The goddess only he could see. And finally, when Jeremy was positive that he could not take any more teasing, so it was likely that she could not either, he bit down hard on her nipple to the point where he feared he might injure her. But it was exactly what Dory needed to push her over the edge.
She came apart in his arms with a high, keening cry so loud that he feared those in the gaming hell far below would hear her in all of her glorious ecstasy. She clutched him to her tightly as her world spiraled outward, snapped back quickly, and then began a final, slow descent into the aftermath of pleasure.
Dory slept then, or at least Jeremy assumed she did because for the first time in his life, he drifted off to sleep with a woman in his bed. This was a first for him. But his first time was with Dory and as he felt his eyelids begin to sink closed, unable to move further than to simply make them more comfortable, he decided that if he had to have a first time to sleep with a woman? Then Dory was the perfect choice.
Chapter Eight
The next morning, Dory awoke in her own bed, a bit uncertain as to how she had come to be there. She had a vague recollection of awaking in Jeremy’s arms as the first rays of dawn had begun to break over London before he carried her down the back stairs of Dionysus and placed her in a carriage. Not a hack.
After that, things became a bit fuzzy, but someone had brought her home in the early morning hours before even the servants had truly begun to stir. Had he or someone he employed picked the locks to bring her inside? Possibly. She couldn’t remember giving him a key though perhaps she had, and while she was an expert at picking the locks at Chilton House, she was just as certain she had not done so this time.
What Dory did remember was looking up as she lay in her own soft bed and seeing Jeremy’s dancing green eyes looking down at her as if she was all that he could see. Though whether that was real or simply her imagination? Dory wasn’t certain.
She was, however, certain that she would strangle Helen if her maid did not stop that infernal racket she was making as she rummaged around rather loudly in Dory’s wardrobe, presumably looking for the pale pink day dress that she usually wore on Saturday if she was receiving callers. Which she hadn’t yet decided if she would do today. Her head was still a bit muzzy and her body felt deliciously tingly.
“Helen,” Dory groaned as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, “is it really necessary to make so much racket?”
At that, the maid pulled her head out of the wardrobe where she had been rummaging about. Although instead of looking like her neat and tidy self, the normally impeccably turned-out maid appeared more than a little frazzled.
“Helen? Is something amiss?” Dory’s bliss from last night vanished in an instant as her feet hit the cool floor with a dull thud. She glanced at the clock on her mantle, squinting to be certain she was seeing the time correctly. “It is only half seven and yet you are acting as if the house is on fire. What is it? What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, however, Helen shook her head and instead shook out a pale blue muslin day dress instead of the usual pink one. “Your mother has been asking for you for nearly a quarter-hour now. You really need to get dressed, my lady. As soon as possible.” The maid shook her head as if she could not believe this was happening. “And today of all days when you had a wretched megrim last night.”
Dory had no idea what Helen was babbling about for a moment until she remembered that she had asked Cecy to lie for her. Apparently, the ploy had worked for even Helen believed that Dory had returned home with a throbbing head. It seemed that no one here at Chilton House realized that she had gone sneaking off to Dionysus where Jeremy had gifted her with the best and most delightful night of her life.
“I am fine. Truly.” Dory gave her head a small shake and hopped down the rest of the way from the bed, though she did need to grip the bedpost for stability when she felt a bit woozy for a moment, though she attributed that to a lack of sleep more than anything else. “Still a bit woozy as you can see, but I will manage.”
Helen, never one to hide her opinion about something her mistress was doing – or in certain cases, not doing – sniffed in disagreement. “If you say so, miss. Too much like your father, you are. Never one to be told no.”
At another time, that criticism probably would have stung, particularly because Dory – who had inherited at least some of her father’s temperament – did her best not to be like him. This morning, however, she brushed the words aside. There were more important matters at hand. Her mother apparently needed her. Dare Dory hope that the dowager was recovering? Maybe, though she would not allow herself to become too hopeful just yet.
“We all do what we have to do, Helen, and if my mother is calling for me? Then it is my responsibility to be there, no matter how wretched I feel.” Except that Dory wasn’t really feeling all that wretched.
She was still feeling a bit tingly, for lack of a better word, and just a touch giddy, perhaps. And she really was woozy from the lack of sleep. But it wasn’t as if she could admit to anything other than the wooziness. Because then there would be questions and her secret – not to mention her affair with Jeremy – would be revealed. And stopped before it ever really began.
That was the last thing she wanted.
All of which was why Dory stood there quietly while Helen laced her into her day dress and pulled her hair up into a quick topknot. Because no one could know where she had gone last evening. Or that she planned to return to Dionysus – and Jeremy – this evening if he called for her again.
How was she to know when he desired her company? How did a mistress typically know when her lover needed her, at least in this sort of situation? Normally, a proper mistress would have a house of her own, but Dory’s arrangement with Jeremy wasn’t like that. So how was she supposed to know? Actually, they hadn’t quite gotten around to discussing that part, though perhaps they should have. Well, she would figure it out.
At present, it was more important to pretend that nothing had happened to her last evening other than developing a wretched megrim that had forced her to retreat to her bed early. Well, that and to see what her mother was on about. If the matter was actually of any importance at all. Much as she wanted to hope otherwise, Dory had to remind herself that this might be nothing more than a false alarm and that her mother’s mind was, unfortunately, still unchanged.
“That will do, Helen.” Dory took a quick glance at herself in the mirror and sighed.
Neither Aurelia nor Sarah would likely find Dory’s appearance acceptable, but she wasn’t going out of the house just yet. Only the servants would see her, and they likely didn’t care what she looked like. In fact, they had seen her looking far worse than this many times before. Therefore, this slightly mussed look of hers would have to suffice.
“As you like.” The maid was obviously not happy with Dory’s state of dress, but then Dory had never much cared what she looked like within her own home, much to the chagrin of her family. Why change now?
Striding off down the hall, Dory reached her mother’s chambers in a trice, but stopped herself from knocking immediately. The truth? She needed a moment to brace herself for what she might find, the earlier hope now fading as reality set in once more.
In the weeks just after the nasty James Kirkland had decided to pursue Aurelia in hopes of marrying her, Dory’s normally calm and level-headed mother had started to act rather erratically. She was by turns manic and unreasonable, seemingly driven by a singular need to pair her youngest daughter with the disreputable gaming hell owner. A need no one could understand, especially since previously, Clara Tillsbury had adored Hugh and thought him the perfect match for her youngest daughter.
Eventually, Lord Benjamin Sinclair, the Duke of Radcliffe, who was also a long-time family friend, had all but broken down the doors to Chilton House and, after a brief and rather violent investigation that had taken just under an hour, had hauled Chilton House’s newest footman off to Newgate on charges of attempted m
urder of the dowager viscountess.
By that time, however, the damage had already been done. The poisoned tea had ravaged Dory’s mother’s health, affecting everything from her muscles to her mind. Dr. Hastings had been called in immediately, but there was only so much even the best modern medicine could do for her and really, there was so very little known about the human brain as it was. Or about the poison that had been slipped into the dowager Chilton’s tea.
So, while her mother’s health had improved a bit recently, her mind still wandered and there were times that Dory knew her mother was either living in the past once again or in a world that didn’t exist. And never had. As for this morning’s summons? Who knew it if was a real issue or an imagined one? Or if it was a sign that she was beginning to recover.
Finally, however, Dory mustered her strength, brought her hand to the door and gave a sharp knock. When her mother bade her to enter, Dory pushed open the door, thankful that it was unlocked and that she didn’t have to pick the lock again as she had several mornings in the past.
“Mama. You look well.” Dory crossed the room to give her mother a kiss on the cheek, meaning her words this morning.
Clara Tillsbury did look well. Or at least better than she had for several days. Though she was still in her nightrail, she was sitting up in a chair rather than laying down. Her cheeks had a hint of pink and her eyes, though not as sharp as they had once been, sparkled just a bit with that same old warmth.
When her mother gestured for her to sit, Dory reached for a nearby chair so that she could move it closer to her mother. Just in case. One could never be too careful these days.
“I have some wonderful news.” Now her mother’s eyes were fairly dancing, indicating that today was a good day. “I am finally a grandmother. You are an aunt.”
Dory gasped. “Lavinia has given birth? But she was not due yet!”
Her mother offered a serene smile. “It seems that the future Viscount Chilton had other ideas.”
“A son? Oh, that is wonderful! Frost and Vi must be so overjoyed!” Dory was truly happy for her brother and his wife.
“They have named him Joseph Robert Tillsbury after everyone’s grandfather.”
Dory had expected nothing less. Both their maternal and paternal grandfathers had shared the same first name, so it had always puzzled Frost and his sisters, why Frost himself had been named Robert and not Joseph. Frost had always said that when he had a son, he would name him Joseph and as it happened, he had married a woman whose grandfather also had the same first name. Lord Joseph Tremont, the Duke of Annandell and his granddaughter, Lavinia, had thankfully reconciled just before Frost had wed her, bringing everything together in a neat and tidy bow. Though rare, sometimes that sort of perfection really did happen.
Though it was all a bit too perfect for Dory, she was very well aware that her brother would not have his life arranged any other way. She was happy for him, of course. Frost had suffered much at their father’s hands, and he deserved the blessed life he was now living.
However, she also could not help but feel a small twinge of jealousy. At this point in her life, Dory had thought she might be a mother too. Out of all of the things expected of a proper Society lady, becoming a mother was the only thing that had ever really appealed to Dory, though for reasons she could not articulate.
Dory’s mother sighed with contentment and gestured to a note on a side table. “The note arrived before dawn this morning, though the babe was born four days ago. We shall have to travel to Hallowby Grange soon and meet the child. Though I am rather uncomfortable at the thought of leaving Town. What of Dr. Hastings? How am I to do without him?”
So. This really was a good day then. Dory’s mother knew she was ill and understood she still required the continued care of Dr. Hastings if she hoped to fully recover.
“Perhaps we can see if Dr. Hastings would be willing to accompany us, Mama, at least for a brief time.” Dory had no idea if the man would be willing to do such a thing, for he had a thriving practice here in town. On the other hand, Hastings had any number of assistants who might be able to take over for a month or so. Perhaps less if Dory’s mother showed more improvement. “I can ask him.”
“Or your brother can inquire with the man when he returns this evening.” Lady Chilton settled back into her chair. “He’s only at his club. He should be back at any moment.”
Except that Frost wasn’t at his club. He was in Oxfordshire with his wife and newborn son. Her mother had just said that. Had she forgotten so soon?
Reaching down, Dory picked up the letter and scanned the contents. Frost was indeed at Hallowby Grange with his wife and infant son. He now also planned to stay there through the summer months and perhaps into the fall as well, so he urged the dowager and Dory to join him at their country seat as soon as possible. Frost mentioned that he would return to London for the Little Season and as needed if business matter arose, but otherwise? He was preparing to settle into fatherhood with his wife by his side well away from the hustle and bustle of London.
Dory risked another look at her mother and noticed that the sparkle in her eye was fading, a sign that she was slipping back into the past again. Dr. Hastings had said that this might happen, especially once it had become clear to everyone that Lady Chilton was not the same as she had been before the poisoning.
Whether the poison itself had caused this damage or if it was the stress and trauma from the entire event, the physician couldn’t say. All he knew for certain was that he had seen this same phenomenon with soldiers newly returned from war. One moment they were in the present and the next? They were back on the Continent battling Old Boney and the Frenchies once again.
At present, there wasn’t even a name for this disease. Assuming that it was a disease at all. That was the problem. No one knew what this was. Not even the esteemed Dr. Hastings.
“Very well, Mama.” Dory grasped her mother’s hand, knowing from experience that it was better to simply agree with her when she became like this. “I shall speak with Frost when he returns.”
That seemed to satisfy her mother and she smiled. “He’s such a good boy. Not like his father, the bastard.”
That was another thing that had changed after the tea poisoning. Her mother’s language had become a good deal saltier than in the past. Dory hadn’t even been aware that her mother knew some of the words she now spoke rather freely.
“Papa did have his faults,” Dory agreed quietly, not wanting to say anything more that might irritate her mother. As it happened, she shouldn’t have worried because Lady Clara was already extremely agitated.
“You don’t know the half of things!” her mother snapped, her mood growing mercurial now. “He is the spawn of Satan himself, the bastard! I should have cut off his ballocks when I had the chance! The day he threatened to harm our son, I should have ended his bloody miserable life once and for all!”
Carefully, Dory laid a hand on her mother’s arm and sank down to her knees so that her mother could see her eyes. Sometimes, that helped to bring the dowager back to the present. “But Papa isn’t here just now, Mama. We are all safe.”
Slowly, the anger receded from her mother’s face and that same, familiar serene smile returned. “I know. He’s is thankfully dead and buried. I am so happy you don’t know of his exploits, my darling girl. All the better to protect you.”
Actually, Dory knew far more about her father’s faults than anyone in this house realized, mostly thanks to her paternal grandmother – the late Lady Mary Tillsbury and woman who had given birth to the man who would become the devil incarnate as Dory had told Jeremy not so long ago.
Jeremy. What would he think of this? Of her mother who was slowly losing her mind? Would he still find her as attractive if he knew of the burdens she now carried? Or would her allure fade in his eyes? Was she only of interest to him when she could fill a role in some fantasy he had in his mind?
Dory didn’t know. She did know that most gentlemen of marr
iageable age already didn’t want her. They hadn’t before, so adding in a brain-sick mother was hardly likely to increase her allure. Yes, she had a rather extravagant dowry, but that hadn’t temped any man enough so that he wished to rush her to the altar. Well, save for Harry and he certainly wasn’t after her family’s funds.
Which was all the more reason for Dory to seriously consider becoming Jeremy’s mistress in every true sense of the word. Last night had given her a taste of physical pleasure. Now she craved more. Jeremy wanted to teach her. Why not let him? They both wanted each other and she was certain whatever he might do to her would feel so very, very good. At least if last night was any indication.
“As you say, Mama.” Dory rose, thankful that her mother had her mind back – for now. But how much longer would that last? She didn’t even want to think about that just now. “But this is wonderful news that both Vi and the babe are well.” She gestured to the letter. “And we shall see them in a few weeks, though I do notice that Frost has asked us to give them some time alone to adjust to becoming parents.”
Her mother nodded. “As it should be, my dear.” She paused and Dory wondered if her mother was about to slip back into the past. Instead, the dowager surprised her with a rather insightful comment. “You know, we really should take the babe a gift of some sort. More than just the heirloom blanket I had set aside from when your brother was born.”
“That is an excellent idea, Mama. What should we buy? Do you have any ideas?” Other than her brother’s set of tin soldiers that she had enjoyed quite a bit in her youth, Dory had no idea what kind of toy was really suitable for a newborn male heir.
“I read in the papers the other day that The Child’s Emporium has been experimenting with some sort of stuffed toy. A duck, I believe, that is based on the idea of a rag doll or some such. Perhaps it’s a bit too common for a future viscount, but it would be unique, and I’m quite certain none of my other friends have purchased one for their grandchildren yet.” The dowager looked quite pleased with herself for having come up with that idea.
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