by Flora Dain
Lady Hornsea took a swing and slapped him hard on the cheek.
“You wretch. You said it was me—”
Instantly friends of the prince and a couple of footmen dragged her off, trying in vain to calm her shouts. The prince gave me a wry grin over the heads of the crowd.
I quickly joined him, greeting him with a curtsey.
“Your Highness, the painting is lovely, but it’s not meant for you, nor for public gaze. And, as far as I know, this is not the artist.”
The room fell silent as I gazed around serenely.
Signor Canelli spluttered, staring from me to the prince. “What? But your highness, she held the scarlet fan. I understood the lady in question—”
In a flash I saw it all. The fan. Lady Hornsea must have dropped it, and I’d picked it up.
I gave the prince and his painter a regal smile, looking innocently from one to the other. “The gentleman is mistaken, Your Highness. I gave my commission to a Mr. Martin Lucas, a brilliant young artist who lives in Chelsea. This gentleman was simply acting as his assistant,” I added airily.
The Italian looked outraged, but I stood firm.
The prince, sensing mischief, grinned and kissed my fingers with a flourish. “Capital, capital. By Jove, ma’am, a pretty jest. So you’re in line for me too, eh? But I’ll not take you up on it. More than my life’s worth to risk Endale’s wrath, what? From what I hear, he’s not a man to cross.” He gave me an elaborate wink. “Don’t mind Lady Hornsea, ma’am. She can sit for another.”
I curtseyed low then hurried away, glad he thought it a joke. As I pushed through the crowd to get back to Jacquard, I heard whispers all around me.
“Whose name did she say? Martin Lucas?”
“Where does he live? Chelsea, is it?”
“So who is the new mistress? Lady Endale? Or Lady Hornsea?”
But Jacquard was at the far door, already on the point of leaving. As I scanned the crowd, he looked back for an instant, searching for me. He met my gaze with a flicker of anguish, then was gone.
Desperate now, I tried to get close but my way was barred. Word had reached the other salons on the first floor. People were crowding in to see what was happening.
When I finally reached the main entrance, I saw our carriage still parked across the street. In a panic I raced over to where my maid stood waiting with the coachman.
“Thank goodness you’re still here,” I panted. “Is His Lordship inside?”
The coachman looked scared. “No, milady. He’s away to Endale Hall. He set off on horseback. He said you’re to follow in the carriage, if you wished.”
If I wished? Chilled, I kept my manner calm. “Did he say why?”
My maid butted in, her face white. “Oh milady, it’s your little boy. He’s took sick.”
Chapter Eleven
In the carriage I pumped my terrified maid for more detail. What kind of message? Was baby Jasper ill? Was it serious? Did His Lordship say anything else?
Was my baby still alive?
She cringed back against the seat. “He didn’t say, milady. Just sent for his horse and rode off.”
Left to me, I’d have ridden off too, but I had the household to consider. We must call back at Endale House to warn the servants. I needed traveling clothes.
Jacquard’s secretary met us at the door, his face grave. “I gather it’s serious, ma’am. His Lordship sent word that if you follow him, I’m to take charge of your jewels. You won’t be safe on the roads with a fortune around your neck.”
In my rooms I changed swiftly into daywear and a cloak, snapping at poor Annie when she fumbled with laces and ribbons. I scared her so much that she took twice as long.
Then I relented, seeing she was upset too. We wasted yet more time comforting each other with a warm hug.
At last we were underway and headed for the road out of town.
My portrait, Jacquard’s despair—my fresh plunge into scandal, possibly bringing ruin on his ancient family name—all were forgotten as I gazed out into the darkness and silently wept for my son.
I’d frolicked all summer while he lay sick? How could I?
Life became all stops and starts. We sped through the night or stamped with impatience while the horses were changed at remote country inns. I raged inside with guilt and worry.
Now a new fear gripped me. If Jacquard thought I dallied with the prince, would he throw me out? Bar me from the house? Forbid me entry to all his homes?
Even if my baby lives, I may never see him again.
I’d so looked forward to my first Season, to tasting the delights of the most exclusive set in the world on the arm of my stunning, distinguished husband.
I thought taking on the ton would be fun.
Teasing Jacquard would be even better—show him I could hold my own among the haughty ladies of the capital, with their flounces and fine manners and even make my own decisions.
All I’d done was bring him to despair and me to ruin.
For long, weary miles I slumped in the corner of the carriage, limp with misery.
At last, after a wretched day and a long, sleepless night followed by a chilly dawn, we came in sight of Endale Hall.
Early mists had cleared, the sun shone, birds sang. I craned out of the window, wishing I could leap out, run the rest of the way and hurl myself into the nursery.
At the same time, I dreaded what I’d find there. A cot draped in black? A physician with a black bag and a long face?
A tiny coffin?
What I did find, in the early-morning sunshine slanting over the park and through the tall windows, was a deserted entrance and a forsaken cradle.
Still garbed in my traveling dress and badly in need of a wash, my hair escaping from my maid’s hasty pins, I stood and stared around.
The drapes fluttered where the windows opened onto the lawns at the back of the house. Through them I heard voices—first a baby’s throaty chortle then a gust of hearty male laughter.
Jacquard? I peered out, my heart thumping.
My gorgeous, lordly husband was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. He crouched on all fours on the fine sweep of the lawn. Toddling out of his reach as fast as he could on his little fat legs, my baby boy shrieked with laughter every time Jacquard gave a roar and lunged at him.
A cluster of servants still in aprons, and footmen minus their wigs, had come out to watch. They stood looking on with doting expressions.
As I watched, father and son rolled over together on the grass, then Jacquard sprang to his feet and hoisted little Jasper up onto his shoulders.
At that moment both saw me and waved, my son’s eyes full of glee—his father’s, cool.
The scene blurred as my tears spilled.
“Milady? Shall I take your cloak now?” My maid was crying too. “Better now, is he? Happen it were just the colic after all?”
“Let’s hope so, Annie.” I kissed her cheek. “I’m so glad we’re home.”
I quickly washed and changed. In a clean morning gown, and with my hair scooped back into a simple bow, I went down to the lawns.
Little Jasper hugged me, but he was already tiring. As he started to nod, his nurse lifted him out of my arms and bore him off to bed.
Jacquard stood quietly waiting, his jacket slung over one shoulder. His gaze told me nothing.
My hopes chilled.
“You could not tell me, my lord?” I turned to him with aching eyes. “I thought he was dying.”
“So did I.” He surveyed me for a moment, his look still cool. “The message said he was sick and to come quickly. You were busy with the prince. I supposed you had to explain about your portrait. I thought it might take a while. Is all resolved now?”
Why was he so calm? All at once I wished we were alone, not out here in the open with servants around. There were things I had to say.
“Can we go indoors, my lord? It’s very public here.”
His eyes flashed. “It was very public there. You trul
y meant to display your all to the whole of St. James’s? You seriously meant to take Hornsea’s place?”
He seized my hand and held it fast. As we walked back indoors, I rapidly explained about the mistake. Slowly he started to smile.
He laughed heartily when I told him how the prince’s new favorite had boxed his ears in front of the crowd.
Finally Jacquard gave me a fond look.
“For your first Season, you certainly cut a dash, ma’am. You mired us in scandal, exposed yourself in public and nearly seduced a prince. Not a bad tally.”
Once indoors, he put his arms around my waist and pulled me close. I wound my arms around his neck.
“So…you’re not angry?” I kept my voice low, even though the hall seemed quiet, with the servants back at their work.
“Angry?” He frowned. “I was desperate. We knew the prince had a new mistress. Some of us even guessed he planned to reveal her in a portrait.” His mouth twisted at the corner. “But he flatly refused to say who she was. Then I began to hear whispers. In the clubs, fellows laid bets. What I heard terrified me. You and the regent? You’d caught his eye at the opera. I’d seen him watch you dance—”
He looked away for a moment. When he looked back, his eyes were suspiciously bright. His voice grew husky.
“Your quick thinking once saved my life. How could I doubt you? The moment you turned to me in the ballroom and said it was a mistake, I believed you. Sadly, I missed the dénouement. At the footman’s note, I left at once. I looked back to warn you, but it was too crowded. Anyway, I’d no time. Luckily, by the time I got here, he was on the mend.”
So he’d known all along? I swallowed, shaky. I’d stepped back from a terrifying brink. His anguish as he’d left the ballroom had not been for the foolishness of his wife but for the life of his son.
Trembling, I kissed his cheek.
With a strange, intense look he wound his hand into my hair and captured my mouth in a glorious, passionate kiss. Our lips and tongues mingled for the first time in days, and to my infinite joy, I tasted once more the happiness I’d thought lost for good.
* * * *
A week later, I was playing with Jasper under the fond gaze of his nursemaid when a footman brought word that Jacquard wanted me in his study. I walked in and froze.
He had a visitor. That woman.
He turned to me with a smile.
“Ah, there you are. Here’s someone I’d like you to meet. She’s certainly keen to meet you.”
“She is?” My heart sank. I gave her a chilly glance.
Seeing this, Jacquard took my arm.
“She is our guest,” he said quietly. “Allow me to present Miss Sally Carson. She is an artist. She is also engaged to Mr. Martin Lucas. Miss Carson? My wife, the Countess of Endale. You have a message for her, I think.”
Miss Carson was simply dressed, her face clean of makeup. To my surprise, she gazed at me with tear-filled eyes.
“Oh, milady, indeed I have. Martin and I rent a studio in the Strand. I was supposed to take you there for Martin to paint you. When you didn’t turn up, he was distraught. He’d spent all our money getting ready for your commission, you see—new paints, new brushes, even new furniture. The tradesmen made threats. We used up our credit long ago. But you kept avoiding us. I told him fashionable ladies have their ways. You’d gone elsewhere. But he’d have none of it. He said you had a good heart, and there must be some reason.”
Jacquard took my arm. “Miss Carson called one morning while you were out. She told me about your plans for a picture and explained their predicament. I offered a small loan to tide them over.”
I saw them share a look. Before I could ask why, she seized my hand.
“Oh, milady, I wanted to thank you. You were as good as your word. Since you spoke up at the ball, Martin’s been swamped with commissions. It seems all the society ladies want a picture like yours. And thanks to you, they all think Martin painted it.” Her eyes glowed. “We’re so grateful to your ladyship. Good times are coming.”
Jacquard’s smile grew wider.
“Miss Carson and I have some news for you,” he murmured. “Miss Carson? Shall we tell her?”
Oh no. I felt my stomach clench. Was she to be a fixture in our household? Even a duke had been known to keep his mistress and his wife in a ménage a trois.
Jacquard’s mouth twitched. “I invited Miss Carson to look over the nursery. If you’re agreeable, my love, I thought she might freshen it up with some new artwork. And while she’s here, she’s offered to do some pastel sketches of our son.”
She smiled eagerly. “I brought my portfolio, milady. I had some ideas for flower designs in your private sitting room and some baby animals for the nursery. Milady? Something upsets you?”
I whisked away a tear of joyful relief.
“Not at all, Miss Carson. Your ideas are lovely.” I glanced at Jacquard, my cheeks warm. “Forgive me. I’ve had a trying week.”
* * * *
Later, when we were alone, Jacquard had a light supper brought to our rooms, complete with champagne. I clambered onto his lap and we fed each other, kissing morsels into our mouths and finishing with sips of champagne that blended into loving kisses.
“So you knew all about my portrait?” I pouted, playful. “You could have said.”
“And spoil your surprise, when you took such delight in it? Besides—” He broke off, troubled. “I know how deep your loyalties lie. Miss Carson had told me your plan, but as the weeks passed, your sparkling eyes told me the rest. Early on it was clear to me that the man it was meant for had captured your heart. I decided to let things play out, but I dreaded the truth. I knew if you’d chosen another, I’d lost you forever.”
Did I see tears in his eyes? Or was it the glint of the candle? I never knew. Next second he’d buried his face in my neck.
“Deuce take it, Saffina. I’ve missed you.”
“Me too, my lord. And this.” I reached down to where his monster was already stirring. “Shall we have dessert now?” I whispered. “Or later?”
With a growl he rose to his feet, bearing me up with him. He strode into the bedchamber and we fell laughing onto the bed, and with many slaps and squeals, he took his dessert. Then with many eager licks and lusty, hungry kisses, I took mine.
At last, after he’d spanked me close to climax then rolled me over, he made me kneel up on the bed and plunged into me from behind with a shout. Finally he collapsed on top of me.
As I lay panting in his arms, a new thought struck me.
“Jacquard? I have a confession to make.”
“What? You leave it till now to tell me?” His eyes blazed. “You’ve found some new lover?”
I giggled, running a hand down his cheek. “Indeed I have, sir. And he’s as fine and upstanding a lover as any girl could wish. But I planned a surprise for his birthday, and now it’s hanging in Carlton House. Shall I commission another?”
His laughter rattled the silver.
“Have no fears about your sensational portrait, my sweet. The regent won’t have it long. I’ll win it off him before the year’s out. And anyway, why should you give me anything for my birthday? You’ve already given me more than I could ever have hoped. I have a wife who makes me smile, a son who makes me laugh—and more. Wait here.”
From his bureau he took out a bundle of letters, many sealed with elaborate crests.
“I meant to go through these with you tomorrow, but you may as well see them now.”
I stared at them in dismay. “What’s this? Writs?”
He tossed them onto the bed, threw himself back down next to me and took me in his arms. “Invitations, my love. Friends of the prince now think you’re his mistress…or will be soon. Those who dislike him think you’re a woman wronged and need their support. So now, for one reason or the other, they’re all beating a path to our door. We’re asked to house parties all over the country. It looks like we’re in for a busy summer.”
He dr
opped a loving kiss on my forehead.
“You’ve given me plenty for my birthday, and not just for one birthday, for all of them. Something I thought I’d never have again—a place in society. From now on, it looks like we’ve arrived.”
I giggled as I wrapped my hand firmly around his twitching tool. I felt a tiny thrill of power as it began to stir and swell against my hand until it was silky, hard and hot.
“We usually do arrive, sir,” I whispered, “when you get busy with this.” I gave it a friendly squeeze, stirred to feel its heat. “So who needs invitations?”
And soon our happy laughter died away. With kisses and soft, teasing touches and long, jutting thrusts, we arrived together more than once, until the night paled into the rosy dawn of a bright new day.
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
Suiting Saffina: Saffina’s Secrets
Flora Dain
Excerpt
Chapter One
“Tell me. What is the first rule of pleasure?”
The voice behind me was low in my ear, deep and disturbing, silky as chocolate over the pounding drumbeat of hooves and the continuous clatter of the jolting carriage. I whimpered as he hoisted my skirts, drawing them slowly up over my quivering ass.
All at once he plunged his fingers into my gaping slit to feel my secrets.
Say something. Anything. My mind raced. “When to— Ah.”
I arched, as alive to his touch as a straw in a flame. He slid his questing fingertips in deeper.
“Say it.”
“The first rule of pleasure, my lord—” I broke off, panting with need. I writhed against his hand, desperate for the money touch that would end my torment. “To know when to feast—and when to fast.”
I hauled in air and jerked in my bonds, clenching my teeth as he caressed me again. In my cunny, he took control with a flurry of sparks that tingled all over my skin.
He lowered his voice to a cruel purr. “So now you fast.”