“Yester night was long,” answered Darcy dismissively.
“Will you have to return to Mrs. T’s tonight?”
“Nathan will require more than what Brayten has procured for us. I want the best for him. I wish to afford him any opportunity that life has to offer.”
“For now he only wishes for a dog.”
Darcy smiled. “He told me all about the Duke today and the man’s dog. I should like to meet this kindly gentleman someday. When do you expect to see him next?”
Priscilla dropped a dish. “I—his appearances at the park are haphazard—I would not venture to guess.”
“Can we at least afford more than the occasional maid?” Mrs. Sherwood bemoaned.
“Perhaps. Let us discuss the matter tomorrow. I had best be on my way.”
She kissed her sister and stepmother. The activities at the gaming hall might distract her mind from continually wandering back to Radcliff and how she might never again feel his touch. Her body ached in response, punishing her for depriving it of the greatest pleasure it had ever known.
Despite her hope, the hours at Mrs. T’s wore on without providing much comfort, the cards in front of her barely better than a blur. She kept expecting to see Radcliff walking in.
“Damn good beef-steak tonight,” Henry said as he licked the juice off his fork.
The clock in the dining hall chimed eleven times.
“You’ve not touched yours,” Henry noted of the plate before Darcy. “Never thought to see you rebuff a delectable cut of beef.”
“I’ve not had much of an appetite these past few days,” Darcy said.
“A sure symptom of being in love,” Henry remarked softly.
“I would sooner have fallen in love with you, Harry, for all the good it does me.”
“Lose the bosom and grow a—ahem—and I would be at your feet in seconds.”
Darcy laughed. “I do love you, Harry.”
“And I you, my dear. You’ve no notion how many times I wish you were a man.”
“Life would be much simpler were that the case.”
“Only I would still be insanely jealous of all the men that went your way. Now eat your steak like a good boy.”
Darcy glanced at the meat and felt a pitching sensation in her stomach. She brought a hand to her mouth.
“I think not.”
Henry frowned, then reached for her plate and set it down in his own place. “Can’t let it go to waste.”
“I miss him, Harry.”
“I know it,” Henry answered with a mouthful of steak. “You have been melancholy and pale. You move about rather listlessly, you refrain from eating.”
“I had breakfast,” Darcy pointed out.
“Aye, and nearly heaved it back onto my shoes.”
“Yes, Priscilla did that once to me when she was a few months with Nathan…”
Henry stopped cutting into his steak and looked up abruptly at her. Darcy stared back with the widened eyes of a doe not knowing which way to turn.
“Dear God…” Henry breathed.
Darcy shook her head as if that alone could ward off the reality. But it permeated her nonetheless. The symptoms were too similar to what Priscilla had experienced. She was with child.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IT WAS PAST two o’clock in the morning and all but a handful of men remained in the card room at Mrs. T’s. Not surprisingly, the remaining patrons sat at a table around Darcy. She laughed at their yarns and batted her lashes at their compliments. It was difficult to tell if she had partaken of a little too much wine.
One man brazenly circled his hand about her neck and pulled her mouth to his. Instead of recoiling, she returned his kiss. As she did so, another reached over and fondled her breast. She did not recoil from him either.
This was too much for the other three men. They each wanted a part of her. Soon all five sets of hands were upon her, groping her through her thin dress. She broke off her kiss with the first patron but her mouth quickly found another. They ripped the dress and undergarments from her until her breasts, belly, and legs were laid bare.
To better access her body, they lifted her onto the card table. Ten separate hands kneaded her breasts, pinched her nipples, caressed her thighs, squeezed her buttocks, and separated her legs. Darcy thrust herself into their ravenous grasps. She moaned in delight as one pair of hands separated her legs and reached towards her mons. A finger disappeared into her. She shuddered and begged for more. A second finger was shoved into her. A third. A fourth.
Two men attached their mouths to each of her nipples while their hands dove into their own pants. The fourth man climbed on top of the table, straddling her, pushed her breasts around his shaft and began thrusting himself between the two orbs. The man who had been fingering her removed his hand and replaced it with his shaft. They each began to spend, hollering their climaxes. She bucked against the table with her own. She screamed for more…
Radcliff woke from the dream to find his sheets damp with sweat and his erection painfully stiff. He grabbed himself and brought himself to spend. But while it relieved the pressure, it failed to wash away the feelings of emptiness, pain, anger and jealousy—remnants of both the dream as well as her visit.
How could she have refused him? He had mulled that question over a hundred times. At times, he wondered if he had done something wrong. At times, he blamed her for being what his aunt had considered her all along. A leopard does not change its spots, Anne might say. At least Darcy did not ask for nearly what she had demanded the first time they had met. He would have given her more than she asked.
Though that was little consolation. Radcliff would have almost preferred not to have the deed to Brayten in his hands. What should have been a moment of triumph was the most bitter experience of his life. It took all his strength to hand over those promissory notes. He wanted to strangle her. He wanted to kiss her with maddening desperation. He wanted to hold her and never let go.
But she would not have him. She had made that clear. He had been a dalliance. One mere chapter in her catalog of lovers.
The thought put him in a cross mood all day. He penned a message for Edward to see him and noticed that the servant was halfway out the door before the note even exchanged hands. As he waited for Edward to arrive, he attempted to read the newspaper, listened to his secretary give an account of the anticipated activities for the House of Lords, and met with his accountant regarding the trust for Edward.
But mostly he thought about Darcy. The prospect of being his mistress could not possibly be entirely disagreeable for her. He knew she was not immune to his touch. In fact, he believed she desired him as much as he did her. There had to be a way to convince her to be his.
Not being able to claim her, he felt an even greater desire to have her. He was in a constant state of agitation and nearly took the head off the servant knocking at his door.
“What is it?” he growled.
The servant he had sent to retrieve Edward timidly opened the door.
“Where have you been?” Radcliff demanded as he adjusted his pants beneath his writing desk. “One could have made it halfway to Gretna Green in the amount of time you have taken.”
“Y-yes, your lordship. You told me not to return without Mr. Edward Barrington.”
“And where is he?”
The servant began to quake in his boots. “Th-that be it, your lordship. I w-waited for him at his house. When he did—did not return for some time, I made some inquiries but—but to no avail. One of his servants thought, p-perhaps he had gone to Mrs. T’s.”
“What?” Radcliff thundered as he rose to his feet. “I gave him specific instructions…”
He saw the servant cower closer to the door as if ready to make a hasty escape.
“Have my horse ready and tell my valet to fetch my hat and gloves,” Radcliff ordered.
The servant was only too happy to be out of Radcliff’s presence. He scurried away like a mouse fearful that it was
to be trampled upon by a galloping bull.
In his haste, Radcliff nearly knocked over one of his maidservants who had come to inform him that supper was ready.
“Give it to the parish orphans,” he said. His cook always prepared too much damn food.
With his horse saddled and his valet greeting him at the door with his accoutrements, Radcliff was ready to make his way to Mrs. T. His hands itched to grab Edward by the collar. It was all Edward’s fault. He would probably have never crossed paths with Darcy Sherwood if not for his cousin’s folly.
The scene at the gaming hall was already boisterous when Radcliff arrived. He entered the card room, and though he had come for Edward, his eyes sought for her.
She sat at a round table surrounded by her usual admirers. Though a smile always played about her lips, her gaze seemed distant, much in the same way he had noticed the first day he saw her here. Again the longing to sweep her away swelled in his bosom.
She looked up and saw him, and her features tensed. Turning to the gentleman next to her, she began a heavy flirtation with him. Radcliff clenched his fists, and decided to look for Edward. If he watched for too much longer, he was likely to toss the man next to her from his seat or commit himself to a reckless duel.
But Edward was not to be found. One man he asked said that he had seen Edward but a few minutes before. Radcliff decided to sit down at a card table and wait for Edward to return, though in part he wanted to keep an eye on Darcy as well.
She had evidently not waited long before moving on to her next conquest. Would the bastard next to her receive a note inviting him to her bedchamber after all the festivities had waned? Would she tie him up as she had with him? Would she play with him, torment him or submit to the man’s sexual desires?
He was making himself crazy, Radcliff realized as he looked down at his losing cards. He tossed the irritating cards back at the dealer. Where the goddamn hell was Edward?
“Perhaps your fortunes will change at the next hand,” said a lilting voice.
Radcliff looked up to see the golden haired woman whom he had offended the first day he came to Mrs. T’s. She sat down next to him and flashed him a smile. Apparently she did not recognize him or she had decided to overlook his initial rudeness.
“I can improve a man’s fortunes,” she purred, “sometimes in more ways than one.”
“I am not here to seek fortunes,” Radcliff responded as he glanced towards Darcy’s table. “I am merely waiting for someone.”
The woman followed his gaze. “You mean Sir William—the gentleman seated next to Miss Sherwood? Is he a friend of yours? I hear he has no need to seek fortunes either. Earned his fortune building ships for the war, I am told?”
Radcliff ground his teeth. It should not surprise him that Darcy would seek out a rich bastard.
“Did you come over from Belgium with him? All friends of Sir William are welcome here.”
The blond had placed a hand on his thigh under the card table. Radcliff turned his attention to her.
“Are you not a bit young to be bandying about a gaming hell?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be back in the schoolroom?”
“Do you prefer your women older?” she inquired with a tilt of her head. Her hand moved closer to his crotch. “I assure you younger women are more spirited. It more than compensates for experience.”
“I can assure you it does not,” Radcliff replied. “Where is your family?”
She frowned. “They live in Cornwall.”
“Your mother and father are alive then? Have you brothers and sisters?”
“What silly questions you ask, sir,” she laughed nervously.
“Have you?”
She pouted and answered with exasperation. “I have six sisters and two brothers—both younger, if you must know.”
From the corner of his eye, Radcliff saw Darcy leave the table and exit the card room.
“Here’s a hundred guineas. Go back to your family,” Radcliff advised gently before rising from his own table.
The young woman stared at the money in her hands.
“There is no need to waste time, girl,” he said. She looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and confusion but did as she was bid. After seeing her out of the card room, Radcliff hurried back to the hall where he had seen Darcy head. He saw her enter the drawing room with Edward.
He paused, wondering if he should storm into the room and demand what was afoot. Or should he merely press his ear to the door? Before he made a decision, Edward emerged from the room, cursing under his breath. A hand was pressed to his nose as if a foul stench was wafting all around him.
Instead of following his cousin, Radcliff turned toward the drawing room. He had barely crossed the threshold before he collided into Miss Sherwood.
“Kindly step from my path,” she demanded after he had steadied from stumbling back.
“Not till you tell me what you and Edward were about in here,” he said, his hands still upon her arms. God, how he wanted to crush her to him and take possession of her mouth with his.
Her eyes narrowed. “I wish to never lay eyes upon another Barrington as long as I live!”
She attempted to walk past him, but he held onto her. She seemed particularly angry and a little flustered. “What did you want with Edward?”
“What did I want? I would sooner he rot in hell, to be honest. It was he who wished to see me.”
“And what did he want?” Radcliff demanded.
“To play one last hand for the deed to Brayten. I told him I had already returned it to you.”
“And?”
She looked down at his grip upon her. “Unhand me. The touch of one Barrington is enough.”
Radcliff felt his stomach drop. His anger turned to concern. “Did he dare lay a hand upon you? I swear to God I will box his ears in.”
A small smile came to her lips. “Well, his ears may be one thing. His nose has already suffered and will not likely breathe easily for a while…my father taught me a few things about pugilism in addition to cards.”
Relief washed over Radcliff. “Nonetheless, I’ll whip the boy within inch of his life when I see him.”
Her eyes narrowed once more. “Yes, when you see him, perhaps you should not encourage him.”
“What do you mean?”
She pushed his hands away. “I am flattered that you think me a better frigging than a
whore—”
“I would never confide such a thing to Edward.”
She seemed to believe him, but her tone was still cold as she spoke. “Should you not return to Miss Dove? No doubt she is still waiting for you.”
“Miss Who? Oh, the country girl. I sent her back to her family.” Radcliff stiffened and eyed Darcy warily. “And you? You wish to return to Sir William I take it?”
“I did promise him another hand of piquet.”
Radcliff grabbed her again. He felt as if he was going to go mad with jealousy.
“What else do you intend on promising him?”
“It is none of your affair if I wish to promise him anything!”
“At least he is an improvement over James Newcastle,” Radcliff sneered. “Where is Newcastle today? Was his wealth not enough for you?”
She pressed her lips in a firm line of displeasure—lips he desperately wanted to kiss. “Pray find another gaming hall to hound and unhand me. I am not a possession of yours.”
“But you are. Mine and mine alone.”
“The arrogance of a Barrington is almost laughable.”
He swung her around and pinned her to the wall. “Do you deny the desires of your own body? It craves the mastery of my touch.”
He glanced down her décolletage at the swell of her breasts to her hips. His hands itched to lift the hem of her skirts. Lifting his gaze to her eyes, he saw a flicker of doubt. He would show her that she was his, that she needed to be his and longed to be his.
“Part your lips for me,” he said, barely able to get the words out
as he breathed in her scent. He stepped closer to her until he could feel the tips of her breasts against his chest.
“You forget that I am no longer in debt to you,” she protested a little too desperately.
“It matters not,” he responded. “You will do as I bid.”
He ran his thumb along her nipple and felt her body shudder.
“Not anymore, my lord.”
Radcliff smiled to himself. My lord. The words had come out naturally of their own accord. He drew his body up against hers so that she could feel his hardened arousal against her belly. He heard her inhale sharply. The heat of their breath warmed the room. If he did not take her soon, his body would surely overheat and melt the clothes he was wearing.
“I have patrons to attend to,” she said.
“They can wait.”
With an aggravated cry, she pushed him away.
“Fifty shillings,” she choked. “The price to lay me will cost you fifty shillings.”
He stared blankly at her.
“Fifty shillings,” she repeated, trembling.
Radcliff could hardly believe his ears. He searched her eyes, which shone bright with emotion, but could not detect any indication that she spoke in jest.
“Darcy,” he pleaded.
“Miss Sherwood, if you please.”
This was not how he had imagined it could be between them.
“If the price be too rich for your blood, I suggest you step aside that I may find a man who will pay it,” she said before brushing by him without another word.
*****
The weather performed perfectly for the Pinkerton garden party. A slight breeze, only enough to ruffle the feathers and ribbons of a lady’s hat, tempered the warmth of the sun’s rays. Lord Pinkerton’s many flora were reaching the end of their blooms, and he was more than happy to provide them one last show.
On the receiving end of Lord Pinkerton’s explanation of which flowers were more difficult to cultivate and which he expected to import next year, Radcliff listened with an occasional nod but allowed his friend the majority of the conversation.
“Ah, and this one,” Lord Pinkerton said lovingly of a blue flower as if it were his daughter, “this one did not seem to take to our English soil at first, but it had an inner strength, and as you can see, has flourished, outlasting the annuals that used to grow here.”
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