“She inherited a sizeable debt from Jonathan Sherwood,” Radcliff explained, “and attempts to pay it off by working in a gaming hell.”
“Jonathan was endowed with a good heart but not much common sense.”
“The daughter is a much better gambler.”
“So I hear. Won the deed to Brayten from Edward, did she not?” Lord Pinkerton smiled in amusement. “Sorry to say that your cousin had it coming to him.”
Radcliff thought of Priscilla though he was sure Lord Pinkerton was not specifically referring to Edward’s relationship with her.
“Brayten will be in our hands soon enough,” Radcliff assured.
“And do you mean to seduce the deed from Miss Sherwood?”
Radcliff grinned wryly. “Frankly, by any means necessary.”
“Miss Sherwood appears a clever girl. Why not simply offer her money in exchange for the deed?”
Pressing his lips into a firm line, Radcliff responded, “Because she means to provide me a set-down first.”
“Ahhhh.” Lord Pinkerton clasped his hands behind his back and began to amble back towards the ballroom. When he turned to look back at Radcliff, his eyes glimmered with merriment. “Dare say I wouldn’t mind receiving a set-down from that one.”
Radcliff raised his brows. He had never heard Lord Pinkerton, one of the more devoted husbands of their time, utter anything quite so scandalous.
“If you persist in seducing Miss Sherwood,” said Lord Pinkerton, mounting the steps that led back inside, “do try not to do it on my favorite marble bench.”
*****
The following day Radcliff received on perfumed floral stationary the directive from Lady Penelope Robbins that he need not visit her anymore. The letter made him want to rush out and see Miss Sherwood. Penelope had done some damage in her visit to Darcy, he was sure of it, though perhaps no more than he had done himself at the Pinkerton ball.
Miss Sherwood had left the ball early with Lady Worthley, to the relief of some and the consternation of others, and left Radcliff no opportunity to amend his earlier words. The ones he had used the day he met her had been particularly harsh, and he winced to simply recall them. He no longer cared what others thought of him if they saw him in her company.
Most of the guests last night were still confused by his actions. Anne had been so befuddled that she did not even bother to approach him. It was fortunate that she did not for he had had no patience for her that night. Edward had simply smirked. Those with cocks understood.
Radcliff could hardly wait till evening to see Darcy. He needed to take his mind off her and decided that riding his horses was just the thing.
Thinking about her, Radcliff urged his horses to a faster clip. His curricle was light and flew along the cobblestones as if the wheels barely touched the road. In his younger days he often engaged in curricle racing, but though he had given up that pastime, he still relished the wind that whipped by when his bays went into full gallop.
Darcy was unlikely to be at Mrs. T’s this early in the day, but Radcliff decided to swing his curricle into the area of St. James’s nonetheless. As luck would have it, he saw her walking along the alley just south of Pall Mall. She was deep in thought and unaware of his presence until he drew abreast of her.
“Would you care for a lift, Miss Sherwood?” he asked.
She smiled up at him with a warmth that he found gratifying and exhilarating. Her bonnet was a simple straw hat with a white ribbon, but he found it the most charming headdress.
“Are you offering me a choice, my lord?” she returned.
“It is best not to test my charity.”
“Very well, then I accept your offer,” she replied and allowed him to help her into the curricle.
“A penny for your thoughts?” he said as he led the horses into an easy canter.
She hesitated but then revealed that she had been contemplating a tutor for Nathan. Priscilla had brought up the matter.
“I suppose he is of an age that he should have one,” Darcy conceded. “Nathan is quite the avid learner, and there are limits to what Priscilla and I can teach him. And Priscilla insists she has the means to hire a tutor, though I can’t imagine that she has the requisite income to pay for one. And we really have no knowledge of where to find a tutor.”
“Allow me,” said Radcliff, not wanting her to dwell on where Priscilla’s new source of funds was coming from or where Priscilla had gotten the idea of hiring a tutor, which he had insisted upon. “I have some experience in the matter, having helped to secure one for my nephew years ago. I know my secretary could recommend a number of individuals of good moral character who would serve not only to provide the proper education for Nathan but also serve as a role model.”
“Would you?” she replied with such gratefulness in her eyes that Radcliff suddenly wanted to tell her that he would secure the world for her. “We should be extremely obliged.”
“I suppose,” she continued with lowered lashes, “there is a price? The deed to Brayten?”
“As I said, do not test my charity, Miss Sherwood,” Radcliff said simply.
She looked up at him and seemed about to speak, but said nothing. Radcliff would have given no small sum to hear what she would have said.
“This is not the route to Mrs. T’s,” she observed instead.
“I thought we could take a ride about Hyde Park unless you have more pressing matters.”
“That is quite presumptuous of you, my lord.”
“I beg your pardon. Have you urgent matters with Mrs. T? Or a poor fool whose pockets you need to relieve?”
“Lady Luck happens to be with you today,” she admitted, “but you should not be so bold in the future to think that I have naught but to be at your beck and command.”
Radcliff grinned wryly. “Miss Sherwood, I remind you that you are at my beck and command, but fear not, for I am confident that you will also want to be at my beck and command.”
“You are positively the most arrogant man I have ever met,” she pronounced, but this time there was no anger behind her voice.
The curricle pulled into the park, and she was soon distracted by the various gazes and arched brows they were drawing from onlookers. Radcliff noticed that whereas other women would have delighted and reveled in being seen in his company, Miss Sherwood seemed ill at ease. She shifted awkwardly and her thigh grazed his.
“Pay no heed to them,” he found himself saying sympathetically. “They are fond of exercising their brows.”
Miss Sherwood laughed. “Of course. I have lived most of my life not caring a fig for what such people think. I suppose you and I share that much in common.”
Broadmoor nodded. “It can be vastly entertaining to test just how high a person’s brows can arch.”
“Yours went fairly high that day you gave me your first set-down!”
“You mean when you gave me your set-down, madam!”
She laughed again and Broadmoor marveled at how lovely the sound was.
“I had never had my back up in such a manner,” Darcy admitted.
“Nor I mine.”
She shook her head. “You were abominable.”
“And you a wretched jade.”
“Yes, only you could make me take pride in such a label. What else had you called me? A Jezebel?”
“Wanton. Brazen.” Broadmoor felt his body temperature rise. He had angled the horses toward a small cottage and garden exhibit that had been closed for repair.
He leaped off the curricle and assisted Miss Sherwood to the ground.
“I neglected temptress,” he said in a low voice near her ear. He led her through an opening in the fence that led into the garden.
“Yes, many an innocent gentleman has succumbed to my arts,” she responded wryly.
“You know I have no desire to be a gentleman with you,” Broadmoor said as he pulled her to him roughly once they were hidden from view behind the wisteria bushes.
“How fortunate for m
e,” she murmured as she melted against him and succumbed to his forceful kisses.
He took her mouth in his with a desire to devour her. His veins felt as if they were filled with fire and his erection pressed painfully against his pantaloons. He hungered for her from the depths of his soul.
She reached a hand between his legs and stroked him through the fabric. Broadmoor groaned. He pushed the sleeves of her gown down and pressed his hot lips to her neck, her collarbone, and her bared shoulders. The fabric clung tightly to her and almost ripped in his effort to access her breasts. She gestured that there were buttons at the back, which he quickly undid until the dress pooled at her feet.
Her corset lifted and separated the breasts, but he mashed them together in order to tongue both nipples in quick succession. He heard her moan and felt her body arch towards his mouth. His desire throbbed, but he stalled his need to ravage her and swept her off her feet.
Laying her upon the ground, he pushed away her petticoats and dove between her legs. He breathed in the sweet and savory essence of her womanhood. She shuddered. He put his lips to her clit and bit the nub of flesh before licking it, then sucking it. He ran his tongue along her before pushing into her folds.
He allowed her a moment to relax from her climax as he unbuttoned his pantaloons. She looked at him with a dazed expression but desire burned clearly in those eyes. Even now he found it difficult to look into their brilliance for long. Kneeling before her, he shoved himself into her waiting wetness. Her warmth engulfed him and it took him a moment to prevent himself from spending that instant.
When he had regained control, he pulled himself out and began a slow but steady motion. She lifted her hips to meet each thrust and entwined her fingers in his. Radcliff pushed himself harder and faster into her, her breasts bouncing with each shove. He thrust into her as if he meant to permanently impale her on his erection. Sweat beaded upon his forehead and on his upper lip as he drove himself deep into her. She came with a violent shudder and a scream that could have drawn half the Park visitors.
With a few more quick thrusts, Broadmoor was able to come. Collapsing on top of her, he could feel the points of her nipples pressing hard into his chest. Lifting himself up onto his forearms, he kissed her lightly on her moist brow.
As he looked down at the glow upon her face, he came to the conclusion that he could not be without her.
He wanted her for his own and would claim her as his mistress.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEY STRODE THROUGH the park and were left alone for the most part. They talked of family—Darcy was delighted that Radcliff seemed to take an interest in hearing more about Nathan. They talked of a great many things: their childhood, politics, and even the mundane.
Darcy walked with strides light as air. She had not known what to expect in appearing at the Pinkerton ball last night. She certainly would not have predicted, though she hoped, that Radcliff would accept being seen in her company. Indeed, he had sought it by asking her to dance. And though they had not parted last evening on the best of terms—she later wished she had not been so easily upset—he had more than compensated for his words by taking her to the most public of parks.
Scorn and ridicule would undoubtedly be cast upon him, and Darcy regretted the position she had put him in. His fall from society’s graces would be harder than hers had been for his was a loftier position to begin with. And yet as she stole a glance at his handsome profile, he seemed unperturbed by those prospects. His confidence emboldened her, and her heart filled with a warmth suspiciously like …affection.
Perhaps she did want to be at his beck and command.
When Radcliff assisted her down off the curricle after returning her to Mrs. T’s, Darcy felt another layer of caution melt away.
“I am to meet a friend at Brook’s for dinner tonight,” Radcliff informed her as he brought her hand to his lips, “but expect to see you tomorrow night.”
“Very well,” Darcy returned, “but do not expect me to leave my position and fall to my knees upon your arrival.”
“What an intoxicating vision,” he murmured into her hand.
The look in his eyes, as if he meant to devour her, made her flush. She wondered if her appetite for him would ever be satiated.
“Good night, Lord Broadmoor,” she said, disengaging her hand before they each found themselves needing to tear the clothes from the other on the front steps of the gaming hall.
He let her go but hesitated to bid adieu. A different countenance came over him—no longer the commanding and haughty Baron Broadmoor. He seemed unsure. She was tempted to reach for his hand. What was it? What did he wish to say?
“I will call upon you tomorrow,” he said brusquely, avoiding her lifted brows. He tipped his hat to her, then urged his horses forward.
Puzzled, she watched as the curricle rounded the street corner and disappeared from view. Had she said something she ought not have? They had shared such a lovely evening together. Did he perhaps regret having taken her to such a visible place as Hyde Park? Yes, that must have been it. He had allowed his lust for her to rule over his common sense. Perhaps he was thinking of what the ton would say of his being seen with that wicked harlot from the gaming hall.
Her own feelings towards him confounded her. Surely he felt the same regarding his own. With a sigh, she turned to the gaming hall. The evening was much less enticing without the prospect of his presence.
“Darcy! Darcy!”
A feminine form emerged from the dusk.
“Priscilla!” Darcy exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing here?”
Priscilla trembled. “Nathan. He’s—he’s hurt.”
Panic speared through Darcy as terrible images flashed through her mind in the span of seconds. “Hurt? How?”
Her sister’s mouth twisted in pain. “A dog. He was—he was out with Swifter—the dog he has been tending. Swifter got in a brawl with another animal. Nathan tried to intervene. The beast mauled his arm. I swear it looks as if it took his whole arm!”
Darcy grabbed Priscilla by the arms. “Where is he now?”
“At home. Mr. Trevor—the blacksmith, you know—happened to be near and helped me to carry Nathan. The poor thing went unconscious. We stopped the bleeding with bandages, but Mr. Trevor suspects a bone might be broken.”
“Have you sent for a doctor?”
“Yes, yes, but we’ve nothing to pay him. I have but a few guineas in the till.”
“Leave that to me. You had best be at Nathan’s side.”
“Will you not come home then?”
“As much as I would like to, my presence will provide little value. I can do best by ensuring that we have a capable doctor for Nathan.”
“If you think it best, Darcy. But Darcy…Darcy, it is horrid!”
“You must have strength, Priscilla! For Nathan’s sake.”
Priscilla bit her lower lip but nodded. Darcy gave her sister a quick embrace, saw her off in a sedan, then headed into Mrs. T’s. How much a doctor would require in payment, she knew not, but she did not intend to return home without some amount to buy time. She went in search of Harry. He would lend her the money if he had any on him. But Harry had yet to arrive for the evening. She asked the page for Mathilda but was informed the proprietress was attending the theater with Mrs. Egan.
“Damn,” Darcy swore beneath her breath.
She took her place at the faro table but could not concentrate on the task at hand as she glanced constantly around the room for Harry.
“Have you any notion when Lord Wyndham will arrive?” she asked the page, who shook his head.
She considered borrowing from the house—surely Mathilda would not mind. If she played a few hands and won, she could pay back Mathilda and use the earnings towards the doctor.
But Lady Luck had abandoned her in her time of need. For the first time in many years, the house was down significantly.
“My dear, you are not your customary cheerful self,” noted James Newcastle
as he took a seat next to her at the card tables.
At last! Darcy thought to herself. Here was a man she could apply her situation to.
“I have in need of some money,” she told him. “My nephew has taken ill and will require the care of a doctor.”
His beady eyes glowed. “My dear, consider me your savior. There is naught I would deny you.”
He took her hand and brushed his lips over it. She tried not to cringe.
“How much do you require?”
“I know not. Perhaps fifty guineas to start.”
“It is yours.”
Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. “My dear Newcastle, what a blessed man you are!”
“And in exchange…”
His eyes gleamed.
“A kiss?” she offered with a smile, though inside she grimaced.
“I think much more than that is warranted?”
She bit back the retort she wanted to launch at him.
“Perhaps I should apply myself to another,” she suggested.
“I think when your situation is known, any number of your admirers would be willing to offer you what you need—for an attractive trade.”
“You would take advantage of my need, sir?”
He casually reached into his waistcoat and took out his snuff box. She watched as his fat digits opened the gold plated case and pinched the contents.
“You are a clever woman,” he replied, snorting the snuff, “and have long been familiar with the art of the deal.”
She rose to her feet, too angry to negotiate further with the man. Whirling about, she again went in search of Harry. She asked the page to send a note to Harry’s apartment before returning to the card room. Over and over the cards betrayed her. She owed five songs to Newcastle alone and a kiss each to three different men. At this rate, she would be kissing half the men in London!
Through her desperation, she suddenly remembered the locket about her ankle. For a second, she hesitated. It was the only possession from her father that she still owned.
That Wicked Harlot (A Steamy Regency Romance Collection Book 2) Page 11
