A Most Delicate Pursuit

by Pamela Labud

  “You’re a vision. Beautiful beyond words.”

  She crooked her little finger at him and he rolled toward her, moving between her spread thighs, totally enthralled. He could no longer deny that he didn’t want to wait for their marriage either. He needed her.

  Desperately.

  “I want you naked too,” she whispered as her hands tugged his shirt out of his breeches. Before he could suck in a much-needed breath, she had his shirt off. When her fingers fumbled with his breeches he had to halt her questing hands. He’d never last if she kept touching him. His body was ready to explode; the reality of finally making love to her sent his desire spiraling toward the point of no return. He needed to ensure she found her pleasure first so that the loss of her maidenhead would not hurt.

  He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Don’t be in such a hurry. I want you to remember this day, as I know I will, forever.”

  “I will. I’ll never forget this moment. It’s engraved on my memory.” She looked into his eyes and said, “I love you so much.”

  He stood and looked down upon a vision soon to be seared in his brain. Creamy skin rested on the mossy ground, with enticing stockings cloaking her legs. He divested himself of his breeches and with trembling limbs crouched at her feet soaking in her naked beauty.

  He ran his hands up and over her stockings until he reached the silken skin of her thighs. His fingers stroked softly until on a small sigh her legs parted, allowing him a view of heaven.

  He crawled further between her legs to position himself directly in front of where his mouth longed to taste. He’d feasted on her before and loved her taste, like the sweetest nectar. Her thighs parted further and her hips lifted slightly as if begging for his kiss.

  He closed his eyes and breathed deep before lowering his head to touch her with his eager tongue.

  The world around him disappeared as he lost himself in her, loving her with his mouth until she was writhing on the ground in need, her hips lifting to press her center closer, demanding more from him. He used his fingers in conjunction with his tongue, and soon he sensed her climax nearing. Her body tightened, her thighs pressed tightly against his head, and as he gave one final suck on her hard little nub, she screamed his name.

  With arms that could barely hold him because he was trembling with need, he moved to cover her body, pushing his hips between her thighs, and while she was still shuddering from her release he began to ease inside her.

  Dreams are for those who reach for the sky, and as her tight sheath clamped around him, he felt like he was in heaven.

  Chapter 1

  LONDON, ENGLAND, 1816

  The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the quiet street. Standing on the top step, Hadley loosened his cravat to make it easier to swallow over the lump in his throat. He gazed along the row of fashionable but smallish townhouses. They all looked the same, but he wondered if the people who lived inside were as empty of life as the house behind him.

  A sighed escaped as he looked down his body. All dressed up and nowhere to go. No one was waiting for him. Missing him. Wanting him…

  Philomena had wanted him.

  The first woman he’d let close since Evangeline had decided a title and money were more important than love.

  It was never easy sounding the death knell on an arrangement with another mistress. He liked Philomena. She was easy. Easy to talk to, very easy to look at, and very easy to desire. Not a friend per se, but neither was she simply a mistress. Was there an in-between?

  He kicked at a loose cobblestone.

  As Hadley sauntered down the steps to the street, he tried to summon hurt or disappointment, but he’d only be fooling himself. All he felt was hollowness.

  He had hoped Philomena might be a tad upset that their arrangement had to end, but she knew she could find another protector at the snap of her little fingers. She was beautiful, if not a little vapid, but her innate sensuality drew men like a moth seeking a flame. He’d often wondered why she had lowered herself to becoming the mistress of a mere second son, albeit the second son of a duke. It certainly wasn’t for the money. She could have earned more elsewhere.

  Perhaps that was why she’d been special to him. She had wanted to be his mistress. She had chosen to be his mistress.

  She’d chosen him.

  It hadn’t solely been about the coin he could provide.

  To her credit, she hadn’t cried, screamed, or carried on when he informed her their time was at an end. Not after he’d explained why. At month’s end his brother, the Duke of Claymore, would announce Hadley’s engagement to Lady Claire Hampton. Hadley had promised his brother that he would start his new life as honorably as was possible with an arranged marriage.

  Goddamn his brother.

  Two years ago it had seemed so easy to agree with his brother’s request that he marry Claire. Now that the time was drawing near, however, he wished he could take his promise back, but he’d given his word. If a man went back on his word, how could he be trusted? A cold sweat made his shirt stick to his skin. His time was running out.

  Hadley had more to worry about than an unwanted arranged marriage. A villainess as evil as any man, De Palma, had to be stopped before she hurt any more of his friends or even himself. She had started a war with the Libertine Scholars in revenge for something their fathers had done to her many years ago.

  He could not marry Claire and expose her to De Palma’s evil either. The Libertine Scholars had three weeks to unmask their foe, or Claire might become a target as well.

  After what had happened to Marisa, Maitland Spencer’s wife…he wouldn’t wish her fate on any woman, not even Claire.

  At the corner of the street he looked back at the quaint townhouse with deep regret. He’d been fond of Philomena and their time together.

  Christ, he needed a drink. He pulled out his pocket watch.

  Shortly he was expected for dinner at the townhouse of his fellow Libertine Scholar, the Earl of Markham, Christian Trent, but he couldn’t face all the happily married couples without fortifying himself first.

  A drink at White’s was required. He could hail a hack, but it was a fine afternoon, if a tad cool, and perhaps a walk would help him release his frustrations.

  It took him more than half an hour to walk to White’s. Upon arrival, he spied a fellow Libertine Scholar, Arend Aubury, Baron de Labourd, sitting at their favorite table. Arend was the only other unmarried Libertine Scholar and the two tended to spend more time together these days.

  Arend saw him and waved one of the servants over, asking for another glass. There was a bottle of France’s finest brandy on the table.

  As he took his seat, Arend commented, “You look as if you could do with a drink.”

  Hadley grimaced and took the proffered glass from his friend. “It’s been one of those days when I wished I’d simply stayed in bed.”

  “But not the bed of your now ex-mistress, it would seem,” Arend replied with a raised eyebrow.

  Hadley turned in his chair and looked round the room. Men were staring and joking, and it was obvious they were talking about him. “It would appear news travels quicker than a man can walk.”

  “Care to share why you brought your arrangement with the lovely Philomena to an end so suddenly?”

  “Why? Are you interested in employing her?”

  Arend shook his head. “I have to make Lady Isobel fall in love with me, and it’s not a good idea to have a mistress on the side. Besides, I would never encroach on one of my fellow Libertine Scholars’ women—paid or otherwise.”

  Hadley nodded once. “You seem so sure that Isobel is involved with De Palma. It’s yet to be proved.”

  Arend lowered his voice. “You and I both know De Palma is her stepmother, Countess Victoria Northumberland. We just have to prove it.”

  Hadley looked around the room and sighed, not wishing to discuss their enemy further until they were with the rest of the Libertine Scholars. They were
joining them for dinner to discuss what they had found out about De Palma. “My engagement will be announced in three weeks.”

  Arend looked surprised, something that didn’t often occur. “Oh,” he said with a nod. “There is no other way?”

  “I don’t see me finding a pot of gold at the bottom of a rainbow. Augustus needs the money he lent me for the winery repaid. He’s been waiting five years. Besides, one woman is as good as any other for a wife.” Hadley tried to ignore the stares and the men heading to the White’s wager book. “I say, is everyone betting on the reason Philomena and I have parted ways?”

  “Yes.”

  “What reason has the best odds?”

  Arend laughed. “Unfortunately, the one I wagered on.”

  “And that is?”

  “The return of Lady Evangeline Stuart, nee Althrope, to London.”

  Hadley felt the floor shake beneath his feet, and it was not an earthquake. He downed his brandy in one large gulp, the burn in his throat stinging his eyes. “Bloody hell,” he choked out. “Her husband has brought her to London.” For just on five years he’d been dreading this news.

  Evangeline Althrope, now Evangeline Stuart, had been the love of his life.

  Everything about her suddenly assaulted his memory. The mere mention of her name undid him.

  Forbidden memories rushed into his head. He recalled her sleek limbs wrapped round him. Her uninhibited cries of passion as her exquisite body arched against his. He could almost feel her luxurious hair, auburn silk flowing like flames over flawless creamy skin. Her taste as he’d sampled all she had to give. Her laughter and her smile could bring him to his knees. But it had always been her eyes, filled with intelligence, that drew him. Their light blue color would darken with incredible sensuality….

  She was branded on his soul, her memory sharp with a clarity that still seared.

  Arend’s glass halted halfway to his mouth, which now hung open. “You haven’t heard?”

  He looked blankly back at Arend.

  “She’s widowed and just out of mourning. Plus, she has been asking after you, setting tongues wagging and sending men to the betting books.”

  The ground rushed toward him, and if he hadn’t been sitting down, he’d have folded in a heap on the floor. Evangeline was here, in London, and a widow. Anger burned in his gut, raw and powerful. He felt his fists clench. “I hope you didn’t wager on her and I forming an attachment.”

  “Silly me, I should have known better.” Arend ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I had inside knowledge. Sebastian is positive you are still in love with her.”

  Breath fled Hadley, and a wave of dizziness almost saw him drop his glass. Those words, “still in love,” echoed in his head over and over, like an unforgotten song. He had loved her. “Had” being the operative word.

  She’d married another.

  But she was now free.

  Then, as if Thor’s hammer came hurtling from the gods straight to his chest, the blow invisibly knocking him to hell, he remembered.

  She’d chosen money, a title, and a safe life over him.

  Over their love.

  Just over five years ago, he’d received Evangeline’s note. A note written in her own hand, telling him she was marrying Viscount Stuart. It had been painfully obvious that he’d been the only one in love.

  She’d used him, taken what she wanted, and then married a man with enough money to save her brother’s estate and then some. She had a title and lived in a castle, a real-life fairy tale.

  He looked at Arend. “You made a foolish bet. I would not change anything in my life for that woman. In fact, I’m more determined than ever now to marry Claire.”

  Yet given the savage pain lancing through him, he’d be foolish to imagine that he’d recovered from her shattering betrayal. Did a man ever recover from his first love?

  Especially a love that was betrayed.

  Arend must have picked up the hate in his voice, because he leaned back in his seat and held up his hands in a defensive stance. “Well, the lady doesn’t seem to understand that notion. She’s been asking after you, trying to ascertain if you are engaged or married. That definitely appears to be a woman on a mission.” He laughed. “It would appear the beautiful Lady Evangeline is not aware of how you feel.”

  Nor aware he was expected to marry another.

  Arend looked at him closely. “Even if you are not interested in Lady Evangeline, are you sure about marriage to Lady Claire? There is still time to change your mind. Claire is oblivious to the plan your brother and her brother concocted. No one needs to get hurt.”

  He shrugged. “When Augustus suggested aligning our family with the Marquis of Corby, I saw no reason not to. I do not care whom I marry. It’s simpler and easier if feelings are not involved. Besides, I felt sorry for the young lady. She’s almost a spinster.”

  He’d never marry for love. Having had his heart destroyed once before, he wasn’t about to put himself through that again. However, his brother had agreed to wait until his thirtieth year before he should propose to Claire. Being unaware of her brother’s plan, Hadley had hoped that in this time she might find someone else to marry. He could feel himself being boxed into a corner, and even though he’d promised never to love again, his pending marriage seemed somewhat callous in comparison to the love matches his fellow Libertine Scholars had made.

  “I admire your practicality. If it was anyone other than you spouting those words, I’d believe you. But you, my friend, are a romantic at heart. That’s why you’re still torn up over a woman who left you five years ago. I also see the way you look at the other Libertine Scholars and their marital bliss.”

  Hadley downed his drink in one, determined to ignore Arend’s perceptive comments.

  His friend leaned across the table and whispered. “You agreed to this stupid match while your heart was broken. There is no shame in changing your mind; nothing has been formally agreed or announced.” He sat back. “Even if it had, blast it to Hades, you don’t have to fall on your sword.”

  It was while my heart was shredded, actually, he wanted to yell at Arend.

  Arend kept bloody talking. “Don’t marry a woman because you’re hurt. Get even and move on. You need love. Find a woman who can love you for who you are, and never let her go. That would be the best revenge. You won’t be happy with anything less.”

  “What’s to say I won’t grow to love Claire?”

  Arend choked on his drink. “Really? I’m not shallow enough to decry her lack of looks, but she’s as dull as dishwater, and not overly bright. The long winter days and nights will be torture. I suspect you’re the type of man who’d honor his marriage vows too, no mistresses for you. Sometimes I wonder how we are such good friends, as you are far too nice for me.” He eyed Hadley shrewdly. “You do realize you’ll have to sleep with her. Children and all that.” At Hadley’s angry look, he added, “I can just imagine her lying there and thinking of England.”

  Suddenly the prospect of wedding Claire felt like a noose was being tightened around his neck. The he remembered how he’d given his heart to Evangeline and she’d simply stomped on it. He could not go through that pain ever again.

  His illusions were few. He knew women flocked to him because he was the son of a duke and wealthy enough in his own right. He hated how mercenary women were, Evangeline being the worst of all. So for the past five years, after his heart turned to stone, he had indulged in all manner of pleasures, sampling women as he sampled his wines.

  “Claire may not have beauty or brains, but that suits me just fine. She’s unlikely to take other lovers, so I shall know any children are mine, and she’ll be even less demanding of my time or emotions.”

  “Unlike Lady Evangeline, who I hear is a renowned beauty, and quite brilliant. I suspect she won’t be a widow for long.”

  Hurt burned deep and fast at the idea of her marrying again. He painfully remembered that she could blind any man with her beauty and wit. The
se men didn’t know what he knew—that she was a deceptive, cunning vixen, interested only in money and title.

  Beautiful? Yes, he expected she was probably more beautiful than she’d been at nineteen. As soon as he’d laid eyes on the auburn beauty, he’d known his desire for her would get him into all sorts of trouble. The need to have her, to make her his, meant only one thing, marriage, but that had not stopped his pursuit.

  He’d wanted to possess her, to give her his heart, his body, and his name. No other woman before or since had touched his heart—or crushed it—as Evangeline had.

  Unbeknownst to him at the time, she’d lied as easily as she’d breathed.

  “Well, if you see Lady Evangeline, perhaps you can inform her I have no interest in pursuing any type of relationship with her.” He raised his glass. “In fact, you can tell her I’m soon to wed.”

  “That could be a mistake. The beautiful young widow is now very wealthy. Her husband left her a large portion of his wealth.” Arend’s words stung. “Money and beauty, a combination to lust after. Marry her for her money. That would teach her a lesson. Rather Evangeline than Claire—long lonely winter nights, remember?” Arend shrugged as he said the words.

  “You obviously don’t know the lady,” was Hadley’s sarcastic reply. He wasn’t petty enough to want to see Evangeline on a miserly widow’s stipend, but it appeared her marriage had exceeded her expectations, for she’d got the money and title she craved. “She must be extremely happy, for that is why she married her viscount.”

  “I see.” Arend refilled his glass, pouring the brandy all the way to the top. “It’s as I have always suspected. A woman is madly in love as long as a purse is full. Love is only tested when the coffers run dry. Her viscount had a fatter purse.”

  Hadley thought of the other four fellow Libertine Scholars, all happily married. “Tell that to Christian, Sebastian, Grayson, and now bloody Maitland. I tell you, it’s as if the French have put something in the brandy. Men are succumbing to the shackles of matrimony far too often of late.”