Nessa had never been so aroused, not even in the earliest days of her marriage when sexual pleasure was new to her. Perhaps it was the risk of being caught, perhaps it was her brief estrangement from Jack, but she wanted him as never before. With an ecstatic gasp, she impaled herself upon him, driving him deeply into her until he filled her completely.
Jack reached up to fondle her breasts, already hard with desire, through the thin silk of her gown, propelling her to even greater desire. Slowly, then faster, she began to rock, riding him toward mutual release. Gripping him convulsively, she climaxed, a soaring sensation more intense than any before. At once, Jack tensed beneath her, driving upwards once, twice, then pulling her down upon him as he shuddered with his own release.
“Oh! Oh, Jack,” she breathed, her heart still hammering as the urgency of passion slowly ebbed. “That was amazing. You are amazing.”
He breathed a long sigh of satisfaction. “As are you, my love.”
She swallowed. It was the first time he'd called her that since their marriage. Did it mean more now, or was it still simply a careless phrase to him?
As her heartbeat and breathing slowed, she became aware of other sounds—of something that sounded like distant cheering. Jack apparently heard it too, for he frowned questioningly at her, then moved to rise. She extricated herself from him and they separated far enough to sit up on the divan. The cheering seemed to be coming from behind the ferns, beyond the wall. Turning, horror slowly dawned. The wall of glass.
She turned to face Jack, her eyes wide, and at the same moment he began to curse, softly but fluently. Turning his back to the wall, he quickly refastened his breeches. Belatedly following his lead, Nessa pulled down her skirts and adjusted her disarranged bodice. One breast had sprung free, and she hurriedly pulled the neckline of her gown back into place.
“You don't think… they're not actually watching us, are they?” she asked shakily. “The ferns—”
He glanced up at the blazing gas lights above them. “I'm not certain, but I doubt those ferns offer us much cover, given how bright it is in here and how dark outside. That must be the courtyard.”
Panic began to grip her. “Then those are not merely passersby on the street, but other guests here tonight?”
He nodded ruefully. “I fear so. I should never have let you persuade me to this, my dear. I did know better, though the composition of the wall quite escaped me.”
Nessa groaned. “I knew it was glass—or, at least, I noticed it before, but forgot. Still, Jack,” she nestled against him, and the renewed cheers from outside confirmed her fears, “it was worth it, I think.”
His look was quizzical. “Certainly I think so, but have you considered how we are to leave? We'll have to face at least some or them. Or shall we hold our heads high and pretend nothing is amiss?”
Nessa closed her eyes for a moment in mortification, but then began to laugh— though her laughter held an edge of hysteria. “What have we to lose?” she asked. “But first, let us move away from this enormous window!”
Ten minutes later, having passed each other's inspection (though Jack's cravat and Nessa's hair could not be what they were, without valet or abigail), the two of them reentered the ballroom. Ten seconds later, it was obvious their liaison was already general knowledge. Titters and curious stares followed them across the room.
Nessa knew her face was flaming, but she kept her chin high, though she did perhaps grip Jack's arm more tightly than usual. A glance showed her that his color had deepened as well, though he appeared on the verge of laughter. Quickly, Nessa averted her eyes for fear she might start giggling uncontrollably. People were staring enough as it was.
A dance had just ended and another was about to form, but though Nessa knew she was promised to someone for the next one, she was not particularly surprised when no one came forward to claim her. Gathering her courage, she looked about the room. One or two older gentlemen stared back boldly, but most seemed unwilling to meet her eye. Then she saw the Creamcrofts nearby, in conversation with another couple. How on earth could she ever face them again?
She was about to tell Jack that she'd changed her mind and would prefer to leave after all, when Prudence turned and saw her. Rather to Nessa's surprise, she murmured something to Philip, then came to greet her, eyes filled with concern.
“Nessa, my lord, surely— surely— the tale I've just been told cannot be true?” Prudence looked from Nessa to Jack and back, and must have had her answer from their conscious looks and heightened complexions. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, then drew Nessa aside with a stern glance at Jack.
“What exactly happened?” she whispered when they had taken a few steps away. “I have no idea what to say to people!”
Though mortified as much for Prudence's sake as her own, Nessa was glad of the chance to get her confession over. “I took your advice rather too literally, I fear, Prudence. Finding myself alone with Jack in the conservatory, I, ah, took advantage of the situation… as did he.”
Her sister blushed, but persisted. “'Twas shockingly bad judgment on both your parts—but how were you discovered? Surely you were not mad enough to leave the door open. Who walked in upon you? It seems everyone here is aware of it already!”
“Have you seen the conservatory, Prudence?” Her sister shook her head. “Well, it would seem that it has a, um, glass wall which is adjacent to the courtyard, screened only by some ferns. Somehow that escaped our notice until it was too late.”
Prudence stared at her for a moment as her import sank in, then covered her mouth with a gloved hand. Her shoulders began to quiver, and for a moment Nessa thought her sister was on the verge of tears. But then a gasp escaped from behind the concealing hand and she realized her prim and proper sister was struggling with laughter!
For the second time in as many weeks, Nessa regarded Prudence with astonishment. Was this the prudish sister she'd known all her life?
“So your, ah, display was quite unintentional?” she gasped after a moment.
Nessa nodded, her own lips beginning to twitch. “We must have put on quite a show, I fear.”
For a moment the sisters clung to each other, struggling to subdue their mirth. Then, abruptly, Prudence sobered. “Oh, Nessa, 'twill be the talk of London by morning! Whatever are you going to do? Perhaps a discreet return to Kent…?”
Nessa turned to see Jack a few paces away, regarding them with a curious frown. “Perhaps. I'll discuss it with Jack. Thank you, Prudence, for not abandoning me! I fear most will be less forgiving.”
“We are sisters,” said Prudence stoutly. “And besides, I have you to thank for…” She glanced over her shoulder at Philip and pinkened again. “For certain improvements in my own situation. Let me know if there is any way I can help.”
Squeezing her hands, Nessa smiled. “You already have, Prudence. More than you know. Now go back to your husband, and I'll return to mine, to discuss how we are to weather this development.”
Jack came forward the moment Prudence departed. “What was that about? Did I actually see Lady Creamcroft laughing?”
Nessa grinned. “Prudence has loosened up considerably in recent weeks, and seems the happier for it.”
“So have you, my love.” There was that word again, but Nessa tried not to set too much store by it. That they could be affectionate toward each other again was enough— for now.
“I suppose I have. However, I'm not sure Society as a whole will see it as an improvement.” She lapsed into thought for a moment. “How does one get to the courtyard, my lord? I have a mind to see it.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Yes, I suppose we'd best discover just what we're up against, hadn't we? This way.” He led her through a set of French doors at one end of the ballroom, both of them resolutely ignoring the laughter and whispering that marked their progress.
A marble terrace led down into a large garden area, still winter-bleak and only dimly lighted, primarily from the surrounding wi
ndows. Paved paths wove between intricately laid gardens which would doubtless be a blaze of color in a few months' time. Now, however, they were either clean raked or masses of low, leafless shrubs.
“There,” said Jack, pointing.
Nessa looked. One floor above them was a wide expanse of glass, providing the bulk of the courtyard illumination. From here, the conservatory appeared nearly as fairylike as from within, a lush jungle of vegetation and flowers ablaze with light. And there, barely screened at all by the airy ferns, stood a backless divan—the very one the two of them had so recently… occupied.
“Oh, my,” she breathed. “We might as well have been on stage!”
“I fear so,” Jack agreed. Then, glancing about the nearly deserted courtyard, “Someone must have done quick work to assemble a crowd out here so quickly. I suppose such an inducement overcame the cold, however, for many of the guests.”
Nessa managed to pull her eyes away from the divan above. “I had hoped this would be an entertaining evening, but I little thought to provide the entertainment myself!” In spite of her renewed mortification, she could not suppress a rueful laugh.
“Nor I. But Nessa—” His voice suddenly became more serious. “I heard you earlier, saying you regretted being unable to accompany that young jackanapes to Paris. Why did you never tell me you wished to go after all?”
“I didn't… that is, Sir Lawrence was trying to convince me to run away with him, and I refused in no uncertain terms.” She paused, looking up at him curiously. “Do you mean you would be willing to take me to Paris?” Sudden excitement flared within her.
“After this evening's events, it occurs to me that it might be to our benefit to discreetly remove ourselves from the London scene for awhile, until a new scandal arises to dim the memory of ours.” He grinned down at her. “I'd thought of simply returning to Fox Manor, but a belated wedding trip to Paris would serve as well—and might also serve another purpose.”
Paris! She could finally see that fabled city of glitter, excitement and sophistication. But— “What other purpose do you mean?”
His smile now was cryptic. “We shall see. I'll simply say that in Paris you may see enough of scandal to finally satisfy your curiosity— if this evening's exploits have not already done so.”
She tilted her head saucily. “If they have, you can hardly expect me to admit it, and thereby endanger my visit to Paris, my lord! When shall we leave?”
He shook his head, as though in disbelief. “You, madam, are incorrigible. Let me see… I have a few matters to attend to in Parliament yet. We can stop at Fox Manor on our way to Dover, so that I may take care of estate business there. I should say we might take ship within a fortnight or so.”
“A fortnight!” In Paris, she could broaden her horizons far past what was possible in London, she was sure! What sights, what people, what experiences must await there— and in only two weeks time!
“I'll be ready well within a fortnight, I promise you,” she declared. “I can scarcely wait!”
~ ~ ~
AS IT HAPPENED, it was a fortnight to the day before they finally boarded the packet bound for Calais. Nessa had spent a busy, if rather lonely, week, preparing Foxhaven House and its staff for their extended absence. Very few people had called, and those who did were not ones she felt disposed to receive. Most were scandal-mongers, undoubtedly hoping to glean additional details to embellish their gossip. Pleading a lack of time— quite truthfully— she refused them all.
Only Prudence did she admit, and she did not stay long. But at least her motive was beyond question.
“Philip and I are expecting a child,” she informed Nessa with obvious delight. “I'm not certain which of us is more thrilled. He feels the Season will be too much for me, under the circumstances, so we shall return to Herefordshire and likely remain for at least a year. You will come to visit me, will you not, Nessa?”
Nessa jumped up to hug her sister. “Oh, Prudence, what marvelous news! And of course I'll visit, as soon as we return from Paris.” And she had perforce to explain her own plans.
Prudence expressed some concern, but was clearly too happy to dwell upon it. “I will trust you to do what is right,” she concluded. “Certainly by now you have learned your lesson! I only hope Jack, er, Lord Foxhaven will make you as happy as Philip has made me.”
She took her leave shortly thereafter, leaving Nessa to the remainder of her preparations. A day or two later, when Jack announced his current business in London complete, they loaded up the traveling coach and headed for Fox Manor, where they had agreed to spend a week.
Nessa found herself peering ahead as they neared the estate, eager to see it again. In fact, she realized, this was the closest to a feeling of homecoming she'd ever experienced. Returns to Cherry Oaks as a child had always been marred by fear of an almost inevitable scolding. As for Haughton Abbey, even when she'd grown comfortable there, she had never learned to love it. Fox Manor, however, felt like home.
Part of the charm, of course, consisted in the healing of the rift between Jack and herself. They were now back to the easy camaraderie— and passionate nights— of the early days of their marriage. Sometimes Nessa even dared to hope that his feelings for her went deeper than a combination of lust and friendship, but she was careful not to press for any sort of declaration.
Still, if any place might elicit such a development, it would be Fox Manor, she thought. Almost, it was enough to make her suggest a longer stay here, putting off the excitement of Paris.
Almost.
As the day of their departure approached, Nessa's excitement mounted. Even more than London, Paris promised to show her a side of life she'd previously only imagined. And now, at last, they were on their way.
Forgotten was the chill drizzle that had pursued them from Foxhaven to Dover. Even the thin fog through which the packet made its way could not dampen her spirits.
“Thank you, Jack, for suggesting this,” she said as they stood side by side at the rail.
He draped an arm over her shoulders, driving away the cold she'd scarcely noticed, and looked ahead as she did. “Wait to thank me after you've had a chance to absorb some impressions from what is reputed to be the wickedest city on earth,” he said teasingly. “You may find Paris more than you've bargained for.”
Nessa grinned into the mist. “I hope so!”
TWENTY
‘HERE WE ARE,” Jack announced, as the coach taking them the final stage of their journey reached the outskirts of Paris. “We should reach our hotel in ten minutes or so. Unless my message missent, a room will be ready for us. You'll wish to rest before launching yourself upon the city, I imagine.”
Nessa pulled her face away from the window with obvious reluctance. “Oh, I am not at all tired, Jack! How could I possibly rest when all of Paris awaits?”
He chuckled, trying to ignore his misgivings. When he'd suggested Paris, he'd had more in mind than leaving London until the talk died down. He was counting on this most wicked city to finally cure Nessa of her craving for the seamier side of life—a side he knew far too well. He just hoped he wouldn't regret bringing Nessa here, to the site of so much he had put behind him.
His wife had amply proved she was no longer the prude he'd married. What if Paris, rather than giving her a disgust for debauchery, only increased her appetite? Warily, he glanced back to her rapt face, avidly taking in the street scene.
“Here we are. The Hotel des Cinq Astres.” The coach stopped even as he spoke.
“How lovely!” Nessa exclaimed, stepping out the moment the stairs were lowered—into ankle-deep sewage. “Oh, bother! I'd forgotten what you told me about the gutters. Now I shall have to change my shoes and stockings before we can explore.”
She wrinkled her nose, but seemed otherwise undaunted by her first step into filth. Carefully avoiding the free-flowing sewage, Jack helped her onto the relatively cleaner walkway before the front door of the hotel.
Ushering Nessa inside, he a
pproached the concierge at the broad marble desk. “Rooms for Lord and Lady Foxhaven and their servants,” he said in flawless French and saw Nessa's eyes widen.
The concierge snapped to attention and began issuing instructions to various lackeys, and within a very few minutes they were shown into a luxurious suite on the third floor. A basket of fruit, wine and mouth-watering French pastries awaited them there.
“How perfectly lovely!” said Nessa again. “Merci, monsieur. C'est magnifique!” Jack smiled. Her accent was quite passable. She must have learned the language under the tutelage of a true Frenchman.
Simmons and Parker began the unpacking at once, while Nessa sampled one of the pastries, exclaiming at its delicacy and flavor.
“You'll not wish to spoil your appetite, my love.” Jack smiled indulgently. “Once we have dressed, I mean to take you to Rocher de Cancalle, where you may experience the finest cuisine to be found this side of heaven.”
“Oh, I remember reading about it in one of the London papers,” she said excitedly. “'Tis said to be worlds above anything in England. And we are to go there tonight? Shall we visit Tortoni's while we are here, for its famous ices? And the Louvre— perhaps tomorrow we may view the artworks there? Oh, and the Palais-Royal! 'Tis the place to see and be seen, is it not?”
Jack laughed at her childlike enthusiasm. He loved it when she forgot to play the sophisticate. “Yes, yes, my love, we shall go to all of those places, and more. But one step at a time. I will leave you to dress for dinner, while I do likewise. Come, Parker.”
He retired with his valet into the adjoining chamber. Half an hour later, impeccably attired, he tapped on the bedchamber door and then entered. Nessa, resplendent in pale blue satin, stood up from the dressing table, where her maid had just put the finishing touches on her hair.
“Well?” she asked, twirling for his examination. “Shall I avoid disgracing England, do you think?”
He came forward to take both her hands in his. “Indeed, my dear, after one look at you, the Frenchwomen will abandon their flounces and outrageous bonnets to imitate your elegance. You are exquisite.”
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