“Then you did have, at least, the intention to avail yourself of the offerings here.”
“Your pardon?”
“This must be your first visit to Château Follet.”
“Yes. It is a lovely estate.”
“May I ask how you came to know of it?”
“My friend. She is acquainted with Madame Follet.”
“And she told you what transpires here?”
Trudie stared at him with brows knitted. Undoubtedly, she was trying to place the motive for his questioning. “Yes.”
“Are you acquainted with anyone else here?”
“If—if you will not find me rude, sir, I do think I should retire.”
She waited for him to respond, but as he did not move, she remained where she was.
“Your friend left you to fend for yourself?” he tried.
“Did Madame Follet send you, sir, to inquire after me?” Trudie replied.
“She was concerned that you would not enjoy yourself properly.”
She let out the breath she held. “Please tell Madame that I much appreciate her hospitality but regret that I cannot avail myself of the, er, festivities offered.”
“Why not?”
“I find myself fatigued.”
He caught the irk she tried to keep out of her tone. “Is that all?”
“Sir, I am in earnest and will bid you good night.”
If he were to act the gentleman, he would bow and step aside. She was waiting for just such a motion, but he remained where he was. Upon stepping into Château Follet, one divested the mantle of gentleman and lady.
Flustered, Trudie looked about as if seeking another means of escape. Unaccustomed to wearing such voluminous petticoats, she tugged at her skirts. She stopped. “Will you not miss the pairing event yourself, sir?”
Leopold grinned to himself at her attempt to rid herself of him. “I have no interest in the pairing.”
“Oh,” she responded with disappointment. “Why, then, are you at Château Follet?”
“I came to retrieve something of mine.”
“Ah, well, I pray you will convey my apologies to Madame Follet, and, as the hour is late for me—”
“You’re married,” he said, directing his gaze at her wedding ring. He had taken care to remove his when changing.
She thrust her right hand over the left. “I understand it to be of little consequence here at the château.”
“None,” he affirmed. “Nonetheless, you must be discontented in your marriage to come here, lest you came with your husband.”
Her bottom lip quivered. He had clearly touched a nerve.
She squared her shoulders. “What marriage is not touched by discontent?”
Her response, though arch, lacked conviction. He took a step farther into the room. “So your husband is not here. Have you a paramour here?”
She retreated a step. He could see her mind churning to find the appropriate response. He had never known Trudie to prevaricate—till recently—and a less mannered woman would have called him out for his prying.
“No,” she answered. “Did Madame Follet request these questions?”
It was a poor attempt to put him in his place. Finding her response rather droll, he took another step forward. “I merely think it curious that one would come all this way to Château Follet and not partake of its purpose. Do the activities frighten you?”
She retreated a step. “A little. They are…beyond what I am accustomed to.”
“But they interest you.”
“My friend persuaded me that it would be a fine experience.”
He pressed his lips into a line. It would seem she had, at one point, considered her participation at Follet. “Do you believe her?”
Trudie faltered. “Sir, you ask questions of a rather intimate nature.”
“You were ready to submit yourself—your body—to a perfect stranger. My questions are harmless in comparison.”
He should have been relieved that she had opted to go to bed instead of pursuing a liaison, but he found himself wanting to know how far she would have gone if she were not fatigued as claimed. He advanced another step.
“Do you believe your friend?” he tried again.
“I believe—I believe her knowledgeable in these matters,” she said. “She has been here before and praised the enjoyment of it.”
“And you wished to sample the pleasures here for yourself.” At her guilty expression, he felt both a wave of sympathy and anger at her willing betrayal. “Worry not. As one who has indulged in the offerings here many a time, it would be hypocritical of me to censure you. Indeed, I praise your pursuit of the fleshly pleasures. Much courage is required, particularly of your sex.”
Her countenance softened. “It—it would have been an adventure unlike any for me.”
“The adventure can still be had.”
She fussed with the lace at her décolletage. He eyed the lush swell of her breasts and felt a tug at his groin.
“Perhaps, after a cup of tea or coffee, you can overcome your fatigue,” he said. “Why come all this way to return empty-handed?”
She did not refute his reasoning and lowered her gaze in thought, but then she shook her head. “I could not.”
“Why not?”
“I know no one here.”
“There can be much titillation in lying with a stranger.”
“Yes, Dian—my friend, said the same.”
“And you are inclined to believe her, are you not?”
“But I am married.”
A muscle rippled along his jaw. That had not stopped her from coming to Château Follet, but he kept his tone friendly. “Your husband does not note your absence?”
“He enjoys the races at Ascot. He would not miss me.”
The latter sentence was murmured as if to herself, but he heard the resignation in her voice. “Indeed?”
She seemed surprised that he had heard. “Yes, well, he—he has a mistress to satisfy him.”
It was his turn to be surprised. He had not known that Trudie knew. He had taken care that she would not.
“Are you certain of this?” he asked, searching her countenance for emotion. Was she saddened or vexed by his mistress? To his surprise, he found neither sorrow nor anger but a calm acceptance of his infidelity.
She nodded. “My friend—her husband made mention of it to her quite by accident.”
Charles. Leopold suppressed an oath. He should have known Charles had as large a mouth as Diana.
“Hearsay does not qualify as verity.”
“Well, I—I saw her—his mistress, that is.”
“How unfortunate,” Leopold said carefully, “that your husband should flaunt his mistress before his own wife.”
“Oh, he did not! I arrived at London last season a day earlier than I had told him I would. When I was told he had gone to the theater, I followed suit and saw him—them. She is quite pretty. Beautiful, rather.”
Stunned, Leopold stared at her. His wife had lied to him more than once? What else had she hid from him? Seeing the sadness now in her eyes, he put aside the queries for now. He cursed himself. He had hoped to spare Trudie the pain of knowing—had even convinced himself at one point that she would hardly care that he had a mistress because she had demonstrated so little interest in the amorous attentions of her husband. Many a husband entertained mistresses, and their wives either did not know or chose to look the other way.
But a part of him had always known such attempts to convince himself of the harmlessness of what he did to be false. He had feared that Trudie would be hurt. If she had been more receptive of him in bed, he might not have felt as compelled to take a mistress. But it mattered not how much fault could be placed at her door. He could not rid himself of the remorse.
“I can see why a man, wed or not, would wish to keep her company,” Trudie said wistfully.
Behind his mask, Leopold winced. Her words were a dagger that twisted the guilt inside him.
“Th
en it is only fair that you indulge in your own liaison,” he pronounced.
She stared at him as if contemplating his reasoning. “I—I suppose.”
“What stays you?”
“Oh, I think I am not quite ready.”
He advanced toward her, wanting a better look into her eyes. “What does your readiness require?”
She took a step back for every one he took towards her. “I…I know not. Well, it does not matter.”
“Why?”
He was at the piano bench, and she was near the wall. He had not spoken with firm conviction when declaring that she match her husband’s adultery, but he was becoming more assured that perhaps two wrongs could make a right, of sorts.
“Well, I—the pairing is surely over by now.”
“Madame Follet can make arrangements. There are always the manservants. They are all handsome. You could easily avail yourself of one.”
Not realizing she had come up against the wall, she stepped backwards and bumped into it. “Oh! I think not.”
He took another step toward her. She could have slid to the side and escaped his nearness, but she seemed at a loss, like a cornered mouse.
“Why not?” he demanded.
“I…”
He had drawn up before her, and she looked rather alarmed.
“Sir…”
“Why not?” he asked. The image of his wife beneath one of the rugged young bucks flashed through his mind, and he found he still balked at the notion of becoming a cuckold. But if a liaison of her own was what she desired, perhaps she deserved to have one.
“It is—they… Please.”
He had closed the distance between them. As he leaned toward her, he could not keep the edge completely from his tone. “They what?”
She seemed to tremble. “They—they would not desire me.”
He stopped.
“I am hardly a beauty,” she supplied.
Unlike others of her sex, she did not reproach herself in search of compliments. She spoke with sincerity. He looked her over from head to toe. Though his wife had not the slender figure admired by most, she had a womanly suppleness to her form and other qualities to recommend her: the brightness of her eyes, the evenness of her teeth, and an unblemished complexion. He took a curl of hair and drew it before her bosom to lay upon a swollen mound.
“You underestimate your desirability, madam,” he said.
She drew in a sharp breath and appeared at a loss for words.
“Perhaps,” he continued, “as we are both without partners, I could oblige your purpose in coming here.”
Her eyes widened, and an unexpected desire to assert his command caused heat to flow through him. How would she react if he took her into his arms right now and kissed her? Curious to know, he reached for her. Before she could object, he had wrapped his arm about her waist and drawn her to him. His mouth descended upon hers.
She gave a muffled cry and pressed her hands against his upper arms, but her resistance was weak. Her lips were softer than he remembered, and they yielded quite nicely beneath his, causing the blood in his veins to course more strongly.
He parted her lips to taste the interior of her mouth. Her stiffness began to thaw as he roamed the orifice. Her powder, rouge, and the scent of something he could not name filled his nose. When he lifted himself to allow her a breath, he could see her mind swimming. She blinked but seemed unable to focus her eyes. The flutter of her thick lashes and the heaving of her bosom called to a primal urge within him. He lowered himself to claim her mouth once more.
This startled her into motion. She slid away and managed to stumble toward a settee in the middle of the room.
“Your offer is a kind one,” she turned to say, while taking steps backward toward the egress, “but perhaps another time.”
He advanced toward her. “You wound me, madam.”
Her face fell. “I-I do not mean to suggest that I do not desire to be with you. It is that…”
Sweet Trudie, he thought to himself. She always did concern herself with others.
“You fear me,” he filled in for her.
“I cannot say. I hardly know you. I think it is that I doubt myself.”
“Doubt yourself? Permit me to show you there is no reason for it.”
She hesitated, and this was all the time he required to cover the distance between them. He caught her arm and pulled her to him.
“Come,” he urged. “You came to Château Follet with one intention. Let us fulfill it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
HE TIGHTENED HIS GRASP on her. One hand held her arm; the other was at the small of her back, pressing her to him. Her struggles were timid, as if she feared too much resistance would be impolite.
“Is this not what you seek, my dear?” he murmured into her neck. As his lips grazed her, he felt roguish and wicked, but he could not desist. It was not merely charity or a desire to bolster her vanity that compelled his seduction. An unexpected titillation manifested in the charade he played. To his surprise, he found he wanted to possess Trudie for his own.
She gasped, leaning away from him, away from his lips. Her hands pressed against his chest, but they did little to keep him at bay. He moved his hand to her upper back. His head lowered over her chest, he kissed the small indenture at the base of her neck. Her cry turned into a groan.
His cock throbbed. Had she always felt this lush in his hands? Always smelled this enticing? Or was it the prospect that she had intended to give herself to another man that suddenly made her more alluring?
Jealousy was a common device used by women to encourage more affection from their lovers, and he abhorred the tricks that such women employed. But Trudie had no wiles. Yet she had intended to commit adultery without his knowledge. He knew not which he preferred.
He kissed the area about her collarbone then trailed lower, to the tops of her breasts. “Come. Let us realize the intention of your journey.”
She could have done more to hamper his advances—slap him, strike him, claw him—but she either knew not how or had no wish to. He did not doubt that his wife had never before found herself in such a situation, being manhandled by a stranger. She had no practice in such affairs.
Her effort to distance her bosom as far as she could from his preying mouth pushed her hips at him. He could feel her skirts surround his legs. He pressed his pelvis toward her. She leaned too far back and lost her balance. They stumbled backwards, but he guided their fall toward the settee. Now she was trapped.
He saw fear shining in her eyes—but also the glow of arousal. Blood surged through his cock.
“Please,” she tried once more, like a mouse pleading to a cat for mercy.
He paused, his conscience willing him not to torment his wife. But how many men had an opportunity to ascertain the strength of their wives’ fidelity? A part of him still hoped she would remain true to her marital vows, but her crimes might lessen the guilt he felt. And his seduction must surely flatter her.
He had one leg between hers, and the other knelt upon the settee against the outside of her thigh. She could not escape unless he allowed her.
“Please, what?” he inquired. “All I do is what you desire me to do.”
He dropped his head and softly kissed the side of her neck. She did not fight him this time, and her dramatic breaths were not wholly the result of exertion. They held anticipation, too.
“No,” she said feebly as he continued to nestle her neck. “I think—I think I erred in coming here.”
“Allow me to show you that you did not.”
She moaned when he put his hand upon a breast and gently slid his palm where he thought the nipple to be. He wanted the orbs bared, but her attire did not aid in his seduction. He continued to caress her neck and her décolletage till her neck arched over the back of the settee. She had a lilting pant. For the most part, she had avoided his gaze, but when he moved his hand to her ankle, she started.
“Shhh, there is naught to fear,” he
assured.
But her body had stiffened in alarm.
“What did your friend promise you would happen here?” he asked to distract her.
“Acts of d-depraved debauchery.”
“And this appealed to you?”
“She—she said the desires of the fair sex do not differ from men, though we are taught to believe otherwise.”
“Do you agree?”
She lowered her eyes farther. “I am not without lust. I suppose I am a weaker member of my sex.”
He grasped her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “Desire is as natural to our bodies as hunger. You need not be ashamed. At Château Follet, these desires are exalted and fulfilled without censure. Avail yourself of the most sublime pleasure. I vow it will rival Mozart’s finest concerto.”
An avid admirer of that composer, she looked a little incredulous, but he was up to the task of proving his assertion.
He lowered his head to claim her mouth. She gave a muffled protest, but then her lips parted beneath his, permitting him to taste her fully. The heat in his veins flared. Her resistance had not completely dissipated, but he was glad for it, because it enabled him to apply greater pressure. With his hand upon her chin, he manipulated her so that he could sample her mouth at a variety of angles.
She inhaled sharply when he delved his tongue into her.
Despite the newness and perhaps the strangeness of having her orifice assaulted in such a manner, she sighed, barely protesting when he smothered her mouth more fully. Consumed by his kiss, she seemed not to notice his hand slipping beneath the hems of her skirts and sliding to her knee. But when his hand touched the bareness of her thigh, she yelped against his lips. She squirmed.
“I mean only to pleasure you,” he murmured.
“But—”
He took her lips into his mouth, quelling her protests. Surprised to find her mouth so intoxicating, he was content to stay his hand while he kissed her long and hard. Only when he had felt her yield significantly did he move his hand to the inside of her thigh.
“Hmph,” she mumbled when his hand had reached the apex and then the outset of her folds.
The devil. She was not merely damp. She was near sodden. When he nudged the flesh, she became frantic, and tried to wriggle away as if she meant to clamber over the back of the settee. He stayed her with a hand upon her shoulder.
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