Lessons from a Scarlet Lady

by Emma Wildes

  The ducal carriage had nice wide seats, something he hadn’t particularly appreciated before. “I

  cannot believe I am doing this but God help me, Brianna, I have to have you,” he said raggedly,

  laying her down on the seat.

  “I want you, too.” Her hair had loosened, and it framed her face in a silken tumble, her shoulders

  ivory in the dim light, her naked breasts tight and quivering with the motion of the vehicle. He

  thought he would cease to breathe when she reached down to pull her skirts up above her waist,

  baring long, lovely legs in their silk stockings and garters. Her pubic hair was a small golden

  triangle between her white thighs, and as he discarded his coat, she parted her legs in erotic

  invitation.

  So hot with urgent need he felt like he might combust at any moment, Colton accepted gladly,

  still jerking at the fastenings on his breeches. Freeing his pulsing erection, he lowered himself

  over his wife’s sprawled, half-dressed body, adjusting himself between her open thighs. One

  hand braced on the upholstered seat, he guided his rigid cock to her entrance, finding her wet and

  accommodating to his penetration. Brianna clutched his shoulders as he thrust inside her body, a

  low moan coming from her throat.

  It was so good, he thought in feverish pleasure, not even bothering to caution her to be quiet. The

  idea of his driver overhearing them make love would normally have appalled him, but at that

  moment, he just didn’t care. Withdrawing, he pushed back inside her tight passage with long

  strokes, the pumping of his lower body matching the swaying motion of the carriage.

  Brianna arched to meet him, her hips lifting for each penetration, her eyes shut, long lashes dark

  against her flushed cheeks. The sharp bite of her fingernails through the fine lawn of his shirt

  increased as the rhythm escalated, and Colton was startled to realize she was going to climax so

  quickly without any other stimulation. A muffled scream rang out as she arched frantically and

  her inner muscles began to ripple and tighten.

  It sent him right over the edge. Pushing deep, he erupted with such intensity his body shook as he

  held himself still, the rapture taking him prisoner, holding him as he flooded her with his seed

  and groaned her name.

  When he could finally breathe again, he registered two things. The first was that his gorgeous

  wife smiled up at him in a way that could only be described as triumphant.

  The second was that the vehicle they occupied in a state of scandalous near undress was coming

  to a halt.

  “Damnation,” Colton muttered in disbelief. Had he actually just ravished his wife in a moving

  carriage like some randy adolescent?

  Chapter One

  Men want to understand us, but only in the most abstract of ways. They believe that our volatile

  emotions make us creatures too complicated to fully comprehend. To a certain extent, I have

  come to agree. Males deal with life in a very straightforward fashion. It will work in your favor

  to remember this. Women, on the other hand, understand each other very well.

  From the chapter titled: “Their Reality Versus Our

  Illusions”

  The afternoon sun slanted in through the tall windows, laying blocks on the rich patterned rug.

  French doors were open to the gardens and the scent of blooming roses filled the air. Across from

  Brianna, Rebecca Marston raised one eyebrow and said suspiciously, “You look strange, Bri. Are

  you even listening to the conversation?”

  “I agree,” Arabella Smythe, the Countess of Bonham, chimed in. Pretty and petite, she perched

  on the edge of a delicately embroidered chair, her ebony hair coiled demurely at her nape, her

  lovely dark eyes holding the same hint of question. “You seem very distracted.”

  “I do?” Feigning innocence was impossible and Brianna laughed. As they sat in Arabella’s

  informal parlor, sipping tea and chatting, her friends were quite right; she’d lost track of the

  chitchat on the latest fashions quite some time ago. The evening before had been a . . . triumph.

  She might even dub it a revelation. How on earth was it possible to think of it and not smile?

  Well, it wasn’t possible.

  “Yes. A cat-who-got-into-the-cream kind of strange.” Rebecca sat up a little straighter on the

  brocade settee. She was a tall, willowy brunette with feminine features and an enviable figure. It

  was very fashionable for gentlemen to fancy themselves in love with her, but she hadn’t yet

  found one to suit her despite her father’s insistence she marry soon. As this was her second

  season, she now represented a challenge to the young men of the haut ton. She demanded, “What

  has happened?”

  The three of them had been fast friends since childhood, and though Brianna tried to look bland,

  she couldn’t succeed. “What makes you think anything has happened?”

  The two of them exchanged glances and then looked back at her. Arabella said dryly, “Call it an

  educated guess. We know you. I recognize that expression. It reminds me of the time we explored

  the abbey ruins at midnight, hoping to see a ghost or two, and when we got caught coming back

  in, you spun a very improbable tale for my governess that somehow she believed.” She added,

  “We, however, knew the truth, since we were guilty of breaking the rules.”

  Reaching for her cup of tea, Brianna murmured in amused recollection, “Yes, I did spare us

  punishment, didn’t I?”

  “You were very glib,” Rebecca commented. “But don’t try that technique on us. Now then, what

  has you staring out the window with that singularly self-satisfied smile?”

  Brianna wasn’t at all sure she should tell them the truth. It was an awfully scandalous secret.

  However, she trusted her two friends more than anybody else in the whole world.

  Rebecca said, “Bri?”

  “I went back and purchased it,” she confessed.

  Both of them looked puzzled, their teacups suspended in their hands.

  She elaborated. “I went back to that tiny little bookshop and bought Lady Rothburg’s Advice.”

  Arabella’s mouth parted in shock and Rebecca made a choked sound.

  Brianna lifted her hand palm upward in supplication. “Before you say anything, just let me tell

  you that it worked. Her advice in the book is invaluable. I read the first chapter and it was very

  enlightening. You should have seen Colton. I think he gave up on watching the stage halfway

  through the opera last night and simply stared at me. Well, at a certain part of me anyway.”

  “What part? Good heavens, Bri, what on earth are you doing?” Arabella came dangerously close

  to sloshing the rest of her tea out of the cup, she was paying so little attention to it. “Do you have

  any idea how outraged my husband would be if I were in possession of that book? And my

  apologies for the observation, but I think Andrew is more forgiving than Rolthven.”

  Her friend’s easygoing husband probably was more tolerant, but Brianna couldn’t help but recall

  Colton’s impetuous passion in the carriage. He couldn’t seem to help himself—and that was

  exactly the effect she wanted.

  “He was very startled at first, but then seemed to . . . adjust.”

  “Adjust to what?” Rebecca demanded, her blue-green eyes glimmering. “Stop being so dratted

  mysterious and just tell us.”

  Brianna demurely rearra
nged her skirts. “Well, in the first chapter, it does suggest that if you

  want to dress to attend church services or a great aunt’s social gathering, modest apparel is fine

  and good, but if you wish to dress to catch the eye of your husband, one should be a bit bolder.”

  “How bold?” Arabella asked.

  “Quite bold.” Brianna could feel her blush. “My décolletage was daring, I own it, but while

  Colton was furious over my scandalous attire, I could tell he was also intrigued, and that was

  borne out by what happened later. He was outraged at first, but it was too late to drag me home;

  everyone would have whispered over it, and you know how he hates that sort of thing. I must say,

  though . . . he rather warmed up to the idea of a garment that afforded such easy accessibility.”

  “You must be joking. The Duke is always so proper and controlled. When people speak of

  Rolthven—and they do often enough, because we all know your husband is an important man—it

  is always with the utmost respect for his consequence.”

  “Well, for once he abandoned it last night.” Lowering her voice a notch, Brianna added, “In the

  carriage on the way home, I was ravished most thoroughly and loved every minute of it. Though I

  have to say it was a little embarrassing to alight so obviously disheveled.” Recalling how her

  husband barely had time to fasten his trousers and help her jerk her dress back up before one of

  the footmen opened the door made the heat in her cheeks intensify. Her hair had been loose and

  his coat still tossed on the floor, so there could have been no doubt about what they’d been doing.

  Arabella’s cup rattled, she placed it in the saucer so abruptly. Her eyes were wide. “In the

  carriage? The Duke? Oh, my.”

  “It was wonderful.” Brianna said truthfully. “He comes across stodgy and dignified, but that isn’t

  his true personality. I think Colton thought I would be shocked if he openly exhibited his

  passionate nature. Furthermore, I know he was raised in the knowledge that he would become a

  duke and should have a decorum that befits his exalted station. When he courted me, he barely

  did more than steal a few chaste kisses, though I know he wanted much, much more.” Lowering

  her lashes slightly, she continued. “There are some things a man cannot hide in today’s fashion of

  fitted breeches.”

  Arabella sighed, sitting back in her chair, adjusting the sleeve of her light blue day gown.

  “Andrew would never do such a thing as make love to me in our carriage.”

  “Neither would Colton unless goaded into it, believe me.” Brianna leaned forward. “But it is nice

  to know he can be goaded. I’m finding Lady Rothburg’s book quite correct. What women feel is

  romantic and how men define that same term are truly two different things. Colton is very dutiful

  in his gifts of jewelry and flowers and the like, but I am sure he would be astounded to know I

  would appreciate a warm smile or a tender kiss more than some diamond bauble. He simply does

  not think that way.”

  “As the unmarried one, I am finding this fascinating. You are going to educate him, I take it?”

  Rebecca arched a brow. “I don’t yet have a husband, but I am beginning to understand how this

  all works. We are foes living in the same armed camp who are also forced to be allies.”

  “Close,” Brianna confirmed with a light laugh. “Let’s just say there is some common ground and

  I am going to work so Colton and I discover it. If men, like the book says, define romance as

  sexual interaction, then I’m going to make sure he finds me very romantic. I refuse to let my

  husband look elsewhere because he finds me dull in bed.”

  “You are hopelessly idealistic. Men like Rolthven do not fall on their knees and declare

  themselves madly in love.” Arabella shook her head. “They don’t have to, Bri.”

  Her husband’s privileged background did present somewhat of a problem, she had found. Hence

  her covert purchase.

  “My sister and her husband are so happily married,” Brianna said, hoping she didn’t sound

  wistful. “You should see them together. Sometimes they do little more than exchange a smile, but

  the affection is obvious. Henry adores her, and Lea married him despite the fact he is nothing

  more than a solicitor. My parents disapproved to the point where they threatened to disown her

  over the match, but my sister was in love, and they came around in the end. Quite frankly, their

  modest home is one of my favorite places to visit. I’d like my house to have the same warmth.”

  It was rather a stretch to call the London mansion Colton owned a house. A palatial residence

  perhaps, but a house . . . well, no. Rolthven, the estate in the country, was even larger.

  Maybe she was idealistic.

  “What else does Lady Rothburg say?” Rebecca looked more than a little interested.

  “Nothing any of us should probably read, much less repeat. That book,” Arabella asserted,

  eloquently pointing her spoon at Brianna, “is something I doubt your very handsome—but very

  respectable—husband would want you to have in your possession. I still cannot believe you

  found it in that dingy little shop, much less bought it.”

  It was true. Lady Rothburg’s work had been publicly banned over a decade before, when it was

  first published. The worn volume had intrigued Brianna, and once she opened it, she’d known the

  secret purchase had been a good decision.

  Brianna said serenely, “It’s most enlightening and to the benefit of our marriage. Why should he

  mind if I read it?”

  “Because it’s scandalous and entirely about seduction and licentious behavior, written, no less, by

  an infamous courtesan,” her friend said primly.

  A valid point. Colton would be outraged to know she even possessed it. No doubt he would

  simply order it to be disposed of on the spot.

  Unfazed, Brianna reached for a lemon tart on a small plate on the tea trolley. “Maybe so, but he

  seemed to like her advice in chapter one.” Taking a small bite of her pastry, she chewed daintily

  and swallowed, adding, “And you should see what she suggests in chapter two.”

  White’s was crowded, but then again, it always was. Colton handed his greatcoat to the steward

  and headed for his favorite table. His youngest brother, Robert, was already there, a brandy in

  hand, sprawled comfortably in his chair. His paper was neatly folded next to the decanter and he

  grinned as Colton walked up and tapped it with his finger. Without even a greeting, Robert said,

  “Your beauteous duchess garnered a paragraph or two in the society pages, I see.”

  Colton grimaced and pulled out a chair, sitting down to reach for a glass and the decanter. “So I

  understand.”

  “In a very prominent place,” Robert expounded.

  Colton loathed the gossip columns, but he knew Brianna’s décolletage could not have gone

  unremarked upon. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what does it say?”

  Three years younger, as much a friend as he was a brother, Robert had hair just a shade lighter,

  more dark gold than brown, and the same familial Northfield sky blue eyes. Right now they held

  open, lively amusement. “It isn’t all that bad, Colt. It merely mentions . . . er . . . her feminine

  assets were showcased in a manner that caught the eye. That’s all. Oh yes, and it speculates on

  whether or not she might be setting a trend fo
r the younger women of the ton.”

  “She is doing nothing of the kind,” Colton muttered, dashing brandy into his glass with a

  generous hand. “The only reason she wore the gown out in public was because I didn’t notice it

  soon enough. By the time I saw the outrageous garment, we were already at the opera and the

  damage done.”

  “How could you not notice?” Robert leaned back, his mouth twitching. “Sorry to ask, but quite

  frankly, her attire sounded infinitely noticeable.”

  It was a good question. Colton had asked it of himself in retrospect, still astounded he had acted

  so rashly in the carriage on the way home. He literally had almost been caught bare-assed by a

  footman, and was sure his entire staff knew what had happened between him and his beautiful,

  bemusing young wife. He should be grateful that that part of the debacle wasn’t splattered all

  across London.

  “She was running late and had already donned her wrap when she joined me downstairs before

  we left,” he told his brother. “Otherwise, believe me, I would have noticed.”

  In short, he was fairly sure she had done that on purpose so he wouldn’t order her to change. Her

  behavior was puzzling, because he could have sworn she wasn’t the kind of woman who would

  try to trick him in any way. The evidence, however, was damning.

  “Brianna is young yet,” Robert observed, his long fingers playing with the stem of his glass. “I

  am sure she didn’t realize—”

  “She realized full well,” Colton interrupted in clipped tones, recalling the flushed look on her

  face when he first truly saw her gown. “But rest assured it won’t happen again. After all, I pay

  her dressmaking bills.”

  His brother lifted a brow. “I’m hardly an expert on marriage, but I do know women, and playing

  the despotic husband doesn’t seem wise to me.”

  A table across the room erupted into laughter, but luckily enough it was at a distance where

  Colton could be sure it wasn’t a reaction to Robert’s comment. He said in a low, defensive tone,

  “What am I supposed to do, let her dress that way on a regular basis? I think not. She’s the

  Duchess of Rolthven. I am still not sure what prompted her actions in the first place, but she