Promise of Pleasure

by Cheryl Holt

  Had she no pride? No sense?

  “Well, well,” Bainbridge began as Mary approached, “if it isn’t the other Barnes sister.”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Bainbridge.”

  “You like hiding in the shadows, don’t you?”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “You’re always around when you shouldn’t be. Why are you spying on Lord Redvers and Felicity? You were positively enthralled.”

  “They’re a very handsome couple,” Mary said evenly.

  “Yes, they are. It must be difficult for you to tarry in the background and silently observe as he woos Felicity.”

  “Why would it be difficult?”

  “Don’t you wish his roving eye would fall on you instead? Don’t you wish you could be the chosen sister for once?”

  “Hardly,” Mary insisted. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a man like Lord Redvers.”

  “I bet you could figure it out quickly enough. Most women do. He’s quite the rake.”

  “Really? I’m rather sheltered here in the country. I wouldn’t have heard any gossip.”

  Mary wasn’t sure what their conversation was actually about. Bainbridge seemed to be probing for information, or perhaps warning Mary away from Jordan—but why would she?

  Mary and Jordan had been extremely discreet, and Mary spent so little time around the family that no one could have any suspicions of an affair. Then again, maybe it was Bainbridge’s habit to threaten any prospective rivals. With Jordan’s philandering so blatant, it had to be frustrating being his mistress.

  If Mary hadn’t been so jealous, herself, she’d have felt sorry for Bainbridge.

  “How about you, Mrs. Bainbridge?” Mary asked, eager to shift the scrutiny away from herself.

  “What about me?”

  “You like to brag about your special friendship with Lord Redvers. When he marries Felicity, won’t it be difficult for you?”

  “Felicity will never have any effect on my relationship with him.”

  “You don’t mind if they wed?”

  “Why would I? I encouraged the match.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.”

  Mary’s thoughts raced as she struggled to find an explanation for the woman’s easy acceptance of the situation. Bainbridge and Redvers were wicked in a way that was beyond Mary’s comprehension, yet Mary wasn’t convinced that Jordan was truly the scoundrel he appeared on the surface.

  She’d seen him during the quarrel with his father, had noted how distressed he was after Lord Sunderland stormed out. He’d been wounded by his father’s disdain.

  Brutal forces had shaped him into the mocking, infuriating man he’d become. After such an upbringing and such a father, who wouldn’t be bitter? Who wouldn’t be cynical?

  “I don’t understand you,” Mary murmured.

  “What’s to understand?”

  “I assumed that you and Lord Redvers were ... involved.”

  “We are,” she answered without hesitation. “We have a business arrangement that works perfectly. I’m indispensable to his happiness, and we both know it. Why would his marriage to Felicity have a bearing on anything?”

  “But he’ll be married to her.”

  Bainbridge chuckled. “You’re so provincial, Miss Barnes.”

  “I’m surprised you noticed,” Mary sarcastically replied.

  “Despite what you suppose here in the country, matrimony has nothing to do with love or any of that folderol. This union is about money and naught else.”

  “She’s a vicious, cruel girl,” Mary said very quietly, treading on dangerous ground. “If Lord Redvers is your friend, as you claim, why would you urge him to take such an awful step?”

  “We are after her dowry, Miss Barnes. We don’t care about her.”

  Bainbridge sauntered off, smirking, having emphasized the word we in both sentences, and Mary was more confused than ever about Jordan. Bainbridge made it sound as if she was more than a mistress—as if she was his wife, in fact.

  Could it be?

  Mary was crushed all over again, hurt by the notion that she was so unimportant to him. She’d never previously participated in an amour, so she hadn’t realized the swings of despair and joy that such an endeavor could produce.

  She yearned to escape to her room, to be alone with her anguished ruminations, but Jordan and Felicity were headed toward the house, and Mary stood, watching their advance.

  Felicity was so pretty, so fashionably turned out, her gloved hand clutching Jordan’s arm in a proprietary manner, and Mary’s old feelings of injustice rose to the fore.

  She was so envious that she was ill with it, and she wanted to break something, to cry out in fury and pound her fists on the wall. Instead, she dawdled, visually daring Jordan to walk past without some type of acknowledgment.

  “Hello, Miss Barnes,” he deigned to comment. “How are you this fine evening?”

  “Lord Redvers.” Mary nodded but refused to curtsy.

  “Why are you loitering out here?” Felicity snapped. “I’m about to dress for supper. I need my clothes laid out.”

  Jordan glared at Felicity and asked, “Isn’t Miss Barnes your sister?”

  “Only my half sister.”

  “Then why should she prepare your clothes for you? Surely you have a maid who can see to the task?”

  “Mary always does it. Mother assigned her the chore ages ago.”

  “Well, she’s not helping you tonight,” he asserted, “and not again while I’m visiting.”

  “Honestly, Lord Redvers”—Felicity stuck her pert nose up in the air—“I know you’re a guest, but I don’t believe that gives you license to countermand Mother’s orders.”

  Mary had never been more embarrassed. It was bad enough to have him witness how she was treated, but it was worse to have his pity. He didn’t realize how Felicity would retaliate, how Mary would suffer long after he’d departed.

  “It’s all right, Lord Redvers,” Mary said. “I don’t mind helping her.”

  “I mind,” he insisted. “It’s not appropriate. Felicity, your maid will assist you from now on. Come.”

  He led her inside, and he didn’t glance back, and Mary was relieved that he didn’t.

  She slumped against the wall, and she remained there, listening as their strides faded. Then she went in and climbed the rear stairs to her bedchamber.

  For an eternity, she gazed out the window as the sun set, the sky changing from indigo to black. It was so quiet, her wing of the manor so isolated, that she felt as if she was the last person on earth.

  As darkness descended, she lit a candle and got ready for bed.

  She undressed, washed, and drew on her robe and her floppy woolen socks, then she stared out the window again. The stars twinkled, inviting her to make a wish, but what would it be? That Redvers would fall in love with her? That they could live happily ever after?

  Such a wish would be ludicrous.

  Through the woods, she could see a light flickering from Harold’s house. She hadn’t spoken to him since the day she’d drunk the Spinster’s Cure. From that moment on, she’d scarcely thought of him at all, having devoted hour after foolish hour in dreamy speculation about Jordan Winthrop. Her imprudent infatuation had only pitched her further into his sphere of influence, had left her more miserable and restless than ever.

  She had to stop fantasizing about him, had to stop yearning for a future that would never occur.

  First thing in the morning, she’d call on Harold. She’d remind him of the dance in the village on Saturday night, would ask him to walk her home from church on Sunday as he usually did.

  She had to get her life back on track to where it had been before Redvers’s arrival, to where it would be after he married Felicity and returned to London.

  Off in the distance, she heard someone coming toward her room. She supposed she could have locked her door, but what was the use?

  Jordan Winthrop was like a disease
in her blood. She couldn’t be shed of him. She didn’t want to be shed of him. She wanted to be wicked and witty and loose like Mrs. Bainbridge, and in an instant, all her good intentions regarding Harold vanished.

  She was so pathetic!

  He spun the knob and slipped inside, but she didn’t look over at him. She wished he’d go away, but in the same breath, wished he wouldn’t. Where he was concerned, she had no fortitude; she couldn’t be strong or do what was proper.

  “Has it always been like this for you?” he inquired.

  “Yes.”

  “Why is she allowed to treat you that way?”

  “I don’t know.” She peered at him over her shoulder. “Don’t marry her.”

  “I have to.”

  “You’ll regret it forever.”

  “I’m sure you’re correct.”

  She whirled to face him and boldly announced, “It will hurt me if you go through with it.”

  “I’m sorry.” He shrugged, but added no more.

  “I can’t bear to imagine you with her,” Mary pressed.

  “Oh, Mary, don’t be upset. I’m not worth it.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his back leaned against the door, his beautiful eyes so terribly blue. He hadn’t shaved in many hours, and his cheeks were shadowed with his evening beard. He appeared rumpled and magnificent, and she was so dangerously attracted to him.

  She would do whatever he asked, would shame or debase herself in any fashion he requested, and the insight stunned and frightened her.

  Why was she weak in her need for him?

  “Why did you bring Mrs. Bainbridge to Barnes Manor with you?”

  “I knew I’d be bored; she entertains me. I saw the two of you conversing. Was she rude to you?”

  “Of course she was rude to me! She doesn’t have a civil bone in her body.”

  “I’ll speak to her.”

  “Don’t you dare. It would only make matters worse. She’ll think you have a heightened interest in me.”

  “She’ll be right.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you to have her here while you’re courting Felicity?”

  “Why would it? One woman has nothing to do with the other.”

  “Your conscience is clear?”

  “About Mrs. Bainbridge? Yes.”

  “Will she still be your companion after you’re wed?”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  “Are you in love with her?”

  “Gad, no.”

  “But she’s your mistress.”

  He hesitated, then admitted, “Yes.”

  “Do you do the things with her that you do with me?”

  He flinched as if she’d struck him. “Sometimes.”

  “Will you do the same with Felicity?”

  “She’ll be my wife, Mary,” he gently replied.

  “You can dally with anyone, can’t you? Without a qualm?”

  “I’ve never claimed to be a saint.”

  They were silent, neither of them moving or talking, the only noise the tick of the clock down the hall.

  Finally, she asked what she was dying to learn. “Do I mean anything to you?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “It’s pointless to hash it out,” he said. “Let it go.”

  “But I want to know what we’re doing, where it’s leading.”

  “It’s not leading anywhere, Mary. I’m sorry; I thought you understood that.”

  The comment was soothingly offered, but brutal all the same.

  Sighing, she stared out the window again, making the wish she hadn’t made earlier. She wished she could snap her fingers and become rich and pretty and beloved. She wished she could wake up in some other, better place where people cared about her, where she belonged.

  “Don’t be sad,” he murmured.

  “I’m not,” she fibbed.

  She turned and gazed at him. “I had assumed I was sophisticated enough to involve myself with you, but I’m not. Why don’t you go?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I’m not like the other women in your life.”

  “I know you’re not. That’s why I relish your company.”

  “You should leave and not come back.”

  “I can’t.”

  “It wounds me to see you with Felicity. Do you mind that it does?”

  “Yes, but I can’t stop. I have to marry her—or someone just like her.”

  “Then let it be someone just like her.”

  “Wealthy heiresses don’t grow on trees, and I need to wed as fast as I can. My financial straits are very dire; I don’t have time to pick another girl.”

  “Could you travel to Barnes Manor for Christmas dinner—as her husband—after how it’s been between you and me? Could you spend a summer holiday and chat with me as if we’re old friends?”

  “Yes.”

  She scoffed. “You pretend it would be so easy, but I can’t stand to consider it.”

  It was too painful to look at him, and she wrenched away and studied the floor, praying he would save her from herself and go, but he walked over and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “Mary, I’ll be here for such a short while.” He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. “You can’t send me away. These hours with you are the only ones that bring me any joy.”

  “That can’t be true,” she said, yet she was so pitifully desperate to believe him!

  “You make me happy, Mary. When I’m with Felicity, all I’m focused on is how quickly evening will arrive so that I can be with you.”

  She was certain the statement was false. She was certain that—when they were apart—he never thought of her at all, but it was a sign of her deteriorated condition that she would latch on to it like a drowning woman clutching at a rope.

  “This hurts me so much.”

  “How can I make it better?”

  “You can’t.”

  He kissed her again, tentatively, just a soft brush of his lips to hers, then he clasped her hand.

  “Come,” he said, escorting her to the bed.

  She went willingly and dropped onto the mattress. They stretched out on their sides, Jordan holding her close.

  “It will be all right,” he claimed. “Don’t worry so much.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “I’m giving you all that I can. You have to let it be enough.”

  “I want more from you than this.”

  “But this is all there can ever be. Shouldn’t we grab for it? Can you lie here and tell me that we shouldn’t seize the moment?”

  “Yes, that’s precisely what I’m telling you.”

  “We share a unique attraction. You’ll never convince me to ignore it.”

  “We’re adults; we can control our base impulses.”

  “If we always behaved ourselves, what fun would life be?” She chuckled wearily. “You would say that.”

  “Don’t fret.” He eased her onto her back. “Let’s build memories, instead, so we never forget what it was like.”

  Though it was mad and reckless, she was incapable of refusing him anything. And wasn’t his attitude for the best? Wasn’t it wiser to seize the moment, as he’d suggested? What was gained by restraint?

  If he couldn’t or wouldn’t change his course, it was silly to demand more than he could give. Why deny herself his company in the present simply because she wouldn’t have it in the future?

  She pulled him near, acquiescing, and he smiled, which doomed her to folly.

  When he gazed at her as he was, seeming to want only her and no other, it was impossible to resist him. His allure was too potent, her affection too great.

  They kissed and kissed, the embrace increasing in intensity, with both of them touching and caressing everywhere. She tugged off his shirt, while he loosened the sash on her robe and opened the front.

  He abandoned her mouth and nibbled a path to her breast, and he suckled her, driving her up and up
the spiral of pleasure.

  At his instigation, she’d become a complete voluptuary. She was consumed by her need to seek sensual arousal. Nothing else mattered. Not his other women. Not her betrayal of Felicity. Not her moral upbringing.

  He left her breast and continued his trek down her abdomen to her private parts, and now that she was aware of what he planned, there was none of the embarrassment he’d engendered the first time. Eagerly, she welcomed his naughty advance, spreading her legs, providing him more access. Very swiftly, he pushed her to the cliff of desire and tossed her over.

  She soared with ecstasy, and as she drifted down, he was holding her again, kissing her, laughing.

  “I am so delighted with you,” he said. “You have such a debauched nature. Did you realize it?”

  “No.”

  “You’re a veritable slattern, but I mean that in the most complimentary way.”

  “Thank you—I think.”

  “I’m glad you’ve let me corrupt you.” He slid to the side and began unbuttoning his trousers. “I want to add to your dissipation.”

  “How?”

  “I can experience carnal pleasure, too.”

  “Really? I was wondering if you could.”

  “It’s all I contemplate; it’s my only hobby.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “I can show you what happens. Would you like that?”

  “Very much.”

  “It will enhance our encounters, and it will keep me from getting grouchy.”

  “Grouchy?”

  “Yes. When you’re satisfied, but I’m not, it leaves me uncomfortable.”

  “You poor thing.”

  “I’ve been suffering, and it’s all your fault.”

  “I didn’t know. We must put a stop to it at once.”

  “Yes, we must.” He placed her hand on the placard of his pants. “I’m going to teach you how to touch me in a special way. Initially, it may seem a bit strange.”

  “I don’t care. Just tell me what to do.”

  At the prospect of learning how to titillate him, she was thrilled, and she supposed it was further evidence of her slatternly character, but she didn’t mind.

  “I’m built differently than you,” he explained.

  “You are?”

  “In my manly parts.”