by Thea Devine
Always satin with her, always, for its creaminess, for its feel—he wanted to take her into some dark deep corner and feel to his heart's content the treasure that lay beneath the satin.
She was so luminous that night, they said, as she glided through the room, talking with this one and that.
Annesley was there, and Charlotte Emerlin too, looking like two conspirators, mouth to mouth, body to body, whispering secrets which no one could share.
"Just look at her," Charlotte hissed at one point during the evening. "She has nothing on under that bodice, nothing; shameless bitch—and Nicholas positively salivating every time she waltzes by,"
"I know someone else who has nothing on under her dress," Annesley whispered, taking advantage of the press of the crowd to slide his hand down the curve of her buttocks.
"That is different. Quality can do as they like. Brighton bitches should remember where they came from," Charlotte panted as his caress became more intimate. But who would notice in the crush of people surrounding them that he was fondling her so brazenly. She didn't care. She hoped Nicholas was watching and regretting what
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he had missed. She wriggled herself closer to him and began massaging him beneath his breeches.
But Nicholas never noticed Charlotte. He saw nothing but the huntress prowling the ballroom, gracious and taunting by turns, making every man crazy and hopeful by turns.
'This will be the last party that strumpet can enjoy in peace," Charlotte swore, as Annesley began inching up her dress to find her bare skin. "Bitches in heat should couple in the barnyard."
"And quality," Annesley muttered, as he found her wet warmth and inserted his fingers there, "quality can do as they like."
'The man-crazed bitch. Look at her . . . Max — " her voice wavered as she capped a swift culmination with the thrust of her anger, "God, I can't wait to bring her down. I can't wait . . ."
And then she came near them and Annesley froze exactly where he was, until she went by with a brief cold nod to him. "Jade," he spat after her, removing his hand from the torpid intimacy of her body. "Lick and spit, that's the Bowman doxy, and better than she should be now she's got Nicholas. It will do, Charlotte, it will do. We'll get her, never fear. In another three weeks, she'll be gone from here."
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And when he could not stand it a moment longer, he prised her away from yet another knot of admiring swains.
"It is more than time to go."
"I was waiting for your command, my lord."
"Get your cape, Diana."
By which time he had had the carriage brought round, and that with unusual expediency because they were among the first to leave.
The evening stretched out ahead of them, long and luxuriously.
She climbed into the carriage and placed herself across from him.
"I have thought of nothing but your breasts all night."
"I wanted you to think about my breasts, my lord."
"Everyone was thinking about your breasts, Diana," he said darkly.
"But you were the only one to know I am naked under this dress."
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"Show me your nakedness, Diana."
"Oh, I think not, my lord. Not in such a public way," she murmured, deliberately coy.
"I want to possess you in a very public way, Diana; right here, right now."
"Does my lord command me?" she asked coquettishly.
"I demand it," he said roughly, on the edge of grabbing her and pulling her to him by force if nothing else. Word games had never made him fed so frantic before. The whole evening had been building block upon building block to this awful need to possess her instantly, however, wherever he could.
He heard the faint rustle of her dress as she raised it to facilitate her movement across the space between them. He heard the soft pluff of her cape falling to her seat, and he felt the tight grip of her hand as she held onto him as she moved across to his lap.
He was ready for her. His renegade manhood jutted out toward her, begging for the surcease of her moist haven. She straddled his legs, seeking him; his hands grasped her buttocks, guiding her slowly slowly downward until his potent manhood kissed the crown of her velvet fold.
And then with one swift undulating motion, she took him, and it was enough, it was enough: he could not suppress the endless spew of his culmination, spasm after spasm engulfing him and crashing him against the stone hard shore.
And then it was done, gone as suddenly as a summer storm, and he remained nestled within her, rocking with the motion of the carriage, and his face buried in the artificial thrust of her breasts, his hands cushioning his manhood, stark and still strong.
She could feel it, she could work with it, and in opposition to it. She could feel the unfurling in the stormy eddies of his male juices. It could come, it could come. Gently, against the sway of the carriage and the feel of him deep within the center of her being, she began her own tumultuous drive to completion.
And when they arrived at the house, she was back in her place, her cloak wrapped around her, her eyes bright with promise.
When they debarked, she was not looking for shadows, but as she waited for Nicholas to ring for Trenholm, she turned and
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looked out into the dark of the night and she saw—she thought she saw—she could not believe what she saw.
Her whole body began to tremble top to bottom as Nicholas let her in the house, and she went racing upstairs to their room and to the front windows to ascertain what she had seen.
But there was nothing out there, no movement, no strangers, no black caped man lurking in the shadows with the well-remembered features of that murderer, deVerville.
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She ought to tell Southam, she thought edgily as she paced the room early the next morning while Marie laid out her clothes.
"Madame," Marie said consolingly, "you cannot be worried now. Monsieur will protect you. Nothing can hurt you, and yet you are like an animal in a cage."
How could she tell Marie? "I am bored," she snapped. "I believe the only affair on my calendar today is a trip to the lending library where I will choose some ornately written romance or poetry that is a great deal less interesting than my own life."
She let Marie help her slip into blue muslin morning dress which fastened at the back. "It is enough, Marie, thank you," she added as Marie began fussing with the drape and the fit and the tendrils of hair that curled beguilingly down her neck.
Good enough to go to the library and take a turn around the park to while away the morning and perhaps a little of the afternoon.
Not enough to calm her nerves, which were still shaken by the apparition she thought she had seen. deVerville—never! In London, after all this time? It was unthinkable, insupportable. It made no sense, so obviously it must have been a trick of the shadows, or one of the ones who skulked in the darkness at the whim of her nemesis.
Well, yes my Lord, here is the whole of it: your uncle is my father and the man who murdered my mother and seeks the boy has been lurking in the shadows, and of course your uncle is the traitor, which must explain why I never told you . . .
But it explained nothing, least of all her horrible feeling that deVerville's presence was more ominous than anything else. 388
If it had been deVerville—but her mind must be playing tricks on her. The man could not be in London. The possibility was as remote as . . . her becoming Lady Southam.
But there was no one in sight on a bright spring morning as she Stepped into Southam's curricle for her dash around town with Mr-Fogg at the whip and Marie by her side.
The purity of the day made her fears seem irrational and groundless. There were no threats, no father who wished she had remained in France lest she reveal some potent secret, no subtle pressures to contend with, nothing.
She was Lady Southam, out for a morning's foray into the pleasures of Town, appropriately accompanied by her maid. Nothing co
uld possibly be unbalanced. Everything was right and fine.
But still she watched for anything that seemed suspicious practically every foot along the way, and she could hardly think about a book she might want to read when she knew her evenings would be spent as covertly as possible staring out the window.
And the ride around the park—she was distracted and unaware: but Marie noticed—no one seemed to care. It wasn’t that she was ignored; it was merely that no one was looking in her direction to see her—deliberately.
But even Marie could not countenance that—that every single one of her lady's acquaintances had turned his back.
Ah, perhaps it was a trick of the morning, she thought, forbearing to mention it to Jainee, who was wholly preoccupied with some distant thoughts. Perhaps she had misunderstood.
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The campaign began in earnest on the weekend. That Saturday was the night of the Northington rout. Everyone had been invited and everyone made room on his calendar to attend.
Even Lady Waynflete had come, having somewhat recovered her countenance after Nicholas' marriage. She had spent a forlorn three weeks hiding in her house, waiting for the hatchet to fall. But the only recriminations she heard were from Jeremy, who derided her part in the affair, and criticized her roundly for lending away his father's ring.
"And never mind it was returned to you promptly and with a
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pretty note," he said angrily. "You never should have let that piece of Brighton brass get her hooks into Nicholas."
"It is done," Lady Waynflete said tiredly, "and I am sick of wasting away in my house waiting for my friends to call. I have not heard from Nicholas nor Dunstan and I mean to beard them both and demand explanations."
But Dunstan's welcome to her was so effusive she forgot anything she had to say of a critical nature and basked in the glow of his attention. Perhaps he had missed her, she thought. Perhaps he was coming to see that chasing after chits was child's play compared to what he could have.
However, Jainee Carradine, Lady Southam, did not look like a chit when she and Nicholas finally were announced and walked proudly through the door.
She looked as regal as she ever had, and a compliment to Nicholas as a wife in her beauty and her bearing if nothing else.
She saw Lady Waynflete and came directly to her. "My lady. My apologies for having been so reclusive," she said softly, "but my lord and I are still in the first blush of newlywed days."
"I understand, I assure you," Lady Waynflete said graciously, and held out her hand to Nicholas. "You dear boy, how do you go on?"
"All is well, Lucretia, how could you think otherwise?"
They turned to make their way through the crowd, but this time Jainee heard none of the underlay of whispering that used to accompany her appearance. This night, the hum of conversation was low, and almost furtive, and as she began to make her way through the crowd, she saw erstwhile acquaintances barely nod to her and then turn away.
And then the whispering started.
"They say . . . they say ... a trollop in a gaming house—took him in completely... no better than she should be. . . who is she to have Southam when no one else could snare him . . ."
"It was Edythe Winslowe who told me... do you know she was there? I heard it from Ottershaw. Gertrude Emerlin is prostrate over the matter ... he could have had Charlotte ... she had to be tutored in the art of trapping a man . . . they say she was as coarse as the gutter—couldn't speak decent English . ..
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men are fools . . . what did he see in her?"
"Winslowe . . . Winslowe . . . Winslowe—she told her what to do, can you picture this? She told her how to dress and to change her name, and she told her Southam was the one to catch . . . and that strumpet did it—somehow the bitch did it. . . what is her secret?"
Jainee did not flinch; she could not hear the secrets they were whispering, but she could tell they sought to snub her, and she could not imagine why.
Nicholas saw it too, he felt it in the air, he heard the innuendo all around him, the rise and fall of the conversation as the ton closed rank after his wife had passed.
Annesley was in a corner just enjoying the sight with Charlotte by his side. "It is delicious to see," he said gleefully. "She doesn't know which way to turn—just look at her."
"Nicholas will rescue her," Charlotte chimed in resentfully. "He won't let her sink alone."
"Not yet, my dear, not yet. But wait. This is but the beginning. Ottershaw and your mother have done their work well. Ah! There he goes. Nicholas is nothing if not masterful. He fairly lifted her off of her feet and carried her away from the crowd. Of course, he never cared about this sort of thing, but when a man has a wife. . . well, it makes all the difference in the world. I tell you, Edythe Winslowe is an absolute genius at revenge. The erstwhile lady of desire must be prostrate with anxiety."
But the cuts did not send Jainee into nervous spasms. She was furious, blindingly, arrogantly furious that someone had spread a rumor vicious enough to make a public spectacle of her in this way. "They think I am the milkmaid," she raged at Nicholas. "They think I will go into hiding and never come in public again. But they know nothing of me, nothing. I will become more in the public eye than ever and I will make them all crawl with apologies for treating me so badly. You will see, my lord. You may even wish to immure yourself away from the scene of the battle. But / will persevere, I promise."
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He had to admire the way she sailed right back into the ballroom
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and continued on with the events of the evening, despite the out and out snubs of people who had once avidly sought her company.
The worst was Lady Arabella Ottershaw, which distressed Lucretia Waynflete terribly; and her most surprising ally was the proper and correct Lady Jane Griswold.
"Scandal-mongers all," she said roundly when she had a chance to speak with Jainee. "Nothing to do but jaw over people's indiscretions, as if their own linen were as pure as the snow. Arabella's a fool, but it's that husband of hers . . . well, we won't speak of where he is dropping his linen these days. We won't speak of anything, if you don't wish."
"I was naive, not stupid," Jainee said, "and I will tell you that the body of the rumor has truth within it. However, Miss Winslowe was remunerated in fair coin with the fruits of my experience as she played the tables. She, however, entertained false hopes about Southam, and when he dashed them, she swore revenge, and chose a convenient medium through which to pursue it. She must have been crushed to hear of the marriage, why else would she come baring her claws?"
"And how many other women are enjoying your social ruin?" Lady Jane murmured. "Yes, I can see the case, although the details are murky. She went down to Brighton because it was necessary in order to avoid a scandal herself. And probably because she knew Southam would be there, since he had started playing very deep with Prinny and his set. Yes, that I see. But you, my dear? How came you to be embroiled in this?"
"My mother was an inveterate gambler and I found I was exceedingly good at the games; I had learned them at her knee, after all, when she had taken it up to support us after my father left us. When she died, I promised to try to find him, and I made a bargain with a wealthy gentleman who had the kind of connections I needed in order to pursue this dream of my mother's."
"And did you find him?" Lady Jane asked curiously.
Jainee looked past her to a place where she knew Dunstan was standing and conversing with Annesley and a few other of his friends. "I begin to believe he never existed," she said finally. "There is no one the like of the man I remember in the whole of London."
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* * *
They went everywhere, just to be seen: to the theater in an open box in full view of the lower stalls and the more exclusive seats. They rode in the park, they strolled the malls, they attended an exclusive card party at the home of Lady Jane who was tickled that Jainee was experi
enced at gaming, and who made sure word got around.
"Why would you champion me?" Jainee asked her.
"Why should one's past impinge upon the present? Whom have you hurt, besides all the disappointed mothers who would have seen their daughters married to Southam—in their dreams? If Nicholas cares for you, that is all that matters to me."
But Nicholas didn't care for her: Nicholas didn't quite know what to do with her except try to subvert her nature by directing her toward more sedate pursuits . . . during the day.
"But I wish to go to Lady Badlington's," she charged him one early evening after they had exhausted all the social venues and had received much the same treatment at each.
"I think not, Diana—it is an explosive combination, the cards and you."
"So much the better."
"Nothing will quell this scandal this season," Nicholas said.
"And neither of us really cares," Jainee pointed out.
"Except for the odd awkward moment, I suppose that is true."
"The gaming table is one place they cannot ignore me," Jainee argued.
"Isn't it rather that you hate to be ignored?"
"That too," she agreed, "but is it not true that money is a great equalizer? I could play at the tables with Lord Ottershaw and he wouldn't give a whit for scandal if he thought he could win a hundred from me."
Hadn't he said much the same thing to Dunstan?
"I resent the fact you have the freedom to do this and I do not," she added irritatedly when he did not respond. "And why should you? Why are you gambling away your assets when you have absolutely no reason to? They were all talking about that wager you made at White's, and the amount you turned over to Coxe on the mere whim of what a man will wear on a given day. Yet you would
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deny the same pleasure to me and I have the talent and skill and knowledge to play on an equal footing with any man. It is incomprehensible, my lord, especially when women are welcomed in all of the gaming establishments."
"But not my wife," Nicholas said darkly.
"Then your talented wife shall have to go alone—or find someone to take her. It is the last best place to squash the scandal."
