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Except for brand names, trade names and known locales, this book is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and characters are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events or persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.
Simply Suitable
Copyright © 2007 Bailey Griffin
ISBN 978-1-934446-08-9
Cover Design by VIPER
All rights reserved. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
Published by
Romance Divine 2007
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Dedication
I would like to thank the following people: My wonderful husband Mike for his love, support, and great sense of humor, my best friend and reading partner-in-crime Karen for believing in me, even when I didn’t, and of course, my publisher Romance Divine for giving me the opportunity and encouragement to accomplish one of my dreams.
Simply
Suitable
Bailey Griffin
One
Merrick Sinclair, Earl of Stonewick, allowed his gaze to wander over the party’s assembled peerage and saw nothing, or anyone, of interest. He was bored, and Merrick frowned as he considered this. It wasn’t the first time he felt this way, simply the first time he acknowledged it for what it really was. Although hard to imagine, especially to one who might be new to the scene, he felt there was something missing. He just wasn’t sure what. There was a time when this type of ton gathering gave him a thrill, satisfied him, energized him, and he was much in demand as a party guest. The latter had not changed. He was still in demand as evidenced by the inviting glances cast his way by the women, and some of the men.
Taller than most, his shoulders were broad, with no need for padding under the superfine of his coat. He used an impeccable tailor and his valet ensured he was properly turned out, but it was his own persona that lent the clothes an air of casual elegance that many sought to achieve, but did not. His dark brown hair was thick, and if he let it grow, it would be in vogue with the current Byron rage. He preferred to wear it cut close to his head, similar to the style adopted long ago by the Romans, simply because it was more efficient. This only served to accentuate his dark brown eyes and chiseled features. The overall effect was somewhat harsh and intimidating, and Merrick could be both when necessary.
To those who did not know him, he might at first glance appear to be another dissolute rake, a wealthy, successful one, but a rake nonetheless. Those who looked closer saw much the same, except the slight air of menace and danger often kept them from looking closer. Both observations suited him personally and professionally. Mothers on the marriage mart usually kept their girls far from him, and Merrick had little patience with the inane chatter and simpering that accompanied most of the ton’s debutantes. As far as the ton knew, Merrick was a peer with an important title and fortune who pursued a variety of pleasurable interests as he ran his estates. Many, if not most of his peers fell under that description. That Merrick’s favorite pleasure often involved a woman, or women depending on his mood, also did not cause much comment. Professionally, calling what he did work would be a bit misleading, as he chose which assignments he would pursue, and the idea of ‘working’ was not really accepted by his peers. Besides, he would most likely have been where the Crown needed him to be anyway. His particular habits afforded him access to important people with important information, often at their most vulnerable. Although obviously not somebody to be crossed, no one would have suspected that Merrick was, when it suited him, a spy for Her Majesty’s government.
Merrick gave a mental sigh and turned his attention back to the bright blonde curls of the Countess of Buckley. She and her husband had been giving these house parties for some time. They were invitation only, as were most of the ton’s important gatherings, but the exclusivity of these particular invitations were highly prized by certain, elite members of the ton. He nodded to a gentleman of passing acquaintance and found himself trying to conjure up some enthusiasm for the evening as he had in the past. But more jaded, more cynical, he found himself increasingly unsatisfied, even now, despite his hostess’s best efforts to the contrary.
Tonight’s party seemed to have some sort of harem theme. Merrick gazed around the room once more. Swaths of silk in bold colors hung from the ceiling and walls, pillows in brocades and satin with fringe were tossed about and draped in some crazed sheik’s version of a Bedouin tent. Orchids, palms, and miniature citrus trees in copious amounts had been brought in and placed around the room. They served as screens and dividers; so several discreet nooks were created. The heavy smell of the flowers and incense also served to mask the less pleasant smells of smoke, stale perfume, and sweat.
As there was no dancing, food was placed along the far wall and contained several exotic choices to tempt the palate. The tables groaned with their abundance of sweetmeats, succulent fruits like pineapples, oranges, and mangoes, exotic desserts with custards, creams, meringue, and marzipan, and the mandatory oysters. The variety and amount, coupled with the music, lighting, and decorations, created a decadent display both for the senses and in expense.
The aforementioned curls stopped their bobbing, steady rhythm that had them lightly feathering his thighs as his hostess paused in her attentions, perhaps sensing his distraction. He wasn’t so bored or jaded that he couldn’t appreciate, and feel, the level of her talent. She resumed her ministrations and Merrick felt himself respond. Shifting slightly he reached down with both hands to fondle her voluptuous breasts. The Countess moaned deep in her throat as he found her taut nipples. She wasn’t the only one with a reputation for giving pleasure. Shifting again he smoothed one hand along her side and felt her quiver in anticipation as she took him even deeper into her throat. Merrick’s eyes were half closed, his muscles taut, and his breathing had quickened, but it was only his body responding. His mind and emotions remained detached and as soon as he was assured the Countess was satisfied he allowed his own release. Merrick did not dwell on why the experience left him feeling somewhat empty and distinctly unsatisfied.
Temporarily content physically, Merrick was ready to take his leave. He could have multiple women in multiple ways, always found and gave pleasure, but as of late the satisfaction never lasted long, something always seemed to be missing. Merrick assumed it was the same for most men, although he did acknowledge his sex drive seemed to be stronger than others. But tonight, he was ready to leave.
Smiling down at the Countess’s satiated face Merrick disentangled his limbs and arose. The Countess also rose to all fours, but now stretched her arms on the ground in front of her, her creamy white bottom high in the air. An appealing sight and obvious invitation, but not one he planned to accept, much to her disappointment.
As he turned to leave, a gentleman approached and deliberately caught his eye. Thinking the man meant to speak to him Merrick paused. The stranger locked eyes with Merrick in unspoken challenge, smiling slightly as he grasped the Countess’s hips, still in the air, and availed himself of her invitation. Momentarily shocked, she quickly recovered. The man said nothing, and Merrick thought he might was familiar, but couldn’t place him. He noted an interesting tattoo on his shoulder. It was fresh, and seemed to be some type of unfamiliar symbol. There was a time when this type of unspoken challenge would have brought Merrick back to the activities, but tonight he was not interested. He gave a slight tilt o
f his head toward the stranger, who watched for his response to the display, but couldn’t resist sending his own mocking smile as he turned toward the area reserved for dressing rooms.
Two
Catherine Richardson hastily shoved the book she had been reading under her pillow and slipped back under the covers as she heard her maid approach. The rich smell of warm chocolate preceded her as she entered the room.
“Time to get up miss. Have you thought about which dress you might wear tonight? I think the green suits you.”
Sasha was her lady’s maid, French and a little outspoken. Being French, she was also consumed with fashion and ensuring Catherine went out in nothing but the best. Usually Catherine didn’t mind the chatter and suggestions, but she was feeling a little agitated at the moment. As she reached for the chocolate she did her best to appear somewhat groggy. She furrowed her brow as she pretended to consider the question, in an attempt to focus and buy some time to compose herself. The current fashions suited her figure, and all of her dresses were in hues that complimented her coloring, so it really didn’t matter which dress she chose. Her modiste was one of the most sought after in London, and continually expressed how much she enjoyed designing for Catherine. Catherine thought she would value anyone with enough money to afford her, but that was uncharitable, and she really did appreciate the lack of effort she had to make with these types of decisions. They bored her silly. Her maid continued to gaze expectantly at her, and she found her face turning red to think the maid knew what she had been doing instead of taking her afternoon nap. She was supposed to be resting for the ball tonight, her first large one since the start of the season.
Sasha spoke, “Are you alright miss? You look a bit flushed. Should I come back?”
“No, no I feel fine. The room just seems a bit stuffy. The green dress would be an excellent choice.” Catherine arose from the bed and walked to her dressing table.
“I’ll lay it out and check on your meal.” Sasha gave a brief curtsy before disappearing into the adjoining dressing room.
Catherine watched her go and had to give the maid credit for not even glancing at the open window where curtains were slightly billowing the late afternoon breeze. She waited until she heard the door to the back staircase close and then considered where she could hide the book. Catherine hadn’t thought about what to do with it as she was sneaking it upstairs. Now where can I keep this? She planned to return it later that evening.
In town for the season, she was staying at her cousin’s house with her aunt and mother. She had permission to use the library, and stumbled across this book by accident. She was certain her cousin had forgotten this particular book was present, but he had also not stayed in residence long once his mother arrived on his doorstep with his aunt and cousin in tow.
Although he possessed his father’s title, her cousin had always been a little eccentric. Lord Travis Tennet was very involved in archeology and research at the museum. When she was younger the families spent much time together, and it was from him that Catherine learned to decipher hieroglyphics. Fluent in Latin, Greek, and French she also helped translate some of the ancient texts he found on his expeditions, and was expanding her knowledge of ancient Assyrian. Catherine loved the challenge of deciphering and discovering ancient cultures, but archeology, science, and research were not fields gently bred young ladies were encouraged to pursue. As a matter of fact, she had been given explicit instructions by her father not to pursue anything but a husband this season, a task her mother and aunt were only too happy to ensure sure she followed.
She ran her hand over the smooth brown leather of the book, shifting restlessly as the ache between her legs intensified with just the thought of the pictures inside, resisting the urge to open it once more. The book had come from India, her cousin recently returned from an expedition there. It seemed to be a sort of ‘how to’ guide to intimacies between a man and a woman, but was not in a language she could read. However, the pictures needed little interpreting. Hopefully some of the text was instruction for ‘how,’ because she could not fathom her body contorting like those in the pictures. She overheard some of this discussed, although she was not supposed to know. People seemed to think that because you were innocent and female, that it also made you deaf or unable to comprehend conversations going on around you. The older she became, the more often this seemed to happen.
Catherine finished her perusal of the room for potential hiding places, and secured the book behind her headboard. As she stepped into the dressing room, Catherine caught her reflection in the mirror and paused. Her body was slender, but not too thin, and her breasts strained against the fabric of her fine linen chemise. Long black hair tumbled down over her left shoulder past a face with a creamy complexion and fine features. She always felt her lips were too full, but her dark eyebrows with their permanent, sharply arched shape, did accentuate her green eyes. Her mother was constantly telling her she needed to be more ‘demure,’ but at 24 she was not some new ingénue who would giggle and simper at every swain.
She sighed as her thoughts turned to her pending marriage. She was not yet engaged, but her mother and aunt were so determined to marry her off this season that it seemed a foregone conclusion. She enjoyed her first two seasons, but did not find anyone she cared to marry, although there had been several offers. This was her first time back in town since then due to family finances, and she was considered ‘on the shelf.’ Now she found herself in the position of having to marry. The ton was not yet aware of the full extent of the family’s financial issues, and her mother made the preseason rounds to drop a few words in the right ears. Although she had potential suitors, she could not imagine kissing them, much less doing anything she had seen in the book. It was really her own fault as her mother was forever pointing out (not unkindly), that she simply did not understand how she, a ‘diamond of the first water’ in her day, could have raised such a bluestocking.
Catherine wasn’t sure either, but she enjoyed reading, and developed a passion for Greek and Roman antiquities, ancient languages, and hieroglyphics, much to her mother’s everlasting horror. She would much rather spend her free time at the museum or reading than going to endless teas, social calls, or applying herself to needlework. Unfortunately, her father, never the best with matters of finance, had made some poor investments that put them in the current position. It was up to Catherine to make a good match.
Her maid returned and started the process of dressing her. Catherine donned her silk chemise with the pink satin ribbons, and previously never gave much thought beyond the intended use of the slit in the bottom. She now smiled a little as she recalled one of the pictures from the book.
“It is good to see you smiling miss. You must be looking forward to the dance this evening.”
Catherine did not bother to answer. She allowed the maid to chatter as she stepped into her dress, tightened her laces and tried to find something other than her body to focus on while she considered the Cabot’s ball evening. They always had a crush. For the hostess, it was really about the number, just as much as the quality, of people. Catherine considered the dress. The green actually was a good choice for something other than just complementing her eyes. She was sure she would be grateful for the lightweight dress as the night wore on, and gave only a cursory glance in the mirror before heading down the stairs.
Three
Merrick walked slowly up the steps toward the Cabot’s entrance. Light streamed from the windows as carriages jostled for position to drop women in glittering jewels and colorful gowns with their assorted escorts. He was conscious of the looks cast his way. No one would guess that he felt like this was more akin to a trip to the gallows than an evening of entertainment. He rarely attended these events, but hostesses with matchmaking on their minds never gave up, and he continued to receive invitations. Although identified as a rake, he still had a title, and girls who did not make matches in their first season or two often added him to their prospect list. It wasn�
��t that he was not a prize to be caught; it was just very well known that he had little inclination to marry. Adding his name to a list was often a sign of desperation on their part. Merrick thought it was just as well that they avoided him; he had no intention of being caught in a pre-arranged “compromising position.”
He passed a regular attendee of the other parties with rather large assets of her own without even giving her a glance. Until recently, he had not really worried about his estate or passing on the title. His man of affairs was well paid to keep things in order, his investments were profitable, and Merrick did not gamble overmuch or pursue other things in excess. Well, other than his sexual exploits, but some of those were in service to the Crown, so he did not believe those should count.
Merrick had arrived home from the Buckley’s harem party to find two missives. The first contained the unfortunate news of the untimely and unexpected death of his immediate heir, a cousin in Surry. As that gentleman had not yet married, that left Merrick with few choices regarding the title. There were other, more distant relatives in America, and even though he did not see himself as elitist, the thought of the title and lands going to a complete stranger from that undisciplined, brash, country did not appeal to him. It seemed he would need to marry after all, but he was still in no rush. His, of course, would be an arranged marriage, one that served the purposes of both families and furthered either money or prestige. It was a practical approach, and one most often practiced by his peers. He would be free to continue his other pursuits of course, and had always been discreet, a characteristic he was sure a wife would appreciate.
The special house parties were known, but not something generally discussed in public. Those discussions were held in clubs and other gentlemanly venues. People were titillated by the suggestion of these parties, although house parties in general were well known places for liaisons. His own habits had not exactly been a secret, but once people started talking, and the papers began to participate, well that simply was not something one wanted bandied about at tea parties when one was searching for a suitable bride. Discussions could become even more damaging for others. The ton was willing to tolerate some licentious behavior, as long as it was not thrown in its collective face
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