Fascinated

by Bertrice Small

  "Is it time?" The Countess of Whitley was at their side, looking most arch and very excited.

  "It is time," the bishop replied.

  "Who is it to be, Lucinda?" the countess demanded. "You must tell me before you tell the others!"

  "Madame, may I present my intended, Lucian Phillips, the Earl of Stanton," Lucinda said with a twinkle.

  The Countess of Whitley's mouth dropped open, her first chin bouncing off her other two chins. She gasped, and then she burst out laughing. "You minx!" she said. "You have kept all of society guessing between the duke, the marquess, and Bertram, and all the while you had another stud in your stable! Well, good for you, my gel! You have chosen, in my opinion-and here in London my opinion counts for everything-the best of the bunch. Make your announcement, George." She signaled to the orchestra, and they played a fanfare.

  George Worth, the Bishop of Wellington, walked up to the bandstand and, turning to face the ballroom, said, "I should like to announce my sister's betrothal to Lucian Phillips, the Earl of Stanton."

  There was a stunned silence, and then a collective gasp from those assembled. Then the Countess of Whitley spoke up, "And George is going to marry them right here and now! I will wager none of you has ever been invited to a ball and found yourselves at a wedding!"

  Lucinda and Lucian stepped up before the Bishop of Wellington.

  "I have three formal witnesses," the bishop said. "I shall need a fourth."

  "I will be your witness," Lord Bertram said, stepping for-ward and standing next to Lord Bowen, the countess, and Caroline Worth.

  Murmurs of approval arose from the audience.

  "Such exquisite manners," a voice was heard to say.

  "Damned good sport!" another voice said.

  "We will begin, then," George Worth said. "Dearly beloved…"

  They could not, of course, leave immediately after the ceremony although they certainly wanted to do so. They stood in a reception line accepting the congratulations of several hundred people in the ballroom. The king arrived, heard what he had missed, and laughed heartily.

  "A very clever wench," he approved. Then he kissed the bride, giving her breast a little squeeze as he did so.

  They danced several dances, and then, although it was absolutely unforgivable etiquette to depart before the king, slipped from the ballroom unnoticed. When they reached Traleigh Square, Lucinda sent the coach back to wait for her brother and sister-in-law. Then she led her new husband to her bedroom where Polly and John were awaiting them.

  "I'll send over to Lord Bowen's in the morning for your things, m'lord," John said as he helped the earl to undress.

  "Gawd almighty!" Polly whispered to her mistress. "He's gorgeous!" Then she gathered up her mistress's finery and hurried from the room behind her own husband, who was carrying the earl's garments.

  They were alone. They were naked. They were eager.

  "I believe John has fixed the wine correctly," Lucinda said, offering him a goblet. "To us," she toasted them, and they drank their wine down, setting the goblets aside.

  Reaching out, he drew her into his arms and kissed her deeply, hungrily. Lucinda slid her arms about his neck, pressing her full breasts into his broad, smooth chest. Her tongue fenced with his tongue, then ran along his sensuous lips. She could feel his cock against her thigh. It was already hard and eager for her.

  "I have missed you," she told him.

  "Did you fuck them?" he asked her jealously.

  "Only Rexford surprised me once and forced the issue," she told him honestly. "I kept him at bay after that. The others were perfect gentlemen."

  "No wonder Rexford was bitter," the earl said quietly.

  "Husband," Lucinda said, "all of that is in the past and behind us. I was a good wife to Harrington. I will be a good wife to you as well, my lord. No one has ever had cause to question my honor."

  "Do you want to be fucked?" he asked her bluntly. One hand moved to tweak her nipple as he fondled her breast while the other pushed through her nether lips to tease at her little exciter. "Do you want to be fucked, my beautiful, clever wife?"

  "Yes, Lucian, my wonderful husband, I most certainly want to be fucked! Are you going to spend the rest of the night just talking about it?" Lucinda demanded.

  With a wicked grin he pushed her back onto their bed and, falling atop her, thrust his cock deep into her hot, wet love sheath, "No, my darling, I don't intend to spend the night talking about it," he told her. "I intend to spend the night doing it."

  And so he did.

  Risking It All by Susan Johnson

  Chapter One

  Monte Carlo, Easter week, 1896

  Felicia Greenwood sat in the kitchen of her villa overlooking the sea, tearing the letter she had just received into shreds, casting aspersions on the writer in brisk, heated accents, then turning at last to her two servants, who watched with sympathy in their eyes. "And that's what I think of Cousin Dickie's advice!" She spoke in French, although her thoughts were still colored with a faint Scottish brogue.

  "Your auntie disliked him, too." Her elderly housekeeper cum maid of all work offered in reassurance. "Tell Mademoiselle Felicia what the countess called him," she added, looking up at her husband, who served as the sole manservant in the establishment.

  Daniel smiled at Felicia seated across the kitchen table. "She called him Monsieur le Prune and never listened to anything he said. "

  Felicia's mouth curved into a fleeting grin, the description apt. Her cousin's mouth was always pursed in distaste. "Now, if only Cousin Dickie wasn't about to take Villa Paradise from me," she said with a small sigh, "I could ignore him as well."

  "You still have a week to find the money."

  Felicia's expression turned stricken. She had been given a year to come up with her cousin's required payment. Without success. "If only Auntie's funds were paying better dividends."

  "He's robbing you, mademoiselle. I know he is," Claire asserted. "The countess always had plenty of money."

  "I know you don't trust Dickie and his lawyers, and I'm not sure I do either; but at the moment our feelings are incidental to the immediate crisis, so I've decided to sell the tiara. I thought about it all last night. Auntie would understand-I hope…" The diamond tiara had been given to the countess by an admirer in her youth, an old love she had never forgotten. Brushing aside her misgivings, Felicia lifted her chin. "Desperate times require desperate measures."

  "It still won't be enough, my lady." Claire knew to a sou what jewelry was worth.

  Felicia knew she was risking it all, but it wouldn't do to betray her uncertainties before her servants. "That's why I'm taking the money to the casino," she said with what she hoped was convincing assurance. "There, I'll be able to parlay it into a much larger sum."

  "I'll pray to Saint Dévote that you win the bank," Claire declared, the local saint her bulwark against all the pitfalls of life.

  "Pardon, my lady, but you don't know how to gamble." An archpragmatist to his wife's simple, trusting nature, Daniel questioned the feasibility of Felicia's proposal.

  "I'll pray to Saint Dévote and the Madonna," Claire firmly asserted, glaring at her husband. "Have a little faith, Daniel."

  "Vingt et un shouldn't be so difficult to play," Felicia observed with a bolstering touch of nonchalance. "How hard can it be to count to twenty-one? I've quite made up my mind, so don't look at me like that, Daniel. Auntie's tiara is the last piece of jewelry left, so I shall simply have to win the additional sum at the casino. With luck," she realistically added.

  "And my prayers," Claire interposed.

  "It is the season for miracles," Daniel kindly noted.

  Felicia brushed her palms over her riotous red curls, a good-luck habit from childhood. "Why not a miracle for me?"

  "Why not, indeed, mademoiselle," Claire said with a beaming smile.

  * * *

  Lord Grafton had noticed the flame-haired woman the moment she had walked into the casino gaming rooms, the s
plendor of her face and form momentarily silencing the hum of commerce in the room. But he was on a winning streak at the roulette table, and he paused only long enough to imprint her image in his memory. There would be time enough later to make her acquaintance. In his experience, females who gambled generally gambled small stakes. She wouldn't be leaving soon.

  He kept note of her in his peripheral vision and of the numerous admirers clustered around her. But she seemed intent on her play, and after standing stud to all the society belles of note since his adolescence, he wasn't overly concerned with his ability to overcome competition. His luck was running hotter than hot tonight, and he concentrated on his game until he took note of the lady's sudden distress. Signaling he was out, he swiftly moved toward her table. He had seen that look a thousand times in gambling hells from one end of the earth to the other.

  She was about to lose everything.

  The throng of men surrounding her parted as he approached, his colorful reputation well known. Whether exploring the outlands of the world or partaking of the fashionable venues of aristocratic society, he had a tendency to take offense when thwarted.

  Coming up behind Felicia, he leaned close to her ear, murmured, "Allow me, mademoiselle," and placed a neat stack of thousand-franc chips beside her few remaining markers.

  She half turned in surprise and gazed up at him.

  He smiled.

  Awestruck, she forgot that a lady should take offense when a stranger offered her money and any number of other principles of protocol having to do with strange men and a lady's honor.

  "Might I suggest two cards?" His voice was like velvet, his dark gaze warm, his fragrant cologne reminiscent of her beloved highland heather.

  "I shouldn't." She struggled to recall the proprieties.

  He had heard that hesitant tone-the one hovering on the verge of capitulation-hundreds of times before. "It's only cards," he said with a faint grin. "Let me bring you luck."

  She glanced back at her few remaining chips, at the munificent pile of donated chips beside them and, looking up for an indecisive moment, gazed into the diaphanous clouds painted on the gilded ceiling. Was this her miracle?

  "Two cards for the mademoiselle."

  A deep voice of command, Felicia thought, no angelic messenger of the divine, the decision already taken from her hands.

  Two new cards lay on the green baize.

  And her handsome benefactor was smiling at her. "Twenty-one, mademoiselle. Didn't I tell you I'd bring you luck?"

  The croupier was pushing a very large stack of chips toward her, and with her heart beating wildly, she began to feel a soul-stirring hope. She might not be turned out into the street after all; she might be able to keep her home. It was impossible to reject the bounty before her, no matter what propriety required. Salvation was within her grasp when only moments ago, she was near-destitute. "I'm very, very, very much obliged," she breathlessly offered, elation in every grateful syllable, "Monsieur…?"

  "Suffolk. Thomas Suffolk." Flynn sketched her a faint bow, and his dark hair momentarily gleamed in the chandelier light. "If I might suggest"-he deftly organized the increased stack of chips, taking out five one-thousand-franc chips and slipping them into her reticule-"perhaps one card this time."

  He played for her from that point, smiling at her occasionally, keeping up a low murmur of inconsequential conversation, adding to the pile of chips before her while she stood next to the intoxicating warmth of his body and forced herself to appear calm in the midst of a wondrous miracle.

  "Will that do?" he finally asked.

  Another huge pile of chips was being added to her winnings. "Oh, yes, very much so. Without question!"

  Flynn signaled an attendant to gather the chips and then offered Felicia his arm.

  "You might need a guard," he teased a few moments later as they stood before the cashier, indicating with a nod the large pile of bank notes clutched in her hand.

  "I don't know how I can ever thank you enough, Mr. Suffolk," she murmured, a glowing delirium in her voice. "My heart's still beating frantically."

  Having a thought or two on how she might thank him, he blandly suggested, "Come have dinner with me next door. A glass of champagne will calm you."

  She understood that under normal circumstances she wouldn't go to dinner with a stranger; but these were not ordinary circumstances, and he was far from an ordinary man. In fact, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Furthermore, the Hotel de Paris was perfectly safe with Daniel's brother and cousins in service there. And he had saved her from a life of drudgery as a governess or companion. He deserved her appreciation. "I'd like that," she said, smiling.

  "Perfect." He held out his hand.

  "Are you here for the season?" she asked as they strolled from the room.

  "Actually I'm on my way back from Baku."

  "Are you in oil?"

  He shook his head. "I was visiting a friend. Are you here for the season…?"

  Chapter Two

  She hadn't intended to be so garrulous, or stay so long, or enjoy herself so. But three hours later, she was still talking as though she had known her benefactor for years. She had told him about her disastrous marriage, her widowhood, about coming to Monte Carlo to care for her elderly aunt, and about Dickie hounding her for his share of the property when she had not thought he was given a share. About the dismal earnings on her aunt's funds left to her and in general everything about her life that one would disclose under the influence of a superb champagne and a charming man's interest.

  "Oh, dear," she murmured, her hand on her mouth in a small theatrical gesture prompted by a modicum too much of champagne. "I've hardly given you a moment to speak."

  "I've enjoyed listening to you."

  "Most men don't like to listen. They like to lecture or offer pronouncements or go on for unspeakable lengths about the hunting field or the state of the crops or the newest coat fabric-like Dickie…" She giggled. "Or in the case of the hunting field, my obnoxious husband." Her sudden smile was enchanting. "Not that he could help being obnoxious coming from his odious family."

  "Why did you marry him?"

  "Because he had money and I had none and mostly because my father insisted. Actually, he locked me in my bedroom until I agreed."

  "I see."

  "You probably don't," she replied, interpreting the reservation in his tone. "Not with your looks and money. But in Aberdeen, my choices were limited without funds to have a season. Even when I came here five years ago, Auntie only took me as a companion on a conditional basis. "

  "But she liked you."

  Felicia smiled again, and he thought his luck was running well tonight. Not only had he won a goodly sum at roulette, but the most beautiful woman in the casino was seated across from him, smiling, and the very large bed in his suite above would offer thern a lovely view of the sunrise.

  "We came to be friends. Do you have family?"

  He shook his head.

  "You just travel?"

  "I spend a portion of the year in England."

  "Hunting?" she teased.

  He smiled back. "Sometimes. Mostly I follow my thoroughbreds on the race circuit."

  "A racing stable. Now, that requires a win or two at the roulette tables. Thomas Suffolk," she murmured. "Your name sounds vaguely familiar. "

  "It's a common enough name." He had not mentioned his title. He often didn't, preferring anonymity if possible. "Would you like more dessert?"

  "Heavens no. In fact," she added, taking note that they were the last diners in the room, "I should be going home. I've probably bored you to tears by now, although I want to thank you once again for simply everything." She opened her arms wide in an expansive gesture that mounded her breasts above her decolletage in the most delectable way. "And if there's anything at all I can do to show my appreciation, although appreciation is such a bland word for all you've done for me. You've quite literally saved my home for me and kept me from a life of abject dr
udgery and in general appeared like some beautiful guardian angel out of the blue-" Taking note of his expression, her rush of words trailed off.

  "There might be something," he quietly said.

  She laughed in delight. "How wonderfully you say that. So softly-without a modicum of demand. I was tempted to ask you the same thing a dozen times, but you were so polite"- she took a small, sustaining breath because she was about to step onto dangerous new ground-"and I've never actually-asked a man to take me to bed before, and I told myself you might say no and embarrass me for asking or you might say yes too quickly and make me nervous." Drawing in another breath, she rushed on. "So the answer is yes, of course, yes, I'd like to, if you don't think me too forward. And yes, please, I'd like to very much considering I haven't slept with a man since my husband died five years ago, and even that doesn't really count because regardless of my novice status, I could still tell he was utterly inadequate." She quickly held up her hands. "I don't mean to put any pressure on you in any way, Mr. Suffolk, in terms of adequacy or inadequacy. In fact, I'll apologike in advance for my own incompetence."

  It was his turn to laugh. "I'm not sure I want to anymore."

  "There. Now I've ruined everything because I never know when to stop talking, although I think the champagne is entirely to blame tonight. You're incredibly handsome, by the way, although I suspect you know that."

  "Thank you and you're extremely beautiful, although I suspect you know that as well. Now, if I could interest you in a short walk up one flight of stairs," he offered, rising from his chair, "we could finish our conversation on the terrace."

  "Under the stars. How romantic."

  He smiled. "I'm not sure I'm very good at being romantic."

  "You needn't be romantic," she qualified, coming to her feet. "It's quite enough simply looking at you."