How Juliana managed to become half intelligent and not made into an addlepated young woman by her mother was a marvel to Radcliff. There was hope for her yet, he decided.
“Will you be seeing the Sherwoods soon?” Juliana inquired.
“No,” Radcliff said flatly.
Juliana frowned. “Oh. I had hoped to meet Miss Sherwood again.”
“I suggest you return to tend to your mother. She has been dealt a shock—”
“When do you expect to see Miss Sherwood next?”
“I do not expect to see Miss Sherwood again,” he responded as he accepted the hat and gloves that a servant had brought.
“But why?”
“She would rather I not.”
“But how is that possible? Did you upset her?”
Radcliff glanced sharply at his cousin, reconsidering his earlier praise of Juliana. He responded with some irritation, “If I did, it is no affair of yours.”
“I beg your pardon, cousin. Only it seemed you were quite taken with her,” Juliana persisted with a naivete that made it hard for anyone to become too angry with her.
“I was—but she refused me.” He hoped that would put an end to Juliana’s line of questioning and turned to leave.
Juliana’s eyes widened. “Refused you? It is unbelievable that anyone would refuse to marry you.”
“I did not offer…” Radcliff stopped. It was inappropriate to be talking of mistresses before his young cousin.
“But especially Miss Sherwood,” Juliana went on. “She adored you.”
Radcliff turned around again. “What do you mean?”
And how the devil would you know? he wanted to say to the little chit.
“I saw it at the ball. In her eyes when she looked your way. And she did look your way quite a number of times, though she pretended not to. It seemed quite apparent that you were the reason she came to the ball.”
Was that what Pinkerton had been trying to allude to as well? Radcliff wondered. His demeanor softened towards his cousin.
“Be that as it may,” he said, “Miss Sherwood has made it clear that henceforth, she has no interest in pursuing our acquaintance.”
“Forgive me, cousin, if what I am to say next should be considered brazen, but I did not think you were one to…to quit easily.”
“It was indeed brazen,” Radcliff told her, then felt a stab of guilt when she hung her head, but he had no need for his niece to question his manhood. “I appreciate your concern, but you need not trouble yourself of my affairs.”
Juliana opened her mouth, but this time Radcliff would not allow her to delay his departure further. He bid her adieu and proceeded home.
*****
“A hundred shillings,” Darcy told Henry as they sat in the dining room again the following evening—at the very same table she used to sit at with Radcliff.
“Don’t seem right,” Henry grumbled. “What sort of medical background has this man? I hear most of his kind are little more than witch doctors.”
“I haven’t much of a choice,” Darcy replied. “I do not want another Barrington bastard.”
But even as she spoke these words, she felt a sense of loss, torn between wanting to keep the last evidence of Radcliff and not wanting to be reminded of the man who broke her heart.
“Very well,” Henry relented. “I’ll secure you a hundred shillings.”
Darcy shook her head. “You’ve not a hundred shillings to spare, Harry. I see your new lover has a new suit of clothes. He is not a man of means and is terrible at cards.”
Henry flushed and looked down at his plate of half-eaten food.
“And I require more than a hundred shillings,” Darcy added.
“What of the money from Broadmoor?”
“The first installment won’t be enough to discharge all the bills and pay for Nathan’s tutor.”
“Have you appealed to Mathilda?”
“She can loan me two hundred, far short of what I need.”
Henry knit his brows. “There must be some way…would you consider Newcastle?”
The name made her shudder. “He has not been as attentive to me as of late and—”
“That can easily change. You have only to sneeze in his direction.”
“And I could not bring myself to ask him,” Darcy finished. “I could not be beholden to that man. It takes all my strength not to recoil from his touch.”
A woman at the other end of the dining hall squealed. Darcy turned to see Cavin Richards at a table with a brunette. He was leaning into the table at an awkward angle, and Darcy had a suspicion, though the tablecloth hid it, that he had his hand upon the woman’s leg—or further.
The thought entered both her and Henry at the same time.
“Do you suppose he would…” Henry asked.
“Worth asking, I suppose,” Darcy answered.
She turned the idea about in her head throughout the evening. Her luck at the table was middling, and she could not help but think it fortuitous that Cavin should be here the night she might need him. Smartly dressed in a burgundy coat and beige trousers, he was a much admired Corinthian. He certainly had the fiduciary means to assist her.
How she dreaded asking others for help. Her father had never done it well, to his family’s detriment. And it was only thoughts of Priscilla and Nathan that gave her enough courage to swallow her pride. Nathan would have the respect he deserved. She would not allow the Barringtons to defeat her family.
“Mr. Richards,” she approached after she had battled down her hesitation. “I desire a word with you, if you will.”
“There is no ‘if’ where Miss Sherwood is concerned,” Cavin replied. “Summon and I come.”
He excused himself from his companion for the evening and followed Darcy into the small library used only by those seeking a quick and quiet tryst.
“I have need of a loan, Cavin,” she blurted with the door barely closed. “Of about a thousand pounds.”
Cavin looked bemused. After a moment’s pause as he realized she was in earnest, he responded, “Well, you don’t tarry about the bush, do you? That’s a grand sum of money. If it is funds you seek to borrow, why not apply to old Wempole? I am no banker.”
“Wempole is no longer in a position to lend me what I require.”
“And what of Broadmoor?”
Darcy felt her cheeks flame. “I doubt he will be seen here anymore.”
His brows shot up, but he did not inquire further. It was a virtue Darcy appreciated in him—Cavin never pressed for more information and perhaps because he did not care.
“I shall pay it back with interest,” Darcy added as she watched him approach her.
“How delightful,” he murmured, reaching out to curl a tendril of her hair about his finger.
“Not that sort of interest, Richards.”
“But the interest is what interests me, eh?”
“I am in earnest.”
“Tell you what,” Cavin drawled as he relinquished her hair. “This be a gaming hall, I shall play you for it. High card draw. If you win, the money is yours. If I win, your price will be your body for the night—given to me as once you used to.”
Her breath caught in her throat. It had been years since they had shared a bed, but even then their company had been simply a joining of flesh, of two people who enjoyed the carnal pleasures. As Darcy studied the twinkle in his grey eyes and how his hair falling over his eyes only seemed to improve his rakish appeal, she began to wonder if perhaps a tumble with someone like Cavin wasn’t exactly what she needed to drive out all thoughts of Radcliff.
Her lips curled in a half smile at his resourcefulness, and she replied, “You flatter me.”
Cavin bowed. “Indeed, I have never offered a woman anywhere near a thousand pounds for the privilege of bedding her. However, no other woman comes close to being Miss Darcy Sherwood.”
“A fact that has not stopped you.”
“As with you, Miss Sherwood, I am more gourmet th
an gourmand. Variety is the spice of life.”
Darcy did not dispute him, though she knew his comparison no longer to hold truth. She had fallen in love with Radcliff Barrington and wanted no other man.
But it was not to be and she needed the money.
“Very well,” Darcy assented. She walked over to a writing desk, pulled out a pack of cards, shuffled the desk, and presented it to Cavin.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“LADIES FIRST,” Cavin insisted.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled up a ten of spades and felt a small sense of relief. There was less than a third of a chance that he could win.
Cavin smiled and casually held up a jack of diamonds.
“Well, don’t look thrilled,” he said upon seeing her frown.
“I don’t suppose you would lend me the thousand when our night is over?” Darcy tried.
“Perhaps I would entertain a wager double or nothing.”
Darcy did not respond. She had to wait and see how she would feel after the first night.
“I shall have to bid adieu to the lady at my table,” Cavin informed her as he headed towards the doors. “But I shall be in your chambers shortly. No need to send the page—I remember the way.”
He winked at her before departing. Darcy sank onto the settee. Damn. Now not only would she have to service Cavin, she had not a crown more than she had started the night with. It wasn’t that she didn’t find Cavin attractive. In fact, once they had concluded their affair, she had avoided any further physical contact for fear that they would end up once again in that uncertain territory of unspoken attachments that easily led to jealousy and pain. She had certainly been tempted through the years.
Until Radcliff had entered her world. And now she found it hard to contemplate being with anyone else.
She rose and went to pour herself a glass of wine at the sideboard. Well, perhaps she should make use of this occasion. Being with Cavin would remind her of the days when coupling was but a corporal release, to serve an animal instinct. To harbor delusions that she could have anything more than that with a man would only set herself up for certain disappointment, as her experience with Broadmoor had proved.
Darcy poured a second glass after finishing the first. Radcliff Barrington had served his purpose. She had her prior debt taken care of and an income that would total fifty-five thousand pounds—more than she had ever thought possible prior to winning the deed to Brayten. What more did she truly expect? That he had taken her senses to new heights was an unexpected perquisite to the bargain.
The memory of their stolen moment in the garden warmed her as much as the wine. She settled into the settee with her third glass, and her hand crept down to lift the hem of her dress. When he touched her, it seemed she could think of nothing else but spending for him. Nothing else existed but the two of them and the need for their bodies to join together. She remembered being sandwiched between his hard body and the equally hard tree. She closed her eyes and clenched her thighs. How she wanted to take him in so many ways. She had not come close to exhausting her repertoire of seducing a man and making him spend. She had enjoyed succumbing to his commands, but she had also looked forward to righting the ship and issuing a few of her own.
She gulped the rest of her wine. She had to stop tormenting herself with such thoughts. Rising to her feet, she went to pour herself another glass. Gazing into the liquid, she wished that she could drink the Baron Broadmoor into a distant memory. The cards would not do it. She was sure to look for him after every hand.
The wine splashed down her throat. She barely tasted it. There were other men. More than enough vying for her attention. Perhaps they would make her forget him. And she could start with Cavin. Yes, Cavin. Devilishly handsome Cavin. Devilish Cavin. He was just the man she needed. He would remind her of the person she ought to return to being. Not this pained, lovesick woman.
She poured herself a third glass for a part of her deep within doubted that he would prove as much the antidote as she had hoped. Finishing her wine, she readied herself for Cavin.
The hallway was starting to sway before her eyes as she made her way up the staircase. Perhaps she should not have had that final glass, but it felt pleasant.
“Beggin’ pardon,” Cavin said behind her, “I could not extricate myself from the company as easily as I thought.”
“Meaning you wanted to play another round of hazard,” Darcy clarified for him.
Cavin grinned as he swept her hand to his lips. “I am all yours, ma cheri. You look every bit as enchanting as the day I met you.”
“I drew the lower card—you’ve no need to flatter me.”
“I know,” he said in a husky voice and stared into her eyes in manner that would have made any other woman swoon. He reached out a hand to cup her cheek before bringing her head to his. His lips brushed hers lightly, teasing her of what was to come. It differed from the deep and probing kisses from Radcliff. With Cavin, lovemaking was like the art of fencing. He advanced, then retreated, then advanced again to keep the other forever guessing.
Now his kiss deepened, forcing her lips apart for his tongue. They stumbled against the door of her bedroom. Darcy allowed him to guide the dance for she was unsure if she could coordinate her body if she tried. He opened the door without removing his mouth from hers and backed her into the room. A lamp was already lit—an odd occurrence—but this was to be no ordinary night.
After tossing his hat aside and peeling off his coat, he pulled up the hem of her dress and petticoat and lifted her by the thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Now she remembered. But what she wanted was to be done with it all. She fumbled to untie his cravat while he carried her towards the bed. Perhaps, if she employed her skills well, she would have him spending shortly. And Cavin always fell asleep afterwards.
“God, it has been too long,” he mumbled as he kissed her neck and his favorite spot behind the ear.
Despite herself, Darcy arched her back. Perhaps she should enjoy the moment, the wine suggested. She stared up at the ceiling as he trailed his mouth down to bite a nipple through her bodice. The room gently rocked before her as she struggled with what to do.
Lose yourself in Cavin and forget about Radcliff, one voice offered.
Absent-mindedly, she reached down and stroked his erection through his trousers. It seemed her mind could not complete a thought. She could not remember when wine had had such a strong effect on her.
Cavin groaned, and Darcy recognized he was about to reach the point when the fencing would be over and he wanted only one thing. She watched as he hastily took off his waistcoat and shed his boots and trousers. Cavin rarely ever bothered to undress his women, unlike Radcliff, who seemed to enjoy viewing her naked body much like one appreciating a fine painting.
She remembered the way his eyes would light up upon seeing her. She imagined the tongue caressing her was that of Radcliff. Her body responded to the idea, and her wetness grew. What would Radcliff do next? Would he cup her buttocks as he tongued her? Reach up and caress her breasts? Would he turn her around and spank her for rebuffing him?
A moan escaped her. A reflection of what her body longed for, though no doubt Cavin would interpret that as him. He climbed into bed and pulled her on top of him. This was his favorite position, she recalled. The effects of the wine were at their strongest, and her body felt warm, in need of contact.
“You and I belong together, ma cheri,” Cavin said as she settled on his hips and wrapped her hand about his hard cock. “Broadmoor could not appreciate you as I can.”
But he did, a voice inside her protested.
“Only a fool would fail to appreciate the essence of Miss Sherwood.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs. Had she heard correctly? She was afraid to turn around to find out.
“By Jove, have you been here the whole of the time?” she heard Cavin say.
And then she knew, without looking, where he was: sitting in the same chair he had occupied th
at first night he had surprised her in her bedroom. She felt like crumbling into little pieces. This would only confirm his opinion of her as a wanton harlot. She turned her head to the side and saw him from the corner of her eye. He was looking at Cavin, his knuckles white.
“Damn near scared me half to bloody death,” Cavin continued.
“That would not be my intention,” Radcliff replied in a tone that suggested he considered such an unintended prospect a happy consequence nonetheless. He turned to leave.
Darcy felt her internal organs cringe. She was tempted to speak, but what could she say? Cavin, however, had no problem with words.
“Care to join us?” he asked.
Darcy felt her eyes bulge from their sockets. She could sense Radcliff’s body tensing and hoped that he could contain his desire to strangle Cavin.
“Merely jesting, ole chap,” Cavin said, swinging his legs off the bed. “I take it you came to have a word with Miss Sherwood in private.”
“What I had to say is unimportant,” Radcliff returned as he turned to leave without the barest glance in her direction.
It was just as well for she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the earth.
“Hold yourself,” Cavin insisted, glancing between the two of them. He stood on his feet. “I know you don’t think me much of a gentleman, Broadmoor, but I know my priority with Miss Sherwood. Worry not, you’ve not interrupted anything—yet.”
Collecting his coat, he turned to her and raised her hand to his lips. “Adieu, ma cheri. Let us say you owe me a song and call our wager even.”
Darcy blinked her eyes. Dear Cavin! She had not thought such selflessness in him. Gratefully, she watched him depart.
Now she had to face Radcliff alone, and the look on his face was far more daunting than she had ever seen.
But he made it somewhat easier for her when he said, “I see you did not wait long to return to your old ways.”
She swung her legs off the bed and caught him staring at her bare ankle before her gown fell back into place. The wine in her gave her courage. “La, sir, what did you expect from a harlot?”
That Wicked Harlot (A Steamy Regency Romance Collection Book 2) Page 15
