. I revel in the sensual potential of women—and men, for that matter. I’ve fucked merrily and mercilessly since the age of twelve. I make no apologies for any of that. But do you think I’m so beyond redemption that I would touch a woman who doesn’t want me?”
My gaze faltered. It wasn’t that, precisely.
“You know I never break my promises. And I promise that I will never touch you again unless you want me to.”
That was it. The real problem. I already wanted him to—but I could never let him know that. I didn’t know what my desire said about me, but it scared me.
“Besides,” he continued. “What makes you think you’d be working for me? I have no need of a nurse.”
My head snapped up at that. I’d thought precisely the same thing, and somehow come to the conclusion I’d end up in the Marquis’ harem of iniquity. “What… Where…”
“My dear friends the Earl and Countess of Dorchester have a new baby whose nursemaid is about to push up the daisies. They’re devoted to the old crone, but have need of reinforcements. Think of it. Back there you’d be tending to untold numbers of dangerous bedlamites. If you come with me, you’ll have charge of one very sweet baby girl. Not always sweet-smelling, mind you, but certainly more fragrant than anyone in this vicinity.”
He held his handkerchief to his nose in exaggerated disgust. The lace fell back from his wrists; he looked the very picture of an offended aristocrat. One would never guess that several minutes ago he’d been pounding through the streets like a footballer.
I giggled. Yes, giggled. I, who hadn’t laughed since the age of sixteen, giggled at the sight of the Marquis’ gesture of exquisite revulsion.
An unholy gleam lit up his eyes, and suddenly we were conspirators. Equals in our appreciation of the absurd. I’d never felt such a feeling in the presence of a man, and I certainly never expected to feel it with the Marquis. He smiled at me, a full, straightforward smile unlike his usual cynical smirk.
It occurred to me, in that moment, that his gaze hadn’t once strayed to my scar, as most people’s did. In fact, I’d forgotten about it until that moment.
I stopped laughing. “You make some excellent points, my lord. Perhaps I was a bit overhasty in my actions.”
“Then you will come with me to Sussex?”
“Sussex?”
“They’ve gone to their country estate for the rest of the Season.”
I thought about his offer. Images came to me—a baby crowing with laughter, the pure scent of bathwater running down a chubby little body, the feathery softness of a freshly laundered baby blanket. I knew not where such pictures came from; I’d had no experience with babies since I’d left the Vicious Viscount’s lair, and none that I recalled before then. Perhaps my own childhood spoke to me in that moment.
“Yes. I’ll come.”
“Good,” he said briskly. “Then I won’t have ruined my boots and incurred my valet’s undying wrath for nothing.”
I giggled again. Lord almighty, it was becoming an epidemic with me.
“I have two more things, if you will,” added the Marquis as he put out his elbow to assist me as though I were a proper lady.
“Very well.” I tentatively placed my hand in the crook of his arm, feeling the hard muscles move under my touch. My sudden awareness of his physique made me slightly dizzy.
“First, you should know that Dorchester and his countess are extremely dear friends of mine. I’m far from a stranger in their home. So if your aim is to avoid the merest sight of me forevermore, you may want to rethink your choice.”
I stayed quiet for a few steps. “And the other thing?”
“I’d like to request that you refrain from assuming the accent of the lower classes. Not that I have any objection to it, but it’s clearly not your natural speech. I promise you the Dorchesters will ask no questions. Nor will the Duke of Warrington.”
The oddness of his inclusion of the Duke was overshadowed by my confusion at having betrayed myself so thoroughly. “I… That is…”
He held up a hand. “I’m not asking for explanations. If you choose to share your secrets with me, please know that they will always be safe. But I have no intention of intruding on your privacy. Now. Are you still willing to accept employment at Sweetbriar?”
Sweetbriar. Even the name sounded like an impossibly precious haven. But you would still encounter the Marquis, warned my sensible side. Yes, I will still see the Marquis, another side of me rejoiced.
I’ve always been a daring girl
. My troubles began with the flouting of rules. Once I’d been forced from my home, my daring was the quality that kept me alive. Once again, it governed my actions.
“Yes, I would be delighted to accept their offer of employment.”
“Excellent.” He snapped his fingers and, seemingly from nowhere, his carriage trundled into the alley—the carriage that would take me to my new master.
* * * * *
Sussex—Sweetbriar Manor—two days later
Lady Alicia stepped into the sitting room and carefully closed the door behind her.
“Well?” The Marquis wasn’t accustomed to being quite so nervous.
He caught her speculative glance. “She’s not your usual sort.”
“I have no usual sort,” he growled. “And she’s not here to be bedded. She’s here for your brat. Did they take to each other?”
She answered slowly. “I could tell she was nervous. She told me she hasn’t spent much time with babies, though she’d helped birth a few. I’m astonished at the extent of her experience for a nineteen-year-old who was clearly gently bred.”
“Nineteen? She told you that?”
“Indeed. It’s a perfectly reasonable question for a new employer to ask.”
“I suppose it is.”
Alicia crossed to the chair where she had left her embroidery hoop. Now that she had a child, he often caught her doing such previously despised domestic tasks. “What do you know of her?”
“Very little. Only what Angelique told me, and most of that is probably false.”
“She’s quite wary. Has she ever explained the scar?”
“Not to me. And, Alicia, promise me you won’t bring it up.”
“She already did.”
The Marquis’ mouth twisted in a graceless way that would have stunned the members of his club. “What did she say?”
“She was quite terrified that the baby would cry at the sight of her.”
Something churned deep inside the Marquis’ chest. Rage or pity or some mixture; though he reminded himself Miranda had never asked for pity. “And?”