More or Less a Marchioness

by Anna Bradley

  Finn set the chair to rights, an unfamiliar heat suffusing his face. Had he actually just sneaked up behind her and touched her? She wasn’t the only one who’d lost her wits. Good Lord, he must have gone mad.

  “I—I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was…”

  Was what? Christ, he hadn’t the least idea how to finish that sentence.

  Hypnotized by you? About to stroke your hair? Frantic with worry over you, and so relieved to find you at last I lost my head? “I’m, ah…”

  Fond of you?

  He was fumbling for a convincing lie when he noticed she wasn’t even listening to him. She’d turned to lean against the table, or rather, to sit on top of it, and she seemed to be greatly preoccupied with arranging her skirts.

  “Miss Somerset? Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. Nothing at all.” She offered him an unconvincing smile, but she was biting her lip, and her eyes had gone huge in her flushed face. “What, ah…what brings you to the library so late at night?”

  She darted a quick look behind her and gave her skirts another twitch. When she met his gaze again, her cheeks had gone from pink to scarlet.

  What the devil was the matter with her? Finn took a step toward her and peered around her. The moment he moved, she shifted to face him, but he got enough of a glimpse to see she’d sat down right on top of her book.

  Ah, so that’s what was troubling her. Whatever she was reading, she didn’t want him to see it. “Reading, so late at night? It must be a fascinating book. What is it?”

  Her eyes widened with alarm. “Oh, it’s just—it’s nothing that would interest you, I’m sure, my lord.”

  “I think you’d be surprised at what interests me, Miss Somerset.” It must be something suggestive, to have her in such a flutter, but Finn doubted he’d find whatever it was as shocking as she did. “What is it? A novel, or—”

  He didn’t get any farther, because to his surprise she leapt up, snatched the book off the table, thrust it behind her back, and began to back away from him.

  All this fuss, over a novel?

  Finn went after her, his eyes narrowing. “What have you got there, Miss Somerset?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.” She backed into a bookshelf and began to edge sideways, her gaze darting from his face to the door on her right that led to the hallway.

  “Oh? But I find myself quite concerned, given you seem to be so intent on hiding it from me. What it is you find so fascinating you’ve abandoned your bed for it?”

  “Nothing! That is, it’s nothing to do with you.”

  No, it didn’t have anything to do with him, but he’d wager it had something to do with Wrexley. It couldn’t be a coincidence she’d spent time alone with that scoundrel, and now she was in the library, alone, after midnight, reading something she didn’t want Finn to see.

  “It does now.” He held out his hand. “Let me have it, if you please.”

  “No. It can’t matter to you what I choose to read. You have no right to pry into my affairs.”

  Her chest was heaving, and she looked to be in an utter panic, which only made him more determined to see what she was hiding. He edged around the table, shifted to his left to block her path to the door, and held out his hand for the book. “Come now. What could be so terrible it has you this agitated? Show it to me.”

  She didn’t answer, but darted another desperate look at the door. Finn could see she was one breath away from bolting, and every muscle in his body tensed to go after her.

  I’ll chase her right into her bedchamber if I have to.

  She worried at her lower lip and swept her gaze over him, as if trying to determine how quickly he could move.

  Very quickly—much more quickly than Miss Somerset, as it turned out. Finn saw her shoulders tense right before she made her desperate leap for the door, and he was there in front of her before she was more than two steps from the table. She crashed into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her and eased her backwards until her spine met the bookshelf behind her.

  “Let go of me at once!” She squirmed against him, trying to land a blow on his shin. “How dare you manhandle me in this shameful way! I insist you release me!”

  “No kicking, if you please, Miss Somerset. Now, I’ll let you go, of course. Just as soon as you hand over the book, that is.”

  “I will not hand it over! I thought you were a gentleman, Lord Huntington.”

  I did, as well.

  Apparently things had changed. He’d come to Hampshire, and lost his mind.

  “I don’t like to restrain you when you so clearly wish to be free.” It was true enough, though he didn’t mention he’d be delighted to restrain her with her permission. “But I will see what it is that has you so distressed.”

  He reached around her and managed to grab a corner of the book she still hid behind her back, but she began to thrash in his arms again, so Finn just held her, careful not to hurt her, but determined to keep her there until she either gave up or exhausted herself. When she loosened her grip on the book at last and sagged against him, he slid it out from between her limp hands and released her.

  No doubt all the fuss was over a copy of Tom Jones, or at worst, Richardson’s Pamela. He held it up so the light from the table fell on it.

  When he read the title, he froze.

  School of Venus.

  He’d read it. Every boy who’d gone to public school had read it. It regularly made the rounds at Eton. It was a provocative bit of erotic literature presented as a book of instruction for a lady’s sexual edification, and Finn couldn’t deny any lady who read it would find it…edifying.

  To say the least.

  To say it was blunt was like saying water was damp, and fire was tepid. Lewd, vulgar, crude? Finn avoided judgments of that sort, given his own proclivities, but was it proper reading for an innocent, unmarried young lady like Miss Somerset?

  God, no. Lady Chase would have an apoplexy if she knew her granddaughter had even got a glimpse of the frontispiece.

  He raised his gaze to her flushed face, then looked back down at the book. His knuckles had gone white. “Where did you get this?”

  She could have fled as soon as he let her go, but she hadn’t stirred a step. She still stood with her back pressed against the bookshelf, a defiant expression on her face. “I don’t choose to explain myself to you, my lord.”

  He braced his hands against the bookshelf on either side of her shoulders, the offensive book still clutched in his hand, and leaned forward until his mouth was mere inches from hers. “I asked you a question, Miss Somerset. Where did you get this?”

  But he already knew. There was only one person in this house so debauched he’d carelessly destroy a young lady’s innocence.

  Wrexley.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Her chin rose in the air, but her throat rippled in a nervous gulp. “It was here, in Lady Hadley’s library.”

  A rough, impatient sound tore from Finn’s throat. It was an enormous collection, and every Marquess of Hadley had no doubt had a hand in shaping it. It was likely true enough she’d found it here, but that didn’t answer his question.

  “You would never have known to look for this particular book if someone hadn’t told you to do so.” Finn took her chin between his fingers and held it until she looked at him. “You think to protect him? It’s far too late for that, Miss Somerset. Wrexley’s fate is sealed.”

  Finn didn’t give a bloody damn if Wrexley was Lady Honora’s much-beloved cousin, or if he was a guest in Captain West’s home. Wrexley’s smooth lies and charming smile wouldn’t save him this time.

  But Miss Somerset was shaking her head. “No, you don’t understand—”

  “No. It’s you who doesn’t understand.” Finn’s temper was fraying at the edges, and he couldn’t bear to sta
nd here and listen to her make excuses for Wrexley’s perfidy. “My God, are you so naïve you can’t see what he’s doing? He’s trying to ruin you.”

  “Ruin me, by directing me to read a book? That’s absurd, and it wasn’t even Lord Wrexley who—”

  “No, by directing you to read that book. Don’t play with me, Miss Somerset. I saw your face when I walked in here tonight. You were so flushed I thought you were on the verge of a swoon.”

  “A swoon? Is that what you think, my lord? That a proper lady should be so timid she falls into a swoon after reading a few salacious words?”

  “Oh, Wrexley didn’t send you after that book because he wants a proper lady. If you bothered for even a moment to consider his motives, you’d see he’s trying to lure you into an indiscretion.”

  She grabbed his wrist and jerked his hand away from her face. “So a man like Lord Wrexley lays a snare, and a silly, naïve chit like me must fall into it? Is that what you’re saying, Lord Huntington? Dear God, you really do think me an utter fool, don’t you?”

  “No. I think you’re an innocent, and you may trust me when I say Wrexley thinks it, as well. He relies on it.”

  “Innocent, yes, but perfectly capable of making my own decisions, despite what our courtship and betrothal may have led you to believe. In any case, Lord Wrexley doesn’t have anything to do with—”

  “You think to compare my courtship with Wrexley’s reprehensible scheme?” Finn clenched his hair in his fists, so frustrated he was ready to pull it out by the roots. “Wrexley isn’t courting you—he’s seducing you. That you don’t seem to recognize the difference shows you aren’t able to make a reliable decision. Not about this.”

  Miss Somerset hadn’t the faintest idea how easy it would be for a man like Wrexley to manipulate her into a seduction. Tonight it was some titillating literature to put pictures and words to the vague ideas in her head. By tomorrow it would be an innocent kiss, and then another, the second one not so innocent. He’d work on her by degrees until he’d stolen her virtue, just as he’d done with Miss Hughes.

  Once he’d ruined her, she’d have no choice but to marry him, and God knew what would happen to her then. Someone as debauched as Wrexley wouldn’t settle quietly into a respectable marriage. He’d very likely install Miss Somerset in his moldering country estate and leave her there alone while he traipsed off to London to squander her fortune on whores and wagering.

  Finn ran a shaking hand down his face. Wrexley was leading her into an abyss, without her ever realizing she stood with one foot hovering over the edge.

  It will be your fault if she falls.

  If he hadn’t all but forced her to jilt him for his despicable behavior, they’d be betrothed even now, and she wouldn’t be vulnerable to the machinations of a man like Wrexley.

  “Go to bed, Miss Somerset.” He stepped back so she could pass by him. “We can discuss this tomorrow.”

  “There’s nothing more to discuss, my lord.” She held out her hand. “I’ll have my book back, if you please.”

  He let out a short laugh. “I think not. You have no business reading it, and you know it yourself, or you wouldn’t have tried to run away before I could get a look at it.”

  “If you think I ran away from you because I’m ashamed of it, you’re very much mistaken, Lord Huntington. I ran because I knew you’d disapprove and would do just as you have done—try and take it away from me.”

  “You’re damn right I don’t approve, and I don’t think your grandmother would, either.” Finn tried to speak calmly, but dear God, this woman drove him mad. “And I haven’t tried to do anything. I have taken it away from you.”

  “And now I’ll have it back.” She wiggled the fingers of her outstretched hand. “As I reminded you today in the stables, Lord Huntington, we’re not betrothed anymore, so what I choose to read, or what horse I choose to ride, is none of your concern. I shouldn’t have let you order me away from Chaos to begin with, and it was the last time you’ll issue commands to me. Now, my book, please.”

  He stared into her furious blue eyes, his breath coming short. Christ, he couldn’t remember ever being so livid in his life. “So it’s to be ruination, is it?”

  “Ruination?” She laughed, but she looked so enraged Finn half-expected her to leap upon him, knock him down, and snatch the book from his hands. “No, I thought I’d settle for a bit of reading for tonight.”

  He turned the book over in his hands, but he didn’t offer it to her. “Very well, Miss Somerset, if you insist on having it, I suppose I can’t stop you. As you say, we’re no longer betrothed. Before I give it to you, however, a question, if you would. What kind of man sends an innocent young lady in search of something like this?”

  “I don’t know, my lord. Perhaps the same kind of man who’d blindfold a lady with a cravat.”

  Her voice was low and clear, but the silence echoed so profoundly after those words fell between them it was if she’d shouted them. But here it was at last, the part of the conversation she’d heard between him and Lady Beaumont she hadn’t dared to mention since that afternoon in her bedchamber.

  She dared now. She dared all manner of things now, whether she should or not, because she didn’t know enough to be wary.

  But wariness could be taught.

  Finn moved closer to her and slid his thumb across her jaw in a light caress. “Ah, but the two things aren’t the same at all, sweet.”

  Her eyes went wide, either at the caress or the endearment, or perhaps just at the look in his eyes. “No, they’re not. One is much worse than the other.”

  “I agree. There’s no sin in blindfolding or binding a lady who’s aware of what she’s doing and consents to it for her own pleasure.”

  His tongue curled on the word pleasure, lingered over it, and a small smile lifted the corners of his lips as she tried to suppress a shiver.

  Tried, and failed.

  “But a man like Wrexley, a man who’d use a young lady’s innocence against her, or prey on one who doesn’t yet understand her own desires? That man is a villain. But you don’t need me to tell you that, do you, Miss Somerset? You’d have me believe you know all about men like Wrexley, and men like me, as well. Isn’t that right?”

  She didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I know enough.”

  No, you don’t. Not yet. But you will.

  “Once you read your book, you’ll know even more.” He held out the book to her, but when she tried to take it, he refused to let it go. “Go ahead, then. Read it.”

  She gave him a suspicious look, but when she tugged on it again, he let it go. “I—ah, thank you. I wish you a pleasant evening, my lord.”

  Finn hadn’t moved out of her way, and now he braced his hands against the bookshelf on either side of her shoulders, looked down at her and slowly shook his head. “No, Miss Somerset. Read it here. Now.”

  “Here? But—”

  “Yes, right here. To me.”

  She blinked down at the book in her hands, then back up at him, and color swept from her bosom to her neck in a heated rush.

  “You look warm, Miss Somerset. Whatever is the matter? You did say you weren’t ashamed of reading it, and why should you be? I’ve read School of Venus, you see. It was some time ago, but I remember it clearly enough.”

  He moved closer and let his body brush against hers. “As you said, there’s nothing shameful in it. It’s just a forthright discussion of what happens between lovers, though without the cravats, of course.” Finn dipped his head toward her neck to breathe in her scent before he pressed his lips to her ear. “It’s quite detailed, if I recall, and contains some rather provocative drawings. Shall we look at those together?”

  She’d refuse, of course, and once she did, he’d take the book away.

  There was a brief, charged silence, but then Miss Somerset cleared her throat. “Very well, m
y lord.” She flipped through the pages, then stopped and looked up at him, her gaze fierce with challenge. “Shall I start where I left off when you came in?”

  Finn went still with shock—everything but his stomach, which leapt with a confusing mix of anger and anticipation.

  “My lord?”

  He didn’t answer, but stared down at her, into that delicate face, at the sweet curve of her mouth, and wondered how he could ever have imagined she wasn’t anything more than she appeared to be, as if her story began and ended with her face.

  She waited, but he remained silent, and after a moment, she bent her head and began to read.

  “Hadn’t we better enjoy our pleasures? Truly I did not care how soon I parted with my maidenhead, and nobody be the wiser, which I believe may easily be done, if according to your advice some young fellow be employed in management of the secret affair?”

  She paused and raised her eyes to his, but whatever she saw in his face made her gaze dart back to the book spread open in her hands. But when she began to speak again, her voice was different—lower, huskier, with a note of breathlessness.

  “You cannot imagine the satisfaction you will take, when once you have gotten a friend fitted for your purpose, you may carry on your designs and order private meetings with your friend, who will secretly give you all of pleasure imaginable.”

  Finn remained frozen, listening to her, his skin burning, his muscles tensing and releasing as her soft voice rolled over him.

  “To pass away the time till he comes, pray tell me what your Husband does to you when he lies with you, for I would not willingly altogether appear novice, when I shall arrive to that secret happiness—”

  “Enough.” He was shocked to hear the rough rasp of his own voice, but it didn’t matter—nothing mattered but making her stop. She had to stop, or he’d touch her—

  “I will briefly tell you all, first, he comes up a private pair of stairs, when all the household is in bed…”