Whisper To Me of Love

by Shirlee Busbee

  Royce smiled seraphically, staring with great interest at the ruby liquor in his glass.

  “I mean, why should the man be upset because four years ago you seduced away his mistress right from under his nose? At least, that’s what Dominic intimated one night to me. And of course, no one would be annoyed at losing to you, I believe it was, several thousand pounds playing piquet? That happened a scant week after our arrival here, if my memory serves me correctly. Nor would it bother any normal man, after boasting that they owned the finest pair of blooded horses in England, to be soundly bested by you in a race wagered on by half the ton, a race which, let me remind you, occurred just last Wednesday. No. No. You’ve done nothing to annoy the man at all.”

  Looking inordinately pleased with himself, Royce said ruminatively, “Well, you know, I would never have singled him out like that if he hadn’t annoyed me so much by acting as if I were dirt under his feet, and if he hadn’t been so determined to prove that he was superior to a mere ‘colonial.’ Hell, we haven’t been an English colony for over forty years! And remember—I wasn’t the one who challenged him either to the horse race or that damned tedious game of piquet. He left me no choice each time but to accept the gauntlet he’d thrown down.”

  “And four years ago, when you stole his mistress?” Zachary inquired with a grin. “Did he challenge you about her, too?”

  “Well, no,” Royce admitted readily. “But I ask you, could I leave a high-flyer like the lovely Miranda in the care of a skin-fisted old rake like Devlin?”

  “Since I have never met the lovely Miranda, I can’t answer your question,” Zachary replied lightly. “But I think you will agree that the Earl of St. Audries does have some foundation for his aversion to your company.”

  Royce’s handsome mouth twisted ruefully. “You know it’s the damnedest thing, Zack! I usually don’t go out of my way to make enemies, but there is something about Devlin that sets my teeth on edge—and unfortunately, it appears that I have the same effect upon him!”

  “Perhaps it’s just that the Devlins don’t like Americans,” Zachary said gloomily, thinking of his own clashes with Julian Devlin, the Earl’s heir and only child.

  “Could be,” Royce agreed quietly. “But in your case and Julian’s, I think your disagreements have come about because you both are too much alike!”

  “Alike?” Zachary growled with displeasure. “We are nothing alike! How can you possibly compare me with that vain, arrogant puppy?”

  Royce smiled at Zachary’s words. “Puppy” could very well apply to both Julian Devlin and Zachary Seymour, and while Royce was certain that neither young man was as vain as the other claimed, they were both occasionally arrogant. Despite the animosity between himself and the Earl, Royce actually liked young Devlin, or at least he had seen nothing these past weeks to make him change his initial favorable impression of the young man.

  Giving Zachary a lazy smile, Royce said lightly, “Despite your protests, I’ll wager that you and young Devlin will be close cronies once you both realize how much you have in common.”

  At Zachary’s outraged expression, Royce laughed, and rising lithely to his feet, he murmured, “I’ll leave you to mull that over while I go in search of far more amiable company—prettier, too!”

  A knowing look crossed Zachary’s face. “The fair Della?”

  “Naturally!”

  Driving his pair of high-stepping horses through the London traffic toward the comfortable little house that he had procured for his new mistress, Della Camden, Royce decided that this trip to London was really an excellent experience for his young cousin. Except for a few race meets in Virginia, Zachary hadn’t been more than ten miles away from Willowglen, the plantation near Baton Rouge in Louisiana where he and his sister, Melissa, had been born. It was past time that Zachary gained a little “town bronze,” and London was certainly the place for that!

  Royce smiled to himself, thinking of the changes that had occurred in Zachary’s life these past months since Dominic Slade had married Melissa. Upon Melissa’s marriage to Dominic, who was one of Royce’s closest friends, Zachary and Melissa had come into the fortune that had been placed in trust for them by their grandfather. Now, instead of a dilapidated house and overgrown acres, Zachary was the proud possessor of a completely refurbished home, and his lands were thriving under the expert guidance of a competent overseer; for the first time in his life, Zachary had leisure time and a sizable fortune resting comfortably in the bank!

  Royce almost envied Zachary the early hardships he had endured. Being the oldest child of doting, indulgent, and extremely wealthy parents, Royce had never wanted for anything in his life. When he had reached his majority and might have been expected to strike out on his own, he had been saved, or perhaps cursed, by the providential death of his paternal grandmother, who had left him the bulk of her substantial estate. Yet despite all the good fortune that fate had so generously bestowed upon him, Royce remained curiously indifferent to the fact that he had been blessed with not only a tall, powerful body, handsome face, and an easy charm, but also with wealth and position.

  Since he was generally an even-tempered man, some people made the mistake of dismissing him as an indolent dilettante, overlooking the keen intelligence that was constantly at work behind deceptively sleepy tiger eyes. For all his amiability, Royce Manchester could be a dangerous enemy, and if Lord Devlin was not careful, he would discover that not only did Royce possess tiger eyes, but also the tiger’s lethal bite... .

  Narrowly avoiding the overloaded farm cart that suddenly lumbered in his path, Royce smothered a curse, wishing he had recalled the crowded London streets before he had suggested this trip to Zachary.

  Once word of the Treaty of Ghent, which had ended the War of 1812, had reached Louisiana in the early days of 1815, Royce, bored and restless for a change of scenery, had immediately written to George Ponteby, his third cousin on his father’s side, in London. He told him that he would be coming to England just as soon as he could arrange passage, and would George also see about letting a suitable residence for him? The Treaty of Ghent ended the ridiculous war between the United States and England, even though word of its passage had not reached America in time to stop the terrible slaughter of the British by the Americans at the battle of New Orleans in January of 1815. But with the war at last over, the sea lanes between the two countries were now open again, and Royce had been eager to see London and his many friends there.

  While it was true that boredom and restlessness had played a large part in his decision to visit England, Dominic’s marriage to Melissa had also been a factor in his need to leave Louisiana. Not that Royce begrudged them their connubial bliss; their marriage merely brought home to him the fact that it was time he should think about finding himself a wife and setting up his own nursery.

  As with everything, Royce had very definite ideas about what he wanted, and there were several requirements he had in mind when he began his search for a wife: Her family background must be impeccable—no wastrels or unsavory cads would be found lurking in the closet. She would have to be of good character, well mannered and biddable! She must, of course, be attractive, but he didn’t care if she was a raving beauty, just as long as she wouldn’t frighten the children. He wanted a sensible woman, one who knew what was expected of her and who would be content with keeping his home and bearing his children. A cynical smile curved his mouth. And one who wouldn’t interfere in his extremely comfortable life too much!

  Having arrived at his destination, Royce immediately left off contemplating the virtues of his as-yet-unknown bride, and with an insistent heat suddenly springing up in his loins, he entered Della’s discreet little house. Having heard the front door open and close, Annie, Della’s maid, appeared from the back of the house, and crossing the small, tasteful foyer, she took Royce’s curly-brimmed beaver hat from him. “Miss Della is still upstairs. Shall I tell her you are here?”

  Royce shook his head. “No, that won’t be
necessary.”

  He was on the point of going upstairs when Della appeared at the top of the staircase. At the sight of his handsome face and tall, muscular body, a welcoming smile lit her lovely face. “Royce!” she exclaimed gaily. “I didn’t expect you this evening.”

  Della Camden was a tall, voluptuous brunette, and except for the fact that the others had all been blond, she resembled any one of the dozen or so women he’d had in his keeping from time to time since he turned eighteen. Watching her approach, Royce’s eyes wandered appreciatively over the lush charms displayed by the low-cut amber satin gown she was wearing. Her full white breasts seemed to spill out of the black-lace-edged bodice, and remembering the taste of that soft flesh in his mouth, Royce felt a tingle of anticipation run through him. Reaching the bottom stair, she put out her hands, and kissing them, Royce murmured, “But where else would I be? Having had the good fortune to snaffle you out from under the noses of several persistent rivals, do you think that now I shall neglect you?”

  Her brown eyes twinkled and she answered slyly, “And is that the only reason you’ve come to call? Fear of your former rivals?”

  Royce laughed and pulled her into his arms. Staring down into the beautiful face artfully framed by dusky ringlets, Royce brushed his mouth teasingly against her full, pouting mouth and said huskily, “Fear never entered into it—from the moment I laid eyes on you, there was never any doubt in my mind that you would soon be in my keeping! And as for my reasons for calling ...” He kissed her with sensual expertise, his lips pressing warmly against hers, his tongue seeking and meeting hers in an age-old duel.

  Della was pliant and breathless when he finally lifted his mouth from hers. Dropping a tantalizingly brief kiss on her bosom, he lowered his hands to her hips and pulled her firmly against him, making her vividly aware of how very aroused their kiss had made him. Brushing his lips against her ear, he muttered, “Any other questions, sweetheart?”

  “God, no!” Della admitted candidly, eagerly pressing her warm body against him. It had been quite a feather in her cap to have caught his interest and she had angled shamelessly for his attention, the other rivals for her charms paling beside Royce’s forceful personality and handsome face and form. Fingers tangling in the thick, tawny locks, she looked up into his dark, chiseled features and confessed, “There has never been anyone like you in my bed!”

  A frankly carnal cast to his mouth, Royce’s hands caressed her buttocks and he murmured, “Well, then, I suppose it is up to me to keep you thinking that way, isn’t it?”

  Sweeping her up into his arms, he effortlessly carried her swiftly up the stairs to her room. Slamming the door shut with his booted heel, his mouth captured hers, and slowly lowering her, he let her yielding body slide sensually against his.

  On fire for him, Della frantically tore at his clothing, fairly purring when her seeking hands touched the warm, hard flesh of his naked chest. But he denied her further exploration. Catching both of her hands, he pulled them behind her back and held them prisoner in one of his hands; with the other, he proceeded to make short work of the frail barrier that kept her sweet breasts from him. One deft tug and the full, pink-tipped mounds were freed for him to touch and taste.

  Della groaned with pleasure when his mouth closed over the aching tip and helplessly she pushed herself against him, nearly melting with the hot desire that coursed through her. Her lower body was pressed tightly next to his, and through their clothing she could feel the rigid power of his arousal. With her arms held prisoner behind her and his mouth wreaking passionate havoc on her breasts, she could only twist in erotic abandon in his embrace, the greedy hunger for his possession growing with every passing moment.

  As he felt her wild writhing, a tight smile crossed Royce’s face. “Easy, easy, sweetheart,” he murmured thickly against her breast. “We have the entire night to pleasure each other.”

  Her eyes glittering with the passion he had aroused, the full mouth red from his kisses, Della shook her head. “No!” she said thickly. “I want you! Now!”

  The handsome face suddenly hard with desire, Royce muttered, “Very well then—anything to please a lady!”

  He released her, his own hands sliding warmly up under her gown to caress and fondle the waiting warmth he found between her legs. Deliberately he aroused her further, his fingers teasing and preparing her even as she undid his breeches and his swollen manhood sprang free. He allowed her to caress his hard length but for a moment, and then, with a low growl, he lifted her and, with her skirts bunched up around her waist, her legs wrapping hungrily around his hips, in one powerful thrust, he entered her.

  Della moaned excitedly as she felt herself impaled upon the magnificent size of him and eagerly she rode him, her head thrown back in mindless rapture. His shoulders braced against the door, his hands cupping her buttocks, Royce joined her in the eager race for ecstasy, his lean body slamming again and again into hers as he drove them both toward the sweet release they sought. Della found it first, a soft scream escaping from her as her body convulsed around him and his mouth crushed against hers, but a moment later Royce, too, reached that scarlet oblivion.

  CHAPTER 2

  The day of the sparring match dawned clear and sunny and, for London at this time of year, quite pleasant. But for Pip, lying on the thin pallet and staring up at the grubby ceiling overhead, the weather held absolutely no interest whatsoever. The implications of last night’s conversation were far more important than whether or not the sun was shining!

  Pip wondered grimly what the future would hold for the Fowlers. They were not yet in utterly desperate straits, but knowing that the dimber-damber held the power of Jacko’s life or death in his hands made their situation rather bleak. It was only a matter of time until the dimber-damber demanded something of them that they were not willing to give.... Pip swallowed painfully, dismally positive that forcing them to become housebreakers was only the first step in his nasty plans for them and that his ultimate goal was possession of her!

  Despite the male garb she wore and despite the fact that she had been dressed and had been treated like a boy from the time she had been barely four years old, Pip was actually a girl. In the beginning she had not understood why Jane had insisted she dress as her older brothers did. It was only as she grew older and became aware of what went on about her that she understood the wisdom of her mother’s strange decision—the hopeless faces of the pitifully young whores who roamed about the mean streets of St. Giles made appallingly clear to Pip the tawdry future that her mother was trying to help her avoid.

  A shiver suddenly shook her slender frame as she imagined what her fate would have been if Jane had not taken steps to postpone it. And unless fate intervened soon, she feared that it would not be long before the dimber-damber forced her into becoming a harlot. Just as he had always wanted, she thought grimly, remembering the ugly argument she had overheard a long time ago ...

  She had been almost ten years old and had been sleeping in her mother’s bed, recovering from a particularly severe earache, when she had been awakened by loud voices. Confused and still half-asleep, she had listened foggily to the angry words between Jane and the dimber-damber, and only belatedly had she realized that she was the bone of contention between them.

  “I’ll not have it! And before I’ll let you set her feet on that path, I’ll put myself back on the streets!” Jane’s voice had been full of rage and grim determination.

  “Don’t be more of a fool than you have been all of your life!” the dimber-damber had shot back furiously. “Listen to me, Jane, it’ll be a fortune for us! Now, I’m a reasonable man; I understood your feelings when she was younger and why you were against the idea at that time, but she’s ten years old now! This nobleman will pay us a princely sum to be the one to take her virginity—nearly as much as he would have when she was five. I tell you that you’re daft to say no.”

  “My God, Rufus! She is a child!” Jane had answered. “Let her be! You don’t nee
d another whore—you have a whole stable full of them. Please, if you bear me any affection at all, leave her alone.”

  “A child?” Rufus had repeated scornfully. “I have several experienced little darlings in my string now who are younger than she is! And if she’s a child, whose fault is that? I told you when I brought her to you not to get any ideas. She’s mine, and by God, I’ll do with her what I want!”

  Until that moment, Pip had never known that the dimber-damber had a real name, but even that knowledge was pushed aside by the horror that coursed through her as she realized precisely what the dimber-damber had in store for her. She didn’t understand all of the ramifications of the conversation, but what she had heard was enough to wring a small moan of distress from her.

  Jane must have heard the tiny sound she made, because a moment later, Pip heard Jane say, “Hush! She has awakened. We’ll talk about it later—but my mind is made up, and it was no idle threat that I made. Unless you want to see me on the streets again, forget about her!”

  The dimber-damber and Jane must have discussed the situation further, but though Pip was constantly on the alert, she never again gained any clue from their actions. She was able to surmise, simply by the fact that she had not been forced into prostitution, that Jane must have won the argument—and without having to resort to becoming a streetwalker again.

  From that day onward, Pip was more conscious of the sordid ugliness around her than she ever had been before, more aware of the appalling youth of some of the whores and harlots she had formerly ignored, more aware of what a despicable fate lay just in wait for her. But Jane had been there. And now the one person who could protect her from the dimber-damber’s monstrous plans was dead!

  The future certainly looked bleak to Pip this bright, sunny morning. Instinctively she knew that it would not be much longer before the dimber-damber made his intentions for her clear, and whether he wanted her as his mistress or merely as a new addition to his stable remained to be seen. The end result, however, would be the same—she would be forced to become a whore. Everything inside of her recoiled at that thought. And yet, if she could save Jacko’s life ...