After a long breath-catching moment, he regarded her with blue-black eyes still glittering with mirth. “My apologies for disrupting your lesson, signorina, but I had little choice given what a poor specimen conducted it. But since I am to blame for your dancing master’s ignoble flight, might I have the privilege of finishing it?”
Mary’s mouth went instantly dry. “Y-you wish to teach me?”
“If you would grant me the honor,” he replied with a flash of his brilliant white teeth. Was there any imperfection in him?
“But it is already hopeless. I fear Monsieur Gaspar would shortly have thrown up his hands without your intervention for I am also a most execrable dancer.”
“Why don’t you permit me to be the judge?”
She was incredulous that he desired to do this and even more terrified of tripping over his feet as well as her own. “Please,” she begged. “I will only embarrass myself and bruise your toes.”
“Nonsense,” he replied. “You only want for the right partner.” He offered his arm to her. “My lady?”
“But I am not a lady,” she corrected. He swept her with a puzzled brow and Mary wished the floor would open up and swallow her. “I mean, I am a lady of course, just not the kind you think.”
His brow lifted further. His lips quirked.
Mary looked away, convinced that given one more minute in his company she would be a uniform shade of crimson. “What I am trying to say is that I am not titled. My father was a commoner.”
“Was?” he asked.
“Yes,” she finally breathed. “He passed away last year after an extended illness.”
“You have my condolences then, Miss….”
“I’m Mo- Mary,” she corrected her near-gaffe. “Mary Elizabeth Edwardes.”
“I am enchanted, Miss Edwardes.” His gaze, mingling with hers, unsettled her in the strangest way. “Close your eyes,” he commanded with a look and tone that said he was accustomed to being obeyed. Before she could gather her wits to protest, he had placed her hand upon his silk sleeve. “You must relax and follow my lead if you would learn to dance, signorina,” he said more gently. “When one is in perfect harmony with one’s partner, dancing is one of the two most rhapsodic human experiences.”
Her eyes flew open to inquire of the second rhapsodic experience, but the answering curve of his lips sent fire into her cheeks. “I see you are not without some understanding,” he chuckled.
She snapped her eyes shut again only to an even more profound awareness of him. She felt his hand at her waist, pulling her close to his side and her heartbeat accelerated. The warmth of his hands seemed to permeate the many layers of silk and linen that separated them as if the barriers didn’t exist. His voice, his touch, his subtle masculine scent combined to fill her senses, making her almost giddy. It was lovely. It was also terrifying.
“Step right,” he urged her. “Now together. Step left, right, left, and now together,” he spoke the movements as he gently guided her through the steps of the dance. “It is surprisingly simple, my dear. Twice forward. Twice backward. Sideways to the left, followed by sideways to the right. The pattern is always performed in a sequence of two.”
Without musical accompaniment they commenced a pas de menuet promenade of the music chamber. After a time, Mary lost herself in the smooth and wonderful cadence of his voice. Anchored to his side by his muscular arm, she no longer felt self-conscious and ungainly, but light and graceful as he guided her across the parquet floor.
“So easy, you see? You must think of the danse menuet as merely a slow and sensual perambulation, like a stroll stolen with a lover in a moonlit garden.”
Mary’s feet suddenly stalled. His sensual tone and provocative words conjured a scene in her mind’s eye that wasn’t an innocent stroll at all. She broke away with a breathless gush. “I-I thank you for your gracious instruction, but I think I am done with dancing for one day.”
“Indeed?” His brows pulled together. “But we were only just beginning.”
“But we have not even been properly introduced! The countess would never approve.”
He stepped toward her with a pained look. “Then pray permit me to make amends for my grievous lapse of manners, signorina. He swept another flourishing bow. I am your humble servant, Conte Vittorio Amedeo di Caserta.”
Mary muddled through the motions of a curtsey. Good heavens! A nobleman had condescended to give her a dancing lesson. She was stunned. She was also suddenly horribly and self-consciously aware of their vast social divide.
“Y-you must be her ladyship’s guest,” she stammered. “She will never forgive me for delaying you. I thank you again for showing me the dance. I’m sorry. I must go.”
He looked after her with a bemused smile as she backed clumsily toward the door and took flight.
…
Retreating to the sanctuary of her chamber, Mary yanked at her laces in a frantic and futile endeavor to catch her breath. With her heart still galloping, she threw herself onto the bed only to stare blindly at the pattern of flowers woven into the silk damask canopy.
It was only a dance lesson, she chastised herself. He had simply taken pity, but she couldn’t control the flutters in the pit of her stomach. A feeling that refused to abate. While her first impulse after the dance had been retreat, Mary’s mind now returned to the music room, retracing every step, and replaying every word and gesture they had exchanged.
She had always considered herself sensible, almost to a fault, yet the Conte di Caserta’s dark eyes and enigmatic smile set her pulse skittering, and the mere touch of his elegant hands stole the breath from her lungs. What on earth was wrong with her? She’d never reacted so foolishly to anyone before, but everything about him unnerved her. It wasn’t just his exquisite dress and elegant manners; there was something mysterious about him, something fascinating that she couldn’t define.
She tried to convince herself it was only gratitude for her rescue from the Frenchman’s browbeating that she was feeling, but knew it was a lie. Conte di Caserta had smiled and treated her as if she were a fine lady, and during those precious moments she had danced on his arm, he had made her feel like the most beautiful and desirable woman in the world.
Chapter Seven
“You must meet the girl soon.” Barbara gave a languid stretch, arching her back to display her breasts to best advantage. He had already capitulated to her demands once, but Barbara was never satisfied for long. She had come to his rooms before he could even unpack his bag and had nearly torn his clothes off in a lust-inspired frenzy.
“I believe I have.” Hadley ignored the blatant invitation for a second course, threw his legs over the side of the bed, and pulled his shirt back on over his head.
“How so? When?” she demanded.
“This morning, shortly after my arrival. In the music room. She was receiving most ineffectual dance instruction.”
“But Monsieur Gaspar is the best…at dancing anyway. Unfortunately, his lack of…inches…makes him quite inadequate in other capacities.” She rose and pressed her breasts to Hadley’s back, stretching her arms about his waist and licking the shell of his ear. Once, that might have driven him near insane, but now it was faintly annoying.
He gently but firmly disentangled himself and continued dressing. “Nevertheless, he had her so agitated the poor thing was positively tripping over herself.”
“But that is only her natural predisposition!” Barbara laughed. “Didn’t I tell you what a coarse creature she is? I despair that she’ll ever be ready to present. ‘Tis a good thing you are arrived. Mayhap we can now forgo the certain fiasco of taking her out into society.”
“Perhaps her manners and deportment lack refinement, but there’s nothing coarse about the girl. To be frank, I thought her artlessness rather refreshing.” He smiled inwardly at their moment of ludicrous laugher at the dancing master’s expense. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d chuckled so naturally and spontaneously.
“
That’s absurd! You can’t be saying you are taken with her, Hadley?” Something in his expression made Barbara’s gaze narrow. “Well, I suppose it’s best if she doesn’t altogether repulse you. It will facilitate the task at hand.”
“And what task is that?” he asked. He had far more important matters on his mind—like how to secure a loan and garner sufficient support to petition the king. Perhaps he would do better to try the queen. Walpole had managed to run the country through her and Hadley could charm the petticoats off any woman. Why would a young and reasonably attractive queen prove any different?
“Darling, I never thought you obtuse. You must wed the chit before someone else claims her fortune.”
“Wed her?” the words jarred him out of his ruminations. “Is your mind disordered of a sudden, Barbara? I have no plans to wed anyone. Ever.”
She gave him a petulant look. “But how else do you suppose we are to get our hands on her money?”
“Is that the scheme you had in mind when you wrote me? To bilk an unwary young heiress of her fortune?”
“Brilliant, isn’t it?” She laughed. “I told you I had discovered a means of getting it all back—and so much more. She is exceedingly rich and once we have the money, it should be no trouble at all to secure the influence needed to restore your title.”
“How much?” he asked, veiling his interest. “What is the girl actually worth?”
She crawled onto his lap and laved her tongue up his neck. “That information will come at a price.” She was begging to be taken again and Hadley felt nothing…or rather nothing but an immense sense of relief that he was over her. He jerked his head away. “I’m not in the mood for any more games.”
“Pity,” she pouted. “Have you another lover now, Hadley? Or perhaps you have developed a penchant for Venice’s unnatural pleasures? Most well-travelled men do, you know. And I confess your valet was an exceptionally pretty creature.”
“How much?” he repeated icily, ignoring her insinuation.
She sighed. “I can’t begin to tell you how much work that took to discover. Sir Richard is tediously protective of her assets.”
“Sir Richard? What has he to do with this?” Hadley demanded.
“Yes, darling,” she rolled her eyes. “That same obnoxious boor. Did I not tell you the girl is his ward?”
“That girl is Sir Richard’s ward?” When the girl in the music room had introduced herself as Mary Elizabeth Edwardes, he had not made the connection, but then again, wily Sir Richard had taken care not to reveal anything about the Edwardes heir.
“One and the same my love, and worth every bit of fifty thousand a year! That plump little pigeon is one of the richest women in England, and thanks to me, she is yours for the plucking.”
The blood roared in his ears. It was just too bloody good to be true. The very one who held his lands was residing under Barbara’s roof. The girl was not only the means to a large fortune but also of revenge. “That certainly does throw a different light on matters.” He took heed not to betray his growing excitement. “But you and I both know Sir Richard would see me hanged before granting consent for me to wed his ward.”
She smiled. “Who said anything about seeking his consent?”
“You intend for me to despoil her to force a marriage? My dear Barbara, such rude and crass methods don’t suit me at all. The entire thing lacks finesse.”
She scowled. “Then how else do you propose we get control of her fortune?”
“I would propose gaining the girl’s good faith and cooperation.”
“And then what? Do you think she will just hand it over to you?”
“Something very close to that.”
“You are overly confident.”
“Not at all,” he laughed. “I have never failed to achieve my object where a woman was concerned, nor has any ever complained of my methods.”
In truth, Barbara had taught him everything he knew, and his well-honed skills had served him well. His gifted mouth had proven an especial delight to several Italian noblewomen with rich and complacent husbands. He supposed he should be grateful to her, but his education had come at a damnably high price.
“La! You are wicked!” she chortled. “What do you propose?”
“I have a few ideas that only require time alone with her. I presume you can facilitate matters to that end?”
“Then you do intend to seduce her.” Her eyes glittered dangerously. “Just don’t enjoy yourself too much, my love.”
“I don’t care for your possessiveness. You would do well to remember that this is purely a business arrangement between us.”
“If it’s purely business, why are you in my bed?” she purred.
“It’s actually my bed,” he corrected. “And there was no appeasing you otherwise.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “No one can satisfy you as I can. Not even your delectable valet, though he was so deliciously accommodating and eager to please. We three had such a time together in Venice, didn’t we?”
“I recall remarkably little of Venice,” he replied in a bored tone. “Most of my duration was spent wallowing in misery and drink, and I was most certainly stinking drunk when you arrived.” The Venetian episode represented the pinnacle of his depravity, a time he would sooner forget.
“And yet you performed most admirably. It’s surprising how little debilitated you are by drink, Hadley.”
“The ability to fuck anything that moves, in virtually any circumstance, is a rather under-rated talent. Don’t you find it so, my dear?”
“It is indeed!” she chuckled throatily, his bitter irony passing completely over her head. “But I think Vincenzo and I should jog that faulty memory of yours.”
“Then I regret to inform you that I left Vincenzo behind.”
She frowned. “How disappointing. Have you grown bored with him?”
“He proved valuable to me in many ways but he was infatuated, and like an old mistress, jealous of my attentions. Besides, his lack of English would have been a detriment. I have a new valet who arrives later today with the baggage.”
“And what manner of creature is he? This new valet of yours…Does he have any particular talents aside from dressing you?”
“Is that your game now, Barbara? One man at a time is no longer enough for you?”
“One does look for variety,” she purred. “But to answer your question, you have been the only man with both the instrument and the stamina to satisfy me for any length of time.”
“How gratifying.” Her declaration gave him little satisfaction, considering what her simplest touch had once inspired in him. She had epitomized his every fantasy but had used sex as a means of controlling him, making him a slave to lascivious lust. But those days were over. Although for the nonce he needed her, Barbara was under a misapprehension bordering on delusional, if she thought to ever control him again.
He had almost walked out when she had come into his room, but reminded himself that it was she who had unwarily achieved what he could not—not only the means to a fifty thousand a year heiress, but of reprisal over his enemies.
She licked her full lips and snaked a hand down to fondle his crotch. He locked his hand about her wrist. “But darling,” she breathed into his ear. “You already know I am insatiable.”
He pushed her away with a growl. “Better said, a bitch in heat.”
“You think me a bitch in heat, Hadley?” She threw her head back and laughed. “I’m charmed, darling, for that is precisely how I want you to take me.”
Although he felt no real desire for her, his most longed-for wish for vengeance proved a powerful aphrodisiac. So when she assumed a position on all fours, her arse raised in invitation, he capitulated one last time. But all the while he drove into Barbara, his thoughts wandered back to the music room and a pair of artlessly alluring green and gold-flecked eyes.
Chapter Eight
Mary spent the remainder of her day in her room and then took her su
pper there as well, after Lady Blanchard sent word that she was going out for the evening. At first, Mary tried to divert herself with needlework, but distraction bloodied her fingers more times than she could count.
Had the Conte di Caserta accompanied the countess? She wondered how long he would be staying in London.
She next tried a book of poetry, but after reading the same page three times without remembering a word, she cast the book aside as well.
Why did he visit the countess? Would she see him again?
She finally opted for a quiet game of cards with Jenny, but found herself easily defeated by her maid for failure to keep her mind focused even on the simple game of quinze.
Who was he to Lady Blanchard? Was he an admirer? Or…Mary’s heart sunk at the thought that he might be Lady Blanchard’s secret lover.
With such questions plaguing her mind, sleep eluded her.
The next morning Mary sought to clear her muddled head with a stroll in the expansive flower gardens behind Blanchard House. The cool air had worked a world of good until she encountered a gardener occupied with plucking out bunches of wild growing primroses.
“What are you doing?” Horrified, Mary scooped up a handful of drooping pale yellow flowers.
“Insidious plants they be,” the gardener cursed. “Always invading where they don’t belong.”
“May I have them please?” Mary asked. “I would like them for my room.” The gardener cocked his head and frowned at the wilted bunch in her hand. “Perhaps they’ll recover if placed in a bit of water?” she suggested hopefully. Noting that many still had clods of dirt attached to their roots she suggested, “Or mayhap I could place them in pots?”
“’Tis no matter at all tae me what ye do wi’ ‘em, miss. Take the lot of ‘em if ye wish.”
Without any better way to carry them, Mary scooped up an apronful of the discarded blooms, dirt clods and all. “Where might I find some pots?” she asked.
“There be a gardening shed o’er yonder,” the grizzled man gestured with a jerk of his head. “I could do it for ye miss, after I finish here.”
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