Seducing the Marquess (Lords and Ladies in Love)

by Callie Hutton

  “I have never participated before, but I’ve seen it played any number of times.” At numerous picnics she would have liked to play, but Mother had always reminded her that true ladies did not partake in any sort of activity that would cause fatigue. As if walking around with a mallet in one’s hand and tapping a ball was strenuous. Why had she blindly accepted all of that? She raised her chin. “Yes. I would like to try it.”

  Once the game began, she realized this was the perfect time for her to use her newly gained skills to disturb her usually unflappable husband. “Can you show me how to hold the mallet?”

  Devon walked behind her, surrounding her with his arms. He wrapped his hands around hers on the mallet. “Here, move your hands a bit,” he murmured.

  The warmth of his breath on her neck produced a wave of gooseflesh, definitely distracting her. In retaliation, she purposefully shifted her hips to rub her backside against his leg as she rearranged her position. Devon jumped back as if burned. She bit her lip to keep from grinning. “Like this?” Turning her head, she smiled sweetly over her shoulder.

  “Yes. Yes. I think you have it now.” Devon stepped to the side as he watched her swing. “Very good, my dear. You are doing just fine.” He strode from her to lift a glass of ale sitting on a small table near where they played, finishing it in one gulp.

  The game proceeded with Eugenia using every opportunity to fluster her husband. Slight touches, looks, and brushing up alongside him seemed to keep the poor man off-balance and constantly missing his shots.

  Her happy heart danced a cotillion.

  They joined the rest of the party, Eugenia noting she did not feel fatigued at all. In fact, she would describe her spirits as quite exuberant. Another myth dispelled.

  Shortly after the guests enjoyed a lunch of lobster patties, chicken pudding, sliced cold roast, walnut sandwiches, fruit, and a syllabub, the ladies gathered at the request of their hostess and took a walk around the area. Arm in arm with Lady Danby, Eugenia followed the small groups of other ladies as they wandered around.

  The warm air had turned cooler as clouds moved in overhead. Eugenia ran her hands up and down her arms, wishing she had brought her wrap. The scent of early summer flowers drifted to her nostrils as a slight wind picked up.

  “Oh, dear. I hope our picnic will not be ruined by rain.” Lady Wentworth studied the sky. She turned to the group behind her. “Ladies, perhaps we should head back to the picnic area. I would not want to see us drenched.”

  As one, the gathering turned and headed back, the wind picking up, blowing skirts, and threatening to remove bonnets from heads. Eugenia hurried with the others, briefly touching her wrist. “Oh, goodness.” She came to an abrupt halt.

  “What is wrong, dear?” Lady Wentworth asked.

  “I seem to have lost my bracelet. It is an heirloom from my grandmamma. I have to find it.”

  “Perhaps you should leave off looking for it now. The weather does not look too promising.”

  Eugenia scanned the darkening sky. “I will hurry. It cannot be too far.” She broke from the group and began to study the ground, covering the area they’d walked before they’d turned back.

  The wind grew stronger, and she shivered slightly. Slowly, she examined the grass, every once in a while giving the threatening clouds a worried glance. She comforted herself with the thought that the group really hadn’t walked too far before they’d turned back. Once she’d paced the area with no results, she turned back and began again.

  “Eugenia!” Devon’s deep voice could barely be heard over the whistling of the wind as he strode up behind her. “What are you doing? We are about to be hit with a storm. Come, and return to the house.”

  “No, I can’t.” She shouted back, then pushed the hair flying loose from her bonnet out of her eyes. “I lost the bracelet my grandmamma gave me when I was just a girl. I can’t leave it here.”

  …

  Devon’s heart slowed a bit as he regarded Eugenia. When Lady Wentworth had chased him down as the servants gathered up the picnic remains, telling him that Eugenia had stayed behind to find a piece of jewelry she’d lost, he’d raced off, afraid she’d be caught in the downpour that was sure to arrive any moment. He’d been prepared to order her back to the house, and had it been just any piece of jewelry, he would have insisted. But he knew how much the gold and topaz bracelet meant to her.

  “Very well. Let’s see if we can find it before we are soaked.”

  With two pairs of eyes, they continued the hunt. Within minutes, fat beads of rain landed in plops in front of them, on their heads and shoulders. The drops soon increased, eventually turning into a deluge, making visibility nil. Just as Devon was about to insist they return without the bracelet, Eugenia cried, “There. It’s over there.”

  Slipping and sliding, she hurried forward and bent to pick up the piece. She held it up, a grin on her face, water streaming from her soaked bonnet.

  Devon grabbed her hand. “Come. There is a gazebo about halfway to the picnic area.”

  When it became apparent that wet slippers gave no purchase on the soaked grass, Devon bent and scooped Eugenia into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.

  Her body was light as a feather in his arms. Did she even eat enough? Of all the women he’d shared a bed with, his wife was the only one he’d never seen completely unclothed. Although he assumed keeping one’s wife covered to preserve her modesty was normal, for some reason now it bothered him.

  Why the devil had a soaking wet Eugenia produced that thought?

  Head down, he continued forward, his long legs eating up the distance. “Here we are.” He headed to the gazebo, which would be somewhat of a shelter as long as the wind didn’t pick up again. Once out of the worst of the rain, he set her on her feet.

  “I am sorry to be such a bother.” Eugenia pushed back the hair that had fallen from her bonnet onto her forehead. Being made of straw, said bonnet drooped in the front, the sodden brim dipping water over one of Eugenia’s eyes. Her face was flushed, her clothing plastered to her body, and mud covered the hem of her gown.

  “’Tis no bother, my dear.”

  Why the devil was it every time he looked at her lately, she appeared disheveled? His Eugenia never had a hair out of place, had always worn gowns that covered her bosom in a respectable manner, would never have considered playing pall mall, and certainly wouldn’t be standing before him right now with every curve of her luscious body visible through her soaked gown.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes to block the image from his mind.

  Not working.

  “Eugenia, we have to get you out of those wet clothes before you catch an ague.”

  Her eyes grew wide under the wilting bonnet. “I’m afraid that is impossible, my lord. I have no other clothes.”

  “Right.” He walked in a circle, his head down, his hands on his hips. “Devon,” he said, his tone distracted.

  “What?”

  “Devon.” He looked up at her. “I asked you to call me Devon.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh, indeed. Anything to divert his attention from Eugenia’s long legs outlined so delectably under her gown. The material dipped right at the juncture of her thighs, outlining her…

  The devil take it. If they spent any more time here, the steam coming off his clothes from his heated body would cause a fog to rival London harbor.

  Devon moved to the edge of the gazebo and studied the sky. “The rain has slowed a bit. I think it is in our best interest to make it back to the picnic. I am sure there will still be at least one carriage left for us.”

  There was no way around it, once again he would have to carry Eugenia. Fortunately, it was less than a half mile back to where the picnic had taken place.

  “I could try to walk.” Eugenia had joined him at the edge of the structure.

  “No. You would only end up slipping and injuring yourself.” He jumped down from the platf
orm and offered his hand to assist her. Once she reached the ground, he lifted her into his arms and set out. His lips tightened as she began to shiver. Once they returned to the house he would request a hot bath and order her into bed for the rest of the day.

  A lone carriage stood where the now defunct picnic had taken place. The driver jumped from the top of the vehicle and quickly opened the door. “I am sorry, my lord. We would have come after you once we returned from bringing the other guests to the house, but we were not sure in which direction you had gone.”

  Devon nodded as he placed Eugenia in the carriage. “Quite all right. Just get us back to the manor as quickly as you can. My wife is quite chilled.”

  Once he settled next to her, he reached under the seat and pulled out a woolen blanket. “Here, this will help a bit.”

  When she continued to shake, he pulled her next to his body and wrapped them both in the blanket. That seemed to suffice, but the best thing right now was getting her out of these wet clothes and into a hot bath.

  Naked.

  Stop.

  Eugenia snuggled closer and raised her head to look at him. “Thank you so much.” She smiled and licked her lips.

  When had she started doing that?

  The coach rolled to a halt, and a footman descended the steps from the house to open the door. Devon climbed out and turned, reaching for her.

  “I can walk.” Eugenia took his hand and, with his arm wrapped securely around her waist, they slowly made their way up the stairs, shoes squeaking and wet clothes slapping against them.

  They entered the house where Devon quickly and efficiently requested a hot bath and warmed bricks for their bed.

  “Oh, thank goodness you’ve arrived.” Lady Wentworth hurried down the corridor. “We did not want to leave you there, but the ladies were quite anxious to return.”

  “That was quite all right. Thank you for sending a carriage back for us.”

  With a quick glance at Eugenia, Lady Wentworth waved them on, with instructions to join the party for tea once they had changed.

  After entering the room, Eugenia turned her back to him. “Will y-y-you please h-h-help me out of m-m-my gown?”

  He groaned inwardly, but really had no choice. He unfastened the gown, and got as far as just her chemise remaining, which clung to her body and outlined every charm she possessed, when a knock sounded at the door.

  Relieved for the interruption, Devon quickly grabbed the counterpane from the bed and wrapped her in it. Two footmen entered with a tub, followed by maids carrying steaming water. Once the bath was set up and the servants gone, he backed away. “I will see about getting a bath somewhere else.”

  “Your clothes?”

  He stared at her openmouthed. The sight of her in the wet chemise was burned into his brain, leaving him so flustered he had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Your clothes are here in this room. Won’t you need them after your bath?”

  “Right.” The devil take it, it was damned inconvenient sharing a room. “I will be all right for a while. Just enjoy your bath, and I will take mine when you are through.” He continued to babble as he backed up and finally hit the door.

  Before she could say a word, he let himself out. As if a banshee chased him, he raced along the corridor, down the stairs, and into Wentworth’s drawing room. There he helped himself to a glass of brandy that he poured with still-shaky hands.

  The liquid slid down his throat, burning as it hit his stomach. He poured a second glass and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the day. More clouds had gathered, and the rain had picked up once again. His clothes were damp, but he no longer felt chilled. The brandy and the sight of Eugenia practically nude had done quite a bit to warm him up.

  He had to solve this dilemma. He was becoming much too lustful where she was concerned. She had not married him to be pawed all the time. She was his wife and deserved the utmost respect for her person and her body.

  As the guests began to trickle into the drawing room for tea, he made a decision. As much as seeking another mistress held no appeal for him, he must, nevertheless, make some discreet inquiries as to who might be seeking a protector. It was either that or visit one of the many brothels in London to at least relieve himself of this pent-up frustration.

  Then the vision of Eugenia in the gown he insisted she change last evening, with all that smooth, creamy skin exposed, popped into his mind. She was the one he wanted. And not in the way it had been with her since their marriage had begun.

  Yes. He was a lecher. He wanted to ravish her.

  Chapter Eight

  “It is nice to have one’s dance card full when one’s husband requests a dance.”

  Secrets of the Bedchamber, p. 33

  The Wentworth house party had come to an end. For as much as Eugenia had hoped sharing a room, and the lack of Sally’s help, would inspire Devon to do more than his usual impersonal, very proper interaction with her, nothing had changed. In fact, Saturday had come and gone, and he hadn’t touched her.

  The first Saturday he’d missed since they’d married.

  She had pondered her progress—or lack thereof—on the trip home. To the sound of wheels turning, harnesses jingling, and hoofs clopping along, she had considered the past few days. She knew she had disturbed him several times, but his will was strong. Either that or he found her unappealing.

  Her stomach had clenched at the thought. No. She would never succumb to that despair. There had been enough reaction to her tomfoolery to know Devon had not been unaffected. Now that she understood passion—from reading, of course, drat that—Devon’s behavior during their stay at the Wentworth’s lent itself to encouragement. She merely had to read more of her book and come up with some new ideas.

  Happy with her solution, she had picked up the volume of poetry she carried to read in public to pass the time.

  Eugenia eyed the pile of invitations neatly stacked on her escritoire as she entered her sitting room the following Wednesday morning. After arriving home late the previous evening from the Browning musicale, Devon had offered a perfunctory kiss on her cheek, then quickly departed to visit one of his clubs.

  At least she hoped that was to where he’d taken himself off. She’d tossed and turned for a few hours before she heard him moving around his bedchamber and speaking with Jake. Holding her breath to see if he would break with his habit and come to her—even though it was Tuesday—she finally fell into a fitful sleep after the noises ceased, and the door between his dressing room and her bedchamber remained closed.

  When she studied herself in the mirror that morning, she’d looked tired and drawn. Perhaps a visit to her modiste would serve to perk her up. She would order another gown to scandalize her husband. Something in a color she’d never worn before. But the neckline could not be too low since she didn’t want to be ordered to change before they left. Unless, of course, he didn’t see her gown before then.

  She smiled.

  Two hours later, the pile of invitations had diminished a great deal. She’d accepted several and declined many more. She and Devon were very popular with the ton, and their presence at an event was sure to secure the hostess’s place in Society. They had made it a practice from the beginning to not accept more than one invitation an evening.

  Truth be told, she was growing weary of the Season. The glamor and excitement had worn off even before Devon had plucked her from the throng of debutantes and made her his wife. She oftentimes dreamed of them retiring to Devon Manor in Devonshire to enjoy the countryside and perhaps raise a child or two.

  Brief visits to London would be pleasant, but she had no desire to continue year after year with the stress of an incessant round of soirees, balls, and garden parties. She’d had her fill of the gossip, scandals, and arrogance of the aristocracy. When she had demurely suggested such a thing, Devon had reminded her of his obligations in Parliament. Being the perfect wife, she had agreed, and life continued on.

 
Tonight she and Devon were to meet Lord and Lady Bedford at the theater. She was looking forward to seeing Romeo and Juliet at Theater Royal Drury Lane. Mrs. W. West was making her first appearance of the Season as Juliet. Eugenia had enjoyed her performances before.

  She glanced up as Devon entered her sitting room. “I am headed to White’s to meet with a few of the men I hope will support the bill I am sponsoring in Parliament. I believe we are headed to the theater tonight?”

  “Yes. We are meeting Lord and Lady Bedford.” The Earl of Bedford and his countess had attended several events with them. Older by a good fifteen to twenty years, they appealed more to Eugenia than the silly young girls and dandies one met at so many social affairs.

  “Excellent. I will be at home for dinner, unless you plan to have a tray in your room.”

  Eugenia shook her head. “Perhaps I will ask Cook to have dinner later than usual so we can leave for the theater right after.”

  “Wonderful idea.”

  Wishing to delay him, she said, “What is this bill in Parliament?”

  His raised eyebrows told her that once again she’d surprised him.

  Good.

  “I am sure you would not want to be involved in the nastiness of politics, my dear.” He turned to leave, and she cleared her throat, causing him to turn around.

  “Indeed, I would like to know what the bill is about. I am not an unintelligent person, Devon. I want to understand what is going on in our country.”

  His condescending smile turned to puzzlement as he walked back to her. “I have never known you to ask anything about Parliament before, my dear.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps it is time for me to consider more than the next house party or ball.”

  He sat on the chair next to her escritoire, a look of amusement on his face. “Very well. This bill will strengthen the laws separating the classes. I am afraid the Whigs have decided to revolt via Parliament. They are stirring up the underclass, and this will see that their efforts come to naught.”