Say you’ll be mine.
It was too enigmatic to take as a promise of fidelity or honour but Fanny was too overcome by want and need to take heed of the cautions that echoed in her mind. For once her own desires were riding roughshod over the careful teachings of a lifetime.
She felt as if at last she was breaking free, obeying the impulses of her body rather than her mind. It was a glorious and liberating feeling to live in the moment rather than for an uncertain future.
The next few moments passed in a whirlpool of ecstatic sensation. She did not know how he’d managed it, but her legs were wrapped around his waist as he plundered her mouth like an oasis in a desert. His deft, clever hands swept over her bottom, turning the swollen bud at her very core once more into a quivering mass of sensation. When, groaning, he thrust himself into her, the surprising second of searing pain was immediately swept away by an encore of the first act—wave after wave of blissful, wicked, intense pleasure.
Chapter 6
In a daze, Fanny gave herself up to the rocking motion of the carriage as she sat quietly between Lady Harwood and her sister. Antoinette’s chatter was a welcome diversion. Clearly, the girl felt no shame or remorse about her conduct with Bramley.
But what of Fanny’s own behaviour?
“I heard you behaved badly tonight, Antoinette.” Isadora’s tone was disapproving. “Fanny was very disappointed in you.”
Yet the look Isadora trained on Fanny told a different story. Isadora had her own doubts about Fanny’s behaviour and not without reason. For when Fanny had emerged from the ‘mending’ room, she knew her eyes were too bright and her cheeks too flushed. She and Fenton had done their best to set her dress to rights and although she’d quickly covered her pale blue sarcenet with an opera cloak after she’d hurried to leave, she knew Isadora had seen the damage. Whether that was the damage caused by her tumble down the stairs or the damage that had occurred afterwards, she could only guess.
“I was only trying to please mama and make a match with Mr Bramley,” said Antoinette on a sniff. “You know he’s in line to inherit from Lord Quamby who is never going to take a wife.”
Fanny gave a hollow laugh. “That thug will never make you a respectable offer, Antoinette. You can count on that.”
Lord Fenton, however, was cut from different cloth.
He was a gentleman of honour. Lord Quamby had reassured her of it. And every glance and touch told the same story.
Sinking into her cloak and closing her eyes, she relived the heady passion followed by its sweet aftermath.
The urgency of their physical need had taken them both by surprise. Even now, she was conscious of heightened awareness of her entire body at the mere thought of him. He’d invaded the very core of her in more ways than one. Lord Fenton was bound to her. He’d said as much as he’d cradled her in his arms, whispering sweet endearments while he gently kissed her eyes and lips.
Yet despite his assertions that what they’d shared was the most real and true moment of his life, doubt needled.
Should she have allowed herself to get so carried away? Had she been a fool? A mere conquest?
As Antoinette chattered, seemingly without remorse over her behaviour with Mr Bramely, Fanny sank deeper into hopelessness. Tomorrow she would marry Lord Slyther. What choice did she have? Neither he nor her mother would allow further postponement, so what possible hope had she of eliciting anything from Lord Fenton before it was too late? Anything that would give her reason to delay her nuptials for a few more days.
How had she allowed him to take her virtue when she was to marry another?
Well, the answer to that was easy. There was no way Fanny had intended allowing Lord Slyther to take her virtue when the man for whom she’d fallen was so willing.
But why hadn’t she told Lord Fenton she was to marry Lord Slyther in less than twenty-four hours. That had been a distinct oversight.
If he’d known that, wouldn’t he be throwing stones at her window tonight and begging her to throw in her lot with him?
The earlier conviction that she’d won his heart was replaced by a terrible chill that her best laid plans were simply not good enough.
Lord Fenton might love her but he needed more time to realise it.
* * *
After delivering Lady Harwood to her modest lodgings, the carriage deposited the two sisters and their cousin in front of theirs, but before the jarvey was dismissed Lady Brightwell came hurrying down the front steps dressed in a dark cloak.
“Inside with you, Antoinette and Isadora—Fanny, we’re going to see Lord Slyther.” She rubbed her hands together as she waited to be assisted into the carriage, while Antoinette obediently disappeared through the front door. “He’s impatient, Fanny. You did well last night. Perhaps Lord Slyther has the priest and witnesses already waiting.” She squeezed Fanny’s arm as she settled herself on the seat beside Fanny. “You’ve done well, my girl. Soon you’ll have contracted the best match you could have hoped for. Tonight could be your wedding night!”
Fanny didn’t know whether to scream, faint or be sick.
“Come, girl, show a little jubilation. You have done well. Very well.”
Dully, Fanny stared ahead. After a long silence she whispered, “I don’t know if I can do this, Mother.”
“Whatever is this nonsense, Fanny?” A note of alarm crept into Lady Brightwell’s tone. Even she knew she couldn’t force Fanny to marry him.
She rapped on the roof for the jarvey to go faster, as if hastening to their destination might stay Fanny’s disquieting sentiments. “Lord Slyther is a viscount. He is rich. He has promised to be generous—”
Fanny shuddered. “Provided I become his slave. Oh, Mother, he made me do the most appalling things the other night.” She slumped against the cold window. “You have no idea. I thought I was going to die of shame—”
“Do you imagine you’re the only young woman who has had to barter her body to buy a life?” Lady Brightwell’s dismay turned to anger. Growing anger. “Would you see us cast into the streets, or forced into a grinding, menial existence because you are not prepared to do what every other young woman has to do in order to satisfy a man? Yes, men are disgusting creatures and Lord Slyther is probably worse than most. But he has one redeeming feature, Fanny, that you can’t ignore.” Directing the full force of her fulminating glare upon Fanny as the carriage drew up in front of Lord Slyther’s elegant Mayfair address, she comforted her daughter, “He cannot possibly live long. Then, my dear, your reward will be widowhood and, if you play your cards right in the meantime, a sizeable widow’s portion. Now, get out of the carriage and do what you have to do without that long face!”
Fanny gripped the door frame in one final show of resistance.
“I can’t marry him, Mama,” she whispered. “Not when my heart belongs to another.”
Her mother put her head on one side, but her look was more fulminating than enquiring.
“And where is your ring, Fanny? Where is this token of his affection, his constancy, eh? Or is he another of Lord Alverley’s kind. So very adoring when there’s no requirement for fidelity.” She rapped on the roof and a sharp, cold wind swept inside the equipage, making Fanny shiver.
“Lord Slyther is the only real offer you have, Fanny, and you’d do well to take it.” With a regal toss of her turbaned head, Lady Brightwell allowed herself to be assisted outside, waiting for her daughter to smooth her dress and her nerves before heading towards what Fanny now realised was the inevitable.
She could not refuse Lord Slyther’s marriage offer. Her mother gave her no choice. One glance at her stony expression made her realise this.
But perhaps Fanny could delay the marriage itself.
She only needed one more day.
* * *
Terrified, Fanny waited outside Lord Slyther’s bedchamber, as instructed. Her mother had been ushered to the drawing room.
As the door opened to admit her she nearly gasped at the f
oetid sickroom air but managed to retain the pleasant and decorous smile demanded by her mother.
If she could conjure up Lord Fenton’s image she might get through this, she counselled herself. Oh, why had she not told him about Lord Slyther? He’d been overcome with feeling. It had been more than just lust. He’d shared her feelings of genuine attraction. She’d never have done what she had if she hadn’t truly believed that the extraordinary force that had drawn them together wasn’t based on something more than simple lust.
Now, as she took in Lord Slyther’s satisfied, triumphant look she knew her mother spoke the truth. Only careful calculation was going to get Fanny what she wanted.
She curtsied. “I missed you this evening, my Lord.” She made a point of fingering the ring she’d been given, holding it up on its chain and looking at it proudly. There had been an uncomfortable moment when Lord Fenton had whisked up Fanny’s handkerchief, in which the ring had been wrapped, when he’d helped her to get herself in order before returning to the ballroom.
When the ring had fallen from the handkerchief into Lord Fenton’s lap, along with Lady Harwood’s retrieved bracelet, he’d barely glanced at it. Fanny hoped the coat of arms would not be familiar to him; but he’d made no comment as he’d returned the items before resuming his loving comfort in the aftermath of their passion.
Comforting it had been, and it was all Fanny had to sustain herself with, for now Lord Slyther was struggling up on his pillows, his grimace of pain contorting into one of relative pleasure to see her.
“Missed me, eh?” he repeated, patting the mattress at his side. “Come and tell me how you missed me, Miss Brightwell. Such pretty words, but empty unless you elaborate.”
Fanny had resolved not to shrink from him. His odious person, reeking with decay, and his words, foul and disrespectful, would not find their mark. Tonight, Fanny would do what she had to in order to play for the time she so desperately needed.
Sinking beside him, she briefly stroked the hand he placed upon her thigh before carefully removing it. “My mother is in the next room so you must not take liberties, Lord Slyther.”
He let out a crack of laughter. “Got your spirit back, have you? My, but I enjoyed our last little session, teaching precocious Miss Brightwell her place. I see you are not so easily cowed as I’d thought. Good, more sport for me—for you will learn how to behave in my company, Miss Brightwell.”
Fanny lowered her eyes. He liked her spirit only so he’d have more enjoyment in seeing her cowed? Well, she would not be. Not cowed and certainly not married to him, if she could help it. Her difficulty was how she should play her behaviour so that he would grant her the few days’ delay she needed.
“I am a lady, my Lord, and I will not have my reputation besmirched, even if we are due to wed in the morning. It is late and I am surprised my mother acceded to your unconventional request.”
“Your mother is so eager for all I can confer on her daughter and the benefits to herself that she’d accede to anything.”
It required no play-acting to look as desolate as she felt. Fanny had always been a dutiful daughter, desperate to achieve whatever her mother demanded, but she did not want to hear the truth laid bare in such a way.
He softened at her expression and said, almost kindly, “Let us pay no heed to your mama. You’ll be free of her soon enough and, though you might fear me now, I promise you, I shall be an indulgent husband…provided you are a good girl. Kiss me, Miss Brightwell.”
She could not show the aversion she felt, though fortunately it was appropriate to display reluctance at such a great liberty.
“You can kiss me all you like when we are wed, my Lord,” she told him, holding her ground.
“I shall enjoy your acquiescence, then, and your dutiful enthusiasm”—he tugged on her arm—“but tonight I will enjoy showing you who is master.”
Before she could object further, he jerked her into his arms so that she was across his lap, and plastered his loose lips upon hers. Revulsion swamped her but she refused to reveal her distress. It would only excite him more.
Allowing him sufficient satisfaction before she broke free, she forced her tears into abeyance, saying briskly, almost playfully, “Let us save some surprises for after we are wed. Now, my Lord, your leg looks painful. Allow me to bring you some relief with the unguents I see beside your bed. Shall I remove the dressing and massage it?”
The suggestion took him by surprise. Clearly, even he had thought she’d be reluctant at such an obviously disgusting task, for the weeping sores were evident beneath the bandages.
Holding her breath, forcing her smile to remain unwavering, Fanny unwrapped the stained linen and laid the limb beside her. She’d thought to place it upon her lap but lost courage at the last minute. She couldn’t bring herself to come that much into contact with it, for she noticed it was worse than on the previous occasion. The suppurating flesh would stain her dress and the stink she’d have to carry home with her was more than she could bear.
Briefly closing her eyes, she wavered between those wonderful memories of being in Lord Fenton’s arms and acknowledging that this life of nurse and bedroom mate was nearly upon her. She’d known all her life it was her lot to make sacrifices for the sake of the family so it was foolish to start objecting now.
She’d been trained well. Almost immediately her smile was back in place as she rubbed in the ointment and murmured, “I hope this eases the discomfort a little, my Lord. My grandmother said I was a very good nurse when I used to massage her painful old legs.”
Lord Slyther grunted. His eyes were closed and, judging by his expression, he’d all but given himself up to the soothing sensation.
Fanny tried to separate herself from the hateful present and return to the thrilling past. She would not feel shame. Perhaps in the eyes of her mother she’d done a terrible thing but no punishment could take away from her the satisfaction of giving her virginity to a man who set her senses on fire. She’d exercised free will and she’d pleased herself.
Please, dear Lord, don’t make it for the last time.
For so long did she gently knead Lord Slyther’s white, pestilential flesh and rub ointment into the sores that Fanny hoped he’d gone to sleep. But when she paused to return sensation to her aching hands, he opened his eyes.
“You’re more than just the pretty face I thought you, Miss Brightwell.” There was grudging admiration in his tone. “Your grandmother was right—you have a nurse’s touch and the sooner we’re wed the better.”
Fanny accepted the compliment with a gracious nod. “You are kind, my Lord.” She knew bullies preyed on weakness so she would have to appear strong, even though the thought of offering herself up to him as required made her want to break down upon the spot.
She put her hand gently upon his ankle. “How long do your gout attacks last, my Lord? Will you be better in the morning? At least able to walk, I mean?”
“Another two or three days in bed, if previous attacks are anything to go by. The parson arrives at ten.” He gave her a sly look. “Unless you’re willing to wait and I’ll send for him now. I have a special licence and I can choose for myself.”
“Would it not be better, my Lord, if you were in less pain to enjoy your wedding night”—she lowered her eyes—“so you could be more…yourself?”
He grunted again. “Don’t know I can wait that long, Miss Brightwell.” He struggled upon his pillows and his hand went out to touch the bare skin above her décolletage. Fingering the ring upon its chain, he hesitated as he added, “Though you are right…”
Fanny’s heart lurched at the concession. “In three days’ time, my Lord, you would be well enough to stand by my side and”—she swallowed—“be the bridegroom of my desires.”
For a second he appeared to consider her suggestion. Suddenly, he jerked forward and pulled her to him, though he immediately released her, despite the fact that she had not squealed. He seemed angry when she straightened, staring wide-eyed, sh
ocked by his surprising strength and his erratic behaviour.
“Three days, then, Miss Brightwell. I see the good sense in a short delay. In the meantime, you can stand up and come to my side. You’ve had the pleasure of running your hands over my tender flesh. Now it’s my turn.”
Finally Fanny was permitted to return to the drawing room and rejoin her mother who hissed, “I hope your smile was pleasanter than that for Lord Slyther,” as she looked up from her tatting.
But Fanny couldn’t respond until, once in the carriage, she burst out, “Oh, Mama, the things he did to me. He put his hands—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” her mother cut in, looking straight ahead as she settled herself. “I’m just sorry he couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, when you’ll be safely wed.”
“The wedding is in three days’ time—”
“Three days!” Her mother swung round sharply. “What has happened, Fanny? Why three days?” There was panic in her tone before her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Fanny hurried on. “Lord Slyther’s gout is paining him. He’ll wed me when he is a little more recovered.”
Lady Brightwell rounded on her. “You asked for a postponement, didn’t you, Fanny? You suggested his manliness would be greater for the fact he could at least walk, when all that matters is that it is legally done and you are Lady Slyther. What possessed you, daughter, after everything I have done for you? How could you—?”
“Mama, there is a gentleman, a viscount, handsome and rich, who has taken a fancy to me.” Now was Fanny’s moment and she must not squander it. “I know that with a little time, even three days, perhaps, I can win his regard sufficiently for—”
“Little fool!” Lady Brightwell’s anger was accompanied by another of her stinging slaps across her daughter’s cheek. “I’ve heard that one too many times before, Fanny! Lord Alverley, remember? Oh yes, smitten he might have been, but he was young and tied to his mother’s apron strings. You couldn’t see that, though, could you? Well, what truth have you overlooked this time? You are ruled by your foolish heart, girl. It sweeps away all reason. It’ll be the same story with your latest fancy. Mark my words, he’ll tell you he’ll fly to the moon to make you his, but when his mama hears her son has fallen in love with a baron’s daughter with no fortune—in one night—the same thing will happen. Who is this viscount?”
Rake's Redemption (Scandalous Miss Brightwells Book 1) Page 9