“Yes, I recall you mentioning it.”
“Mr Brockton happened upon me in Mr Darroch’s office.” The intruder had interrupted them in the nick of time. A second more and the reprobate would have seduced her into compliance. She should be grateful for it even if it generated gossip.
“May I ask why you needed to talk to him? His reputation is, well, controversial,” Otilia said out of worry for her friend.
“My father owed him money.” Edwina didn’t want to mislead someone she considered her best friend.
The Countess’s eyes widened. “Is that so? Edmund and I can help,” she offered. “I always told you I’m most grateful for your grandmother employing me when I direly needed it.”
The Dowager Marchioness of Mandeville offered Otilia the position of a companion exactly when Otilia decided to break away from Thornton.
“I paid it.” There was no other way of putting it.
“Good your father left provisions for that.” The Countess sounded relieved for her friend.
“No, he didn’t,” Edwina reiterated.
Otilia eyed Edwina astonished. “You mean you—”
“Yes.” A mixture of embarrassment and defiance came to her features as she looked at Otilia with her chin angled up and vermilion on her cheeks.
“Dear me! Why didn’t you come to us?” Her quizzical demeanour held a drop of admiration.
“I thought I’d clear it once and for all.”
“Edwina! You needn’t subject yourself—” But she halted at the other woman’s shaking head.
“The trouble is I enjoyed it.”
Otilia’s mouth fell, but she recovered rather soon. “I hope you didn’t fall for that libertine.”
“No,” she answered with more assurance than she felt. “But I’d do it all over again if necessary.”
Her friend gave a sudden smile. “I’m not judging you.” What a comfort it was! “You know how tangled I was with Edmund before—”
Otilia confided it to Edwina after her marriage, but it had been evident for anyone smart enough to look at them.
“Thank you!” Edwina said heartily. “I only regret my grandmother throwing me at Thornton. We were all wrong for each other.”
Otilia squeezed her hands. “Oh, that’s in the past,” she smiled.
Edwina rolled her eyes in jest. “Fortunately.”
After setting on a time to pick her up, Otilia took her leave.
The rest of the afternoon, Edwina worked with a sense of relief. Talking about her predicament had made her feel better. Otilia understood; she’d faced difficult trials herself and come up with flying colours.
Edwina should not own to a drop of regret for her prideful decision of not accepting the cad’s gifts of clothes, for she spent a good deal of time making one of her old ball dresses presentable for the occasion. In a fern green satin underskirt and grey embroidered overskirt, it had been the talk of her earlier years. Skilfully, she modified it to a more fashionable form and added lace to the too-low neckline, transforming the gown into something discreet and exquisite at the same time.
They arrived at the ball and were warmly received by the Viscount, Viscountess, Joshua and Bridget. Negotiating the throngs into the ballroom, Edwina didn’t want to become a burden to Otilia, so she said she’d spotted a friend she’d go and greet to leave the Thorntons free to enjoy the ball.
But as she made her way towards the refreshment table, she couldn’t deny that people’s attitude towards her was cold, to say the least. Many matrons looked at her and opened their fans to whisper to each other. The men directed lecherous gazes at her, and the debutantes kept out of her way. Apparently, Mr Brockton had done a good job of spreading his version of what he witnessed at Darroch Shipment.
And Edwina wasn’t about to lower her head and put her tail between her legs. She held her head high and promenaded to enjoy the orchestra, not showing a drop of embarrassment. Nobody knew anything about her life or her predicament. Nobody had the right to judge her as though they held no failings themselves.
Suddenly, Baron Enfield appeared in front of her and bowed. “Miss Whitman, I hope you’ll give the honour of this waltz,” he invited with impeccable chivalry.
What better way of neutralising the rumours than this? With a smile, she curtsied. “It’ll be a delight,” she said, letting him walk her to the dance floor.
Darroch accepted accompanying Brunswick to the Carlton ball more out of boredom than an enthusiasm for crowded gatherings. Since that afternoon in the arcade, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Carousing proved ineffective. Drinking offered too temporary a relief. Work helped, but his mind wasn’t fully in it. He lived his days like a phantom haunting his house and his office aimlessly. Miller sent his employer quizzical glances though he dared not ask anything. After all, Darroch’s sour humour didn’t encourage comments uttered out of turn.
As they greeted their hosts, Darroch and Brunswick separated. With a glass of champagne, he wandered the ballroom talking to acquaintances.
“Harris.” He turned to see Lady Essex casting appreciative glances at him. He’d had a brief tryst with the widow two years ago. At the time, he decided that one fixed paramour didn’t cut it for him.
“Lady Essex,” he bowed with cold politeness.
She laced arms with him to lead him away and engaged him in inane prattling. Harris groped for an excuse to part from her when she talked again.
“You must have become bored to turn to prudish virgins.” Eyeing him from under her lashes, she observed him closely.
Every cell in his body rose to alertness. “Where did you get this nonsense from?” He strived to say this nonchalantly.
Her head tilted gracefully. “Mr Brockton insists he saw you and Miss Whitman in a suggestive conversation in your office.”
The expletive he blew under his breath would make a dockworker blush. These ton people must be bored out of their minds to waste their time in such gossip.
“He saw wrong,” he deflected. “The lady’s late father had dealings with me, and we were settling them.”
The widow looked at him through narrowed lids, seeming none too trustful of his version of the facts. But then she smiled brightly. “That’s assuredly the case for the lady in question is dancing with the man’s own nephew.”
And that caused something hot and bitter to arrow down his guts, like drinking a whole bottle of newly distilled whisky in one gulp. It corroded him down to his blood.
As soon as humanly possible, he detached himself from the clingy widow and strode in search of his little shrew, burning with the possibility of seeing her again.
Baron Enfield’s hand lay too low on her back, nearly cupping her buttock. Edwina plastered a dazzling smile on her lips. “You put your hand where it should be, or I’ll leave you mid-dance.”
The baron heeded her words but pulled her too close. “You’ll pardon my frankness, Miss Whitman, but I’d much appreciate touching you where others did.”
Anger erupted inside, but she kept it well hidden.
“You’ll pardon my frankness, Baron Enfield, but if you think your drunkard uncle’s gossip has any truth in it, my uncle, The Marquess, might call you out.”
The sop blanched at her words and rearranged his posture to a decorous one.
As soon as the waltz ended, she backed from his hold. Before he bowed to her, his eyes rested pointedly on her bosom.
“When Darroch tires of you, I’d like to be the next in line.” With that, he bowed and fled, the coward.
This simple comment had the destructive power of shaking her confidence in her social standing. She might be the niece of a Marquess, but her position in the ton had always been deferential. At her first ball since her parents passed, the hopeless feeling of being alone in the world weighed on her. Even though the Dowager Marchioness and the Marquess would back her, without her parents as support, she realised that men would not hesitate to p
rey on her. The thought was disheartening.
Dreadfully in need of a reprieve, she sought the French doors for a breath of fresh air. Outside, the early spring brisk temperature soothed her. The garden allured her, causing her to climb down the stairs to inhale the freshness the rain had left.
Without her shawl, she wrapped her arms around her and sighed as she promenaded among the blooming flowers. Suddenly the thought of the country brought wistfulness. She missed Philippa and her grandmother.
“Edwina.” The gruff voice reached her in the dim light coming from the house.
Goodness! Did the man have a sixth sense that detected her whereabouts? At this rate, she’d never attain the gigantic feat of forgetting him. It was difficult enough to live with the constant and depthless longing. In the dark of night, in between slumber and wakefulness, she could even re-live the scent of his skin, the whorls of his broad chest, his lips on her. She missed him like they’d been together for a lifetime.
Filling her lungs with strengthening air, she turned to him; her stance schooled to iron will. “I hope you’ve not been following me.”
But as her eyes fell on him, the melting sensation in her core came fast and total. His tall frame clad in a dark brown suit with a pristine shirt and neckcloth, merely had to stand there to undermine her resolve.
“To the ball? No, I came with Brunswick.” He halted, dishing her with the full view of his spectacular masculinity. “Here? Yes, I’d be a fool to miss the chance.”
Her lips pressed together as she processed his candour. The man made no excuses for his arrogance. “I told you I didn’t—”
“Want to see me again?” The self-assured side-smile he bestowed on her caused her to wish to shake him and ravish him in the same minute. “It takes two to make such a decision. And I don’t remember agreeing to your dictate.” He fisted his hips. She tracked the movement, remembering her legs had laced him there. “You vacated the premises in the middle of unfinished business.”
“They were very finished as far as I’m concerned. Preferably forever.” Her chin notched up more out of a need of self-assertion than anything else.
His low, hoarse chuckle swashed her in a fiery reaction as much as annoyed her with its overbearing ring. “We seem to have other business going.”
She didn’t require him to spell it out. The ton’s attitude towards her left it clear enough. “The rumours will die out if we don’t feed them.” Meaning they shouldn’t even be here now.
“These lazy nobs will pick at anything to ease their boredom.” Harris might be a nobleman by birth, but he most definitely wasn’t lazy. The stark solidity of his body told its own story.
Edwina sincerely hoped that not to be the case. She had been ruined by her choices, but her sister hadn’t. And she wouldn’t allow these people to destroy Philippa’s future. Not when she’d done everything in her power to preserve it.
A humourless grin came to her lips. “Funny, isn’t it? You’re the libertine, and I lose my reputation.” The unfairness of it burned her insides.
His gaze met hers in understanding. Not that he could do something about it, but his empathy warmed her.
“I’d reckon you put an end to my days as a libertine.” There was nothing in his voice to show he regretted the fact.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him with suspicion. “You expect me to believe in this gibberish.”
One bunched shoulder lifted. “Whether you believe me or not, the facts speak for themselves.”
That he hadn’t enjoyed the one raucous gathering didn’t turn him into a saint. Blast, may he never become a saint!
She made a dismissive gesture with her hands. “It has nothing to do with me one way or the other.” She turned to go, spelling out that she wouldn’t risk being seen with him. More than that, these invisible ties, the knots imprisoning her very will, imprisoning her body, imperilling her soul, should give way, disappear. Because she felt as bound to him as though they shared something more than lust. But they didn’t. This was her senses slaving for the explicit delectation he invariably lured her with. And she wouldn’t let him. Not anymore.
Using whatever strength she could muster, she pivoted, intent on leaving, forgetting, cutting those ties.
“You’re mine, will always be.” The growled statement of possession froze her unbidden. Not because it vexed her, no. Disgracefully, indignation didn’t figure in her tumultuous emotions. The territorial remark aroused her like fire on dry hay, bursting her into flames she had no chance of fighting.
The air moved and warmed against her back, and she did not need to turn to know Harris had neared, she would recognise his scent even if she was dead. That alone primed her body for him. But then he touched her. No, not on her shoulders, or her waist, or even her hips. No, this was Harris, libertine, shameless, sinful Harris. His large hands cupped her breasts bluntly as if it was the most normal gesture for a man to do to a woman in the middle of a garden right beneath a crowded ballroom. His head lowered, his lips feathering the shell of her ear. Tightly closing her eyes, her breath arrested in an inept attempt to deflect the sensations swamping her.
"I want you back in my bed." The tone was guttural, domineering. His warm breath caressed the sensitive skin behind her ear a second before he nibbled on the delicate shell. Goosebumps were the most innocent reaction of her body. The others, she did not want to admit to.
The wording did not leave room for doubts. It was his bed, not his house or his life. She was good for one thing and one thing only. His bed. To fulfil that insatiable carnality of his, which gnawed at her with sharp, stingy teeth. Those depraved, glorious memories would live in her mind forever.
And, by Jove, she wanted to make more. Make more memories that is. Make them until she was old and decrepit. And longer still.
His thumbs grazed the hardened peaks, producing a faint sigh from her. They missed him, his hands, his mouth, the feel of his chest against them. Her body missed him. She missed him, damn it!
Harris glued his taut frame to her spine, the ridge of him cradled snugly against the layers of fabric that did nothing to alleviate the feel of his readiness. Or hers, for that matter.
"See what you do to me?" The gravel tone rasped again in her ear.
If he had a grain of an idea of what he did to her, he would be taking her already. Her addled mind incited her to lift her skirts and give way to him, to completion. To fulfilment. Because this was nothing more than addiction, pure addiction. And she needed to skip its pitfalls even if it killed her.
The thought poured icy water on her heated condition. In one swift movement, she swivelled to him, her palm on the middle of his broad chest. She shoved him abruptly, putting vital and arid distance between them.
"Stay away from me," she said cold and abrupt.
Face to face, the sight of him undermined her resolve. Almost. Those dark eyes intent on hers pulled at her desire, her need.
"I don't seem to be able to." The revelation sounded as temptation incarnated. "You are a fever in my blood." If she was a fever to him, he was an avalanche of lava for her.
But she found a remaining drop of courage to resist. Her spine stiffened, her chin inched up, and her eyes spat what she hoped to be contempt.
"Find a way," she bit out. "We’re done here."
His eyes narrowed, the corner of his wicked mouth stretching up. "Are you sure?"
Sure? Ha! The only certainty she could claim was that she would have given an arm for just one more kiss from those raunchy lips.
She refused to provide this with an answer though. "If I never see you again, it'll be too soon." The fact he intended merely a tryst with her had been enough to erupt much necessary indignation, sufficient to show him she’d not subject herself to suit him.
With that, she turned and pounded the lawn to the ballroom.
She approached Otilia to ask if she could use the carriage to go home. The driver would bring it back to the Thor
ntons, naturally.
After certifying she was all right, Otilia obliged generously.
Numb and emotionally exhausted, Edwina undressed and lay down to plunge in a restless slumber.
The sound of movement on the ground floor sneaked into her chamber, and Edwina forced herself out of the darkness of her dreamless sleep.
With a wrap thrown over her shoulders, she hurried downstairs and stopped short at the sight of Philippa and her grandmother coming inside with the help of Mrs Edson.
Happiness and apprehension mingled in her.
“Edwina!” Philippa exclaimed and came to hug her sister, not giving Edwina time to contemplate the cause of this sudden appearance. “I missed you, my beloved sister.”
Both sisters held each other affectionately as Lady Charlotte neared them with the help of a cane. In her seventies, the dowager was a petite woman with finely coiffured grey hair and an elegant dark green dress.
“My child.” Lady Charlotte also hugged her granddaughter, though her demeanour showed creases, and not from age.
The three of them sat in the drawing room as the first grey light of morning rose on the horizon.
Mrs Edson offered to bring tea and left discreetly.
“What’s so pressing that prompted you to travel at night?” Edwina asked. The roads inspired caution though they surely brought footmen.
“We heard rumours, Edwina,” Philippa hurried to say. “Grandma fretted so she couldn’t wait to travel from Wiltshire.”
Guilt burdened Edwina at that. Her grandmother deserved tranquillity in her later years. The last thing Edwina wished was to rob her of it.
“Is it true?” Lady Charlotte asked without preamble.
Edwina blanched but kept her composure. “Depends on what you heard.”
Her Wicked LibertineEDIT Page 14
