Later that night, lying in bed, the last thing Belinda saw in her mind’s eye before she let sleep claim her were dancing green eyes in a handsome face. And for once, it wasn’t Heath she dreamed of.
***
Fury ate at Paul like a festering wound. He’d been thwarted not once, but twice that day. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, and he’d been denied both women he fancied in his bed.
How dare Miss Spencer look down a haughty nose at him? Like she was some highborn woman who could afford to be picky about her lovers? He was a step up for her, how dare she offend him as she had done?
And Izzy? He’d been patient for years, waiting on her to be married off so he could finally have her in his bed. Oh, he’d always known she had aspirations of becoming his wife, but he’d never had any intentions of making it so. Years of war had left Gerald Beaumont without a farthing to his name. When Paul wed, he would marry a woman who would replenish his own much needed money supply through her dowry.
And now that Izzy was married she thought to play the role of virtuous bride? With him? He’d nearly had her on her back with her skirts flipped over her head years ago. She’d been as hot for him as he’d been for her in those days. He’d only resisted because her father was a powerful man, and he didn’t fancy being forced to the altar for deflowering the man’s prized daughter.
But he thought they had reached an understanding, that once she married she would yield all to him. Obviously, marriage to Lord Royston had turned her uppity. She now thought him unworthy of her favors.
Well, he would teach her who held the real power in this game.
The little idiot didn’t even realize she’d given him all the information he needed to affect a cunning plan.
Thoughts of vengeance excited him, aroused him like a randy lad about to mount his first woman. He would take his revenge, and it would be sweet. But tonight he needed a different kind of outlet for his frustrations.
From across the crowed room he made eye contact with Royston’s cast-off, the beauteous Louisa Hanover. With a sharp jerk of his head toward the door, she began to move, meeting him just outside the great hall.
They’d barely made it back to his chambers before he had her pinned against the wall, tearing at her clothing. She lacked the innocence that so attracted him to Izzy and her prissy little cousin, but she would do for this night.
“Darling, slow down. You don’t want this to end before it begins, do you?” She asked in her throaty voice.
Nay. He didn’t. He’d had Louisa before, and her appetite for the deviant was as strong as his. How a man like Royston had ever thought to satisfy her mystified him.
Still, she was useful, and he’d all but ordered her to slip the news to Izzy of her position as Royston’s mistress. Let Izzy know infidelity was the norm, not the exception, in case she carried any misconceptions.
Tonight, he’d have Royston’s ex-mistress. And very soon he’d have the man’s wife in his bed. Perhaps one night he’d take them both, at the same time. The thought excited him to new heights.
Within moments, he had Louisa splayed upon his bed, her wrists tied to the headboard with lengths of soft leather. With a slow and taunting motion he pulled out the switch he kept at hand for such occasions. She turned her head to face him, and for a moment, her eyes widened, and fear shone back at him. But she licked at her lips and excitement soon replaced the fear.
When he brought the switch down across her perfect backside, she moaned, the sound half filled with pleasure, half with pain. The sound heightened his passion and he brought the switch down, harder and harder, until thin lines of blood began to appear across her creamy flesh.
Frenzied now, she pulled against the ties that bound her, and Paul could hold back no more. He gripped the back of her thighs and yanked her legs apart further, burying himself inside her as hard as he could.
The blood the switch left behind rubbed off onto his stomach, and it excited him to new levels. She rose onto her knees to meet him thrust for thrust. He pounded into her, all the while imagining Izzy’s chestnut hair, how he would control her with that glorious mane when he finally got her into his bed.
Louisa moaned, bucking against him, and he felt the exquisite sensations of her inner muscles clamping around his throbbing shaft. With one final thrust, he reached the precipice, throwing back his head when the white-hot pleasure lanced through him, and he spilled himself inside her welcoming heat.
Vengeance would be even sweeter.
Chapter 24
If the ride to White Hall had been tense, the ride home could only be described as morose. Once again, Izzy refused to meet Ram’s gaze, but it wasn’t out of anger she avoided looking at him. Something had gone terribly awry at court.
Could it be she was upset because she’d not been able to see the King as she’d hoped? Ram himself had taken up a good portion of Charles’ time, warning him Izzy might approach him at any time and that she would use every weapon in her very considerable feminine arsenal into charming her monarch into helping her.
Not surprisingly, this had amused Charles, but when Ram told him that he would be the one to seek the annulment, the King’s humor had faded fast.
“Ramsay, you have served me well, but I am beholden to the Beaumont family for all they did for my cause during the interregnum.”
“She’ll not protest the annulment, Your Majesty,” Ram had assured him.
Charles, in his straightforward and blunt manner had demanded to know why both parties were so dissatisfied with the marriage. Put on the spot, Ram had been forced to explain that Izzy loved another man. Embarrassing enough to admit to one’s king, but Lucien had stood beside him when he’d made the declaration, the slight raising of an eyebrow his only reaction.
Charles had simply shrugged. “It’s a good, fine match, the Maitlands and the Beaumonts. Find yourself a mistress, and look the other way. She’ll tire of her lover eventually. Lord Palmer certainly looks the other way whilst I dally with his wife.” He’d grinned widely. “If old Roger would only accept her back into his bed, he’d learn there were benefits to a man’s wife receiving lessons from a King in the art of love play.”
Ram couldn’t bring himself to laugh at the joke and had managed to contain his anger as he struggled for the correct words. “Sire, I’ll not risk my family’s legacy on a bastard.” He’d left the rest of what he’d wanted to say unspoken. Roger Palmer might look the other way while his wife bore the fruit of her affairs, but those children were bastards of the King of England, and would receive only the best in life. Charles was notoriously generous with his bastards and quick to recognize them. And Charles was not yet wedded. He might think differently if it was his own wife cuckolding him before the world. Ramsay and the king might be of like age, but they were a world apart in their view of women and marriage.
A servant had come over then, bending to whisper something into the monarch’s ear.
Charles had frowned, his entire demeanor changed. He’d stood, about to rush off some place. “I’ll consider your request, Ramsay. We’ll talk again soon.” And then the King had fled the hall as if the hounds of hell were at his feet.
Ram had to accept his monarch’s decision, for one did not pressure a man who could clap one in the Tower on a whim. Not that he thought Charles ever would, but kings could be unpredictable at the best of times. Ram and Charles had shared a close camaraderie once, during the king’s years of exile, but a man changed when a crown was placed upon his head.
Now Ram watched Izzy as she stared morosely out of the carriage window, wondering what had gone so wrong. Surely she was pleased to see Belinda, so what had upset her so?
Had they had words again? It hadn’t looked like it when he saw them together.
He stiffened at the obvious answer. Huntley. It was only that peacock that held the power to upset her like this.
Still, he found he was not unaffected by her misery.
“Izzy?”
She turned to him, and he could see the effect of the liquor she’d drunk on her flushed face, in the glaze of her eyes. She’d probably done it with the sole intention of thwarting his orders. But he couldn’t even summon anger at her obvious defiance, when faced with the telling stain of tears upon her cheeks.
“What’s amiss?”
“It’s nothing, my lord.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
He wracked his brain, trying to think of something that would stir her into an angry frenzy, anything that might remove the sadness from her eyes, but nothing came to him.
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
He had to aid her up the stairs, so unsteady was she upon her feet.
An hour after he’d left her in her chamber to ready for bed, he went to the door that divided them, only to find her still sitting on the bed in her evening gown.
“Would you like aid removing your clothing, wife?”
Finally, she sparked with …something. But it wasn’t the annoyance he expected. She stood and walked an unsteady path toward him. He didn’t say a word as she placed her hand on his chest, studying it as it lay against the silk of his dressing gown.
She frowned. “Do you find me cold and unresponsive, Ramsay?”
What new madness was this?
“You’re one of the warmest, most passionate women I’ve ever met.”
Her frown deepened.
“Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity.”
He was caught off guard when she leaned up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. She tugged his head down to hers and for a moment he drowned in the sweet taste of her mixed with the wine she’d drank.
Warning bells went off in his head. He couldn’t let himself be seduced. He’d made a firm decision, and unless her feelings for Paul had changed, he would not take her to his bed. No matter how tempting the offer.
He reached behind his neck, grasping her hands and gently unclasped them from around his neck. “Not tonight. You are flown with wine.”
“Not that flown,” she pouted.
“Nay, Izzy.”
“I need you, Ram,” she choked out. His heart lurched.
“Why, Izzy?” He inhaled a breath, waiting, hoping, her answer would be the one he wanted to hear. “Why do you need me?”
“I-I need to know that I, t-that you…I want to”- She blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know what I want anymore.” She clamped her mouth shut.
Hope withered in his chest. She didn’t want him, she wanted him to be a substitute. Again.
“Nay, Isabelle.”
She gazed at him with blue eyes filled with confusion and hurt. “Why? Because you prefer Louisa, who isn’t cold and unresponsive? Is that it?”
For a moment he froze, then swore profusely under his breath. Who the hell told her about Louisa? He searched his memory, trying to remember if his ex-mistress was present this evening, but if so, he hadn’t seen her. Still, White Hall was a gossip mill, anyone could have told his wife about his ex-mistress. In fact, the more malicious gossipmongers like Lady Palmer would take great pleasure in it.
Did it really bother Izzy so very much? A tiny bit of hope unfurled in his heart again. Was she jealous? If she was, did that mean she cared about him, even a little bit?
“Darling, I haven’t seen Louisa that way since before I met you.” He softened his tone.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “‘Tis true then? She’s your mistress?”
“Was, Izzy. She was my mistress. She is no longer.”
“You told her about me. About being forced to marry me. You came to Cornwall to find a reason not to marry me.” Hurt flared in her eyes.
“Who told you all this, sweetheart?”
“Louisa.” Izzy sniffled. “She’s very beautiful,” she whispered.
She’s a heartless bitch. Their affair ended amicably enough. Why did women like Louisa and Barbara love to stir up trouble everywhere they went? Why the need to hurt innocent people who never wronged them?
He sighed and wrapped his arms around Izzy, holding her close. Sometimes it was easy to forget how young she was.
She rubbed her cheek against his chest. He reevaluated his earlier thought. She didn’t need a substitute for Paul. She needed to be wanted. The urge to protect her from the Louisas and Barbaras of the world rose up in him, unwillingly. He’d seen Izzy excited, upset, angered, scared, inflamed- and everything in between. But he never would have guessed she could ever feel insecure, at least not because of another woman. Didn’t she know that compared to practiced courtesans like Louisa and Barbara, she was luxurious silk, and they nothing but rough-edged homespun? “Louisa is part of my past and has nothing to do with you and me.”
“Then why does she know about us? Why does she know you didn’t want to marry me?”
Ram refrained from reminding Izzy that she’d done everything in her power to avoid marrying him. “I told her those things well before I ever met you. I would never speak of our private matters to anyone else.”
“Did you go to her, each time you left me? She said- she knew you came to Cornwall each week and then returned to London.”
He pulled back and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “Nay, Izzy. I saw her but once, after I met you, and then only to make a clean break from her. If she hinted there was anything more than that, it was only to hurt you and raise doubts in your mind.” He stroked her cheek. “If you let her words upset you, then you give her exactly what she wants.”
She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I told her that you- that you begged me to marry you on bended knee.”
Ram choked on a laugh. He’d have a hell of a time living that one down, once it that little tidbit got around. God, he adored her audacity!
He hugged her tightly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, sweetheart.”
She raised her head. The corners of her mouth lifted in a tiny hint of a smile. She gazed up at him, and the smile slowly faded. Her arms crept around his neck; she raked the fingernails of one hand softly against his nape. His breath caught.
He pressed his forehead against hers. “Nay, Izzy.”
She tensed. “But why? If you don’t find me cold, and there’s nothing between you and Louisa, then why won’t you make love to me?” she whispered, dejected.
He clenched his eyes shut for a brief moment, praying for strength. If only their marriage wasn’t on such shaky ground. If only he could tell her how he felt about her. If only he knew there was a chance she could love him, even a little.
But she’d had too much to drink. How to explain in a way that would permeate her inebriated state and make sense to her? And even if she were jealous of the idea of him keeping a mistress, that didn’t mean her feelings towards Huntley had changed.
“It’s just not right. Not with the way things stand between us now. Every time we make love, one of use gets hurt.”
She stiffened. Her entire demeanor changed. “Fine. In the cottage you taught me how to pleasure myself, I can see to my own needs.”
He grinned. Only his Izzy would be so blatantly bold. She could tempt a eunuch.
“And I’ll fantasize about Paul the entire time.”
Her words wiped the smile from his face.
***
Why did she say that? Izzy thought, dismayed as she watched Ram’s eyes go from a soft, laughing gray to cold as steel in a single heartbeat. Well, she couldn’t back down now. He’d hurt her by his rejection, it was only fair he receive a taste of what he dished out.
Turning on her heel, she stalked a tad unsteadily towards her bed, pulling pins from her hair as she went. Within moments, she’d divested herself of her clothing, and prepared to get into the bed, nude. A quick glance toward the dividing door revealed Ram still standing there, fury evident in the stiffness of his stance, and by the throbbing muscle in his jaw.
She would simply ignore him.
Throwing the coverlet back on the bed, she laid down
, about to cover herself, than changed her mind. If Ram wanted to stand there and watch, then let him watch.
Breathing in deep, calming breaths, she tried to clear her mind of anger and ignore the little voice that told her she was being absurd. She allowed the liquor to rule her mind instead, letting it squash the little voice.
Bringing her hands up to her breasts, she touched herself. It didn’t feel the same as it did when Ram touched her, but still it was pleasant. Cupping her breasts, she pinched her own nipples, surprised to feel an answering response between her legs.
Paul. I must think of Paul. She imagined him then, with his golden hair, lowering his lips to suckle her nipples. Her fingers tightened on the puckered peaks. She tugged and rolled them between her fingers, loving the sensation. But the fantasy image changed, and it was dark hair she looked upon as she imagined a man suckling her breasts.
Ramsay.
This wouldn’t do! She’d told him she would think of Paul, and she would.
Her left hand remained on her breast, stroking, as her right hand ventured down over her stomach, to rest in the vee between her legs. Before she even touched herself, she could feel the heat emanating from her center. Heat coming from the place that ached to be touched.
She obliged, running one finger down her own cleft, as she’d done with Ram guiding her, that wonderful day so long ago.
Her touch was light at first, like the soft flutter of a butterfly’s wings, but soon she applied more pressure, stroked with more urgency. Her flesh swelled and moistened beneath her fingers.
A moan escaped her lips.
Paul, her mind whispered. She forced herself to say his name aloud.
Again she conjured his visage, imagining him looming above her, poised to enter her body. His blue eyes stared directly into hers, his blond hair as soft as silk as it brushed against her breasts.
Her fingers continued to dance across her flesh, and then she slid one finger into her own heat. The image of Paul wavered, and suddenly it was Ram making love to her in her mind. It was Ram, towering over her; his body, all planes and hard angles; his hair, black as sin; his steely eyes that looked right into her soul.
Virtue and Vice Page 26