But Regina, with her breasts and her protruding nipples that even he could see from where he stood-Regina, with her beauty, her wit and her style-Regina with her newfound knowledge-Regina was perfect.
And Regina would never settle for being Raulton's mistress, no matter what she said.
Only his.
Well, by damn, that was enough. That was what they both wanted. He had paid for her, he owned her for as long as HE wanted her, and he would make sure that any other interested male could not mistake it.
He left to prepare, as her laughter rippled across the room.
"I don't like that Raulton," Reginald said, feeling as if he had had this conversation at least ten times already.
"He is an amusing man," Regina said. "Interesting. Excellent at cards. But I'm certain he was gentleman enough to let me win several hands."
"He wants to win your hand," Reginald said sourly, "and I tell you now, Regina, I will never countenance such a match."
She prickled up. This had been quite an evening, with
Raulton's attention all on her and her bosom, and Jeremy nowhere to hand. It made her positively irritable that he had not shown, and that Raulton was on her every moment, as if that little play they had enacted the night before entitled him to liberties. Blast him. Blast Jeremy.
"Is that so, Father? I wonder where you got the idea that any such thing was a consideration."
"Watching that damned popinjay is where. This was the first time in a month he didn't need to pay court to some milk and water miss, and he could seek out a woman of wit and guile. Who wouldn't notice?"
"He likes the cards," Regina said tautly, "and a partner with some gumption. There is nothing more to it than that."
"He may wish for that in a life partner as well."
"So do I," she said waspishly.
"Don't say that."
"I've said it. There's nothing more to say, Father. I heard you."
"I don't think so," Reginald said grumpily. "Not by half." And where was Jeremy when he needed him?
He was almost afraid to bid her good night. It didn't seem beyond possibility that she was capable of sneaking out and meeting Raulton, given how cozy they had been tonight.
The thought struck terror in his heart.
It was the worst thing in the world to have such a daughter; no man could resist her, and as was becoming very obvious, there was one man that she could not seem to resist either.
She climbed the stairs wearily. She had been soundly trumped; it was silly and childish, but nothing mattered when she felt as if she had lost the game.
And the heady moments at the card table opposite Raulton? All for show, did Jeremy arrive. And all of it, time wasted.
Tomorrow, she would end the thing and tell her father for true that she had no interest in Raulton whatsoever.
And then the game would be over, and she would move on.
There was a glimmer of light beneath her door, as faint as hope. What hope? A man had a choice of a dozen women who would copulate with him for the price of a carriage, a house and a thousand a year. Pleasure came cheap for a man of means at that price. And it was an excellent bargain for his mistress, who got to keep every pound she earned.
Blast it. What was she thinking? Raulton's presence at the Petleys' had her tied up in knots. It had taken an enormous effort to keep him amused and entertained.
But the end result appalled her: he had looked at her with new appreciation and new consideration, which a week ago would have fit into her plans and schemes admirably, and that was the thing her father remarked upon.
And if he had seen it, how many others had as well? Blast and blast.
Yet another tangle in the web, and she was far too tired to unravel it tonight.
"Not too tired for me?" Jeremy said from the depths of the room.
Blast him. She shrugged off her shawl. "Cards do wear one out. All that mental calculation. And then, to play with a man with the finesse of Mr. Raulton-well, need I tell you, dear Jeremy? It fair kept me in high gig just to keep up with him."
"Indeed, you need to tell me, dear Regina. That dress, flaunting your breasts, your nipples, what I bought, what I own, in another man's face so he can salivate over what he can't have. Do tell me, Regina. What was that all about?"
"That was about I have a life and you have a life and sometimes our interests cross, and sometimes they don't," she said rebelliously. "I didn't expect you tonight."
"Obviously. Maybe you thought Raulton would arrive to take my place."
"Oh, please…" Oh, he is jealous… he is-
"Oh, please what, since your express intention all along has been to attract his notice. Well, let me tell you, he noticed and he will come sniffing around you. Only he will find me in your bed, or barring that, he will find irrefutable evidence that someone owns you."
"Truly," she murmured, thrilled to the bone by his possessive tone. "And what will he find?"
He held up his hand, and dangling from his fingers there was a thin gold chain at the end of which was a tiny lock. "You will wear my chain as a symbol of my possession so no other man can penetrate you."
She held out a shaking hand to take it. It was such a fine, thin chain that it was a barrier to nothing, and it excited her beyond all measure because it was a tangible sign that she was his mistress indeed and he wanted her body to the exclusion of any other woman. Who would not enchain her body for the pleasure of the man who owned her?
"I will wear your symbol," she said huskily, "but he will not come."
"He was riveted by your breasts, fancy-piece. By your nipples. I saw him."
"You were there?" She felt triumphant. Not all for naught. Not a waste when it had resulted in this unleashing of his undeniable lust for her.
"Watching you. Watching him. I think this game is over, fancy-piece. I am the only one whose interest you must fix." He reached out his hand and hooked his fingers in the bodice of her dress. "The only one for whom you ever reveal yourself." He pulled, and the bodice gave, freeing her breasts. "The only one…" He took her nipples one in each hand as her dress dropped to the floor. "These are mine…"
She caught her breath as he took them, expert now as to how much pressure, how light, how tight, and both at the same time which sent her senses spinning, made her molten with need.
She wanted nothing more than this, to be half naked with his fingers playing with her nipples; from pure innocence to pure passion on the tight hot pleasure points of her nipples.
Just like that, just like that… harder, softer-desire and lust rippled through her body, fusing deep in her core, centering on the skeining sensation from her nipples as he fondled them.
Just her nipples. No where else?
No.
Hot gold now, the feeling, sliding down down down down… yes… hot and thick and bright-gold-enfolding her, enslaving her, pooling deep deep deep, breaking in the center like stone hitting water, and radiating explosively outward, yes, all that heat, all… that… thick, all… that… go-old…
She wrenched away from him, covering her turgid breasts with her hands, and she sank onto the bed. What was that-? What WAS that?
He lifted her hands and pulled the dress away from her breasts, and then knelt so he could remove all her clothes, one piece at a time. Her dress, her undergarments, her slippers, her stockings, the band in her hair.
"A mistress is always naked."
"When she knows the man who keeps her is coming," she said tartly, to rip the mood. She wasn't sure she could bear any more this evening.
What he had done to her was more than enough. Her nipples felt irritated, used.
"He is always coming," he muttered, pushing her on her back and removing her undergarments. "He is always there." He dangled the chain in front of her. "Like all men. Thus, we claim the one we fuck." He slipped the chain around her waist, and it was then she saw that there was another chain hanging vertically from it. And that chain he looped between her legs just tight
ly enough so it caressed her there, and he attached it and locked it at the small of her back.
"Stand up."
She stood, feeling the thin strip of chain keenly. It didn't hurt. It was barely there; but she knew it was there, and that was what made the difference. He had the key, and another man could not get to her while she willingly let him bind her body.
He made her walk around the room. The enchainment was perfect, settling just on her hips and encompassing her lightly between her legs and enticingly in her crease. Now she was wholly his, her nipples, her body, her cunt. And when she was dressed, she would feel him, and when she was naked she would feel him, and never would a moment pass that she wouldn't feel him possessing her in some way.
The thought made him wild. He was hard to bursting to get to her. But the excitement was heightened by his restraint and by her submission to his will. The chain glimmered in the candlelight which cast erotic shadows all over her naked body as she paced around him.
And those breasts, those nipples… he would never get through an hour without touching her. Without… shit-he came. Damn and hell. He ripped open his trousers and let it come, let it spume all over to show her just what she did to him with her nipples and her compliant naked body.
She licked her lips as she watched him. Such a waste when he could have pumped it all into her. But he always said he had enough for her and more. And it would dry. By morning, it would dry, and by morning, he would be dry-if she had anything to do with it.
She pushed him onto the bed and began to undress him.
How many times had he fucked her? She couldn't even remember. All she knew was that it was morning, he was gone, and the slender chain was locked just between her legs where he should have been.
This mistress business is wearing. He's not here enough. I can't get enough. And now this.…
This was Reginald pounding at her door. "It's nearly noon, Regina. I'm worried about you. You never sleep in."
"… right there," she mumbled, grabbing for her clothes.
Five minutes later, she was downstairs in the dining room once more pouring tea, as if it were the second night of a play in which she was a performer.
And that was just what she was doing: performing.
She felt the containment of the chain, and she shivered. Jeremy knew just what he was about. He wanted to make her hunger for him, yearn for him, and what better way than this erotic reminder.
Which she didn't need. She craved him enough already. Her nipples were stiff with wanting his touch just from the memory of him touching her.
Desire was the most insidious thing.
"… theater tonight and… after…" her father was saying.
Oh, it was too much. She didn't care a whit what her father was saying, and she felt so disgraceful, she couldn't even look at him.
"What day is it?" she muttered, her voice muffled.
"Friday, of course," Reginald said, thinking that the best course was just to ignore her lapses this morning. Better than censuring her anyway, and he hardly had the heart to do that as it was. "The papers have come, my dear. Do you wish to have one?"
She was scared to death to have one, given the gossip columns, but she took one anyway. Friday. Four days… five?… since she had formed her ill-considered plan to wreak revenge on her father and Jeremy. And look at the end result: her father still believed she was interested in Raulton (did she not predict it?) and she had willingly become Jeremy's mistress.
How had this train of events happened? How had she gone from virgin to vixen in the space of less than one week? And how had she ever lived without that explosive pleasure?
It was enough to make her brain burst, to think about it. All of it. Or plan what to do next. Or deal with the fear there might not be a next.
Well, there would be a next because Jeremy had claimed her. But when he tired of her-it didn't bear thinking about… She opened the paper instead.
The morning line had opened at White's, and marriage prospects were all the talk, his, Raulton was amused to see, in particular.
It wasn't as if he weren't aware of it, but the fun was in seeing who made the Book. It was always vastly entertaining.
White's echoed Heeton's line but one. Soames was there- insipid little whelp-and Law, who at least had some countenance if nothing else to recommend her. But the interesting one was the Olney. She who had kept up with him at loo this past evening, and who eyed him with more than passing curiosity whenever he saw her.
She was the only one Raulton would not have predicted. She was too outspoken, self-aware, self-sufficient. And not in the least malleable, or one who would be accommodating to his needs.
But beautiful, yes. The most beautiful among this year's London belles, despite the fact it was her third turnout. And well-spoken, witty, stylish, shapely, with plump full breasts and neat taut nipples that she had practically presented to him on a platter last night.
Olney with her thick dark hair and her knowing blue eyes. Silvery laugh. Elegant hands. Exquisitely dressed. An only child, and her father's heir. Fascinating. A woman any man should want to marry.
And the Book made her at ten-to-one.
Why had no one told him about her?
He wasted no time finding out. And he liked what he heard: a productive estate in Hertfordshire waiting for the man she would marry. Money in funds. London town house. Best circles.
The woman was surely a treasure. What was wrong with her?
Why had no one snapped her up heretofore?
Did it matter? If no one wanted her, she must be desperate this third Season, and thus, fair game. And he was as eligible as anyone, and mending his reputation daily. It was time to suck it in and throw his preconceived ideas out the window and sniff around a woman he could actually stand to live with.
One who looked like an excellent fuck, judging by her breasts and nipples. And if she was, so much the better. Things-or at least one thing-were certainly looking up.
Ancilla came to call. "What's to do, my dear Regina? I missed the Petleys' party last night, and apparently it was the place to be."
Regina rang for tea, and they settled in the library. "It was a card party and supper for a few friends. A few hundred friends, that is. Their house cannot accommodate such a rout. But there we were, and so was everyone else they had ever met in all their years in London. I ensconced myself at loo and did not need to bother with the rest."
"No, just with Mr. Raulton. Really, Regina…"
She sighed. "Is that out and about already? You would think these people had better things to talk about." She motioned the maid to bring in the tea cart and set up the table. "Like food, for instance. Well, the Petleys do better than most at table, but where can you find anything like this? She filched one of cook's scones from the cart and popped it in her mouth.
A strategic exercise really so she would not have to answer Ancilla's questions. But Ancilla was never deterred, and if anything she was too patient by half, which was probably the way in which she got most of the good gossip she always seemed to have.
"They've booked his matrimonial chances at White's," she said off-handedly. "Father told me this morning. Which means it's been on at Heeton's for at least a week. Would you care to wager whose names are on the line?"
"Soames," Regina said promptly, because it stood to rea-son that anyone Raulton had paid that much attention to would instantly come on the line. "Other than that, I couldn't begin to guess."
"Well, for today-Soames, but the odds are off the sheet on that one, Miss Law, Miss Babbage-a dark horse-and a certain Lady Olney."
It took Regina a moment to grasp that last. "ME?!"
"Your very self, Regina. Now, how did that come to pass? Did you throw yourself at him last night?"
"I played cards for hours and hours and hours. With six other people alternating," Regina said indignantly. "We had not a moment alone, or a conversation that was not overheard by a half dozen onlookers."
"It must
have been very interesting conversation," Ancilla said.
Had it been? Or was it just the usual card table rousting and jousting? For the life of her she couldn't remember, and all because she had been so furious that Jeremy was not there.
But he was here with her now. She could feel the light touch of the chain around her hips and between her legs. Her body reacted, stiffened.
She belonged to him. She hungered for him. She wondered where she even got the patience to sit with Ancilla this morning. She didn't care about Raulton's stable or whether sane men were willing to lose massive sums of money wagering on which impeccable innocent he might marry.
But the fact her name was on the line shocked her.
God, if her father found out…
Of course he would find out. One round at the clubs and it was over: his every nightmare come true. His daughter's name on the lips of every gabble grinder in the whole of London, and worse than that, scandal broth for the Tatler, too.
"I thought you should know," Ancilla said. "Although what you might do about it, short of leaving Town, I don't know." She bit into a scone. "These are excellent, Regina. I must come to tea more often."
They sipped in silence for a few minutes, Regina's mind racing nineteen to the dozen trying to think of some way to cope with this awful news.
"I never encouraged him." Not really. Only Ancilla and her father had overheard her imprudent and indiscreet comment about her desire to marry him. Only Jeremy believed that she would have become his mistress, had she not become his. And now this. Irreparable, irreversible THIS.
"I did not want him."
"Well, he now has cause to think just the opposite."
Jeremy would know soon enough, too. And after last night when he had ridden her to midsummer and over. How would it be once he heard this news? All the chains in the world could not bind him to her if he believed she truly wanted Raulton. Worse and worse, she had said it often enough.
"My lady." The butler at the door.
Fascinated Page 25
