Scandalous Virtue

by Brenda Hiatt

  Jack raised an eyebrow at the apparent double entendre. “The performances vary greatly, of course,” he responded, casually draping one arm across her shoulders. She made no protest. “Leda Varens’ Titania is generally held to be excellent, I hear, and John Kemble always does a creditable job. I’m sure his Oberon will be no exception.”

  Nessa nodded, though a bit impatiently. That wasn’t the sort of thing she’d meant, as he well knew. “I’ve no doubt I’ll enjoy the play immensely. I’ve read it, and ’tis one of my favorites. But what of the theater itself? I’ve never been, you know.”

  He blinked. “Never? Ah yes, I keep forgetting how very sheltered a life you’ve led. You have a gift, my dear, for appearing more worldly than you truly are.” It was something he needed to keep in mind. For all her seductive flirtation, Nessa would be extremely easy to shock—and perhaps frighten.

  “Why thank you, my lord.” She smiled at him, taking his words as a compliment. “I’m pleased to know I don’t always give the impression of a country bumpkin, even if it is how I’ve primarily lived.”

  Jack gave her shoulder a squeeze, feeling suddenly protective of her—a feeling alien to his experience. “Never that, my dear, I assure you.” He proceeded to tell her more about the Covent Garden Theater: the deep stage, allowing for elaborate scenery, the tier upon tier of box seats along the sides.

  “And the actresses?” she prompted when he paused. “I’m certain you can tell me whether they are as beautiful and talented as I’ve heard?”

  He hesitated, wondering just what she had heard. This was the second time tonight she’d referred obliquely to women with whom he’d dallied. No doubt the high-sticklers surrounding her were only too eager to spread tales about him—mostly true, unfortunately. It was only natural she would be curious.

  “Of course a woman must be extremely attractive, as well as talented, to tread the boards at one of the premier theaters in London,” he said carefully. “As I said before, Miss Varens is thought to be quite good.”

  Nessa leaned toward him. Her clean, fresh scent filled his senses, headier than any exotic perfume. “And what is your opinion of her, Jack? Do you have any particular favorites among the actresses?”

  He’d have liked to think she was jealous, but she sounded simply curious to learn about something outside her experience. “I have had, from time to time,” he admitted, grinning down at her. “Recently, however, I fear I haven’t given any of them much thought. I’ve been rather taken up with other pursuits.” He pulled her against him, and she snuggled under his arm in a most satisfying manner.

  “I can’t help but wonder just how one goes about becoming such a favorite,” she said then, tilting her face up to him in an obvious invitation—one he was quite incapable of refusing.

  “This is one way,” he responded, lowering his lips to hers.

  As before, he found her surprisingly inexperienced for a woman with five years of marriage behind her, but her very innocence inflamed him. She seemed as eager to learn as he was to teach. He teased her lips apart with his tongue, probing the sweet depths of her mouth. Her momentary stiffening told him this was a new experience for her. Then, tentatively—almost experimentally—she touched his tongue with her own. A faint moan escaped him.

  With extreme reluctance, and drawing on considerable self-control, he ended the kiss. “We’d best stop while we still can, my dear.” He tried to speak lightly, but his voice actually held a slight tremor. Where was his practiced sophistication with the ladies now? This particular one seemed to cut right through it.

  “Of course, Jack, if you think it best.” Her words were prim, but her voice breathless with what just might be desire. He’d find out later, he promised himself. Just now, however, the carriage was pulling to a stop in front of the theater.

  A few moments later, they mounted the imposing staircase of the Covent Garden Theater, greeting various acquaintances on the way to their box. Nessa’s rapt expression and occasional exclamations forced Jack to see the glittering chandeliers and sumptuous decor through her eyes, as though for the first time. It was rather grand, he supposed. Until now, he hadn’t realized just how jaded he’d become with Town life.

  “Look!” She clutched his arm just then. “Is that one of the actresses?”

  Following her gaze, he had to stifle a laugh. “No, that is the Countess Lieven, wife of the Russian ambassador and one of the patronesses of Almack’s. She is rather exotic looking, I’ll grant you.”

  Nessa blinked, glanced down at her own attire, then back at the countess. “And to think Simmons and Prudence thought my gown too immodest!”

  Jack was forced to resort to a fit of coughing, which drew a few stares, but was preferable to the attention a roar of laughter would have attracted.

  “Are you all right?” Nessa asked in some concern.

  “Perfectly,” he said as soon as he could safely do so. “I simply find your candor refreshing.”

  She looked rather confused. “I hope not to choke you with it. Is this our box?”

  It was. Harry and Lord Peter were already within. Jack had forgotten until that moment that he’d invited them. Still aroused by that kiss in the carriage, he felt a surge of irritation, then realized it was for the best. Alone in the box with Nessa, he’d have run a grave risk of bringing her reputation down to the level of his own. Tempting as that seemed right now, it was the last thing either of them needed.

  “Here you are at last,” Peter greeted them. “The curtain’s due to rise in five minutes. Lady Haughton, I bid you good evening. You look lovely tonight.” He bowed.

  Nessa smiled prettily. “I thank you, Lord Peter. ’Tis nice to see you and Mr. Thatcher again.” She extended her smile to Harry, who stepped forward with alacrity.

  “The pleasure is entirely ours, I assure you, my lady.” He lifted her gloved hand to his lips to plant a lingering kiss on the back of it.

  Jack’s irritation returned abruptly. “If the play is about to start, we’d best take our seats.” He all but snatched Nessa’s hand away from Harry, and was rewarded by a stare from the lady and a knowing smirk from his friend. What the devil was the matter with him?

  The possible answers to that question plagued him throughout the first act. He distracted himself by pointing out various aspects of the set, performance, and actors to Nessa in an undertone.

  “And who is the young lady playing Cobweb?” she whispered near the close of the act. “She’s lovely, and displays great energy!”

  “That is Selena Riverton,” replied Jack in an even lower tone. “A relative newcomer to the London stage.”

  Nessa turned to give him a long look. “You know her, do you not?”

  Now how the devil had she deduced that? He’d have sworn his voice gave no hint. “I, er, we’ve met, yes,” he responded lamely.

  Her half smile was enigmatic. “Then your taste has not been overrated, it would seem.” She turned her attention back to the stage, leaving him in greater turmoil than before.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nessa tried to follow the familiar play, but her own story seemed far more dramatic at the moment. The only object upon the stage that truly claimed her attention was Selena Riverton. She wasn’t sure what had prompted her to make that guess, but Jack’s reaction had proved her intuition correct. That sprightly beauty was one of the actresses with whom he’d dallied.

  No, she certainly couldn’t fault his taste. The willowy blonde was enchanting, with just enough of a lisp to suggest an innocence she surely did not possess. Nessa had not yet determined her feelings on the matter, however.

  Jealousy, she told herself, was far beneath her, particularly with a cyprian as its object. Still, she could not deny a surge of something—envy, perhaps?—as she watched Jack’s erstwhile paramour cavort upon the stage. What freedom such a woman enjoyed! How could a prim and proper widow like Nessa compete with such unbridled joie de vivre? And did she want to?

  Yes, she admitted, she did. She
wanted to turn men’s heads—particularly Jack’s—to tempt him to indiscretions, throwing propriety and judgment to the winds. A mere fantasy, of course, but … that kiss in the carriage tonight had shown that Jack desired her. Was it just possible her fantasy had a chance of fulfillment?

  Sneaking a glance at Jack, she found him regarding her thoughtfully—almost confusedly. She smiled mysteriously before turning back to the stage, her thoughts an exciting, alarming jumble.

  Their group ventured out of the box between acts, exchanging greetings with others doing the same. Between an array of bobbing turbans and feathers, Nessa saw Mrs. Dempsey a short distance away, clad in a gown that made the Countess Lieven’s look positively modest. The other woman was clearly trying to catch Jack’s eye, but caught Nessa’s instead. Tilting up her chin, Nessa smiled brightly to show she knew what she was about before turning back to Jack. With the tail of her eye, she caught the affronted surprise on Mrs. Dempsey’s face.

  “How long before we should return to our box?” she whispered to Jack—not so much because she wanted to know, but because she wanted Mrs. Dempsey to wonder what she was telling him.

  He smiled down at her. “Anxious to see more of the play, my dear? I’m pleased that you’re enjoying your first foray to the theater. We have another five minutes, I should think.”

  Nessa wasn’t sure she could call the jumble of emotions in her breast enjoyment, but she was certainly finding the evening educational. Still, she was far more eager for the close of the play than its continuance. She longed for the carriage ride home, where she could again practice her fledgling art of seduction.

  Nessa was just as glad the dim interior of the carriage concealed the tint of her cheeks, for she was certain they were flaming. How was she to play the seductress when she was blushing like a schoolgirl at the mere memory of her last kiss in these confines?

  Lord Haughton had never kissed her with such intimacy, even when in her bed. Indeed, his kisses had always inspired distaste and dread rather than pleasure. Were the feelings aroused by that mingling of tongues normal? Whether they were or not, she wanted to experience them again, to decipher them. She slid closer to Jack.

  “Thank you for bringing me to the theater tonight,” she said, wishing she could come up with something more interesting. No doubt the women to whom he was accustomed were scintillating conversationalists.

  “The pleasure was mine, I assure you.” He again draped his arm across her shoulders. “Did you find it to be what you expected?”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Yes and no. The performance was very good, very much as I’d imagined A Midsummer Night’s Dream would appear on the stage. But the audience was rather a surprise. Few of them seemed to be there to watch the play.”

  “Very true,” he agreed with a chuckle. “You must realize, of course, that most of them have seen it several times previously. They attend for the social aspects, not considering that their activities are distracting to newer theater attendees.”

  “Oh, I found it all fascinating,” she assured him. The drive was short, so she moved even closer so as not to waste this opportunity. “I begin to realize just how much I still have to learn of Town life.”

  “And of life in general?” he asked softly.

  She looked up to find him gazing intently at her. “Yes,” she whispered. “Fortunately, I have an excellent tutor.”

  She had thought she was ready for his kiss, but when his lips touched hers she felt, as before, that she might fly into a million pieces. It was an exquisite sensation, starting in her chest and licking outward toward her extremities. This time she parted her lips at the first touch of his tongue, allowing him inside, sliding her own tongue along his.

  Both of his arms were around her now, pulling her even closer. With one hand, he stroked her back. In return, she threaded her fingers through his hair, exploring the sides of his face, his ears, his throat with her touch. His right hand slid from her back to her side, then up to cup her breast through layers of fabric. Now she was the one to moan, her senses demanding more and more of these strange new stimuli.

  But as before, he pulled away, though lingeringly. His breathing was fast and loud in the darkness. “My love, you spur me to heights for which this is hardly the time or place.” His voice was unsteady, but she scarcely noticed, focusing instead on his first two words. But then he continued.

  “Given my lack of self-control when with you, I believe it might be best if I were to retire to Fox Manor until our wedding. It will be safer so.”

  “Safer?” Nessa was not certain she completely understood.

  He nodded. “Pray forgive my bluntness. Though I know neither of us are, ah, untouched, I am determined to wait until we are wed to consummate our union.”

  Nessa caught her breath at such plain speaking. Of course he must see that as the inevitable end of such activity as they were just now sharing. Any man would. Absurdly, stupidly, she had not thought it through in that way, never having before felt anything akin to desire for any man.

  “I am sorry, Jack. I did not mean …”

  “No, I didn’t really think you did.” His voice was gentle, not at all accusing. “You cannot help being irresistible.” Now his tone was teasing, and again she was thankful he could not see her blush. “There are various preparations I wish to oversee at Fox Manor, in any event. I should have been there already.”

  Nessa nodded, not trusting her voice as a cold finger of apprehension touched the back of her neck. She’d deliberately avoided thinking about the marriage bed, but now it loomed large—that most unpleasant aspect of marriage. The one she’d tried hardest to forget.

  Kisses were one thing, and with Jack, quite pleasurable. The marriage act was something else entirely. Though she knew it was the price she would have to pay for the freedom Jack offered her, she was in no hurry to pay it.

  “Yes, that makes sense,” she finally managed to say. “You’ll let me know when the Creamcrofts and I are to join you there?”

  “Of course.” The carriage pulled to a halt before the house. “I’ll call tomorrow so that we may work out the details.”

  “ ’Tis settled, then.” Jack rose to take his leave of Nessa and her sister. “I’ll look to see you the afternoon of December seventh.”

  “With the wedding to take place on the tenth,” agreed Prudence. “It still seems very rushed, but Nessa has convinced me that your obligation to the Duke of Wellington makes it necessary.”

  Again Nessa felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of Paris. “We shall put the intervening time to good use,” she assured Jack. “I’ve my wedding clothes and trousseau to purchase, among other things.” She deliberately kept her tone playful to disguise her conflicting feelings about his departure. London would seem quite dull without Jack in it, she feared.

  He took her hand. “I eagerly look forward to the results.” Pressing a lingering kiss to her wrist, just above her glove, he lifted his eyes to hers. The promise she saw there snatched her breath. Fortunately, Prudence saved her from the necessity of speaking.

  “Pray have a safe journey, my lord. I confess, I am nearly as eager to see Fox Manor as Nessa is. We shall join you there in a month’s time.”

  Nessa murmured her agreement, hoping that her eyes spoke more eloquently than her words. And then he was gone, for four long weeks. She stifled a small sigh.

  Prudence, showing herself more perceptive than expected, suggested that they begin shopping that very afternoon. Nessa agreed, eager for any employment to take her mind off of Jack’s absence—and what would follow their reunion. She still had not shaken off the trepidation which had seized her last night at the thought of her approaching wedding night. Her last one had been such a nightmare …

  Lord Haughton had given her an hour to prepare, though she’d had no idea how to do so. Her mother’s advice had consisted only of: “Try to think pleasant thoughts, and don’t move too much.” Not precisely helpful. So she’d changed quickly into
her nightrail and climbed beneath the covers of the big, strange bed to await him.

  She’d had a vague idea of the mechanics of coupling from her visits to tenant farms during breeding season, though of course she was not expected to notice such things. But applying such limited knowledge to her own body was no easy thing, despite her rather vivid imagination.

  Her husband had not made it any easier. Joining her after precisely one hour, he had expressed approval that she was ready—though she felt anything but. Dropping his dressing gown a brief second before crawling under the covers, he’d afforded Nessa her first glimpse of male nudity—and an unappetizing glimpse it was. In his prime, Lord Haughton could not have been called a fine figure of a man, with his spindly legs and thin chest. At nearly fifty, with the addition of a decided paunch, he was less so.

  What he did next made Nessa forget his appearance, however. Rolling on top of her, he pinned her to the bed. For an instant she tried to struggle, before remembering her mother’s words. Clenching her teeth, she forced herself to remain motionless while her new husband pulled up her nightgown and inserted something foreign and surprisingly hard between her legs.

  The rest was a blur in her memory, a blur of panic and pain, and of chanting her mother’s brief advice over and over in her head while her husband moved above her, his face contorting strangely. After perhaps ten minutes of this—though it seemed like hours—Lord Haughton ceased his movements. Kissing her lightly on the cheek, he thanked her formally, resumed his dressing gown, and left.

  Over the months that followed, the same scenario was repeated, every week or two at first, then less and less frequently. Nessa’s panic had abated once she knew what to expect, but the pain had grown only a little less. Certainly, she’d never learned to anticipate her husband’s nocturnal visits with anything other than dread.

  Surely, though, surely, Jack would be different? His kisses were enjoyable where Lord Haughton’s had not been, so perhaps his lovemaking would be—if not pleasant, then not entirely distasteful. She could only hope so.