Lady Priscilla's Shameful Secret

by Christine Merrill

  But he hadn’t. Robert held his gaze, unwilling to admit wrongdoing.

  Hendricks gave him a narrow-eyed glare. ‘Then you must continue the conversation in the main room, for the sake of the lady’s reputation.’

  ‘The lady’s reputation is perfectly safe with me,’ Robert said, smiling. ‘It is not as if you will need to force me to marry her, should someone hear of this. I will do so gladly, the minute she will have me. But there are some matters that we must settle, in private, before I return her to the party. If you would allow us a few more moments alone, I would be most grateful.’ Then he looked up at her brother-in-law, with as much contrition and sincerity as he could manage.

  After taking a split second to decide, Hendricks said, ‘Only a few minutes, mind. I will be loitering at the end of the hall to ensure that you are not disturbed. But I will stay close enough that I might come if I am called.’ This was directed to Priscilla, who, thank the gods, made no effort to refute his story.

  ‘Sit on the furniture and not the floor,’ Hendricks added. ‘There is little point in having the stuff if you don’t mean to use it. I will give you five minutes. Then it is back to the dance floor for the pair of you. Have a care, Reighland. Dru will have my head if any harm comes to her sister.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The door closed behind him.

  Robert stared at her in silence for a few moments, giving Hendricks the time to retreat. Then he reached out and took her hand with a smile and helped her to a divan, taking the seat beside her. ‘Your assessment of my…umm…attributes is flattering, Lady Priscilla. But while a young lady who is still quite innocent might see certain things as a detriment, most others I have been with considered them an asset.’

  For all her supposed wickedness, the idea that women might find pleasure with a large member seemed to surprise her and her eyes went wide. ‘If other women like that, then that is the sort you must choose, I fear. I do not think I am the best wife for you.’

  ‘On the contrary. I think that it is more a matter of changing your mind on certain subjects than it is about adjusting my choice. I have no intention of giving you up over…an accident in biology. If you would be willing to meet with me again in private, I think, at the very least, I will be able to free you of what is likely to be a debilitating fear of the unknown.’

  ‘Are you seriously suggesting that we…?’

  ‘Postpone the remainder of this conversation until tomorrow,’ he finished. ‘Tonight, we will enjoy the food and the dancing and each other’s company. You will not worry your beautiful head about what happened in the past. It is a lovely evening. It would be a shame to waste it in fear or recrimination.’

  ‘But tomorrow?’ The poor girl was still looking at him as though she expected, at any moment, he might unbutton and display his wedding tackle.

  He sighed, wondering if his manners were really as rakish as all that. He had been hasty in his approach. But by his soul, he’d never expected her to be shy on this of all subjects. ‘Tomorrow, you will come to my rooms and we will talk,’ he said at last. ‘Whatever happens, there will be no pain. No fear. I promise. Perhaps we will only use the time to discuss your future, with or without me.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, very quietly. ‘We will do as you suggest.’

  ‘Very good.’ He stood then and reached out a hand to her, almost lifting her back on to her feet with his strength. Then, very gently, he wiped a stray lock of hair from her face and said, ‘This is what comes from stealing kisses in dark corners. I have quite disarranged your curls. No matter. We will make it worth the trouble.’ Then, very sweetly, he kissed her upon her closed lips.

  He made sure the gesture was perfection in its innocence. She did not pull away, though she coloured for him again. But this time it was the barest hint of pink in the dim light, as though she had been pleasantly surprised. He walked her from the room and handed her to Hendricks, that he might be the one to escort her to the lady’s retiring room to recompose herself.

  * * *

  When he saw her later, it was to take her arm and escort her into dinner. Later in the evening, when Charlotte Davering attempted to cut her dead, he was there with a glass of champagne, offering an easy misdirection so that the slight failed miserably. He danced every waltz with her, holding her at a respectful distance, all the while making clear that he had a claim upon her.

  And when it was time to part, he raised her hand to his lips and whispered, ‘Until tomorrow?’

  If it had been a command, she would have run. She would have refused and that would have been the end of it. But he’d made sure it was a question imbued with all the hope growing in his heart.

  Only after he heard the breathless ‘Yes’ did he allow himself so much as a kiss on her gloved knuckles.

  Chapter Nine

  Priss walked through the marble archway of Reighland’s foyer, a mixture of trepidation and relief. Father had been furious to discover Mr Hendricks at the previous evening’s party, nearly angry enough to embarrass himself by snubbing the duke. But Priss had underestimated the hold that Ronnie had over him and that woman’s eagerness to get an unwanted stepdaughter out from under their roof. Benbridge’s feathers had been smoothed, the evening had continued without incident and Mr Hendricks had made a strategic retreat, quitting the party after he’d rescued her from the embarrassing incident on the salon floor.

  It had not been his place to protect her honour. She had a father and stepmother who should have been seeing to that. But that same stepmother greeted the idea of today’s unchaperoned trip to Reighland’s with an emotion near to glee, eager to offer what was left of her honour up so that the peer could do what he liked with it.

  Reighland had promised not to hurt her, she reminded herself firmly. But she had little doubt that today’s meeting would end with her on her back, as Reighland attempted to demonstrate that the marital act could be performed successfully. She meant to allow it, if only to show him the error of his ways.

  It was a shame, really. Under other circumstances she might have enjoyed his company. His manners were rather odd, as were his looks. But he had a gentle soul, for all that. And he had been kind to her. His kisses so far had been both pleasant and disturbing. When she thought of them, as she had for most of the night, her emotions became a tangle of fear and pleasure, leaving her without sleep but also without nightmare. She was tired now. Tired of his courting and Ronnie’s continual curiosity about it. And tired as well of the anticipation of impending disaster.

  At least, after today, it would be over.

  The house was even more spectacular than it had been by candlelight, though she did her best not to notice. She walked at a stately pace, looking neither here nor there at the height of the ceilings, the richness of the hangings or the art upon the walls. The lack of chaperon would be reason for the servants to gossip, without her gawking at the house as though trying to set the right price on her attentions.

  She allowed herself to be shown to the same salon that she had visited the previous night. Reighland awaited her there. The servant announced her and withdrew. They were alone again.

  Silence fell and she tried not to look down at the carpet to find the exact spot where they had struggled. She was a lady, after all. It was not the sort of thing that deserved acknowledgement. Though she had to admit, in daylight it was a fine rug.

  Reighland was looking his usual somber self in a black coat and a pensive expression. If he was pleased to see her again, he managed to conceal it well enough. Though there was nothing lecherous or avaricious about his behaviour, she could not manage to bring herself to smile for him.

  He bowed. ‘Are you feeling well this morning, Lady Priscilla?’

  ‘After my behaviour last night?’ she said, embarrassed to be reminded of it.

  He ga
ve her a non-committal shrug. ‘Any young lady would be given to such a display, considering the circumstances.’

  ‘At least you did not have to force brandy upon me to calm my nerves.’

  ‘I would do it again, if required,’ he said. ‘But today I am hoping that tea will suffice. The things are laid before us. Will you pour, please?’ Reighland took a seat on the sofa and looked up at her.

  She frowned. It was quite rude of him. He should have made sure she was seated and sent for a servant to handle the tea things. But she was so tense that she doubted she’d have taken a seat if he offered. At least preparing their cups would give her something to do with her hands other than wringing them nervously and awaiting the inevitable.

  She ignored the place at his side and took a chair opposite, taking up the pot and pouring out his tea on the little table between them.

  ‘Keeping your distance?’ he asked and she saw the edge of his lips twitching in a smile.

  ‘After last night, I think it is wise, don’t you? Do you take sugar, your Grace?’

  ‘If I were truly interested in tea, then, yes, I take sugar in it.’

  She handed him the cup and looked directly into his eyes. ‘And just what is it that you are interested in, your Grace?’ Come now, Reighland. Put your cards upon the table. You are making me so nervous that I can barely stand it.

  He took the cup she was offering, then set it down on the table. ‘Firstly, I wish to apologise for my behaviour. I will not say it was uncalled for. If ever a mouth was made to be kissed, I am sure it is yours. But I proceeded with undue haste.’

  ‘Your apology is accepted, of course,’ she said without looking at him. ‘As I said last night, it is I who should apologise to you. I was the one who went off with you, down a darkened corridor. After I’d told you of my past, what else were you to think of me?’

  ‘You are entirely too hard on yourself,’ he said, picking up the cup and taking a sip, before setting it back down again. ‘Let us call it a simple misunderstanding, between friends, and leave it at that.’ He patted the upholstery at his side. ‘There is room enough for you here.’

  She ignored it. ‘I would not wish to crowd you.’

  ‘It is what I wish,’ he said, patting the seat again firmly so she would know that it was a command. ‘As I explained last night, it is time that you lost your fear of me. It is groundless, I assure you.’

  She sighed and rose, crossed to his side and sat. But it seemed that the nearer she was to him, the smaller she felt. She shrank against the opposite arm, putting as much distance between them on the divan as she could.

  He gave her a critical look. ‘Why are you so reluctant to sit beside me?’

  ‘I merely preferred the other seat,’ she said.

  ‘And now you are lying to me. After I told you that your honesty was your most appealing characteristic, I am most disappointed in you.’

  ‘I do not like to be touched,’ she reminded him.

  ‘As you said last night. But I am not touching you now,’ he pointed out as gently as possible. ‘Your continued resistance does not bode well for us. If we are to be married, I mean to touch you.’

  ‘And I am not one of your horses, willing to submit tamely to your demands,’ she snapped back.

  ‘If you were, I’d have thrown a saddle on you by now,’ he agreed. ‘I am being as patient as I can manage. It is not as if I mean to practise the marital act upon you, along with my tea.’

  If that was not his intention, than why was she here at all? ‘You are always most adamant that we meet alone,’ she reminded him. ‘And everyone seems so convinced that I will disgrace myself again to cement the bargain. I am sure, even now, Veronica is hoping that you are doing just that.’

  ‘Then damn Lady Benbridge, and her husband as well, for making this more difficult than it needs to be,’ he barked with surprising vehemence. Then he looked back to her and gentled his tone. ‘I have not yet taken advantage of the solitude, have I?’

  ‘No, you have not taken advantage. In daytime, at least.’ Each agreement with him felt like a lost battle. But this one at least made her smile.

  A thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘Perhaps it is time I started.’ Before she could question him, he reached to the floor and scooped her two feet up and into his lap.

  ‘What are you doing?’ The sudden action made her tea cup rattle and she spilled a bit on the saucer. But the length of her legs maintained the distance between them and he stayed where he was, making no effort to close the gap.

  ‘Nothing that need worry you,’ he said. ‘You will notice that while I am touching you, it is an extremity that keeps the maximum distance between us.’

  ‘Stop it this instant.’ She struggled, but he kept a firm grasp on her ankles.

  ‘You do not know what I am attempting, yet.’

  ‘But I am sure that I will not like it.’

  ‘You are quite sure of what you like and dislike, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘You understand that horses are not born knowing they will be ridden.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But as I informed you before, I am not a horse.’

  ‘True. But you must understand that I would not ride a horse before I knew every inch of the animal. And that would be a sound way to treat a wife as well. You notice I am not pawing at your bodice, or forcing kisses upon you. I am only touching your feet.’ He gave a tug on her ankle. ‘You do not have to lock your legs together at the knee. I have no intention of reaching up your gown.’

  She was working to control her unsteady breathing and gave a twitch of her skirt to make sure that her legs and ankles were properly covered. ‘They are still a part of my body. And if they are so remote from the areas that interest you, I do not understand why you would bother with them.’

  ‘They interest me because they are a part of you.’ He reached out and pulled her slippers off, one by one, and tossed them over the back of the couch. She did her best to ignore the sudden shock of her feet coming in closer contact with a much more intimate portion of his anatomy. Then she stilled herself, knowing that continued struggling was likely to result in just the sort of inflammation of feeling that frightened her.

  ‘In my experience,’ he went on, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary with her taking tea with her feet in a gentleman’s lap, ‘feet can be quite sensitive. A light massaging might be pleasant in ways that you have not yet experienced. And you need not worry,’ he added. ‘I mean to limit my contact with you to areas below the ankle.’ Then he stroked her insteps and laid his palm flat against the soles, measuring their length against his hand.

  ‘You are quite mad,’ she said with a nervous clearing of the throat and took a sip of tea.

  ‘Possibly,’ he muttered and traced the curves of her feet with a few firm passes of his fingers. ‘But I am doing you no harm, am I?’

  ‘That is not the problem,’ she said. It wasn’t painful. He was right in that, at least. But it certainly was not relaxing. Her voice sounded strange and tight, and her stays felt the same way. Though she knew the need for it, she could not seem to keep her legs still. She tried to draw her feet up under her skirt, but he kept a firm grasp on them until she relaxed again with a sigh.

  ‘That is better,’ he said softly. ‘I ask no more than that you let me give you pleasure.’ He ran the tip of a finger back and forth from heel to toe.

  She wished he had chosen any other turn of phrase, for it made her think of the sorts of feelings that she had experienced late at night, when she was quite alone and had discovered the exquisite sensitivity of her own body. The places she felt his touch now were far away from the soles of her feet. She concentrated on the feel of the cup in her hand, smooth, hard and growing cold. It was much safer to think of that than the soft, hot, wet feelings in the rest of her
body.

  ‘Priscilla,’ Reighland said her name sharply, as though trying to wake her from a doze. ‘Attend me when I am talking to you.’

  She opened her eyes, surprised to find that she had closed them. His touch was growing more insistent and it made her forget where she was as her mind drifted to dark, intimate places. She pressed her lower lip with her teeth to bring back some semblance of reason. ‘Yes, Reighland?’

  ‘I asked you, if you had nothing to lose by it, would you do me the honour of relaxing in my presence? Could you take pleasure in my company?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was a sigh, as though the word had been torn from her, and she was not sure if she’d meant it as answer to his question, or as a response to the movement of his hand upon her arch.

  ‘Very good,’ he responded. ‘You will forgive me for saying it, but you are behaving like a skittish mare. You must learn to accept my touch, for I will not walk you down the aisle, only to find at the end of the night that you cannot bear to lie with me. I have the succession to think of. It would be beyond foolish to bind myself to a woman who could not abide my company, no matter how well placed her father is.’

  A moment ago he had been promising to do nothing. Now he was talking of marriage and succession, and all the while his hands stroked her feet, leaving her hopelessly confused. ‘Either you mean to have me, or you don’t,’ she said, shifting uneasily on the cushions. ‘Decide and be done with it.’

  He laughed quietly. ‘You have too much experience and still no knowledge of the subject. But then, you had an extremely inept teacher. Let me put it plainly. If we are to be married, then I will have you, either before or after the ceremony. More likely it will be both. But what happens between us will happen because you wish it to be so. And it will not happen today.’