My Lady's Pleasure

by Julia Justiss

  “There, milady Valeria. Your throne, established in the driest bit of greensward I could discover, awaits.”

  “Thank you, gallant sir!” Valeria seated herself and, after arranging her skirts, patted the place beside her. “Sit, and I’ll unpack the bounty Cook provided. We probably have no need of additional meat pies.”

  “Ah, but Valeria-love, how else was I to have a few minutes alone with you? Since you are so disobliging as to always refuse to steal back to my rooms with me.”

  “Oh, Teagan, do stop,” she replied, chuckling. “You’ve already practiced your wiles on Molly. I believe she’s more than half in love with you, which is making poor James quite jealous.”

  Teagan, with the quick wit she’d soon noticed in him, had skillfully taken advantage of Lady Farrington’s addition to their group, realizing that, with the footman to escort Valeria’s maid, he could safely dispatch the two on small errands.

  ’Twas a kindness to both couples, he told Valeria, the twinkle in his eyes belying the seriousness of his tone, for it prevented Molly from becoming bored by giving her a handsome young footman to flirt with, and allowed Teagan and Valeria to converse with much more freedom and privacy than might have otherwise been possible.

  He’d also induced her to dispense with cumbersome titles. As Teagan pointed out, ’twas a bit ridiculous for two who had shared such intimacies to address each other as “Lady Arnold” and “Mr. Fitzwilliams” during private chat.

  “You have a talent with people,” Valeria observed, watching her maid and the attentive footman walk away.

  Engaged in pulling the cork from their wine, Teagan made a short bow over the bottle. “Sure, and a rogue must needs charm the ladies.”

  “True, ’twould be hard otherwise to maintain one’s reputation. But you talk just as easily with James, and can always find something to interest him, no matter how unlikely the locale. You persuaded the Tower guard to give us an extended tour after I’d just overheard him telling another group of visitors the rooms were closed.”

  “’Tis my Irish tongue. Faith, but it can be very persuasive.”

  “Can it, now?” But as she echoed his teasing tone, the memory of what that tongue had persuaded her to do invaded her mind in a hot rush of sensation. Ordinary hunger forgotten, suddenly she was starving for the taste of him, the banquet of responses he could evoke with his knowing hands and lips. Her eyes lifted to his mouth, her fingers itching to reach out and pull him the small distance that separated her greedy tongue from his.

  He must have sensed her need, for his smile faded and his hands clenched on the wine bottle. His golden eyes blazed with an answering heat. “Valeria,” he whispered.

  “We got six meat pies. Think ye that’ll be enough?”

  Molly’s cheerful voice jerked Valeria back to the reality of where she was, sitting on a blanket on Tower green, brightly garbed guards within sight, curious visitors wandering the grounds all about her.

  “M-more than enough, thank you,” she answered in a voice that wobbled only slightly, thinking how wise she’d been to provide herself with a multitude of chaperones.

  Molly insisted on unpacking and dividing up the provisions, she and James then removing a short distance away to devour their meal.

  “So, what did you find most remarkable this morning?” Teagan asked, handing Valeria a wineglass.

  “I thought the mechanical figures most ingenious, particularly the man dancing on a circus tightrope. But I am somewhat sorry we visited the menagerie.”

  “Why is that? Do you not like animals?”

  “On the contrary, I like them very much. I felt so sorry for the beasts, though—and pity is not an emotion I’d ever envisioned feeling for a tiger! We encountered ferocious ones in India, where they sometimes carry off livestock and even threaten the inhabitants. But those poor creatures! Stolen from their homeland, trapped in an alien place, pacing their narrow cages with no hope of breaking free…”

  “Aye. ’Tis no wonder they roar with the pain of it.”

  The odd tone of his voice caused Valeria to look up, into the sparkling depths of Teagan’s golden eyes. Like you, she thought, and knew he was thinking the same.

  “Is there no way out?” she asked softly.

  He remained silent, staring off into the distance. Valeria began to fear she’d breached the trust between them, articulating an insight to which she ought not have given voice, when Teagan spoke.

  “Sometimes I dream of using Ailainn to begin a stud farm, such as I used to run in the summers for my grandfather. A simple place in the country I can purchase when the dibs are in tune, and manage like a proper gentleman farmer. But the dibs are never in tune long enough.” His wry smile took on a bitter edge. “I suppose I could try to entice a rich woman into marrying me. But I pray heaven I’ll never be that desperate or that deep in my cups. What a treat for the lady, to take to husband a man who’ll sooner or later abandon her, as dear Papa did us.”

  Before she could think what to reply, Teagan put down his glass. “Let Molly help you pack up. There’s much to see at the docks, and we must view it all before four of the clock. After that, the guildmaster locks the great gates and not even the king himself could gain entry.”

  He sprang up and walked away, leaving her still at a loss for words to ease the ache she heard in his voice.

  By the time he returned with the hackney, the lighthearted sparkle was back in his eye, and conversation grew general. And once they arrived at their destination, Valeria forgot the incident in her wonder over the long avenue of brick warehouses set on stout stone foundations, the crowd of ships straining at anchor in the swift-flowing river, awaiting their turn to disembark their cargoes.

  Before her awed eyes she saw flags from a dozen nations, men in sailor’s garb, in factor’s suits, in flowing Eastern robes. A forest of stout posts lined the quays, bearing huge hoists and winches by which means the sailors were levering a diversity of cargoes out of the holds of their ships.

  Eager for a closer look, Valeria begged Teagan to take her to the quay of the easternmost warehouse. Molly and James declined the treat, preferring to wait with the hackney.

  “It’s said ten thousand tons of shipping is unloaded on these docks in a year,” Teagan told her.

  “How do you learn such things?”

  “I’ve often had occasion to play cards with merchants and factors. Most men like to speak of their work, if you give them the opportunity.”

  Valeria edged closer to the water. “See the ropes strain! What is it they’re hauling up now?”

  “Why, ’tis a fine Queen Anne chair and a beautiful balustrade. Or it will be, when the carvers finish it.”

  “Ah, ’tis a block of mahogany! Where would that come from, do you think?”

  “The forests of Asia, probably, though I believe some grow in the Americas as well.”

  Valeria stood on tiptoe and leaned forward to get a better look at the rich, red-hued wood glistening in the afternoon sun. “How beautiful it—oh!”

  Her words ended with a small shriek as one of the hoist ropes snapped and the huge block teetered, then tumbled out of the cargo net toward the dock below.

  Before she could think to move, Teagan seized her and half carried, half dragged her away. As the mahogany crashed onto the quay where she’d been standing a few seconds earlier, he pulled her into the safety of a small alley bordering the warehouse.

  The foreman directing the winch-handlers ran after them. “Cor, ma’am, is you all right?”

  Teagan set her down and steadied her against him. “Unhurt, sir. A bit frightened, perhaps.”

  “Lord be praised,” the man declared, and trotted back to the quay to deliver to the workmen a loud and, to Valeria’s ears, completely incomprehensible harangue whose angry tone alone she could understand.

  “You are unhurt?” he asked, still cradling her against his chest, his panting breaths warm against her face.

  “Perfectly fine,” she answ
ered. “It all happened too quickly for me to be afraid.”

  “Well, I’m glad you weren’t,” he muttered. “I was terrified.” As if to emphasize those words, he hugged her.

  Surprise soon gave way to sweetest pleasure. She loved the strength of his arms cradling her to his chest, the faint scratchiness of his chin pressed to her temple. The feel of his body against hers from chest through torso, her legs brushing his, sent sparks through every nerve.

  Her mind instantly recalled that other time she’d felt him full-length against her, the sultry pressure of his body touching hers intimately, while his tongue, slow and languid, spiraled her to unimagined bliss.

  Fire ignited within her, kindling her bones, melting conscious will and molding it to new purpose. She felt the tremors of an answering explosion vibrate through his body.

  Valeria pulled her chin from the spot he had tucked it, in the hollow of his shoulder. Slowly, as if reluctant to lose even one small area of contact, he allowed her to back off. His breathing ragged, he looked down at her.

  “Please, Teagan,” she whispered, and raised her lips.

  This time he did not move away. Making a sound deep in his throat, he brushed his mouth against hers gently, his touch soft and almost unbearably sweet. Clutching his shoulders, Valeria traced the tip of her tongue over the lips she’d wanted so long and so badly to taste.

  As if a wall of restraint had been breached, with a growl he hauled her closer, crushing her breasts against his chest. His tongue parted her lips, delved deep into her mouth, teasing, stroking, fanning the flames within to a conflagration that burned away any thought of where they were or why she had waited so long to come into his arms.

  She wasn’t sure whether she’d been kissing him an eternity or an instant—whichever was not long enough—when he broke away, gasping, and pushed her unsteadily aside.

  Had he not fended her off, Valeria would certainly have claimed his mouth again. She stared up at him in confusion as the fog of need began to clear.

  “Ah, sweeting,” he murmured, raising one shaky finger to touch her kiss-reddened lips. “We cannot.”

  Running footsteps approached.

  “My lady!” Molly’s panicked voice called across the sudden stillness. “There be a courier come from the house. ’Tis Lady Winterdale! We must return at once!”

  Chapter Ten

  A pprehension making it difficult to breathe, Valeria scrambled from the hackney. Jennings opened the front door before she could touch the handle, and to her surprise, Lady Farrington hurried out from the parlor, a damp handkerchief in her hand.

  “Valeria, at last! She’s been asking for you, and I so feared you might not return in t-time!”

  Dread slammed into her chest. A queasy mix of fear, anguish and angry protest, too reminiscent of another time, another sickbed, churned in her gut. “I’ll go up at once.”

  She fumbled with the fastening of her pelisse, felt rather than saw Teagan brush her fingers away and undo the ties, then hand it to the butler. “Go,” he said quietly.

  She gave him a quick nod and ran for the stairs.

  Teagan watched her ascend, an echoing sadness in his heart. Though to hear her speak of her dealings with the countess, it appeared the two argued more than they agreed, Teagan knew she cared deeply for the old woman. The news brought by the courier who’d summoned them back had been alarming, and the face of Valeria’s chaperone even grimmer.

  Lady Farrington stood near the base of the stairway, looking up. “If she’d been at home where she belonged, Aunt Winterdale wouldn’t have become so distressed.”

  At first Teagan didn’t realize her remark was intended for him.

  “I’m sure she never meant to distress her grandmother, or you, my lady,” he belatedly replied.

  “Well, she’s home now.” Lady Farrington did not turn to address him directly. “And she will have no further need of your services, Mr. Fitzwilliams.” Still showing him her back, Valeria’s chaperone walked to the stairs.

  Before Lady Farrington had taken two steps, Jennings had the massive entry door open. “Good day, sir,” he said, pointedly standing aside to allow Teagan to exit.

  He was being ejected. Though the butler made no move toward him, Teagan suddenly noticed a brace of footmen standing by silently, as if to assist in his departure should he prove uncooperative.

  Chagrin heated his face. With the butler’s disapproving eyes burning into him, Teagan stepped mechanically toward the door. A panicky awareness washed over him when he crossed the threshold and the portal slammed closed behind him.

  Not until this moment had he realized how much his access to Valeria depended upon the goodwill of an old woman who might very well be dying.

  As he stood motionless on the front porch, a carriage careened down the street and slowed before the town house with a screech of brakes. Before the vehicle even stopped moving, Sir William Parham leaped out and came up the steps at a trot, giving Teagan a quick nod as he passed.

  As it had for Valeria, the door opened for him before he could reach it. In the entryway beyond, Teagan saw Lady Farrington hurry down the stairs to seize the newcomer’s hand. “My dear Sir William, thank you for coming! I very much fear Valeria will n-need you—”

  The mahogany portal closed behind Sir William, cutting off the rest of Lady Farrington’s sentence. Numbly Teagan descended the rest of the stairs.

  Valeria will need you.

  He clenched his teeth and slammed one fist against his thigh, fighting an upsurge of humiliation, anger, fear—and a pathetic burst of jealousy.

  She’s my Lady Mystery, you bastard, he silently raged at Sir William, who even now was being led into her presence, probably gathering her into his arms, comforting her against his chest.

  For one ridiculous moment, Teagan wished he were a rich, well-respected gentleman worthy of courting a gently bred lady, able to offer her a home and children, able to vow to keep her in love and comfort the rest of her days.

  But then, he thought as he trudged blindly back toward his lodgings, Lady Mystery had never truly been his. She was no more than a sweet illusion, a fleeting shaft of sunlight and warmth that had briefly brightened the gray sameness of his days. A searing memory of a morning in a hayloft he could now scarcely believe had been real.

  Valeria hurried to the large canopied bed where the countess lay propped up against the pillows, taking shallow panting breaths.

  “Late, girl,” Lady Winterdale scolded as she fixed her still-fierce gaze on Valeria. “Nearly too late.”

  “Nonsense, Grandmamma,” Valeria whispered, grasping the thin chilled hands between her warm ones. “I’m sure you’ll improve. You’re too ornery for St. Peter to want you yet.”

  A ghost of a chuckle exited thin lips already turning waxy. “Can’t cheat death forever. Do something…for me?”

  “Of course,” she answered, blinking back tears.

  “Leaving you money. Winterdale Park, too. Go there afterward. Consider carefully…what you want to do. Promise me?”

  “I promise.”

  “Good.” The countess squeezed Valeria’s hand, the faintest bit of pressure. “Remember…not to be a fool.”

  “I shall try. I love you, Grandmamma.”

  The countess smiled faintly. “My darling girl.”

  Then Lady Winterdale closed her eyes and softly exhaled her last breath.

  And Valeria put her face in her hands and wept.

  With the grim efficiency of one who had organized the ritual three times before, Valeria consulted with the vicar and sent notes to Lady Winterdale’s cronies about her grandmamma’s funeral service. She sat beside Cousin Alicia’s bed, putting cold compresses on that afflicted lady’s temples and bathing her forehead with lavender water while she wailed with a grief Valeria expressed, after her first bout of tears, only in stoic silence. She supervised the draping of the mirrors and doorframes in black, the ordering of mourning apparel for herself, Lady Farrington and the servant
s, and steeled herself to meet the flood of visitors who called to express their regrets.

  She received Lady Winterdale’s lawyer and man of business, hearing with perfect indifference the news that she now possessed cash and property that would make her wealthy beyond imagining.

  An indifference that remained unbroken until the afternoon she and Molly went shopping for black lace crepe, ribbons and feathers to adorn their mourning bonnets.

  At the first establishment they entered, the customer being waited upon, Lady Evelyn—an earl’s wife with an expensive younger son to maintain—stopped in mid-sentence and insisted that Lady Arnold be served first. With profuse expressions of sympathy, she latched on to Valeria’s arm and begged to be allowed to assist her.

  Uncertain how to get rid of Lady Evelyn without appearing rude, Valeria allowed her to accompany them to the next shop. While they walked that short distance, two strolling gentlemen joined them, one a widower with five children and the other a fashionable dandy with a strong preference for the green baize tables of Pall Mall, the two gentlemen disputing with the earl’s wife as to who should take Valeria’s arm.

  Had she not needed the black crepe and ribbons that very day, Valeria would have abandoned the shopping excursion and called for her carriage forthwith. By the time she’d purchased the few items she considered truly essential, a small crowd had gathered, the babbling group tripping over each other to try to carry her parcels, advise on the best shop to patronize, and persuade her to allow them to take her to Gunter’s for some refreshment.

  After finally extracting her arm from Lady Evelyn’s grip, persistently refusing all invitations and having Molly yank the packages back from the hands of her too-willing assistants, she and the maid at last escaped back into their waiting carriage.

  If this, she thought as they regained the blessed quiet of Grosvenor Square, was a sample of what she could expect in her new life as the rich Lady Arnold, Valeria wanted no part of it. As soon as Lady Winterdale’s services were concluded, Valeria intended to honor her benefactress’s wishes and leave London for Winterdale Park.