Bound by Bliss

by Lavinia Kent

  “Your brother would never do that. He knows you don’t like Dull-Don.”

  “Don’t call him that.” The words were out before she could pull them back. Why could she not clear him from her mind? Why did he linger there, a tall, hard figure of a man, wide muscled shoulders and narrow hips, with high proud cheekbones and those eyes, eyes that seemed to follow her always. Shaking the thought away, without betraying a moment of emotion, she paused. Why was she defending the man? It was true that she didn’t like him, not anymore. He always made her feel uncomfortable, like butterflies were brushing her with their wings—all over.

  “It’s your name for him,” Angela replied, defensive.

  “Yes, but that was years ago. I should never have told you,” Bliss said, tapping her foot nervously. If only the man really was dull. She’d worked hard to persuade herself that he was, to forget what she’d seen, to forget the images that still came to her in the late hours of the night, the images that filled her with pain—and with something else, something she tried so hard to ignore, to put aside. It was far better to pretend that Duldon was dull, to pretend that was why she disliked him.

  “You had to tell me.” The tiniest hint of a smile lifted Angela’s cheeks. “You had to explain that you gave everyone nicknames after you called me Angel.”

  The story was an old one, but brought a hint of warmth to Bliss’s chilled heart. “Yes, but you still shouldn’t call him that here. What if someone heard?”

  “What do you care? You love a bit of scandal. And besides, it suits him so well. He is such a dull, dull don.”

  If only Angela were correct and that the name suited him far better than it did. Perhaps she could still persuade herself that it did. She considered the matter. He might be attractive, perhaps too attractive, but all he truly cared about was his estates and his own amusement. She knew just how much he liked his own amusements—she’d seen far too much of him and his amusements. Her stomach twisted with past memory. She must remember that the man no longer had a caring bone in his entire body. He didn’t care for her any longer, if he had then he would never have…But she wasn’t going to think of that. He might once have been the most exciting man she knew, but she’d been a child then. Now she knew better. If she worked hard enough maybe she could even consider him a bore, a dull don. That would be safe, and deep in her heart she longed for safety.

  A shiver took her at the thought. Even thinking about the man made her uncomfortable. She’d like to blame it on Swanston’s marriage plans, but she knew better. Ever since she’d left childhood behind, her stomach had tensed when Duldon was around, tiny flickers of awareness leaving her most uncomfortable. That had been true even before…

  How could her brother even think that marriage between them would be suitable?

  —

  Stephan Andrew James Perth, Lord Duldon, rolled on his side as the clock on St. Michael’s tower sounded the hour, the sheets tangling about his waist. He counted the toll as he ran a finger down one of the fine red welts marking the woman’s bare back. Eleven bells.

  A slow sigh escaped between his teeth. Normally such a night’s work would have left him satisfied, but tonight he felt strangely empty, incomplete.

  The woman rolled her hips, inviting further play. Almost perfunctorily he raised a hand and gave her a hard swat. Her ass stretched back as a happy moan sounded. Blast. He knew every move to make, but lacked any actual desire. It had been this way for far too many days—weeks or months if he was honest.

  The woman turned toward him, heavy breasts falling forward, nipples still swollen from the evening’s play, inviting his touch. A slight smile curved her lips beneath the silken mask she wore. “And how may this humble servant serve you further, master?” Her eyes dropped to where the thick linen of the sheet still draped about his waist.

  Her tongue darted out, wetting already moist lips.

  Eleven.

  Eleven bells.

  Shit. He was late.

  He’d promised his aunt he’d attend the Evanstons’ soiree. And his aunt, Lady Perse, was not one to be disappointed—plus there was always the possibility that Bliss would be there. He pushed the thought from his mind. He’d thought of her far too frequently these last months, fantasized about her far too often. His cock began to swell at even the slightest thought. Blast. Bliss was going to be his wife, not his mistress. Now, if only the unruly beast would remember that fact and not rear his ugly head at every thought of sweet Bliss.

  Without a word, he swung from the bed and reached for his trousers. If he hurried he would make it before the call to dinner. Luckily Lady Evanston believed in a late dinner. Lady Perse would understand. A gentleman could not be expected to arrive early.

  “You’re leaving now?” The woman did not sound happy, not at all.

  “I am sorry. I must.” He laid a careless kiss upon her rounded shoulder.

  She pushed herself up, her breasts almost slapping his chest. “Don’t you want to punish me more? I’ve been a very bad maid. I haven’t completed my tasks.” Her hand reached for the trousers he had just fastened.

  He pushed her hand away. Couldn’t they ever be original? He knew it was all a game; his partner was no more a servant than a lion was a house cat, but some days he tired of all the pretense, wanted something real, something true.

  Why couldn’t a single one of them admit what they wanted without masks and foolery? But he knew the answer to that question. It wasn’t as if he walked about admitting to his own desires…

  “You can’t leave. I am not ready,” the woman complained, her lips forming an unattractive frown.

  Now, that was more in character with her real identity.

  “Sorry.” But actually he wasn’t. It was as much a relief as anything. “I’ve paid Madame Rouge for the room. You can stay until morning if you wish, perhaps seek another companion.” He draped his untied cravat about his neck.

  And then he slipped through the door, his thoughts moving on to the remainder of the night, the woman already forgotten.

  —

  Bliss stared about the Evanstons’ ballroom one more time. Surely it must be nearly time for dinner. If she didn’t receive her invite soon…

  “I still can’t believe what you’ve said.” Angela was not going to let their previous conversation go. “Your brother knows you better than that and since Swanston married Louisa he’s seemed almost human. You need somebody who enjoys a bit of fun. There must be a dozen lords you could marry.”

  Bliss kept her head turned away from her friend’s far too penetrating gaze. She did want somebody fun—fun and undemanding—not that she wished to marry at all. Why couldn’t they all just leave her alone to live her life as she wished? Nobody was dependent on her. And her grandmother had left her more than enough funds in trust to be sure that she was never a burden. If only she were a few years older she would buy her own home and settle far away from everybody, perhaps somewhere in the country where nobody would be watching—certainly not a certain vexing earl who lived next door to the family estate, an earl she could not seem to push from her mind. Not that she wanted the boredom of the country, not yet. There were far too many adventures she wanted to have first, too many things she wanted to know, to try. The few days she’d spent with her dear friend Lady Ormande had left her eager for more experience, for the chance to try those things so forbidden to a well-born lady, things she hardly dared imagine. If only she’d had a chance to learn if half the scandalous whispers about the lady were true before she suddenly retired to Scotland without a word to Bliss.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Angela complained.

  “Sorry—and yes. It’s just that every time I think about what my brother is trying to do, my mind freezes like a butterfly in December. I think it’s really all about land. My father owns some finger of land that used to be part of Duldon’s estate and he wants it back. I don’t think either of them even cares about me.” Duldon certainly didn’t. He’d made that clear years
ago. It could only be the land that he wanted. Now if only he would quit watching her.

  “You know that isn’t true. Your brother cares a great deal about you.”

  Bliss did not miss that Angela said nothing about Duldon. “Sometimes I think Swanston does care and then at other times I am not so sure.”

  “I don’t think your brother would spend so much time trying to watch over you if he did not care.”

  Bliss supposed that was true, although perhaps he was just protecting the family name. That thought was enough to bring a smile to her lips. Protect the Danser name? Dansers had been causing trouble since before anyone could remember. Her father might be the Duke of Mirth, but that didn’t make him respectable. The man had taken up raising llamas. What kind of duke took an interest in livestock that spat? She’d heard of titled gentlemen being proud of their cattle and their horses, but the animals in question were always well washed when displayed. She doubted there was a man brave enough to get near enough to one of her father’s wooly beasts to scrub the thing down.

  The creatures did seem fond of her father, but she’d always imagined that had more to do with his pocket full of apples than the man himself.

  “You are not paying attention again. Anyone would think you did not care. Perhaps Swanston believes he will marry you off to Duldon and you won’t even notice.” Angela smiled, but there was bite to her words.

  “I would notice.” Her heart fluttered in her chest as she spoke, the thought of a wedding night with Duldon flitting at the edges of her mind. No, she would not think of that. That was a forbidden thought. She might be endlessly curious to understand more of what happened between men and women, might long for Lady Ormande to return and give her instruction, but none of that had anything to do with Duldon. She refused to even let her thoughts wander in that direction. She bit once again on her already sore lip. It was far better to come back to the moment. “And to answer your earlier statement, Swanston isn’t paying nearly as much attention to me since he married Louisa. I think that now that she is in his life he doesn’t have as much time for the rest of us. It makes me wonder if he ever truly cared.”

  “Now you are talking nonsense.” Angela spoke with absolute authority.

  “I know.” Bliss let out a long sigh. “I am being melodramatic. I think I should be allowed a good wallow in self-pity. I have just been informed by my oldest brother that he intends to marry me to Dull-Don if I am not engaged by the end of the summer. He already has the contracts drawn up.” Bliss forced herself to say the dreaded name even though she had just chided Angela for it. It was best to remember what was coming if she did not apply herself to her task. She must find another husband, an easy husband, by the end of the summer, she simply must. And Lady Perse’s teas would surely be the fastest way to accomplish that.

  “You didn’t tell me that. I thought it was merely a threat, not a plan. I know you said he planned it, but I didn’t realize he’d actually made a specific plan. I thought it was just a figure of speech. Your brother never lets his plans go. Everybody knows that. Once he begins he is relentless.”

  “I know.” Another stone dropped onto the pile still residing in her belly.

  “Hmmm.” Angela suddenly smiled. “Perhaps you could convince Swanston that Duldon should marry Dahlia or Felicity. If it really is about a piece of land then what does it matter which of you he marries?”

  For the briefest of seconds Bliss considered the option, despite the shiver of distaste that it caused. Her sisters? Why hadn’t she thought of that? Dahlia was so studious that she might very well not mind marrying any intelligent man. She might not even notice. And the earl was known for having a wonderful library. Strangely another rock dropped at the thought. “No, Felicity is still far too young. And Mirth has promised Dahlia a European adventure. I believe that he hopes to add a little life to her. He doesn’t know what to do with a child who doesn’t cause trouble. I doubt that Duldon wants to wait for either of them and as you say, once my brother begins a plan he is unmovable. No, I must find another husband or marry Duldon.”

  “And that is why you want one of Lady Perse’s invitations?” Angela asked, putting the whole conversation together.

  “Yes.” Bliss turned away and surveyed the growing crowd. Surely she would have received one by now if she was going to. A boulder swayed on the precipice, waiting to plunge. Her teeth sliced into her already swollen lip. If she was not careful she would draw blood. She looked about with care, noting those young ladies who bounced and swayed with that extra portion of joy. Miss Strong had received one, and she was most noted for frequently looking like a piece of fruit, her gowns incredibly ill-chosen. Even Miss Swilp was dancing on tiptoes. As if sensing Bliss’s gaze, Miss Swilp turned and wrinkled her nose in Bliss’s direction, her green eyes narrowing as she glanced back across the room. There was no way that Miss Swilp could know that Bliss had not received an invitation and yet Bliss could sense her feelings of superiority across the room. “Sarah Swilp has received one.”

  “I can’t imagine that even Lady Perse can find her a husband. Perhaps she cannot resist a challenge.” Angela smiled at her own words.

  And then it hit her; Bliss turned and stared at her friend. Angela had been bursting with happiness when she’d first spoken. “You received one also, didn’t you, Angel?”

  Silence.

  Angela’s voice dropped. “Yes, I think I may have been the first. I didn’t want to tell you until you received yours. I was so sure you were going to. You are always part of everything.”

  That was because she always demanded to be part of everything and who would refuse the daughter of the Duke of Mirth? People might laugh behind her father’s back, but never to his face. Nobody would refuse him, and so nobody would refuse her.

  Raising her head, Bliss glanced across the room to where Lady Perse stood surrounded by cronies, her eagle eyes picking out each lady who had received one of her invites. Lady Perse’s gaze fell upon Angela, and a soft smile lifted the thin lips and the gray eyes warmed beneath the white fluff of hair that resembled a cat asleep upon her head—and then her gaze landed upon Bliss.

  For a moment she smiled—she had always been kind to Bliss—but then her lips thinned as if an unpleasant taste had filled her mouth.

  Bliss could feel Lady Perse consider her deep rose gown, much too deep in color for one so young, the skirts forming a bell far more exaggerated than any other in the room. Bliss knew the dress was extreme, but it was so perfect for twirling, the skirts skimming about like a flower, but never rising above her ankles no matter how fast the dance. That was one mistake Bliss never intended to make again.

  Lady Perse clearly did not see the sense of the design. Her eyes glided up Bliss’s body until their eyes met.

  Lady Perse gave one sharp shake of her head, her eyes narrowed, her rejection clear.

  Evidently there was one person who could refuse Bliss.

  The boulder crashed down, almost bringing Bliss to her knees.

  And then she stiffened. She’d never let public opinion bring her down before, and she would not allow the opinion of one old woman sway her, even if that woman was Lady Perse.

  “I need to dance,” she said, turning back to Angela. “Fast and then faster. I want to spin until I cannot stand.”

  “Bliss…”

  She ignored the concern in her friend’s tone and turned into the crowd. She would find a man, any man, and flirt and dance until her feet ached. She would not think of the future, she would not.

  —

  She was looking for trouble. As usual.

  From the moment he’d arrived at the ball and discovered she was here, Duldon’s attention had been consumed by Bliss, consumed by her lush curves contained in the tight pink gown, consumed by the soft glint of her corn silk hair in the light of the hundred candles, consumed with the carefree smile that couldn’t quite hide the shadows in her eyes. He drew in a deep breath as he watched those eyes flit over the gathering, lookin
g, seeking.

  A deep sigh. He hadn’t yet even greeted his aunt. Duty must be attended to before he could begin his own search—for the attention of certain delicate blonde.

  He smiled as he observed Bliss rise on her toes as her eyes continued to wander—and then he frowned. He knew that furrow of brow far too well. He’d first seen it when Bliss was six and her father had told her she couldn’t have a cat because he wanted to raise rabbits and was afraid the cat might eat them. Bliss had nodded her agreement and come home with a puppy, one that grew to be the size of a small cow. She’d stared up at her father with just that narrowing of lips and glare of eyes, daring anybody to put the pup out.

  The duke had merely shrugged. Swanston might have sent the pup away if he’d been at home, but he’d been in London. Duldon, feeling the man at the grand age of fourteen, had considered removing the pup himself, but he’d never been able to resist that stubborn vulnerability, that look that dared the world while begging for affection.

  He hadn’t been able to resist it then, and he doubted he could now.

  Only he had to.

  He intended to marry the girl and nothing was going to stand in his way. Nothing—not even Bliss herself.

  Not even overhearing the minx call him Dull-Don. He’d heard it from her before and it always brought a smile to his lips. He wondered what she’d say if she knew the truth of how he had spent the earlier portion of the evening. He’d seen her gaze run over him on more than one occasion, seen the look that let him know she found him pleasing. Bliss might never admit it, not even to herself, but he knew she found him far from dull.

  He smiled again, although only the barest crook of a lip made it to his mouth. Society might say many things if his full life, his full interests, were ever revealed, but he doubted “dull” would be among them.