Wicked Pleasures

by Helen Dickson

  There was a moment of silence before the laughter came.

  ‘Bravo, Miss Osborne!’ a gentleman across from her called out. ‘Your fiancé can be amusing—but you must know it is only play.’

  ‘I know my fiancé plays as well as any man. In fact I often think it is his—playfulness—rather than his search for pleasure that so exhausts him.’ She had the courage to look directly at Paul. He looked back at her, his face set in the kind of frozen disapproval he seemed to reserve just for her.

  ‘Why, my dear,’ Diana said, her eyes full of mock consolation, ‘and here was I thinking you were shy.’

  Adeline smiled back at her. ‘If I am, then please don’t mistake it for lack of backbone.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t dream of it.’

  The dinner was over and the guests settled in the large drawing room for talk and music. Green-jacketed servants passed among them with more champagne, brandy and fortified wines.

  As the evening wore on, and Adeline sat engrossed in a game of whist, partnered by Frances, from the corner of her eye she watched Diana making a play for Paul across the room. Responding to her blatant attention—his chest puffed out like a stuffed peacock, his natural arrogance greater than ever—Paul raised his glass and bowed briefly to his hostess. Adeline saw the subtle, conspiratorial look that passed between them and witnessed the imperceptible inclination of Paul’s head in reply.

  Seeing Adeline’s interest, Lady Waverley drew away—but not before her eyes had met Adeline’s, with that same challenging, mocking look she had bestowed on her earlier. Adeline knew Paul was physically attracted to their hostess. She also knew when they each left the room by separate doors.

  Anger surged through her. Damn him! How could he do this? Was he so insensible to her feelings—to her as a woman? Perhaps if she cared more for him it would hurt, but as it was all she could feel was anger. She thought of him with cold distaste—and a sense of wonder that she had allowed herself to be bullied into marrying him by her father.

  She would have to be stupid and fairly thick-skinned not to see what was going on right under her nose. But what could she do about it? Confront him? Make a fuss? Make herself look silly and childish? For after all Paul wasn’t the only one doing it. To this smart gathering of supposedly civilised beings at the party adultery, intrigue and sexual liaison were an amusing fact of life. The women, with their jealousies and quiet war-mongering, wove webs of deceit, and the men were just as bad, with their love of competition and of bettering the next man.

  Adeline really should have declined her invitation to the party—not that she’d received one personally, she thought bitterly. That was how little she was thought of—how unimportant she was. She would go to bed and pretend she hadn’t seen her fiancé leave the room with Diana. She told herself she could manage—that no one need ever know about her humiliation, her rejection.

  When she heard the six o’clock stable bell ring the following morning she stood in the shadow of a huge jardinière that held an elaborate array of ferns and watched Paul scuttle out of Diana’s bedroom.

  Afterwards she had no idea how long she stood there, gazing at Diana’s bedroom door, for her gaze was turned inwards, on herself. It was as if she were witnessing a different creature being born anew out of these frightening emotions. The force that was rising within her was horrifying. All she wanted to do was go into that room and vent all her fury on Diana Waverley—to strike out at her again and again.

  It was several minutes before she could move and blindly make her way back to her own room. She was determined to carry on as if nothing had happened, to get through this unpleasant time until it was time to return to Rosehill and she could decide what to do about Paul’s sordid affair.

  One thing she was sure of: she would not be made the object of censure, gossip and ridicule. But she had one more interminable day to get through—and one more night. How was she going to stand it?

  Chapter Two

  When Grant went to Rosehill to meet with Horace Osborne he didn’t know what to expect, never having met him. But each man knew of the other, and both were admired and respected for their business acumen.

  Horace had made himself what he was, and had spared himself nothing in a mighty effort which had brought his father’s business back from near bankruptcy to marvellous prosperity. So it was not to be wondered at that he looked older than his fifty years. Grey hair was swept back from his forehead, and below it his narrow face was deeply lined, his cheeks sunken.

  He greeted Grant cordially, curious as to the reason for his request to see him. His eyes swept over him, seeing a man reputed to have the same ruthlessness as himself, but taller, darker, and with a lean, powerful face.

  ‘You wanted to see me about something important?’ he said, ushering him into his study and offering him a chair before seating himself behind his richly carved desk.

  ‘Yes. I want to buy your house,’ Grant said, coming straight to the point.

  Horace looked at him hard. ‘Then I’m afraid you are going to be disappointed. Contrary to what you might have heard, Rosehill is not for sale.’

  Not to be deterred, and with the impudence of the devil, confident that he could make him change his mind, Grant offered him a sum that would have made any other man’s eyes water. But Horace Osborne would not be moved.

  Horace sensed that he had met his match in Grant Leighton. The penetrating power of his eyes indicated his swift and clever mind, and Horace decided he would rather have him by his side than as his adversary. But he would not let him have Rosehill. He had more money than he knew what to do with, and, yes, he was to move to London to live, but this house was to be given as a wedding present to his daughter and her fiancé.

  Grant hadn’t reckoned on this, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. He sat a moment in silence, and with shattering certainty he knew his mother was to be denied her wish. He also knew what this would do to her—what it would mean to her.

  Dear God! How was he going to tell her?

  Putting off the inevitable, and in need of an immediate outlet for his disappointment, instead of going home to Oaklands, Grant went to Westwood Hall—and Diana.

  Adeline got through the day as best she could. After breakfast she went to church with Frances and Paul—who looked no different than he always did, which was surprising after his night spent in Diana’s bed. Any other woman would have taken him to task over his behaviour, and Adeline would have—had she loved him. As things stood she was like an empty shell, senseless to pain. What tomorrow held for her she could neither fathom nor rouse a care for.

  After luncheon they went for a drive, then it was tea and bridge, and after dinner more bridge.

  Frances and Adeline had gone out onto the terrace, where they sat idly flicking through some fashion magazines in quiet conversation, content to watch the sun go down over the landscape.

  It was his voice that first attracted Adeline’s attention—deep and resonant. She could hear him all the way from the small private sitting room. She could not hear what was being said, but the voice was raised in anger.

  Adeline turned and frowned, and said to Frances, ‘I wonder who that can be? He sounds extremely vexed, whoever he is.’

  At that moment a tall, dark, incredibly handsome figure with a face like thunder came striding out onto the terrace. Long-sighted, Adeline took off her pince-nez, dangling them from a narrow ribbon around her neck, and looked at him. His head jerked in her direction, and her breath froze at the hard anger flaring in his piercing silver-grey eyes. For a brief second their eyes clashed, and then he looked away.

  Adeline felt an unfamiliar twist to her heart—an addictive blend of pleasure and discomfort, and also recognition—for it was the gentleman who had come to her aid on the station platform.

  With long, athletic and purposeful strides he made his way in the direction of the drive.

  Frances lifted her lorgnettes and peered after him. ‘I can’t say I’ve seen him b
efore—I’m sure I’d remember someone so terribly good-looking. But he does seem to be in a bit of a temper. I wonder why they were arguing.’

  Adeline shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  Their heads turned simultaneously to the doorway as their hostess appeared. She was scowling after the departing man—then her eyes lit on Adeline. She became thoughtful and then, as if something of a humorous nature had suddenly occurred to her, she smiled and went back inside.

  After another couple of hours, pleading a headache and seeking the sanctuary of her room, on passing the library Adeline heard voices from inside. The door was partly open. Not wishing to eavesdrop, she was about to go on her way when she heard Rosehill mentioned. Burning to appease her inquisitiveness, she paused and glanced inside, seeing the same man who had stalked out of the house earlier. The other person was Diana.

  Having discarded his jacket over a nearby chair, the man had unbuttoned his white shirt halfway to his waist. With his hair falling in disarray over his brow, his profile was hard and bitter. Adeline gazed at the recklessly dark, austere beauty of his face, at the power and virility stamped in every line of his long body, and her pulse raced with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

  Indeed, it looked as if he had been partaking rather freely of Diana’s liquor for some time. A glass with some brandy left in it dangled loosely from his fingers. Lifting it up, for a moment he stared at the remaining brandy, then he tipped it up to his mouth and drained it. From the way he swayed to stay on his feet, it was obvious he was well on his way to becoming blind drunk.

  ‘I omitted to ask you earlier if you’d got that business arrangement settled?’ Diana asked, seeming unconcerned about his condition.

  The man glanced at her briefly, unable to defeat the scowl that creased his brow. ‘No. Osborne refused to sell.’

  Diana’s smile was ironic. ‘Did he, now? I congratulate him. I’m glad there is someone who has the courage to say no to you when others wouldn’t dare. Failure is not a word in your vocabulary. You must have met your match. What will you do now?’

  A muscle moved spasmodically in his throat, but he made no effort to defend himself. He shrugged. ‘Nothing. There is nothing I can do. I have to accept defeat. I have done everything that can be done, and only hope my mother will not be too disappointed.’

  ‘Well, it was nice of you to come and tell me. I appreciate that, but there really was no need. It has nothing to do with me. Do you want to stay the night?’

  ‘If you’ll have me.’ Reaching out, he caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. ‘Don’t be angry with me, Diana. You’ve always been a friend when I needed one. I’m sorry about earlier, and I will give your proposition some thought, I promise.’

  Diana gave him a wry smile. ‘Since Mr Osborne has turned your proposition down, could you not redirect the money you would have spent in bailing me out of a tight situation which has become quite desperate. The bank has refused to extend my credit.’

  ‘I’m hardly surprised. Perhaps you should curtail your extravagances? I mean, was this weekend party absolutely necessary?’

  ‘No, but I like parties.’

  ‘Which has much to do with the mess you are in. So the answer is still no. However, if there’s anything else you ever need, don’t hesitate to call on me.’

  Diana straightened her spine and did her best to smile. ‘I’m afraid what I need most you can’t give me—and you know I’m not referring to the business matter that got you so riled up earlier. You’ve made your feelings quite clear—unless you’ve had a change of heart.’

  His face was wiped clean of emotion, and his silence was an eloquent declaration that he hadn’t.

  Obviously deflated, Diana sighed. ‘I see. Well, now—if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my guests.’ She regarded the empty decanter. ‘If you intend cauterising your wounds I’ll have some more brandy sent in. You can’t drink yourself into oblivion without it.’ She walked towards the door, where she turned and looked back at him. ‘Oh, and if you intend joining me in my room later, it’s on the landing to the left of the stairs. Look for the door with this ribbon tied around the handle,’ she said, indicating the scarlet ribbon about her waist.

  ‘Diana, are you involved with anyone?’

  ‘I might be. If the ribbon isn’t on the door, you will have to sleep on the couch.’

  In danger of being discovered eavesdropping, Adeline knew her situation was extremely precarious. Moving away from the door, she hurried up the stairs, wondering what possible business the man could have with her father.

  After Adeline had prepared for the night, and Emma had left her, it was a relief when, just before midnight, she slipped between the sheets, knowing that in the morning she would be leaving for Rosehill. She had left the curtains partly open, so she could watch the moon steadily arch its way across the sky. Closing her eyes, she gradually settled her mind into the haven of sleep, and dreamed of herself as a beautiful woman in a beautiful gown, with a man holding her in a close embrace as they danced a waltz together, his eyes gleaming with warmth into hers.

  Floating on the edge of sleep, she didn’t know how late it was when she awoke, sensing a presence in her room. Staring into the gloom, she could make out the figure of a man, trying to stay upright as he removed his clothes. Struggling with the buttons of his shirt, he sounded a low curse. She recognised the voice as being that of the man she had seen in the library—the same man who had referred to Rosehill and her father. Gripping the sheets beneath her chin, she stared in total horror when, totally naked, he fell full-length upon the bed beside her. With a sigh he lay still.

  After a few moments of listening to his heavy breathing, in desperation Adeline slowly slid out of bed, so as not to disturb him, and crept to the door. Thankfully it opened soundlessly. Bright moonlight streamed in through her windows, lighting the broad landing off which were most of the bedrooms. A table had been left with a lamp burning—no doubt for the benefit of those with a taste for illicit liaisons, she thought bitterly.

  The house was silent and there was no one about. Hopefully no one had seen him enter her room. She was about to close the door when, looking down, her eyes were riveted on the scarlet ribbon tied around the handle. Recalling the conversation she had heard between Diana and the man in her bed, she froze, staring at the offending ribbon, knowing that for some sick and sordid reason of her own Diana intended to humiliate not only the man but her, too.

  Anger coursed through her. Did Diana consider her so chaste and easily shocked that she would scream and create a fuss, thus adding to her humiliation, knowing that the ensuing furor would be disastrous for all concerned? If so Diana Waverley did not know her. Untying the ribbon, she closed the door and flung it into the nearest chair, before turning and looking at the man lying on the bed.

  She shivered, but it was not from the cold. Suddenly she was warm—far too warm. Something was happening to her. It was as if a spark had been lit that could not now be extinguished. A need was rising up inside her—a need to be close to this stranger, to wallow in the desire that had suddenly taken hold of her, to saturate herself in this newfound passion.

  She pulled her nightdress over her head, her hair tumbling down to her waist and her heart pounding in her breast, and, completely naked and carried away by her desire, returned to the bed and lay beside him. Coming into contact with his flesh, she felt something stir within her—something she had never felt before. A flicker, a leaping, a reaching out.

  Even as Adeline had closed the door, through the lingering essence of the brandy clouding his brain, Grant had been aware of the blurred shape of a woman walking across the carpet and getting into bed. His mind felt slow and listless, but he had no reason to believe the woman was anyone else but Diana. Now as she lay beside him her nakedness whetted his appetite, and he realised with a surge of desire that he wanted her—wanted to fill his mouth with the taste of her and draw those inviting hips beneath him.

  When he rea
ched for her, Adeline relaxed against him with the familiarity of the most successful courtesan, little realising the devastating effect her naked body had on him. He was so different from her—earthy, vital and strong, all rippling sinews. His mouth, hard and demanding, tasting of brandy, was on hers, kissing her lips, her shoulder, her ears and her neck.

  ‘You are wanton, Diana—and how perfect you are. I must have you. Thank you for not shutting me out.’

  ‘Shh,’ Adeline whispered against his lips in the warmest tone, thankful for the shadows that covered them both. ‘Don’t talk.’

  She did not care that he thought she was Diana. Her body was burning and she wanted more of him. She knew deception would be easy when the bold, insistent pressure of his body made her realise that the path she had chosen was where he wished to go. He cupped her breast in his hand. She had never been touched like this by a man before, and the feel of his hand almost melted her bones. He crushed her to him, and her mind reeled from the intoxicating potion of his passionate kiss.

  It was when her thigh brushed the scorching heat of his manhood, throbbing with life, that she was suddenly made aware of her innocence. Suddenly primeval fear mixed with the awesome pleasure of his hard body. Less sure of herself, she felt fear take over and panic set in. She couldn’t do this. It was wrong—totally wrong. She felt her body tightening, and she felt cold, as though her blood had turned to ice. She wanted to cry out, to tell him to stop, but his lips were on hers and her throat was constricted.

  In desperation she tore herself free and rolled away from him. But, not to be cheated out of what he desired, he laughed and shot out his hand, catching her arm with a strength she had not thought possible. Though she prised at his fingers she could not escape. He pulled her back downward and covered her with his body, growing more purposeful, his hungering lips insistent. With his mouth against her flesh his tongue teased the soft peak of her breast, his hand spreading, caressing the soft flesh of her inner thigh that began to tingle and to glow.