“That’s a dreadful thing for a curate to say.”
He’d chuckled and she’d somehow managed to laugh with him—a true testament to her ability to lie and scheme while her heart broke inside her.
Luckily, the subject of children had given way to a bit of wrestling and she’d used the other of her specialties: her body. And then . . . well, suffice it to say, he’d convinced Mel to take the choir by shamefully using his own body as an unfair method of persuasion.
But always at the back of her mind was the knowledge that she would leave him and he would never know about their child.
∞∞∞
Melissa finished her daily cooking lesson with Mrs. Hawkins and changed into her walking boots. She put on her heavy wool cloak and then headed to Sarah’s for the visit she’d been putting off for reasons she didn’t wish to think about.
It was cold and windy—the natives to the area said it was unseasonable and warned of a long cold winter—and she had to stop twice to re-tie her bonnet, which the wind tugged and tossed.
Astonishingly, she’d discovered that she missed her long rambles when she’d gone back to London. She could have walked in the park—and sometimes did—but it wasn’t the same as a vigorous tromping through the country.
The truth was, she loved being a curate’s wife. She’d worried that living such a quiet existence would become tedious after a life of constant activity—albeit a good part of those activities not things she enjoyed—but she adored the slower pace.
Thinking about London made her think about what she’d agreed to do: go to Magnus’s brother’s wedding.
By agreeing to his request she’d chosen the exact date of her departure.
Some part of her mind shrieked away from the knowledge they now had only a few weeks left together. But the greater part of her brain—the part that had gotten her through the horrific years with Lord Vanstone—continued to function as if nothing was wrong. One thing she knew about herself was that she would always survive, no matter how little she might wish to.
She’d received a message from her man of business and he’d already had two offers for the property. She knew the offers were from Laura and Hugo. According to Magnus, she was not allowed to—
The pounding of horse hooves interrupted her thoughts. Whoever it was, they were coming toward her fast. Melissa staggered clumsily to the side of the path to get out of the way but the horse came around the corner at breakneck speed and its rider had to pull up brutally to bring the creature to a stop.
She looked up, her heart pounding in her ears, unsurprised to find Sir Thomas leering down on her. He was seated on a different horse today, but this one did not seem to be faring any better. Like the black stallion from the other day, this one had foam around its mouth, some of it pink.
“Well, Lady Magnus.”
She looked from the unfortunate horse to its repulsive master. “Sir Thomas.”
“And where is your husband? The hoity-toity Mr. Lord Magnus?”
“Attending to his duties.” She glanced to both sides but he was blocking the path. Probably deliberately. “As will I, Sir Thomas, if you would let me pass.”
He sat back in mock surprise. “My, my, it’s the hoity-toity Mrs. Lady Magnus, I see.”
“Is there something you want of me, Squire?”
His fishy lips curved into an unpleasant smile. “Look at you—pretending as if butter wouldn’t melt in that pretty mouth of yours when both of us know you’ve sucked more cock than a wharf-side whore. Now, I wonder what that husband of yours would say if he learned you weren’t really Miss Prissy So-and-So with her proper aunt and pretty manners.”
Luckily, he mistook her stunned expression for one of anger rather than surprise. If Sir Thomas hadn’t told Magnus who and what she was, then who had?
She couldn’t believe Sarah had betrayed her trust. Could it have been Mrs. Tisdale? They were the only two—other than the squire—who’d known.
Sir Thomas fisted the reins tightly in one hand and leaned closer, his eyes burning with . . . anger? Jealousy? Spite? Or all those emotions and more.
“You like to act the grand queen, don’t you? ‘The Ice Madam’ is what some young fools call you. Too fine a whore to take just any man between her legs. But I know something most of those poor, dumb blokes don’t know.” His smile spread. “I know about you and Vanstone”
The name echoed in the cold air between them. It was all she could do to maintain her expression. How, in God’s name, had this swine heard about Vanstone?
“Some of the men in his lordship’s little group still talk about you, Mrs. Melissa Griffin—although they use another name, of course. Your real name, I ‘spose.” He shrugged. “Yes, Vanstone’s bosom beaus do like to reminisce about the young whore who could throat them as smooth and deep as velvet even while two other gents mounted her from the other end.” He grinned and chuckled. “Quite the prize you were—a plum out of reach to most mortal men, until you got too old and Vanstone tired of you.”
He grinned at the revulsion she must have shown. “Yes, I heard about the fun he had with you those last few months before he brought in a newer, fresher piece to replace you.” His smile hardened. “Do you still remember those days with a quiver?”
Melissa merely stared.
He shrugged. “Maybe you don’t—it was a long time ago, what? Twelve years, I’d wager, and you’ve probably sucked a mile’s worth of cock since then.”
She didn’t care about the insults; it was the information itself she had to know about.
“How do you know about Lord Vanstone—he went to great pains to keep his activities private. At least he used to.”
“Oh, he still does, at least outside our little group.”
Our? Melissa couldn’t help it, her eyebrows shot up.
He saw it before she could stop herself. “I see your surprise, such fine gents associating with the likes of Sir Thomas—a baronet so new his title still squeaks.” He shrugged again, but Mel saw the anger behind the uncaring gesture. “But that don’t matter if you have enough money, girlie. I would have thought you would’ve known that: money is all that matters, these days.”
She knew Sir Thomas spoke the truth—about that, at least.
“I’ve only been part of the elite circle this past three years or so.” His smirk shifted into a frown. “Not long after you turfed me out of your precious whorehouse, if you recall.”
Melissa could see by the gleam in his piggy eyes that he wasn’t going to forgive her for that.
He snickered. “I probably should thank you for throwin’ me out or I wouldn’t have been so persistent with old Vanstone.” His tongue darted out and he licked his lips in a way that nauseated her. “Mmm mmm, I have to say I get exactly what I need from his pretty little fillies.”
Bile rose in her throat but she had half-a-lifetime of experience schooling her features. He would get nothing from her.
“Yes,” he said, meditatively, looking at her with an appraising, hungry expression she’d endured thousands of times. “Even after all that cock you look as fresh as a daisy. I can see why the curate couldn’t resist you. I’ll bet you were as pretty as a picture when you were just a lass. Of course, you’re nothing to the girls Vanstone has had since I had the good fortune to join his club. I believe he’s wised up about putting all that money in a tart he’ll only want for a few years. Not only is this newer missus top shelf in looks, she also started out a good deal younger.”
He laughed at her expression, which was not as well-guarded as she’d believed
“Yes, you set the bar high for your sister whores. I can vouch that not only is she even lovelier than you, but she’s quite accomplished at pleasing whatever need a man might have.” His eyes narrowed. “And I have to admit I might have learned about a few new fetishes since I joined the old man’s club. You see, he’s been more than accommodating to me since I made him a sizeable loan. Especially since he’s had to ask twice for longer terms to
repay. Indeed, Vanstone is so close to going under the hatches that a person might almost accuse him of being a whoremaster the way he’s using this latest chit.
“It seems he’s learned he can keep his investors quite happy if he throws those little parties a bit more often and is a tad more . . . generous. Think of what you missed out on, my lady—all the fun you could have enjoyed.”
His eyes watched her with the close avidity of a tormentor and his victim, hoping for blood, for signs of pain and anguish. Well, he wouldn’t squeeze any from Melissa—at least not when it came to Vanstone and what he’d done to her those last months, when he’d begun to lose interest in her.
She almost laughed. What Sir Thomas didn’t realize was that nothing he—or anyone else—could say to her face would bother her. Did he think she hadn’t been there during those nights? Evenings of debauchery so shocking that Vanstone and his cronies—all titled men with family and position to protect—didn’t want word to get out.
Mel looked up and saw he’d been watching and waiting, no doubt hoping she would breakdown. Instead, she smiled coolly. “I assume there is point to this journey down memory lane, Sir Thomas.”
His features shifted into a vicious mask at her tone. “You’ll not use that voice with me again, slut.”
Mel stiffened at the hated word and he smirked.
“Ah, you don’t like that, do you, my little slut. I remember the last time I used it on you—you were acting high and mighty while denying me access to your bloody whorehouse. And why? Just because I enjoy a bit of slap and tickle. Because I sometimes employ a bit of the whip and spur while I break in a filly.” He lowered his crop to his boot heel and sent the wicked metal disc spinning. “You listen good, slut. You’ll give me some of what Vanstone’s cronies reminisce about. And if you’re good and please me—if you’re properly broke to bridle—I won’t need to raise any stripes on that fine hide of yours.” His nostrils flared in anticipation. “At least not much.” He jerked his chin over his shoulder. “You and Miss Sarah, back there. Yes, I’d fancy the two of you at once, I reckon. I know you two sluts would like to have at each other. After all, I’ve heard you haven’t let a man come between those thighs in years—well except your precious curate, of course. You must have been getting it somewhere all that time you sat alone on your throne, in your little kingdom.” He snickered, becoming red and aroused at his own words.
“Why would I agree to such a thing?”
“You’ll do it because I’ll tell your sainted husband the whole gruesome story of your past.”
It was her turn to smirk. “He already knows.”
He snorted. “That’s a bloody lie.”
“Feel free to ask him.” She shrugged.
They locked eyes, his face tightening into a mask of thwarted fury when he realized she was serious. And then, in an instant, his expression turned to one of unholy glee and he slapped his thigh, the sudden motion causing his mount to startle. Sir Thomas wrenched back on the reins so hard Melissa was surprised the poor beast’s neck didn’t snap.
“So,” he said, once he’d resettled the horse, whose eyes showed white all the way around. “His lordship decided he’d get himself a wife trained up in more than making calf’s foot jelly and reading scriptures, did he?” He shook his head and chuckled. “I have to admit, the idea of having a piece who looks like you, and with your skills, to use each and every night any way I choose does appeal.” He wore an expression of mixed lechery and admiration. “I never would have expected it of the young moralizer. But that just goes to show how deep hypocrisy runs in some people. You say he knows about you bein’ a madam, and I’ll believe you. But I’ll bet every pound and pence I have the he knows nothing about Vanstone’s little parties. He probably thinks he won the Ice Madam, the woman all of London fought for. There is no way a man like him would ever have married any woman who’d done even half of what you did for Vanstone.”
She couldn’t control the flutter of her eyelids, and he pounced on it.
“Ah, yes.” He stroked his chin theatrically with one leather-gloved hand. “I guessed right, didn’t I? He. Don’t. Know. At least not the worst of it. It was a long time ago and he’s, what? Five and twenty at most?” He laughed, looking genuinely amused by his words. “Lord Magnus would have been at Eton yanking on his Man Thomas while you were servicing Vanstone’s exclusive little club—some of whom are probably even related to his august lordship.”
He grinned and shrugged. “And if it turns out I’m wrong and he does know the worst, well, I can tell the vicar just as easily. What do you think the vicar and his wife would think of that? Perhaps you could buy the good vicar’s silence the same way you are going to buy mine?”
Melissa could only stare, imprisoned so deep within a cage of frustration and loathing that she as if she were looking through bars.
“So,” he said, when she didn’t answer. “Our other playmate wasn’t home when I knocked earlier, which means we’ll not have our fun today. It’s just as well, really, I don’t want to rush things. It can’t be tomorrow since I’ve got business I can’t shirk, not even for this much pleasure. And then there’s a quick trip out of the area the day after that, which will take me away for a damnable five or six days. Lord! That means . . .” He made a show of contemplating the dates. “You’ll have to wait ‘til next Friday for your fun—which gives you more than a week to put a shine on that gold-plated cunny and have it ready for me.” His eyes narrowed. “Since you’re a lady of leisure, just like your little slut friend back at the old slut’s house.” He hooted at her widening eyes and slapped his thigh. “Ha! Didn’t think I knew about the old bird? Well, I know a lot more than I need to tell, don’t I? I guess you whores take care of your own because she certainly left young Sarah all right and tight, didn’t she? That’s a pretty little cottage with a pretty little piece of land—wouldn’t mind having it myself.” This last part he said as if it had just occurred to him, which she knew for a lie even before he spoke. “In fact, I told Sarah the last time we were together how her land comes all the way out to the road, lots of nice timber. Seems she might be interested in selling it, once I spend a little more time convincing her.”
He chuckled.
“But there I go digressing. As for you and her and me and our afternoon of frolics—well, I guess noon would work fine. That way we’d get a good half-days’ worth of fun before I send you back to your husband all satisfied and well-pleasured.” He cut her a dangerous look, his smile gone. “Don’t mistake me, slut. You and the other one had better be lying naked on your backs with your legs wide open and waitin’ when I come ‘round next Friday. Don’t make me lose my temper, my lady.”
He touched the brim of his beaver hat, spurred his horse with the same viciousness he did everything, and rode on, casually dragging his crop over her chest as he passed, a hint for her to consider.
Melissa watched him go, staring long after he’d disappeared. If she were the type of woman given to weeping—which she was not, having used up all her tears a long time ago—she would have started crying right then.
∞∞∞
Magnus had missed her terribly today. He felt like a lovelorn idiot, but he couldn’t help it. Perhaps this is what a lifetime of abstinence had done to him—made him into an insatiable beast? But he didn’t like to think of his feelings that way—only physical in nature. He’d not just missed her beautiful face and body, he’d missed her cleverness, her dry humor, and her unexpected enthusiasm for becoming the wife of a curate.
So, his need for her had overwhelmed decorum and he’d behaved like a sailor home from a year-long voyage when he stepped into their cottage, all but tearing off her clothes.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about last night—all day long,” he said, his breath coming in harsh pants as they both fumbled with the fastenings on his buckskins. “Did you miss me today?” he demanded, shoving his clothing off in one messy lump.
“No.”
He laughed. “I
t’s a sin to lie, Mrs. Stanwyck. I’m afraid I shall have to punish you.”
And then he’d taken her twice. Once on top, and the second time he’d lifted her above him, telling her to practice riding him for when her other mount arrived.
He’d been gone all day on Friar to visit a family three hours’ ride away. He’d meant to come home and write to his mother, telling her they’d be coming to London for the wedding. But then he’d seen her, her hair mussed from her fingers, her shoulders hunched over some recipe she was studying. And he’d had to have her immediately.
As they lay in bed, after, their bodies sated, Magnus’s thoughts of horses recalling what she’d said when they’d run into Sir Thomas abusing his poor mount.
He’d tried to put the repellent episode from his mind, but he’d recalled it, and several other unsettling matters, again today. He hadn’t lied when he’d said he’d thought of last night all afternoon—but he’d thought of other things, too. And he needed to ask some questions, questions that had teased him often lately.
They’d left a candle burning because they both enjoyed seeing each other while they made love. He turned to her, kindling again at the sight of her sweat-slicked profile. She had been wild tonight, too, almost as if something were driving her.
She must have felt his gaze because she turned and smiled. “What is it, Reverend?”
He grinned. He loved it when she called him that—especially during their bouts in bed. Did that make him wicked? He did not believe it did. After all, she was his wife. And Magnus believed God took pleasure in joy. No, the feelings he had for her could not be bad.
He pushed an auburn spiral behind her ear. “I have some things I’d like to ask you—things I’ve put off, but which I’ve thought of more often than I’d like.”
Melissa and The Vicar (The Seducers Book 1) Page 23
