Ripe for Pleasure

by Isobel Carr

  One side of Leo’s mouth quirked up in an overly confident grin. “I know how to take care of what’s mine.”

  Charles nodded again, the need to make a hit, to wipe that smile from his cousin’s face, pulsing through him. “But just what is really yours, Cousin? It can be hard to tell sometimes, can’t it?”

  Leonidas’s brow knit, but the martial light didn’t leave his eyes. Game and stupid as always, that was Leo.

  “It’s all over town that Sir Hugo wants her back. Eventually she’s going to need an income again, and you’re certainly in no position to provide it. She’s above your touch, Leo.”

  The muscle in Leo’s jaw popped as he clenched his teeth. Charles smiled, satisfaction buoying him up. A hit. A very palpable hit.

  “Unless,” Charles added, unable to stop himself, “Mrs. Whedon has already found what we’re seeking, and she’s really the one doing the keeping. Perhaps I’ll have to ask her the next time our paths cross.”

  “Shall we go?” Lady Glennalmond announced loudly, breaking in upon their tête-à-tête. “If we tarry much longer, we’ll be caught in the general press, and I do so hate being mauled by the crowds.”

  “And Leo, they will cross. I can guarantee it.”

  Beau laughed and came to take Charles’s arm. “Nonsense, Augusta. You simply like to arrive early so you can spy on everyone else as they arrive. Admit it!”

  “Must you be so vulgar?” Lady Glennalmond glared at them all, clearly wishing she weren’t forced to associate with them.

  Beau’s reply was drowned out by Leo. “It’s Beau. Of course she must. If only to infuriate you. May I escort you to the coach, my lady?” He held out his free arm and Lady Glennalmond, very much on her dignity, took it.

  “Your sister is-is—” Augusta seemed unable to utter whatever horrible term sprang to mind.

  “Is none of your damn business, Augusta,” the dowager said with a hint of annoyance. “And so I’ve told you time and again. Content yourself with having soured Glennalmond past all hope.”

  Charles found himself grinning. Beau giggled softly and gripped his arm. “You’d think my dear sister-in-law would have learned by now not to attempt to remonstrate with me, at least not in front of Grandmama,” Beau whispered. “Oh, and that reminds me. I have a question for you. About Leo. Well, about his mistress, really.”

  Charles glanced down at her. He was not at all loath to enlighten her if it would cause further problems for her brother. “Certainly, Cousin.” He put his hand over hers as they descended the stairs.

  “Who is she? No one will tell me.”

  Charles smiled. Beau was like a loaded gun with a hair trigger, liable to go off at any moment and likely to cause all kinds of damage when she did.

  “I don’t know that I should tell you, dearest.”

  She gave him a fake pout. “But you’re going to.”

  “Am I?”

  “You know you are, Charlie.” She grinned up at him, eyes squeezed nearly shut with glee.

  “I suppose I am,” he agreed, heaving a dramatic sigh for Beau’s benefit. Just how many foxes could he fling into this particular henhouse? “I’m a bit worried about poor Leo. You see, he’s become entangled with a very mercenary widow, and I very much fear he’s going to be wounded when she throws him over…”

  CHAPTER 23

  Red lanterns illuminated the walkways and courtyards. Fire, rather than water, filled the fountains. Smoke drifted over the garden in billowing clouds, adding to the atmosphere. Music filled the space, cutting through the trees and drowning out whatever noises might be coming from the darker walks and bowers that filled the grounds.

  Leo found himself searching the crowd yet again. Someone was watching him, or someone was watching Viola. He hadn’t been able to pinpoint the source, but the sensation was unmistakable. The creeping sense of dread between his shoulder blades was sharp and distinct.

  The guest list was exclusive and particular. The cicisbei of The New Female Coterie filled Vauxhall, along with their chosen prey. The women present were made up of the ranks of the fallen, the more elite prostitutes of Covent Garden, and a few heavily masked women who Leo guessed to be of his own class, just incurably curious or licentious.

  “It’s quite a theme you’ve picked, my dear.”

  Viola twinkled up at him from behind her mask. Kohl rimmed her eyes so that they appeared luminescent. “It seemed appropriate. According to most people, it’s hell we’re all bound for eventually.”

  “And with inducements like these”—he waved his hand around at the scantily clad women and general debauchery of the evening—“it’s likely tonight will strike a few more names from St. Peter’s list.” And deservedly so. He didn’t think of himself as a prude, but revels such as this had never interested him.

  Viola chuckled. “No doubt. Shall we see what we can do about securing our place in the afterlife? Or shall we sneak about and take in the sights?”

  Leo felt the slightest bit of shock flood from his chest up to his neck and spread onto his cheeks. “What exactly are you suggesting, my dear?”

  Her grin widened, and she shrugged one pale shoulder. “All the world’s a stage…” She took him by the hand and, laughing, led him into the darkened lanes that crisscrossed the garden. They slipped past other couples with similar goals. Soft cries filled the night, mingling with calls of nightingales and the crackle of the bonfires.

  Viola pushed him off the path. His back hit a tree and she dropped to her knees. His cock swelled in anticipation, his heartbeat surging into it. She deftly opened the fall of his breeches and freed his cock from the layers of linen and silk.

  Her lips slid over the engorged head, tongue pressing, sliding, teeth ever so faintly riding along the shaft. Her hand gripped the base, thumb working along the bottom edge in time with her mouth.

  Leo leaned back against the tree and tried to remember to breathe. She was indecently, decadently, absurdly good with her mouth. So good he couldn’t even bring himself to resent whoever had taught her such skill.

  He was fairly certain none of the girls he’d find at Almack’s would ever match her, no matter how much tutelage he provided, and lucky him, he’d never have to find out. The beauty of being a younger son was that he’d never have to marry to produce an heir. He would never have to bed a virgin and pray she’d welcome his amorous attentions with something more than resignation to duty.

  He rested one shaking hand on Viola’s head, wanting to touch her but careful not to destroy her coiffure. A soft titter dragged his attention to the path. A couple stood watching. Excitement pulsed through him. He shut his eyes and concentrated on the sensation of Viola’s mouth on his flesh.

  He’d been well aware that the risk of being caught added spice to such encounters. He didn’t need the further knowledge that actually having an audience had its own cache. Suddenly the appeal of an orgy made perfect sense.

  It was too dark to know who they were. Too dark for them to know who he and Viola were, thank all that was holy. The rising edge of his release hit, and he opened his eyes again to discover the couple was gone, off no doubt on their own adventure.

  Viola took him a tad deeper into her mouth, and his knees nearly gave out. He came with a groan, wanting to shout. She swallowed and sucked again, the sensation almost too much to bear. She released him, then grinned as he dragged her up off her knees.

  “My God, woman.”

  She traced one finger along his slowly deflating cock. “Am I really your god?”

  He laughed. “At the moment, most certainly.” He adjusted himself and buttoned up his breeches. She cupped him with one teasing, possessive hand.

  “Excellent. Your deity would like a drink.”

  “And then perhaps a blood sacrifice?”

  “Perhaps.” Viola took a small metal tin from her pocket and held it out to him. “Ginger drop?”

  Leo chuckled and took a small candy from the tin. It was sweet and hot on his tongue, not unlike Vio
la herself. He pulled her close and kissed her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer your own pleasures be attended to first?” He slid one hand down her back to cup her bottom.

  Viola kissed him back, tongue delving into his mouth to steal the bit of candy she’d just given him. “Most certain. The more time you have to plan, the more delightful the results are likely to be.”

  Champagne in hand, Leo raked his gaze over the crowd yet again. A pair of unmistakable green eyes caught his attention. The woman was concealed behind an elaborate devil mask, complete with horns and a pointed beard, and enveloped in a red-and-black shot-silk domino, but the eyes were distinct.

  When he discovered who had brought his sister to a courtesan’s debacle, there was going to be hell to pay, and not simply because it fit the evening’s theme. Damn Beau, she was always causing some kind of dustup.

  Her presence shot his plans for the rest of the evening all to flinders. “Dearest.” He handed Viola her glass and bent so as not be overheard. “I’ve a devil of a problem.”

  Viola sipped her champagne, tipped her head, and gazed up at him with wide, questioning eyes.

  “My sister is here.” There was no prevaricating. No point to it. He was going to have to desert her among her friends.

  She blanched. “Your sister, but—”

  “Yes, Beau. Damn her.” Leo grimaced.

  Viola’s hand locked about his forearm. “Where?”

  “In the devil mask and shot-silk domino. Trying to hide in the doorway of the rotunda. I’m terribly sorry, but I have to take her home.”

  Her grip didn’t loosen. “Are you mad?” Viola pushed up her mask, tiny golden horns twisting into her curls. “She’ll cause a scene if you storm over there.”

  “And she’ll cause a scandal if I don’t.”

  Viola heaved a sigh, bosom straining against her bodice, making him curse Beau anew. “Don’t be ridiculous. Let me go.”

  Before Leo could protest, she was weaving her way through the crowd, ducking past dancers, eluding would-be partners. He kept his eyes on his sister and tried to pick her escort from the crowd.

  Viola pushed past a paunchy priest and shooed away a grinning Lord Harrington, whose only concession to his wife’s party was a pair of horns rising from his balding pate.

  As she reached the rotunda, it became clear to him that whoever had brought his sister, the bastard was nowhere to be found at that particular moment. She was quite alone. Marooned in the middle of a party she hadn’t the slightest excuse to be attending.

  “Mrs. Dalrymple!” Viola called out loudly enough for even him to hear. “We thought you in Paris. Is red the new style of toupee there? Very fetching.”

  His sister stood transfixed. Viola linked arms with her and pulled her out of the rotunda and into the crowd. Beau said something, clearly trying to release herself from Viola’s grip.

  “Yes, yes. Back from Paris. So very good to see you again.” Viola propelled her through the dancers. “No, no, Lord Harrington. I’ve been looking for Grace all night, and so has Lady Worsley. We’re off to find her now.”

  Beau stiffened as they approached the edge of the crowd and she spotted him waiting. Viola forced her over the last few feet until they were beside him. “Mrs. Dalrymple, may I present Lord Leonidas. He’s been eager to make your acquaintance all evening.”

  Leo bowed, grateful that Viola had set the ruse in motion, and his sister dropped him a stilted curtsy in return. “Shall we stroll, ladies?” He offered them both an arm, and the three of them set off in a wide circle toward the entrance.

  “How dare you, Leo.” Beau’s hushed whisper was laced with anger, possibly with mortification. Good, she ought to be mortified.

  “How dare I?” He quickened his pace, dragging them both along past the stream of gaudily attired revelers making their way to and from Vauxhall.

  Leo handed his sister and Viola into one of the small boats at the end of the Vauxhall stairs and leapt in after them. The waterman pushed off with a jolly shout. Leo crossed his arms and ground his teeth.

  “You had no right—”

  “Not a word until we get home, Mrs. Dalrymple.”

  Beau glared at him, then turned her head to stare haughtily across the water. Viola fairly curled into herself beside him, shrinking under the blaze of anger that flickered between him and his unrepentant sister.

  At the White Hall Stairs, Leo hailed a hackney, and as soon as they were inside, the shouting began.

  “You’d no right! No right at all.” Beau ripped off her mask and threw herself back into the corner. Her hair tumbled down, pins scattering unheeded in all directions.

  Leo took a deep breath, and then another. “You’ve been indulged beyond all reason, Beau. But this is too much even for you. Who brought you?”

  She glared at him, mouth set in a mulish frown.

  “Damn it, Beau. No one who meant you any good would have consented to bring you to a damn courtesan’s ball. Who brought you? Palmer? Richardson?” Leo tossed his own mask onto the floor of the cab and raked his hand through his hair. “Maybe Glennalmond was right. Maybe we should have left you to Granby.”

  Her head snapped up, chin rising as though he’d stuck her. Leo leaned forward. Beau had to understand. Had to be made to understand if her own innate sense of self-preservation was really so utterly lacking. “You’re going to reach a place where no one will have you. Where there will be no saving you. Martin and Granby weren’t your fault, but this—tonight—this was, darling.”

  “You don’t know anything about it.”

  “I know whoever brought you wasn’t anywhere to be found just now. I know you could be looking at complete ruin right now, at a scandal the likes of which you’ve never even imagined.”

  Beau’s breath caught on a sob.

  “That’s enough, my lord.” Viola’s sudden interjection startled him. “Don’t look at me as though you’d like to wring my neck. You’re going to make her hysterical, and that will attract exactly the kind of attention you’ve been attempting to avoid. Once you get her home, you can yell until you shake the slates off the roof, but for now, let her be.”

  “This doesn’t concern you, Mrs. Whedon.”

  “And I’ll be happy enough to be left out of it, Lord Leonidas. But at this exact moment, I find myself quite decidedly in the middle of it all, and neither of you is coming off at all well, I’ll have you know.”

  Leo cursed under his breath. Now they were both glaring at him. His evening was rapidly going from bad to worse, and if he couldn’t get Beau home without his mother finding out what she’d been up to—or, God forbid, Augusta!—it was likely to get worse yet.

  CHAPTER 24

  Viola ushered her lover’s very angry sister into her bedroom and pushed her down into the chair at her dressing table. “Dry your eyes, repair your hair, powder your face, and remove that domino.”

  Lady Boudicea met her gaze in the slightly tarnished mirror. The poor girl’s powder was streaked with tears, the blackening she’d used on her lashes liberally mixed in and running down her cheeks. Viola set a hand on her shoulder, but Leo’s sister shook it off.

  “He’s angry only because he cares,” Viola said, “and you should be happy that he does. Not all of us are so lucky.”

  Pen yawned from the settee Viola had moved into her chamber for her use, and returned to snoring. Viola set out the various things Leo’s sister would need to set herself to rights and then left her alone. She’d calm down sooner if left to her own devices. Being badgered or comforted would only prolong things.

  Downstairs, she found Lord Leonidas, brandy glass in hand, staring moodily into the cold grate. He looked up as she came in and tossed back the contents of his glass. He was still stiff with repressed anger, every movement sharp.

  “She’ll be ready to go in a few minutes.”

  Leo nodded and wandered across the room to refill his glass. He drained it and filled it again.

  Viola sighed. His temper was lik
e a mad dog circling the room. She crossed the floor and took the glass from his hand. She took a sip and wandered back to the chairs that flanked the fireplace.

  “Damnation, Vi, she’s got to learn. She’s got to—” The decanter exploded in the fireplace. Glass and brandy showered across her skirts. “Oh God, Vi. I’m—”

  “Drunk and angry and behaving like an ass.” She stood up and shook out her skirts. Bits of glass flew out like birds startled from a tree. Her own temper spiraled up, threatening to swamp her better judgment. “Whatever you do, don’t come back here until you’ve mended that temper of yours, my lord. The world may think I’m your mistress, but I’m not being paid to put up with your distempered freaks.”

  “No, I suppose you’re not.”

  He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. A shiver ran down her spine. He looked as though he could quite happily murder her.

  The quick patter of feet on the stairs was a welcome interruption. Viola raked her gaze over Leo, shook her head in disgust, and hastened into the hall to find Lady Boudicea standing on the stairs, looking somewhat bewildered but otherwise restored to respectable order.

  The girl swallowed, throat working as though raw. “I’m sorry to have put you to so much trouble, ma’am.”

  “No trouble at all, my dear.”

  Leo pushed his way into the small hall, and his sister seemed to shrink. She didn’t actually flinch, but it was as though Viola could see the girl’s spirit crumble away.

  Viola put a hand on her arm. “Just remember, not everyone gets a second chance.”

  “Or a third or a fourth. Which is it now, Beau? How many times have you been snatched from the jaws of scandal?”

  Lady Boudicea’s chin went up, her expression hardened. She looked very much as her brother had only a few minutes previously. “This would make three,” she replied with a hint of defiance.

  “Then let’s see there’s not a fourth, shall we?”

  “Sometimes I hate you.” Her hands balled into fists, crushing her skirts.

  “Sometimes I hate myself.”