Promise of Pleasure

by Cheryl Holt

  Ultimately, he brushed his lips to hers, and the experience was so sweet that he sighed with pleasure.

  He kept on for a very long time, gradually enhancing the pressure until she could stand no more.

  With a great show of effort, she yanked away.

  “Enough,” she murmured. “That’s enough for now.”

  He drew away, giving her the space she needed to collect herself, but inside he was reeling, and he refused to let her know that he was rattled.

  He grinned. “Yes, that’s quite enough. For now.”

  “So we’re even?” she asked. “You’re content with my payment?”

  “No, I’m not at all content. I’m afraid we’ll have to meet tomorrow night.”

  “Never in a thousand years, you bounder.”

  “I’m certain we will,” he replied. “Would you like to bet on it?”

  “I told you: I’m not playing cards with you again.”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  He rose and left her to her cheroot and brandy.

  “LORD Redvers?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have a marvelous surprise. Your father is here.”

  Jordan glared at Victoria, who was huffing and puffing from her dash up the stairs to his bedroom suite. Paxton was over in the corner, smoking and drinking, and he coughed down a crude retort.

  “My father?”

  “He bids you join him in the drawing room at your earliest convenience.”

  At the realization that Edward Winthrop, Earl of Sunderland, had deigned to visit, she was positively aflutter.

  “Thank you, Victoria. Tell him I’ll be right down.”

  “I shall! I shall!” she gushed, but she didn’t depart.

  “Was there something else?” he asked, eager to spur her along.

  “Would you expect—if we agree about your marriage to Felicity—that he might grace us with his presence at the wedding?”

  “I’m sure he wouldnt,” he curtly responded.

  While Jordan loathed Victoria and couldn’t abide the prospect of having her as his mother-in-law, he wasn’t cruel by nature. She was thrilled to imagine that Sunderland might socialize with her, but he would view Victoria as being thoroughly beneath his station and worthy of no courtesy.

  Victoria was still hovering, and he said, “If you’ll excuse me, Victoria? I need a moment before I go down.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  She waddled out, and he shut the door behind her. As her strides faded, Paxton whistled softly.

  “So, dear old Sunderland has tracked you down, has he?”

  “Bastard,” Jordan muttered.

  “How do you suppose he heard that you were here?”

  “I can’t spit on the ground without someone tattling. You know that.”

  “What will you say to him?”

  “I won’t say anything. It’s pointless to converse. I’ll sit silently, let him rant and rave, then he’ll leave and I’ll be free to go about my business.”

  “If he’s traveled all this way to stop you, you might not be shed of him so easily.”

  “He enjoys making a grand entrance and a grand exit. He won’t stay long.”

  “Perhaps he’ll become so worked up that his heart will explode from rage.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Would you like me to come down with you?”

  “To do what?”

  “I love watching you two spar. It’s my favorite sport.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Seriously, Jordan, I’ll come with you, if you’d like.”

  “I can tell him to bugger off all by myself. I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

  “Just thought I’d offer.” Paxton punched the air with his fist. “Get in a good shot for me, will you?”

  “I will.”

  Jordan marched out, braced for battle.

  He and Sunderland had never gotten on, had never understood each other. He wanted to blame it all on his brother’s death, but they’d been at odds before then. In Jordan’s earliest memories, his father had been an ass, and Jordan had never known why.

  Previously, Sunderland’s contempt had made Jordan angry, but now, he was merely annoyed by it. And tired. He was very, very tired of being treated as if he was an ill-behaved lad who needed a scolding.

  He entered the parlor, seeing Sunderland on the far side of the room. He was seated in the largest chair, as if they were in a king’s presentation chamber, with himself the monarch.

  Though they were father and son, they shared no features. Sunderland was short and stout, with brown eyes and thinning gray hair. He’d put on weight, had slouched a little. He looked worn down and weary and older than his age of fifty-five years.

  There’d always been rumors that Jordan’s mother had had an affair, that Jordan wasn’t Sunderland’s child, which would certainly explain Sunderland’s dislike. When Jordan was most aggrieved, he told himself that the stories were true, that he and Sunderland weren’t related.

  “Hello, Sunderland.” Jordan used the mode of address Sunderland insisted upon. Heaven forbid Jordan call the man Father.

  “I would have a private discussion with you,” Sunderland said by way of greeting. “Close the door.”

  At the regal order, Jordan left it wide open and proceeded to the sideboard, where he poured himself a brandy. Then he sat down and made himself comfortable.

  “What are you doing here?” Jordan asked.

  “The better question is: What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to get married.”

  “You will not marry that—”

  Sunderland was about to utter a perfectly horrid remark about Felicity, when he remembered that the door was ajar.

  “Dammit!” he cursed.

  He glanced around for a bellpull to have a servant shut it, but not seeing any, he had to rise and complete the task himself.

  He strutted over, pacing, while Jordan ignored him and sipped his liquor. When Sunderland couldn’t seem to begin, Jordan said, “What is it you wished to say?”

  “You will not attach yourself to that ... that ... low-born gold-digger.”

  “Actually, she is the one with all the money. I believe that makes me the gold-digger.”

  “Don’t be smart. You know what I mean.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Victoria Barnes may have a few drops of blue blood from her father, but in Felicity, it’s so diluted as to be nonexistent.”

  “I’m not marrying her for her blood. I’m marrying her for her fortune.”

  “This is not funny!” Sunderland roared.

  “Who’s being funny?” Jordan retorted. “I’m serious as an undertaker on funeral day.”

  Sunderland started to pace again. “I understand that you find it humorous to aggravate me. I also understand that you enjoy tormenting me with your repeated follies, but I will not let you do this.”

  “If you hope to stop the wedding, you’ll have to reinstate my allowance—although I have to advise you that there will be stipulations.”

  “Stipulations! You would make demands of me?”

  “Yes. After your recent antics, you’ll have to deposit the funds in a trust account that you can’t touch.”

  “No.”

  “I won’t put myself in a position where you can cut me off again. I’m sick of you treating me like a child.”

  “If you didn’t act like a child, I wouldn’t treat you like one. I have no doubt that if I gave you a large amount of cash, you’d fritter it away in a week.”

  “Then I guess I’m marrying Felicity, aren’t I?”

  Jordan shrugged and drank as Sunderland paced, then paced some more. Finally, he halted and pulled up a chair, confident in his ability to persuade, but they would never reach a resolution. They had had so many arguments that Jordan knew exactly what was coming next.

  Sunderland would try rational conversation, then bribes, then shouting. When he didn’t get his
way, he’d storm out.

  “Jordan,” Sunderland coaxed, “be reasonable.”

  “A huge infusion of money would make me more reasonable than you can possibly imagine.”

  “Think of what you’re doing! Think of appearances! Doesn’t anything matter to you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then consider the children you’ll have with that girl. Our line goes back hundreds of years. Would you sully it over want of a few measly pounds?”

  “I don’t care about your lineage. I never have.”

  “You will wreck your children’s futures.”

  “I suppose I will.”

  The prospect of his siring offspring with Felicity was so far down on his list of concerns that it was laughable.

  If he and Felicity had children—which he deemed unlikely, since he planned to fornicate with her only once, on his wedding night—he would never inflict himself on them as Sunderland had on Jordan. Jordan would hire a sweet, loving nanny, would place them in a house full of servants who were paid to be kind.

  “What a cold son of a bitch you are,” Sunderland seethed.

  “Like father, like son.”

  Sunderland’s expression became cajoling. “You know, I talked to Jessica’s father. She’s still willing to have you.”

  “Who is Jessica?”

  “The fiancée I picked for you! It was all arranged.”

  “How could it have been? I wasn’t consulted.”

  “She’s a duke’s daughter!” Sunderland complained. “Gad, you sneer as if I’m foisting the scullery maid on you.”

  “If she’s so grand, wed her yourself. You’re single. Have at it. Be my guest.”

  His father grew sly. “If you would inform me that you’ve changed your mind, I’ll write you a bank draft—this very second—for five thousand pounds.”

  “Five thousand?”

  Jordan pretended to ponder the offer, but Sunderland would never be able to convince him.

  “My carriage is parked out front,” Sunderland mentioned. “We can leave immediately and be in London tomorrow. If we apply for a Special License, you’ll have Jessica’s dowry by the end of the week.”

  “And all I’d have to do is marry her?”

  “Yes. What do you say, hmm? Let’s do it!”

  Jordan downed his liquor and stood.

  “No, thanks.”

  Sunderland had been expecting the opposite response, and he gaped, then shook his head as if his hearing was blocked.

  “No ... thanks? No thanks?”

  “I’m weary of your harangue and intimidation.”

  “If you assume you can best me, you haven’t begun to see intimidation, my boy.”

  “You don’t scare me. You’re an obnoxious bully, and you can take your bloody fortune to the grave with you. Have them pack it in your coffin if it will make you happy. Your days of using it to coerce me are over. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to propose to Felicity. Her mother is waiting.”

  “You will not proceed!” Sunderland shouted. “I will not allow it!”

  Jordan was about to reply when the parlor door opened, and Mary peeked in.

  “What on earth is going on in here?” she asked, frowning. On seeing Jordan, her eyes widened with surprise. “Lord Redvers, are you all right?”

  Jordan never fretted over other people’s opinions, but having Mary walk into the middle of the dreadful scene was extremely disconcerting. He was ashamed to have her view the true picture of his life.

  He flushed with chagrin.

  “I’m fine, Miss Barnes. I appreciate your checking.”

  “Who the hell is she?” Sunderland snapped.

  “May I present Miss Mary Barnes,” Jordan said, “the late Mr. Barnes’s oldest daughter.”

  Sunderland was too furious to mind his manners. “Haven’t you the good sense to stay out? We’re having an important discussion. Be gone, you little tart.”

  At the insult, Jordan advanced on Sunderland, for the first time ever ready to knock him to the ground. He reached back to throw a punch, when Mary softly begged, “Jordan! Don’t do it.”

  He hesitated, then dropped his hand. Despite how desperately he wanted to land a blow, he couldn’t continue when Mary had asked him to stop.

  Jordan glanced at her, torn by her pleading look, and Sunderland couldn’t help but notice their heightened regard.

  “What’s this?” Sunderland snickered. “She calls you Jordan? Are you courting one while sniffing after the other? Even you couldn’t be that reprehensible.”

  “Shut up,” Jordan warned.

  Mary was undeterred by the slur against her character, and she marched over until she and Sunderland were toe to toe. She appeared regal and tough, and Sunderland was unnerved by her bravado. Some of his bluster waned.

  “I don’t know who you are,” she stated quietly, but imperiously, “and I don’t like you, so I won’t be civil. Lord Redvers is Mrs. Barnes’s special guest. How dare you come into her home and abuse him!”

  “I’ll speak to him any way I please,” Sunderland declared.

  “No, you won’t. Not here, and not while I’m listening. Get out, or I’ll summon the footmen and have you tossed out on the lawn.”

  Sunderland bristled, but didn’t move.

  “Go,” Jordan urged. “I’m sick of your tirade.”

  “You haven’t heard the last of me,” Sunderland threatened.

  “Unfortunately, I’m sure that’s true.”

  “I’ll be back with ... with lawyers! I won’t let you get away with this.”

  “You’re embarrassing yourself,” Jordan said. “And me. Go away.”

  With a growl of frustration, Sunderland stomped out, and Mary went over and closed the parlor door. Silence descended, and Jordan began to shake, overly affected by the encounter.

  “Who was that?” Mary asked.

  “My father.”

  “You poor man. Why is he so angry?”

  “He’s always in a snit about something.”

  “But what brought him here today?”

  “He doesn’t want me to marry Felicity. He thinks it’s a mistake.”

  Mary chuckled. “He’s correct. It is a mistake.”

  Jordan snorted and walked to the window, watching as Sunderland’s driver readied the coach, as the outriders prepared to depart. With great fanfare, the vehicle rattled away, the bells on the horses’ manes jingling as they trotted off.

  Mary came up and laid her hand on the small of his back, touching him tentatively, uncertain as to how they should act outside the confines of her bedchamber. Then, as quickly as the fleeting caress was started, she ended it and stepped away.

  “Has he always been so horrid to you?” she inquired.

  “Yes, always.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m used to it.”

  He was mortified that Mary had observed their argument, that she’d felt compelled to take his side. No one had ever stood up for him before, and he was deeply moved by her remarks on his behalf.

  His little champion was a dynamo, and he was fighting the strongest impulse to pull her into a tight hug, to tell her what his childhood had been like. He yearned to relate every terrible, unfair thing that had ever transpired, and he was afraid to speak for fear of the painful stories that would tumble out.

  Behind them, the door opened again, and Victoria entered.

  “Is your father gone?” She pretended to be unapprised of his whereabouts, when there couldn’t have been a person in the manor who wasn’t aware of his exit.

  “Yes, he had an appointment in London. He had to get home.”

  “Did you have a chance to ask him about the ceremony? Will he attend?”

  “You oughtn’t to plan on it.”

  He could feel Mary’s intent, unwavering gaze.

  At Victoria’s mentioning the wedding in front of her, he was flustered, and he hated to be so conflicted.

  Victoria noticed Mary
standing with him, and she demanded, “Mary, why are you in here?”

  “I ... I ... happened along as Lord Sunderland was saying good-bye. Lord Redvers introduced me.”

  “You pestered the earl?” Victoria seethed. “How could you? Where are your manners?”

  “No, I—”

  “Leave her be, Victoria,” Jordan scolded. “Just leave her be.”

  He stormed out, the stares of both women cutting into his back.

  Chapter 9

  “THE dress looks blue,” Felicity gushed, “but it’s actually more of a silver color. There are rows and rows of lace, and the prettiest bows along the hem and it ...”

  Her voice trailed off as she and Jordan turned the corner in the garden and vanished from sight.

  They were ambling arm in arm, in another of Victoria’s attempts for them to get acquainted. At listening to Felicity prattle on, Jordan appeared so pained that he might have been sitting in the barber’s chair and about to have a tooth pulled.

  Mary lurked on the terrace, and she knew she should go inside, but she couldn’t tear herself away. If she’d believed in Mr. DuBois’s concoctions, she’d have demanded one to make her blind so she couldn’t see what Jordan was doing.

  He’d traveled to the estate for the express purpose of proposing to Felicity, and he’d never given any indication that he planned to do anything else, yet she was bonding with him in dangerous and risky ways.

  How could he seduce Mary at night then flirt with Felicity the next morning? How could he flit from one sister to the other with nary a ripple in his conscience?

  She was on a fool’s errand, with only heartbreak and misery coming down the road. Yet she wouldn’t change her path for all the gold in the world.

  With great effort, she forced herself away and started toward the door, when she saw that Mrs. Bainbridge had been watching her watch Jordan. She was blocking Mary’s retreat into the house and smiling as if Mary were a humorous object.

  Since the day they’d met, Mary had made it a point to stay away from her, and in light of Mary’s budding romance with Jordan, she was more determined than ever to avoid Mrs. Bainbridge.

  Bainbridge was another piece of the puzzle Mary didn’t understand. Jordan fraternized with Mary and Bainbridge, but how could he? And when he’d proved himself to be such a libertine, why had Mary formed a connection with him?