The thought put him in a cross mood all day. He penned a message for Edward to see him and noticed that the servant was halfway out the door before the note even exchanged hands. As he waited for Edward to arrive, he attempted to read the newspaper, listened to his secretary give an account of the anticipated activities for the House of Lords, and met with his accountant regarding the trust for Edward.
But mostly he thought about Darcy. The prospect of being his mistress could not possibly be entirely disagreeable for her. He knew she was not immune to his touch. In fact, he believed she desired him as much as he did her. There had to be a way to convince her to be his.
Not being able to claim her, he felt an even greater desire to have her. He was in a constant state of agitation and nearly took the head off the servant knocking at his door.
“What is it?” he growled.
The servant he had sent to retrieve Edward timidly opened the door.
“Where have you been?” Radcliff demanded as he adjusted his pants beneath his writing desk. “One could have made it halfway to Gretna Green in the amount of time you have taken.”
“Y-yes, your lordship. You told me not to return without Mr. Edward Barrington.”
“And where is he?”
The servant began to quake in his boots. “Th-that be it, your lordship. I w-waited for him at his house. When he did—did not return for some time, I made some inquiries but—but to no avail. One of his servants thought, p-perhaps he had gone to Mrs. T’s.”
“What?” Radcliff thundered as he rose to his feet. “I gave him specific instructions…”
He saw the servant cower closer to the door as if ready to make a hasty escape.
“Have my horse ready and tell my valet to fetch my hat and gloves,” Radcliff ordered.
The servant was only too happy to be out of Radcliff’s presence. He scurried away like a mouse fearful that it was to be trampled upon by a galloping bull.
In his haste, Radcliff nearly knocked over one of his maidservants who had come to inform him that supper was ready.
“Give it to the parish orphans,” he said. His cook always prepared too much damn food.
With his horse saddled and his valet greeting him at the door with his accoutrements, Radcliff was ready to make his way to Mrs. T. His hands itched to grab Edward by the collar. It was all Edward’s fault. He would probably have never crossed paths with Darcy Sherwood if not for his cousin’s folly.
The scene at the gaming hall was already boisterous when Radcliff arrived. He entered the card room, and though he had come for Edward, his eyes sought for her.
She sat at a round table surrounded by her usual admirers. Though a smile always played about her lips, her gaze seemed distant, much in the same way he had noticed the first day he saw her here. Again the longing to sweep her away swelled in his bosom.
She looked up and saw him, and her features tensed. Turning to the gentleman next to her, she began a heavy flirtation with him. Radcliff clenched his fists, and decided to look for Edward. If he watched for too much longer, he was likely to toss the man next to her from his seat or commit himself to a reckless duel.
But Edward was not to be found. One man he asked said that he had seen Edward but a few minutes before. Radcliff decided to sit down at a card table and wait for Edward to return, though in part he wanted to keep an eye on Darcy as well.
She had evidently not waited long before moving on to her next conquest. Would the bastard next to her receive a note inviting him to her bedchamber after all the festivities had waned? Would she tie him up as she had with him? Would she play with him, torment him or submit to the man’s sexual desires?
He was making himself crazy, Radcliff realized as he looked down at his losing cards. He tossed the irritating cards back at the dealer. Where the goddamn hell was Edward?
“Perhaps your fortunes will change at the next hand,” said a lilting voice.
Radcliff looked up to see the golden haired woman whom he had offended the first day he came to Mrs. T’s. She sat down next to him and flashed him a smile. Apparently she did not recognize him or she had decided to overlook his initial rudeness.
“I can improve a man’s fortunes,” she purred, “sometimes in more ways than one.”
“I am not here to seek fortunes,” Radcliff responded as he glanced towards Darcy’s table. “I am merely waiting for someone.”
The woman followed his gaze. “You mean Sir William—the gentleman seated next to Miss Sherwood? Is he a friend of yours? I hear he has no need to seek fortunes either. Earned his fortune building ships for the war, I am told?”
Radcliff ground his teeth. It should not surprise him that Darcy would seek out a rich bastard.
“Did you come over from Belgium with him? All friends of Sir William are welcome here.”
The blond had placed on his thigh under the card table. Radcliff turned his attention to her.
“Are you not a bit young to be bandying about a gaming hell?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be back in the schoolroom?”
“Do you prefer your women older?” she inquired with a tilt of her head. Her hand moved closer to his crotch. “I assure you younger women are more spirited. It more than compensates for experience.”
“I can assure you it does not,” Radcliff replied. “Where is your family?”
She frowned. “They live in Cornwall.”
“Your mother and father are alive then? Have you brothers and sisters?”
“What silly questions you ask, sir,” she laughed nervously.
“Have you?”
She pouted and answered with exasperation. “I have six sisters and two brothers—both younger, if you must know.”
From the corner of his eye, Radcliff saw Darcy leave the table and exit the card room.
“Here’s a hundred guineas. Go back to your family,” Radcliff advised gently before rising from his own table.
The young woman stared at the money in her hands.
“There is no need to waste time, girl,” he said. She looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and confusion but did as she was bid. After seeing her out of the card room, Radcliff hurried back to the hall where he had seen Darcy head. He saw her enter the drawing room with Edward.
He paused, wondering if he should storm into the room and demand what was afoot. Or should he merely press his ear to the door? Before he made a decision, Edward emerged from the room, cursing under his breath. A hand was pressed to his nose as if a foul stench was wafting all around him.
Instead of following his cousin, Radcliff turned toward the drawing room. He had barely crossed the threshold before he collided into Miss Sherwood.
“Kindly step from my path,” she demanded after he had steadied from stumbling back.
“Not till you tell me what you and Edward were about in here,” he said, his hands still upon her arms. God, how he wanted to crush her to him and take possession of her mouth with his.
Her eyes narrowed. “I wish to never lay eyes upon another Barrington as long as I live!”
She attempted to walk past him, but he held onto her. She seemed particularly angry and a little flustered. “What did you want with Edward?”
“What did I want? I would sooner he rot in hell, to be honest. It was he who wished to see me.”
“And what did he want?” Radcliff demanded.
“To play one last hand for the deed to Brayten. I told him I had already returned it to you.”
“And?”
She looked down at his grip upon her. “Unhand me. The touch of one Barrington is enough.”
Radcliff felt his stomach drop. His anger turned to concern. “Did he dare lay a hand upon you? I swear to God I will box his ears in.”
A small smile came to her lips. “Well, his ears may be one thing. His nose has already suffered and will not likely breathe easily for a while…my father taught me a few things about pugilism in addition to cards.”
Relief washed over Radcliff. “No
netheless, I’ll whip the boy within inch of his life when I see him.”
Her eyes narrowed once more. “Yes, when you see him, perhaps you should not encourage him.”
“What do you mean?”
She pushed his hands away. “I am flattered that you think me a better frigging than a
whore—”
“I would never confide such a thing to Edward.”
She seemed to believe him, but her tone was still cold as she spoke. “Should you not return to Miss Dove? No doubt she is still waiting for you.”
“Miss Who? Oh, the country girl. I sent her back to her family.” Radcliff stiffened and eyed Darcy warily. “And you? You wish to return to Sir William I take it?”
“I did promise him another hand of piquet.”
Radcliff grabbed her again. He felt as if he was going to go mad with jealousy.
“What else do you intend on promising him?”
“It is none of your affair if I wish to promise him anything!”
“At least he is an improvement over James Newcastle,” Radcliff sneered. “Where is Newcastle today? Was his wealth not enough for you?”
She pressed her lips in a firm line of displeasure—lips he desperately wanted to kiss. “Pray find another gaming hall to hound and unhand me. I am not a possession of yours.”
“But you are. Mine and mine alone.”
“The arrogance of a Barrington is almost laughable.”
He swung her around and pinned her to the wall. “Do you deny the desires of your own body? It craves the mastery of my touch.”
He glanced down her décolletage at the swell of her breasts to her hips. His hands itched to lift the hem of her skirts. Lifting his gaze to her eyes, he saw a flicker of doubt. He would show her that she was his, that she needed to be his and longed to be his.
“Part your lips for me,” he said, barely able to get the words out as he breathed in her scent. He stepped closer to her until he could feel the tips of her breasts against his chest.
“You forget that I am no longer in debt to you,” she protested a little too desperately.
“It matters not,” he responded. “You will do as I bid.”
He ran his thumb along her nipple and felt her body shudder.
“Not anymore, my lord.”
Radcliff smiled to himself. My lord. The words had come out naturally of their own accord. He drew his body up against hers so that she could feel his hardened arousal against her belly. He heard her inhale sharply. The heat of their breath warmed the room. If he did not take her soon, his body would surely overheat and melt the clothes he was wearing.
“I have patrons to attend to,” she said.
“They can wait.”
With an aggravated cry, she pushed him away.
“Fifty shillings,” she choked. “The price to lay me will cost you fifty shillings.”
He stared blankly at her.
“Fifty shillings,” she repeated, trembling.
Radcliff could hardly believe his ears. He searched her eyes, which shone bright with emotion, but could not detect any indication that she spoke in jest.
“Darcy,” he pleaded.
“Miss Sherwood, if you please.”
This was not how he had imagined it could be between them.
“If the price be too rich for your blood, I suggest you step aside that I may find a man who will pay it,” she said before brushing by him without another word.
*****
The weather performed perfectly for the Pinkerton garden party. A slight breeze, only enough to ruffle the feathers and ribbons of a lady’s hat, tempered the warmth of the sun’s rays. Lord Pinkerton’s many flora were reaching the end of their blooms, and he was more than happy to provide them one last show.
On the receiving end of Lord Pinkerton’s explanation of which flowers were more difficult to cultivate and which he expected to import next year, Radcliff listened with an occasional nod but allowed his friend the majority of the conversation.
“Ah, and this one,” Lord Pinkerton said lovingly of a blue flower as if it were his daughter, “this one did not seem to take to our English soil at first, but it had an inner strength, and as you can see, has flourished, outlasting the annuals that used to grow here.”
After a pause in which he smiled with admiration down at the flower, Pinkerton continued, “Rather reminds me of that raven beauty who came to my ball—the uninvited guest of Lady Worthley. Miss Sherwood. How does she fare?”
Inwardly, Radcliff cringed, a hollow feeling reverberating throughout his body. “I know not. I haven’t seen her in over three fortnights.”
He had been tempted numerous times to seek her out despite her coldness to him. Despite her words that suggested he was of no more consequence than any of her other lovers—or less than a lover for it cost him fifty bloody shillings. And while he was not one to give up easily, he was not a fool to be where he was clearly not wanted.
She clearly did not feel the same way he did. He desired Darcy Sherwood more than anything he had ever desired in his life. Desired not only her body. But the thrill he derived from bringing her pleasure. The sense of achievement when he brought a smile to her lips. He missed their easy conversations. The peace he felt when he held her in his arms. He desired even the anger that his arrogance provoked in her.
“No need to, I suppose, now that the deed to Brayten is returned to Edward?” Pinkerton inquired.
“Brayten will be held in a trust for an indeterminate time,” Radcliff answered. He did not need to explain to Pinkerton, who nodded with comprehension, the reason. Nor did he disclose how he had nearly refused to return Brayten to Edward at all.
After his last visit to Darcy, he had found Edward back at home nursing his battered nose.
“Bitch damn near broke my nose,” Edward had exclaimed after Radcliff had confronted him about being at Mrs. T’s.
To which Radcliff had decided to complete the task by leveling his right hook square in the center of Edward’s face. He had then grabbed Edward by the collar in one hand, lifting him to his feet, and thrown him against the wall.
“And if you ever dare lay a hand upon Miss Sherwood,” Radcliff had said, “by God, if you so much as glance in her direction, I will break every bone in your body.”
He had not realized how strongly he had been gripping Edward’s throat until the latter started turning blue in the face. With disgust, he had released his hold of Edward, who had fallen to the floor on his knees, gasping and wheezing.
Radcliff decided the boy was lucky to have escaped his wrath with only a broken nose.
“Should you, er, decide to pursue the company of Miss Sherwood,” Pinkerton said, breaking into Radcliff’s thoughts about how easily and willingly he would have broken the noses of a fleet of men who dared to touch Darcy, “know that I will be there to back you.”
Radcliff raised his brows.
“You would lose your entrée into Almack’s, of course,” Pinkerton continued. “I fear women can be rather harsh, but you have far too much standing and respect from most of your peers to be cast out entirely.”
“Your words of support are much appreciated,” Radcliff responded with tenderness for his old friend, “but she will have none of me.”
It was Pinkerton’s turn to raise his brows. “Indeed?”
“I believe she is content in her situation at the Tillinghast gaming hall.”
“How can that be?”
Radcliff shrugged. Not particularly interested in pursuing the current course of conversation, he said simply. “She is the daughter of Jonathan Sherwood.”
“That she is,” Pinkerton conceded and, to Radcliff’s relief, decided to resume his discourse on the best climate and water conditions for day lilies.
“Thank God the whole horrid affair is at an end,” Anne Barrington said a few moments later to Radcliff when tea was being served.
Radcliff had hoped to leave the party without exchanging a word with Anne, but Julian
a had begged him to stay. The three of them sat at one of the small tables that had been laid out in the garden for tea.
“But don’t you think you were rather harsh on Edward—on us?” Anne admonished. “I understand placing Brayten in a trust, but the allowance you have allocated for him can hardly sustain the most frugal miser. After all, the poor boy has suffered so much at the hand of that harlot. Did you hear that she attempted to break his nose?”
Staring hard at his aunt, Radcliff wondered if certain mothers would forever overlook the trespasses of their offspring.
“She failed miserably,” Radcliff returned icily, “so I took the liberty of breaking it myself.”
Anne choked on the biscuit and looked at her nephew as if he were mad.
“And I would not hesitate to break it again if he ever speaks ill of Miss Sherwood,” he added and fixed upon his aunt such an ominous stare that one would think he was threatening to break her nose.
“As for the matter of his allowance,” Radcliff continued, “the majority of what would have been his will be used to support your grandson.”
“My what?”
“A responsibility he has grossly neglected. He is fortunate that the Sherwoods want nothing to do with him—a fortune he little deserves.”
“I suggest,” he said as he stood up. He could not bear his aunt’s company any longer, not even for Juliana, “that you thank the Sherwoods in your prayers each evening.”
With his aunt stunned wordless, he executed a curt bow to Juliana and headed back inside the house.
“My hat and gloves,” he told one of the servants.
He would have return to his county seat, Radcliff decided. He was weary of London and the ton with all her meddlers and gossipers. Most of all, he needed a respite of anything that reminded him of Darcy Sherwood.
“Cousin!”
Radcliff turned to find Juliana bounding down the hall towards him.
“How old is he?” Juliana asked. “What is his name?”
“He is being taken care of,” Radcliff answered. “You need not trouble yourself.”
“But he is my nephew, is he not?” Juliana pursed her lips together. “I had a suspicion that Edward and Miss Priscilla—though I was quite young back then. Such matters were mainly beyond my comprehension.”
That Wicked Harlot (A Steamy Regency Romance Collection Book 2) Page 14
