Lady's Temptations: A Winter's Regency Menage

by Reed, Kristabel

  “I don’t understand,” Sarina confessed. “A marriage with Lord Hawksmoor would offer you that and so much more.”

  “I know.” Rose nodded. Her smile played around her full lips again, more sardonic than mysterious now. “However, there is but one problem. Lord Hawksmoor is entirely too decent to be married to me.”

  “I do not understand,” Sarina said again. “If you find him decent, as you say, why wouldn’t you wish that in a husband?”

  Those direct hazel eyes bore into Sarina. “Because I am not. I enjoyed Jeremy.”

  The words hung between them, but Sarina instantly understood them. She swallowed and took her time refilling her teacup. Rose shook her head at the offer, but Sarina studied the woman sitting so calmly across form her.

  Rose didn’t seem embarrassed at her admission, and to a near stranger at that. Direct, matter of fact, and as pragmatic as Sarina had always fancied herself, yes. But not embarrassed. Finding that interesting, Sarina eventually nodded.

  “I am not chaste, either,” Sarina confessed.

  “You and Sinclair?” Rose asked, clearly already anticipating that.

  Slowly, Sarina nodded. Licking her lips, the words bubbling in her throat, she took a heartbeat, then another, but it had to be said. She needed to admit it, and admit it to Rose, and Sarina wasn’t certain why.

  “And Trevelyan,” she whispered.

  Sarina’s confession stunned Rose. She sat up straighter, and for a moment, the mask she wore disappeared. In its place were surprise, awe, and a hint of interest. Then her gaze became shuttered, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her face.

  “Ah,” Rose said.

  Sarina didn’t know if Rose thought she’d cheated on Prescott with Liam, or what truly happened between them, but remained silent. Her own reputation was on the line here, and she didn’t need to add any fuel to the fire.

  “You’re quite the adventuress, are you not, Miss Hunt?” Rose said, still smiling.

  She knew then, about the ménage. Sarina merely sipped her tea. Taking a deep breath, she smiled just slightly. “I couldn’t choose. But I must confide in you another thing.”

  Rose nodded encouragingly. “I’m not easily surprised,” she admitted. “But you have surprised me and I’m not certain what to expect from another confidence.”

  “This is about Lord Hawksmoor,” Sarina said.

  Rose eyes widened. “Him, too?” she asked, her voice higher pitched and more astonished than Sarina had heard previous to this confession.

  Laughing, a burden lifting from her from the confession and Rose’s reaction, Sarina shook her head. “No, no.” She shook her head again, the smile fading.

  “No,” Sarina said again. “There was nothing between us in that manner. But because of the possibility of marriage, I felt I needed to inform him that he wouldn’t be the first in my bed.”

  Rose nodded in understanding and admiration. She took a moment to select a cake, taking a small bite and chewing in the silence that Sarina’s confession left.

  Surprisingly, Sarina felt calm and relaxed. This wasn’t exactly how she’d expected this conversation to proceed, but then she hadn’t had a plan as much as she’d tried to form one. Nor had she expected to confide in Rose Ainsworth, a woman she’d met only last night and one she hoped to use for her own ends.

  Perhaps it was that reason Sarina wished to take Rose into her confidence. She was using the woman, after all.

  She sipped her cooling tea and studied the other woman. Rose had taken Sarina’s confession remarkably well.

  “Did he hurl poisonous recriminations at you?” Rose asked. “Compare you to the whores they sneak into gentlemen’s clubs?”

  “No.” Sarina shook her head. “He did not care.”

  The skepticism in the other woman’s gaze couldn’t be hidden, no matter how good Rose seemed to be at keeping her emotions secret. Sarina simply waited and watched. She finished her tea and felt better than she had since leaving the marchioness’s ball last evening.

  “He told me that nothing before the marriage mattered,” Sarina said into the silence. “That we would be partners at Hawksmoor Manor.” Smiling, she added, “He is a good man who is, surprisingly, without judgment.”

  “Is this the truth?” Rose demanded, hard and searching. “Or do you desperately try and woo me to his cause?”

  “It is nothing but the truth,” Sarina promised, keeping her gaze steady on Rose. “Believe me, I have not lied to you today. And I’ve shared more with you than I should have.”

  Rose studied her, and Sarina waited, unruffled, a small smile playing around her mouth, and she wondered what the other woman was thinking. And then she wondered if Rose Ainsworth, a stranger yesterday and barely an acquaintance today, would become the one woman Sarina could speak with about her ménage.

  “I shall arrange a meeting with Lord Hawksmoor,” Rose said eventually. It was said still in the same cool, detached voice, but the interest in her gaze couldn’t be missed. “Perhaps an accord might be struck, after all.”

  After Rose’s admission about speaking to Oliver, conversation turned toward London, the start of Parliament, and the Season. Rose never spoke further about Jeremy, and it seemed as if she protected her wayward lover—the lover who’d abandoned her.

  They’d laughed and Sarina further relaxed; the more she studied Rose, the more she saw the other woman also relaxing as the afternoon wore on.

  As they spoke, Sarina understood the differences in circumstances between her and Rose. And also came to realize that she no longer foisted Oliver onto Rose, or Rose onto Oliver, for that matter.

  In the wake of what, admittedly little, Rose had told her about her own circumstances, Rose and Oliver would be most suitably matched.

  Now all Sarina could do was wait for Rose to speak with Oliver. She breathed in a deep breath and slowly released it. Walking to the doors, she opened them and felt the warm spring day.

  Yes, she had high hopes for the outcome of a match between Oliver and Rose. And once that was set, and Sarina refused to let her earlier doubt plague her, she’d marry Prescott as soon as possible.

  * * * *

  With the matter of Miss Ainsworth and Lord Hawksmoor settled—or very nearly so as far as Sarina knew—she acknowledged one final obstacle in the path to her own happiness.

  Her engagement to Prescott had been announced, and while her cousins had not been pleased, they also hadn’t made too overt a fuss when rumors began spreading about Oliver and Rose. Sarina grimaced as she stared at the stone path along her rear garden.

  Perhaps too overt a fuss wasn’t the correct phrase. They had gasped and bemoaned the fact that their beloved Hawksmoor, their dear cousin, had associated himself with a ruined woman.

  Never mind they barely recognized him as anything other than their connection to nobility. Or that they knew little to nothing about Rose Ainsworth. Or that this saved Rose’s reputation, gave Oliver the funds necessary to restore Hawksmoor Manor, and allowed Sarina to marry the men she loved.

  And therein lay the problem.

  She certainly couldn’t marry both Liam and Prescott. In the eyes of society, and the law, she could marry only one. Honestly, Sarina was all right with that. She’d abide by the law and marry Prescott, but all three of them knew her heart belonged to Liam as well.

  Standing, she wandered down the neatly kept rows along the townhouse’s gardens. What she wanted to do was run, take off her bonnet, and race over hills and through the wood. London did not allow for that. So she remained trapped in her small garden, among brightly blooming flowers and vivid scents, with no path out of this new problem.

  When she and Prescott married, how could Liam remain in their household?

  Sarina had thought of, and discarded, a dozen scenarios, each one more fantastical than the next. Everything from faking Liam’s death, which was utterly impractical when it came to running their business, to sneaking him in through a tunnel between neighboring townhouses.


  “Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Trevelyan,” McGann announced.

  Sarina looked up at her butler, still as impassive as ever but with a slight twinkle in his eyes. Smiling at him, she nodded, her gaze flying behind him to where her lovers stood.

  McGann disappeared, as silent as a ghost, but Sarina barely realized it. In an instant, Liam’s arms wrapped around her, his mouth hungry against hers. Sarina moaned into his kiss, opened completely to him, for him. Behind her, she felt Prescott, his hands on her hips, his lips nuzzling the nape of her neck.

  Shuddering, her breath harsh, Sarina pulled back. Flushed, aroused, and feeling very, very wanton surrounded by two men in her rear gardens where anyone could spot them, she grinned.

  Wanton, yes, but oh so loved.

  “I’ve missed you both,” she admitted. She raised her hands, one hand cupping Prescott’s cheek, the other Liam’s.

  Liam took her hand and kissed the back of it. The innocent gesture looked positively indecent when he did it; his blue eyes were hot, his lips curved into a wicked smile. When he turned her hand and brushed the inside of her wrist, Sarina’s insides clenched and she moaned.

  “We’ve been by to see you just yesterday,” Prescott said.

  He hadn’t moved far, and now his lips brushed along her back, over the curve of her shoulder. Liquid heat pooled low in her, and Sarina gave serious thought to the practicalities of making love to them right there in the gardens.

  Sarina took a deep breath, then another, but it did little to ease the need throbbing through her. She shifted slightly, but all that did was cause her thighs to clench. Clearing her throat, she ignored the knowing looks both men watched her with.

  “Before.” Her voice rasped and she stopped to clear her throat again. “Before we do anything,” she said with a significant look at both of them, “we need to discuss the matter of after the wedding.”

  At this moment, she didn’t want to bring any of this up; on the other hand, it was imperative they sort this now. She refused to put off a conversation so important a moment longer. “How are we going to resolve the matter of our residence?”

  Now that she’d said it, Sarina realized the question bothered her more than she liked. She had no desire to change one bit about their relationship, their arrangement. No, not arrangement. When put like that, it sounded planned and she’d never planned to fall in love with two men, let alone form such a relationship with them.

  “I have my townhouse,” she continued, with a vague nod in the direction of said building. When she looked between Liam and Prescott, she saw both men’s full attention on her. “And Liam could most certainly be a regular guest, but with his own residence in London, having him here so often might raise suspicions of a sort.”

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped back, just enough for their hands to fall from her body, not enough to truly give her the space to think. However, she’d spent so very long thinking, planning, and worrying, and Sarina was tired of it. This one final piece to their lives needed to be settled. Today.

  Curling her fingers in the skirt of her green gown, she pushed ahead. Sarina refused to let something as important as Liam’s living arrangements fall by the wayside. “What we need is a better plan than you,” she said to Liam, “as our permanent houseguest.”

  “We already know how you think, Sarina.” Liam smiled at her with that warm curl to his lips that made her forget words and want to feel his mouth on her.

  Frowning, Sarina pursed her lips and glanced between her men. “You are aware of my concerns, then?”

  “We are.” Prescott nodded in so decisive a manner she wondered how long they’d thought of this and why they’d said nothing before. “And we’ve planned an accident.”

  “An accident?” The sound of the word worried Sarina—how did one plan an accident? And how did one ensure such an accident didn’t cause permanent injury? Liam smirked knowingly at her, and she swallowed all her questions.

  “Don’t worry,” Liam assured her. He stepped closer and took her hand, his fingers caressing the bare skin just above her glove. “The only injury will be to my ego.”

  “What,” Sarina asked, her gaze shooting between the two men, “is this about?”

  Liam closed the distance between them, his hands on her shoulders. He looked serious, for all the wickedness in his gaze and his smile just a moment ago. His thumbs caressed the sides of her neck, just a light touch. Next to him, Prescott nodded. Clearly they’d planned this out, too.

  “In order to temper any unwanted rumblings about my frequent visits to the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair,” Liam said with a hint of humor, but otherwise entirely serious, “I’m going to move in permanently. Believe me, no one in London will think twice about it.”

  “How…?” Sarina began then shook her head.

  “We’re going to stage an accident on the docks.” Prescott took her hand in his and squeezed it once. “Liam is going to pretend he’s been seriously injured in the accident. And we,” Prescott continued with a wink at her and a glance at Liam. “We as his dearest friends will be more than happy to house my business partner for the foreseeable future.”

  “I see.” Sarina nodded.

  It seemed a sound plan, but she wasn’t completely sure about this scheme. What if something went wrong and Liam was truly hurt? What if a witness saw the truth and needed to be paid off? Blackmail was such an ugly business and one she wanted no part of.

  However, it would solve all their problems.

  Taking a deep breath, she nodded once. “And if a time comes when some young miss offers to care for our Liam as his wife?” She couldn’t keep the jealousy out of her tone, didn’t bother to try.

  Liam cringed but nodded. Apparently, they’d thought of a way around that, too. “It’ll be made perfectly clear,” Liam said with a wince to his tone, “that I’m no longer suitable as a husband.”

  Sarina peered at him curiously, unsure what he meant. “Oh.” She realized, her eyes widened in surprise as his meaning became clear.

  They meant to spread rumors that the accident injured his manhood. Sarina blushed, despite the fact she’d enjoyed his manhood quite thoroughly, and repeated, “Oh.”

  Liam grimaced but kissed her softly. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to be with you, Sarina,” Liam told her with such tenderness, her heart melted. He took her in his arms, held her close. “Actually, there isn’t anything.”

  “There isn’t anything I would not risk,” Sarina confessed. She looked from Liam’s sincere blue gaze to Prescott’s equally earnest brown one. “Not anymore. I’d do anything to be with you both. I cannot believe all of this yet. I can hardly believe this will be our lives.”

  “Believe it.” Prescott took her hand, his fingers curling around hers. “A happy marriage of three.”

  Epilogue

  Sarina walked up the stairs, smiling and so completely happy she thought she’d burst from it. Today had been utterly perfect.

  Even her cousins’ continued, though mild, censure could not dampen her joy at this day. Their offense over Sarina’s decision not to marry Oliver was only one part, one she easily deflected. However, their annoyance at her insistence they move into Henrietta’s townhouse seemed to have taken a firmer hold in them.

  Sarina had very firmly and very clearly told her cousins they needed to move out. They’d both been shocked, but Sarina held firm, and after all, they’d had a month after Sarina’s announcement to do so. Plenty of time for them to open Henrietta’s townhouse and move their things across town.

  And, no, they could not have her servants. They needed to hire their own.

  Sarina had wondered if she’d have felt the same if she’d married Oliver, if it would’ve mattered whether or not her cousins lived in this townhouse or if she and Oliver would’ve spent all their time in Hawksmoor.

  But it didn’t matter. None of that did.

  Because this morning she’d married Prescott.

  Even now a thrill of ple
asure, passion, and need and the intimacy she’d craved between the three of them had her nerves dancing. Sarina had enjoyed their day, the small party they’d had to celebrate the nuptials between her and Prescott, the sly glances from Liam and whispered promises of love from him.

  It had been difficult not to include Liam, a newly “damaged” Liam supposedly recovering from a terrible dock accident. Almost impossible for her gaze not to stray to him during the ceremony or afterward as she’d accepted congratulations from the guests. But they had a special ceremony planned for later, just the three of them, where Sarina didn’t have to pretend she didn’t love both men.

  With dusk falling, all she wanted now was time with her men.

  She’d gone for far too long without them. That had been her choice; she’d insisted the three of them wait the four weeks between announcing their marriage and the wedding before they all made love again. That time had also allowed them to implement their elaborate scheme to fool the ton into thinking Liam had been so severely injured, he couldn’t be on his own once she and Prescott married.

  An injury, thanks to a well-paid and circumspect doctor, that meant Liam couldn’t father children. And a story which spread like wildfire amongst the ton and had effectively taken him off the marriage market.

  Liam was all hers. Sarina was a jealous enough woman not to want to share her lover. Added to that, she was a woman in love and refused to share him.

  A thrill of need spread through her. She wanted them—oh, how she wanted them. Wanted to feel them in her, their hardness thrusting so intimately in her. Their hands on her soft and loving, firm and arousing. Their mouths kissing her as they whispered words of love and forever.

  Want and lust, yes, but deeper than that. The bottomless well of love, the completion both Liam and Prescott gave to her. The three of them—to have all of them in bed together, to wake with her lovers the next day and not worry about discovery. To sleep with them, not merely to have sex with them.