Games of Pleasure

by Julia Ross

  The duchess glanced at her with something of real interest, even compassion. “Now, that is arrant nonsense, and you—of all females—must know it. We claim that men are strong, but ladies are the strong sex. No man ever achieved his full potential without the right woman at his side.”

  “And in Ryder’s case, the right woman must be a lady and a virgin. I understand.”

  “Yes, indeed! After all, what would happen to England if the social rules were broken with impunity and peers chose their life partners for love?”

  “I don’t know,” Miracle said. “But perhaps there’d be more tenderness toward children and more kindness toward the less fortunate.”

  The duchess stalked back to the window. “You think that I do not love my children? Sit down and answer me honestly, please.”

  Miracle dropped back to her chair. “It doesn’t matter what I think, but Ryder’s convinced that you’ve always loved his brother better.”

  “All parents label their children,” the duchess said. “Ryderbourne was the strong one. He is pure gold at the core. His future was not only secure, but predestined. I knew from the day he was born that he would make a splendid duke. Yet nothing was certain for Lord Jonathan, five years younger. He had the fragility of genius and a dark shadow lurked in his soul. I was terrified for him. Perhaps in my anxiety for my younger son, I sometimes neglected my elder. Do you think so?”

  Miracle clenched her hands as if she had been cast adrift in dangerous waters. “You must ask him.”

  “Was Lord Jonathan once your lover, also?”

  Shock stabbed like a knife. Miracle felt almost faint, before a renewed surge of anger forced her back to her feet. She did her best to keep her voice level, though the hurt burned.

  “I’ve tried to be honest with you, Your Grace. You’ve responded by setting me a trap. The gentlemen I’ve entertained in the past are none of Your Grace’s business and you know it. Yet I cannot refuse to answer, because then you’ll assume that it’s true—and if you tell Ryder that his brother once loved and left me, you’ll sign the death warrant for his soul.”

  “That will be my decision, not yours,” Ryder’s mother said in a voice like steel. “But I will know the answer.”

  “Then the answer is no, Your Grace.” Miracle stalked to the door, her heart filled with scorn. “Though I met him many years ago, Lord Jonathan never shared my bed. What do you really think I am? I’ve been a courtesan since I was sixteen, but in my entire professional career I’ve known only six men. Six! There are many society ladies who’ve been far more promiscuous than that.”

  “No doubt.” The duchess was a sword blade, the embodiment of power.

  “Yet because I was born to life in a mill, because my contracts with those gentlemen were not blessed by the church, because money changed hands directly, instead of through dowries and settlements, I am forever proscribed. I accept it. I’ve done my best not to hurt Ryder, nor break his heart. I did not want—nor scheme for—this marriage. But I neither will, nor can, control him. Because he is, as you say, pure gold at the core, he wished to save my wretched life. Or perhaps he didn’t tell you that I’m not only a harlot but a murderer?”

  The duchess turned from the window and smiled, with a strangely sardonic glint in her pagan green eyes.

  “Good Heavens! Murder is not hard for society to forgive. Nor is promiscuity, as long as it is cloaked by marriage vows. No, it is the very honesty of your past relationships that is the problem.”

  “There will be no problem,” Miracle said. Prickles of outrage still danced along her spine. “To save Ryder from any more pain, I’m prepared to leave England tomorrow.”

  “Leave England? Why?” The duchess stepped forward. “You do not believe that it is also within my power to save this marriage, now that I have decided to do so?”

  The latch burned beneath her suddenly cold fingers. “Save it?”

  “My dear child, I am not your enemy,” the duchess said gently. “After all, we love the same man.”

  The room began to spin in lazy arcs, as if the planet had lost its bearings and swung off into space. Miracle fought for balance as she turned from the door.

  “You’re trying to tell me that you will give this mad marriage your blessing?”

  “That is exactly what I am telling you.” The duchess walked steadily across the carpet. Her eyes seemed only wise and tolerant. “You will forgive me, I trust, if I felt that I had to test you a little first?”

  “But I thought the nation would fall apart if future dukes married their mistresses?”

  “Nonsense! I will not break my son’s heart for the last century’s values, when his life may last almost to the end of this one. Winds of change are already blowing through England. We shall see franchise reform within five years, and eventually the power of families like mine will wane. However, if this marriage is to stand in the meantime, we have a great deal of work to do.”

  “But I’ll never be accepted in society!”

  Ryder’s mother laughed with genuine mirth. “My dear child, I saw you play Portia once. You are a brilliant actress, which is really all that it takes to be a duchess.”

  “Our conversation just now wasn’t acting, Your Grace.” Miracle trembled as if she had just withstood a storm. “You did your very best to tear the truth out of my heart, and succeeded.”

  “It was absolutely necessary for me to discover who you really are, Lady Ryderbourne, before I commit the resources of the duchy to saving you.”

  Miracle stumbled to a chair and sat down. “I don’t understand.”

  The duchess waved one hand. Her rings, brilliant, priceless, sparkled in the sunshine. “I once told Lord Jonathan that one of only two reasons justifies the choice of a bride for any son of mine: brilliant social consequence, or—failing that—true love. You love my son with all your heart, and he loves you.”

  “Yes,” Miracle said. She felt flayed to the soul.

  “However, if Ryder is to make a well-known courtesan into the future Duchess of Blackdown, we must make sure that he doesn’t have to sacrifice more than he can bear. We shall begin with another wedding.”

  “I’m entirely outclassed in this game, Your Grace. Another wedding?”

  “My son cannot be seen to have wed in haste, as if he were ashamed of his bride. You must become impregnable to gossip. The first step is to hold a new ceremony here at Wyldshay, with the entire peerage fighting for an invitation.”

  “You can do that?”

  “My dear child, the Duchess of Blackdown can command the King, if she so chooses.”

  RYDER paced restlessly along the wall walk behind the battlements. Why the devil had he allowed Miracle to see his mother alone? His first reaction had been to insist on accompanying her. Yet Miracle had been quietly adamant about answering the duchess’s summons without him.

  Would his mother simply try to demolish the woman he loved? How would Miracle react, if she did?

  And what future, really, could their marriage have? He already held a seat in the Commons, and he would become a powerful peer in the Lords one day. His wife had an important role to play in society. It had all been too easy to ignore while adventuring with Miracle on England’s byways, but here at Wyldshay that cruel reality could no longer be denied.

  If he walked into any social gathering in London with his new wife on his arm, every lady in the room would turn her back.

  Ryder stopped and gripped the parapet with both hands. A neat patchwork of well-tended woods and fields stretched down to the distant sea. Closer at hand, the castle cast its dark silhouette on the broad surface of the River Wyld. He could even make out his own shadow, rippling on the moving water where it spread about the roots of the castle.

  He loved his home with a profound passion. Wyldshay defined his identity and gave him his bearings.

  Yet for Miracle’s sake, he would give it up and never see it again. Lord Jonathan, his younger brother, had taken his bride and disappeared into
the wide world. If necessary, Lord Ryderbourne would abandon his inheritance and do the same.

  Though he knew without question that he would do it, the pain of the thought drove him to grip the cold stone until his hands became numb.

  A small shush of silk sounded behind him. Ryder spun about.

  “Mother!”

  The duchess gazed at him without speaking for a moment, then she walked up to stand next to him. Ribbons fluttered. The breeze tore loose a few strands of blond hair to whip about her cheeks. He recognized with vague surprise that he had never seen his mother even slightly disheveled before.

  “I have fought all my life for the power of Wyldshay and the continuity of the Blackdown name,” she said. “It is my life’s work. I will not see it destroyed.”

  Ryder turned his back on the view and leaned his hips against the merlon. “Where’s Miracle?”

  “I have sent her to the duke. Blackdown, being male, will be charmed by her wit and her beauty, though he is most annoyed about your hasty marriage, of course.”

  “So he told me. It doesn’t matter. I’ll take Miracle away from here tomorrow.”

  “Will you? What a shame!” The duchess gave a small, elegant shrug. “I have just put your wife through a painful little trial, and would hate to see that wasted.”

  “What the devil did you demand of her?”

  Her green eyes searched the sky, as if she might find answers to some problem in the clouds.

  “I demanded simply that she show me her mettle. Tearing into the souls of others is an indispensable skill for duchesses, and it was absolutely necessary. If your wife is to take my place one day, she must be able to carry off the part. Fortunately, she has the necessary pride and the necessary backbone.”

  “God! I could have told you that.”

  The duchess turned to face him. “Pray, do not frown at me like a dragon, sir! You are hardly objective. However, Miracle is intelligent, well-educated, thinks for herself, and has a splendid natural dignity. And she is indeed quite stunning to look at, which always helps, especially with the men.”

  “And did she forget to mention,” Ryder asked, “that she can also sing and dance and play the piano?”

  The duchess laughed. “Don’t be obtuse, Ryder! I am trying to tell you that I shall move heaven and earth to save your marriage.”

  He stared at her in silence for a moment, while his heart raced.

  His mother linked her arm through his. “I was far more afraid for you when I thought you might marry Lady Belinda Carhart. We claim that the ideal is for virgins to marry. It is utter nonsense, of course.”

  “You astound me,” Ryder said. “I seem to recall that Jack was hauled very thoroughly over the coals, after what happened with Anne.”

  “The two situations are entirely different.” They turned to walk along the battlements together. “I feared that your brother was about to disclaim moral responsibility after he had stolen a young woman’s innocence. In your case, I think, it is rather the other way around.”

  He was forced to laugh, though a small pain still fired at the thought. “Yes, my wife is undoubtedly more experienced than I am.”

  “And does that disturb you? Do you think her past means anything more than yours? Or are you still tempted by every pretty new face?”

  “For God’s sake! I’ll never look at any other woman as long as I live.”

  “Oh, yes, you will! No one can remain married for a lifetime without meeting some other man or some other woman, with whom—had things been different—she or he might have fallen in love, instead. But you may look without harm and not act on it. Miracle understands that. She knows in her bones that no other man, however charming, could ever match up to what you and she will create together. Thus she will never be disturbed by your casual admiration of another lady, and she will never risk losing your love for any passing fancy of hers. A virgin bride, on the other hand, will always wonder what she might have missed. Sooner or later, she may decide to find out.”

  “Your Grace, I am stunned. You would say the same for my sisters?”

  “No, of course not.” The duchess glanced up at him. “Their suitors would not agree with such a practical philosophy. The price my daughters would have to bear for rebellion is too great. But if a reformed rake makes a good spouse, then so may a courtesan who has genuinely lost her heart. The men in her past can only help to keep a woman honest, if every one of them was a mistake.”

  “Why the devil are you telling me this, Mother?” Ryder asked.

  “Because other men will always pay attention to your wife.” They reached the small door to the spiral stair. The duchess released his arm. “I shall support this imprudent marriage, Ryder, but only because Miracle can carry it off. I shall face down the world to see your new wife accepted, even feted, in society. But if you cannot control your own misgivings about her past, you will destroy her yourself.”

  “But I love her,” he said.

  “Enough to empty your heart of doubt? Meanwhile, if I am to save this marriage, the duke and I must leave immediately for London. A new myth must be created, in which Miracle becomes an object of admiration and sympathy, instead of outrage. Everyone who ever saw her onstage, or heard her name mentioned with contempt, must wipe that memory clean.”

  “And Hanley needs to be reminded that he cannot persecute a St. George without repercussions.”

  “You are my son,” the duchess replied. “I would tear Hanley apart and use his guts for fertilizer before I allowed him to damage you or your wife any further.”

  “He was her lover,” Ryder said. “He betrayed her.”

  “And you still cannot forgive that, can you? Even though possessive jealousy is death to love.”

  He opened the door for her. “For God’s sake, I’m not jealous of Hanley.”

  “Nevertheless, men will always flock to her. So I think you should at least know,” the duchess said as she turned to leave, “that your fears about your brother are unfounded.”

  THE duke and duchess had been gone for five days. Five days of idyllic privacy for Miracle and Ryder.

  They had walked and ridden and explored and talked, as if at every moment they might meld into one mind, one purpose.

  When it rained, Ryder led her through the strange labyrinth of towers and rooms and courtyards and gardens that formed Wyldshay Castle.

  When the sun shone, they rode out together over fields and through woods, or sometimes tied the horses to stroll on the shingle beneath the tall cliffs.

  They made love.

  Achingly, passionately beautiful love. As they exchanged lingering caresses, Ryder slowly peeled away the last of her defenses. A knot of pain seemed to be unraveling in her soul, one she had lived with so long that she had not known that life was possible without it.

  He is gold at the core.

  Her heart opened in wonder at each perfect moment. Miracle almost forgot her last few fears about Hanley.

  The sixth morning bloomed into a stunningly sunny day that had wound down into a hazy sunset, before fading into this clear, warm twilight. The horses picked their way along a rocky path that led out onto the top of a promontory.

  Miracle filled her lungs with salt air as she pulled up her mount at the base of a shadowed round tower, built centuries before on the top of the cliff.

  Ryder swung down and tied his black gelding to a ring in the stone wall.

  She gazed at his long legs and strong back. She was so very desperately in love. The summer was beautiful. She was safe. And now her husband had brought her to this strange round tower for a surprise.

  “We call this place Ambrose’s Folly,” he said. “Let me help you dismount.”

  Her new riding habit reflected her status as a future duchess. As if by magic, dressmakers had appeared to produce her new wardrobe. Every garment was restrained, yet stunningly elegant.

  Ryder lifted Miracle easily from the saddle to kiss her with unnecessary thoroughness. As if the surf far
below had entered her veins, her heart began to pound.

  She took his hand and let him lead her. A cracked stairway wound around inside the tower, then brought them out onto a flat roof surrounded by battlements. Miracle stepped straight into the heady scent of roses. She glanced down. A scattering of white petals lay beneath her feet. Each step released spiced perfume into the night air.

  Ryder kissed the back of her neck.

  “It’s the second week of August,” he said. “Time for the Perseid meteor showers. I thought we might sleep out here under the stars to watch them.”

  A bed of silk cushions and coverlets beckoned from the center of a rich carpet. A small table held a light supper and several bottles of wine.

  “We’ll feast like Roman senators,” she said, “sprawled on cushions.”

  Ryder laughed and tugged her down onto the bed beside him. He opened wine and lifted the covers off dishes. As they ate, twilight deepened into true darkness. The planets eased into being. One by one the stars winked into existence, and the summer constellations began to take shape.

  Replete, Miracle rested her head on his shoulder to stare at the sky. His fingers stroked her neck. Beneath the peace of a brilliant heaven, they slowly disrobed each other, one garment at a time, while a gentle surf surged at the base of the cliff far below.

  Desire flowed in rose-scented streams through Miracle’s blood. The profound, thrumming silence of the night was broken only by their whispered sighs and small groans as Ryder pleasured her and she pleasured him back. It was so effortless, this loving: the simple, open exchange of delight. Her hands strayed over his lean muscles. Her mouth fired with sensitivity as he kissed her, then throbbed with rapture as he deepened the kiss.

  A slow, dreamlike lovemaking, filled with profound sensuality, as the heavens filled with stars like daisies on a lawn.

  The first star fell: shooting across the night sky, as if a diamond broke loose from black velvet to plunge into the sea.