“At that rate,” she said, “I’ll have to get more soon. It could be quite expensive.”
“Luckily, my fiancée can make money practically out of thin air.”
“It’s not that easy,” she countered, but at that moment, he began to retrace his finger’s path with nibbling kisses, and she clamped her mouth shut.
This time, he did pause to tease her nipples, taking his time with each while his hands stroked her skin, which suddenly felt too tight and overly sensitive.
Running her fingers up and down his back and over his sculpted shoulders, she marveled at his form, at the breadth of him, his long body and lean waist. This man was hers! How remarkable.
His skilled mouth and tongue were on the move again, heading lower, pausing to kiss her belly again.
“Harry’s first home,” he whispered against her skin, and then as he continued, he blew a puff of air at the soft curls between her legs, before kissing down her thigh, licking behind her knee.
When he started up the other leg, she thought she might scream.
“I think this slow and proper ravishing is more like torture.”
“Be quiet, woman. I’m worshipping you.”
She bit her lower lip, but as his mouth drew close to her intimate parts gain, she lifted her hips.
“A bit advanced for an innocent’s first time,” he said, but rewarded her with a kiss between her folds, stealing her breath.
“Mm,” she murmured, and he continued, until she knew she would spend as she had at his family’s home in Kent.
Before she did, however, he raised his head, causing her to gasp in dismay.
“Michael,” she whispered desperately.
“Shh, I know. Trust me.”
Kneeling between her legs, he fitted his yard to her and then lowered himself to his forearms as he slid inside.
It wasn’t like the previous time. Ada felt no sensation of burning or tearing, only pleasure. In an onslaught of sensation, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her while continuing to glide in and out with the gentle movement of his hips.
The peak of release was upon her again within a few moments of him thrusting and withdrawing slowly, then more quickly.
With eyes firmly closed, she broke free of the kiss, her head tilting back as her muscles clenched and coiled. Then, blissfully, she let go, gaining her release in what felt like a spiral of ecstasy.
As she lifted her lids and looked up at Michael, he closed his own eyes, head back, jaw clenched, as he spent deep inside her.
When he rolled to the side and took her with him, their bodies remained close together. She felt his arms go around her, his chin resting upon her head.
“That was a much better first time,” she acknowledged, feeling him chuckle.
“I love you,” he said against her hair.
Pressing her lips to his chest, she responded, “I love you, too.”
Epilogue
“To this day, I’m not sure John likes me.”
“Nonsense,” Ada said, adjusting her hat in the mirror in their front hall. The large looking glass formerly hung in Michael’s home on Brook Street, which they’d sold to the highest bidder a month after their marriage. Next to it was the framed print of the Crystal Palace, which Ada decided more people could enjoy here than in their library.
She loved having his things mixed with hers and sharing their home on Belgrave Square.
“John is simply a little slower to warm up to you because he had a few years of thinking you’d done his wife’s sister a disservice, and then Jenny’s husband no doubt said a few unkind words about you as well.”
“You say it so matter-of-factly.”
Shrugging, she turned to him and touched his impeccably tied cravat, pretending to improve on his valet’s work.
“You were Lord Vile, after all. But Maggie thinks the world of you for making me so happy and for loving Harry. John will, too. Eventually.”
“Eventually. In the meantime, I see him looking daggers at me when he thinks I don’t notice.”
“You’re probably imagining it.”
“Hm. Am I imagining how he pours himself a large drink of brandy whenever we go over there? He’s testing me, I tell you, making sure I don’t weaken to the stuff.”
She looked up into his gold-flecked eyes. “Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?”
Her husband had confessed before the wedding if he had a little liquor, he would want a lot, and thus he had given it up entirely. They had no wine in the house either, and she didn’t miss it in the least. She knew for him, though, it hadn’t been easy. There had been more than one occasion when he’d said he was changing his mind about abstinence.
When that happened, Ada would smile, kiss him, rub his feet, and he would purr like a big cat, forgetting all about the craving.
His arms went around her, and he lowered his head and kissed her.
“We could stay home and go to bed,” he proposed, tempting her with the wicked gleam in his eyes. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
They grinned at each other, and her heart raced with desire. He was a superb lover, after all. But she’d promised Maggie.
“Let’s be positive and have a wonderful evening with our friends. The bed will be here when we get back. I promise.” She winked at him, and he laughed.
“Where is Harry?” Ada asked more loudly.
“Here we come, my lady,” Nanny Finn said, charging down the stairs after the skipping boy, nearly four years old in a month.
“Mama,” he exclaimed, running at her.
At the last moment, Michael swept Harry off his feet before the boy could bang into her.
Lifting him high in his arms, her husband held their son on his hip.
“We don’t want to knock Mummy over,” Michael warned, “not until she gives you a brother or sister. Remember, we talked about that.”
Harry nodded, looking a little solemnly at her rounded stomach.
“Won’t be too long, darling,” she told him, leaning in to kiss his soft cheek.
Locking gazes with Michael, she smiled. It was still hard to believe she was going to have the pleasure of seeing two children running around the house, a sibling for Harry.
“Daddy,” the boy said, putting his hands on his father’s cheeks to get his full attention. “Can Dash come?”
“Hm,” Michael said. “What do you think, dear one?” he asked her.
“He is such a well-behaved dog, and Maggie’s kids love him, too. In fact, Dash will keep all the children amused for hours. It’ll be easier on Nanny Finn and Maggie’s nanny, for that matter.”
“Very well. Mummy is very wise and she says yes, so yes, he can come.” Michael set Harry on his feet. “I’m surprised he’s not already here underfoot.”
“Dash has a bone,” Harry said.
“Mary had a ham bone to spare,” Nanny Finn explained, “and the dog has been in the kitchen all afternoon gnawing on it.”
Ada was very glad Michael had been amenable to keeping Mary and letting his own cook along with his butler stay with the new owners of his old townhouse. The couple were beyond grateful since good help was so hard to find.
Michael had brought his valet and his driver and two maids, who had all fit perfectly into the blended household.
“Dash, come,” Michael called out, and in a second, they heard the dog’s toenails in the hallway as he scampered along. When he hit the marble foyer, his feet slid out from under him until he lost his footing altogether and glided the rest of the way on his belly before crashing against Harry’s legs.
All of them, including Nanny Finn, laughed.
Ada’s heart nearly burst with joy. She’d never expected such blessings after her disastrous adventure in the Fontaine’s gazebo. Moreover, her own plans for vengeance nearly cost her a future with the man she loved, and a brother or sister for Harry.
Thankfully, it hadn’t come to that. And her practical husband not only brought home the weekly b
usiness papers for her to peruse, he also paid the price of admission to the London Stock Exchange so he could take her tips to the floor, himself.
There was an alternate reason, of course. Michael vowed one day soon, when she was delivered of their child and had her trim figure back, he would help her dress up as a counterfeit man and enter the exchange as his guest.
With that prize to look forward to, how could she be anything other than the most contented woman in London? She was the ecstatically happy Viscountess Ada Kathryn Alder, wife of the fully reformed Lord Vile, whom she was certain would never be called so again.
READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF LORD DARKNESS…
Chapter One
1850, London
Nothing but blackness as dark as pitch. How was a man supposed to know if it was day or night? How was a man supposed to care if he lived? Without his sight, every hour ran into the next with nothing to tell him whether it was time to sleep.
Perhaps it was time to die.
Three months earlier
Lord Christopher Westing surveyed the crowded black-and-white tiled ballroom from the upper-floor balcony of Marlborough House, searching for his friends. Since there was no royal currently in residence, someone with ties to the queen was always throwing a ball at the spacious brick residence on the Mall just north of St. James Park.
And the Marquess of Westing, heir to a dukedom, eligible and handsome, was at nearly every one.
In the flamboyantly Baroque room below, under the wall paintings of the victorious Duke of Marlborough accepting the surrender of the French armies, Christopher spotted Lords Burnley and Whitely, both already drinking champagne and also clearly scouting the room for their next conquests. Not French armies, of course, but English females.
Champagne and lovely ladies—he ought to be in heaven.
Turning, he left the balcony and headed down the staircase lined with more wall paintings depicting resounding French defeat at the hands of Marlborough. At the bottom of the stairs, Christopher entered the ballroom and was instantly beset by a veritable brigade of young ladies.
He was not so ungrateful as ever to say this was a tiresome matter, for there wasn’t a man in the ballroom who wouldn’t enjoy having such a bouquet of loveliness tossed at his feet.
At least, he would never be such a boorish cad as to say it out loud. Still, in his heart of hearts, he was weary of being “that good catch Westing,” as he heard murmured by mothers and daughters wherever he went, as if he were a large striped bass.
He was not simply a potential husband for every single miss looking for a titled lord with a large fortune. He was a man with his own ideas of whom he wanted for a wife, and so far, he hadn’t found her.
He’d danced with many sweet and lovely ladies over the course of three seasons, he’d kissed at least half of those, and he’d developed a tendre for none. He was starting to worry about himself.
A few years back, he should have fallen for Margaret Blackwood, who ended up marrying Lord Cambrey, after creating a glorious spectacle at their public engagement at the Sutherland’s Stafford House ball. And they did so before Queen Victoria and half the peers of the realm. Unfortunately, Christopher liked Margaret only as a friend despite her wit and beauty.
He wanted spark.
Or perhaps he should have developed an attachment to Lady Adelia Smythe, a lovely girl, but he couldn’t seem to make the effort to break through her quiet manner. Again, he’d danced with her and she was intelligent, but he felt no spark.
Spark, spark, spark—he wanted it, but maybe it didn’t exist. At least, not for him. Perhaps he would remain a bachelor forever and have to content himself with friends for company and with Cyprians discreetly met in one of London’s many bowers of Venus for physical relief.
Wrists with dance cards were being held out to him, and dutifully, he penciled his name on most of them. He could never keep track, so hopefully, the ladies would come find him when it was his turn.
As he snatched up the last card, a firm hand grabbed his wrist.
“That won’t do, brother dear,” his sister, Amanda, said. “Everyone knows we are a close family, but dancing together goes beyond the pale.”
He glanced at her slightly smirking face surrounded by soft brown ringlets with one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raised in amusement. He shrugged.
“I admit I wasn’t paying attention. I would have noticed it was you eventually, probably during the first few steps of the waltz.”
They both laughed, and then her attention was caught elsewhere.
“I’ll see you later when it’s time to leave.” She winked one of her lovely blue eyes, the same Westing light blue as they shared with their father.
“Don’t dodge Mother all night, or she’ll make me come after you,” he reminded his sister.
Amanda was already disappearing into the crowd with a backward wave of her hand.
And then Christopher pushed through the rest of the debutantes and the more seasoned girls to reach his chums and enjoy a drink. He would rather have brandy, but, as usual at these affairs, champagne or lemonade were his only choices, so he snatched up a glass of the former along the way.
Also reaching for a glass from the same tray was Lady Jane Chatley, who offered him a polite nod, which he returned, before she took a drink and walked away.
She was one of the few women of his acquaintance who was not really a friend, nor a romantic possibility. True, she was pretty enough to pique his interest with her deep blue eyes and her light brown hair always in the current style. However, she was also standoffish, at least with him, always busy with tasks that made the rest of them feel useless, and sometimes considered a little too perfect.
“A snout-looker,” his sister declared her after one event, which apparently meant Lady Jane looked down her nose at others.
He knew Margaret’s husband, Lord Cambrey, was on friendly terms with Jane, as their families had hosted a charitable event together two years earlier. In fact, Christopher had comforted a tearful Margaret and given her a ride home after a cricket match when it seemed the Earl of Cambrey preferred Jane. However, it all worked itself out.
Besides, who could prefer Jane over Margaret, who had a dazzling smile, follow-me-boys curls, and something sensual in her gaze?
He stopped a second and searched his feelings. Was he in love with Margaret, Countess of Cambrey, another man’s wife? He sipped the champagne and felt not a whit of jealousy. What a relief!
“There you are, old boy,” Burnley said, and Westing found himself welcomed into the small cluster of bachelors. “I suppose your name is already on a dozen cards.”
“At least that many,” he quipped. “I think there were some new faces.”
“Assuredly so,” said Whitely. “I see a very pretty maiden with blonde ringlets.”
“Do tell, which one? There are so many of them.” Christopher remarked. “There are ringlets here to spare, I’m sure. Only think how many used to be on some poor servant girl’s head or a factory worker’s, sold to adorn the thinner locks of a viscount’s daughter.”
“Rather cynical,” Burnley said, though he had an amused expression. “Anyway, if the servant girl or factory worker couldn’t come in person, at least her hair can.” He grinned at his own jest.
“Better cynical than unkind,” Christopher admonished him. “And on behalf of unfortunate girls who cannot attend, I say your statement was blatantly unkind.”
“There’s always that awkward moment, too,” Whitely lamented, “usually the morning after, when you find the extra locks have come unfastened and lie like snakes on the pillow.”
All three of the men shuddered. Then Christopher said, “Hardly usual for it to be the morning, though, George. I’d be shocked if you spent an entire night with any of these husband-seeking misses. Surely, none of them would risk their reputations at sunrise.”
“True enough,” Whitely agreed. “In any case, those pinned tresses come out as easily in a gazeb
o, a cupboard under the stairs, or even in a carriage.”
They all nodded, and then the first dance and the grand march were about to begin. Each bachelor found himself claimed by the correct young woman.
Off we go, Christopher thought.
The next hour passed and then another. At some point, they stopped serving champagne, so he knew it was about two-thirds of the way through the evening. Everyone was supposed to dry up at this point so no member of the ton disgraced him or herself by stumbling out into the streets of Marlborough Road or Pall Mall.
For his part, he had made polite conversation and feigned interest nearly as much as he could bear for one evening with both the men and the women in attendance. This was his training for Parliament, he reminded himself, where one must listen and be perceived as diplomatic and fair-minded.
Moreover, he did need to settle down sometime in the foreseeable future, and his best chance of finding a suitable wife was, unfortunately, at one of these events. But certainly not the last lady he’d just released from his arms as he vacated the dance floor. She was far too young and could hardly string two sentences together coherently while not missing a dance step. And she thought the House of Lords was where many of the aristocrats lived together, like knights of King Arthur’s mythical round table.
He had tried not to laugh and failed.
Time for fresh air, while many of the attendees were becoming frantic to squeeze the last bit of enjoyment out of the evening or, if they’d had offers, then to attach themselves to the best match they could hope for to secure a long and happy marriage. Sometimes, it happened that quickly in the span of a single ball.
He headed across the crowded room toward the south entrance and the expansive lawn, knowing he’d have to deal with romantic couples, who would eye him suspiciously if he were alone.
What’s more, it was entirely possible his name was on some lady’s card, and to his knowledge, he’d never left a lady without a dance partner, though he couldn’t be certain. Tonight might be the first time, for Christopher had simply had enough. The lady with no understanding of their nation’s government had soured him.
Beastly Lords Collection Page 100
