A Lascivious Lady

by Jillian Eaton

  and some of their actions were quite shocking – she never lost her ability of speech, nor her biting sarcasm. Yet the mere sight of Traverson and she might as well have been born a mute.

  Shifting from side to side, Traverson met her eyes for a fleeting second before he looked down at the tea service he was holding awkwardly in his large hands. “I brought you this,” he said, wincing slightly as he extended his arms as if he expected to be struck by something.

  Josephine ignored the tea all together. Drawing in one deep breath, and then another, she finally managed to find her voice.

  “Traverson, what in the world are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

  “No,” he said quickly. Too quickly, Josephine thought suspiciously. “You are not the only one who received an invitation to visit, you know,” he continued, setting the tea set down on a side table and clasping his arms together behind his back.

  “Catherine sent you an invitation?” I will strangle her with my own two hands. Of all of Josephine’s friends, Catherine understood the most of what it was like to have a husband you did not love. At least, she had understood. Now that the Duchess and the Duke of Kensington had reconciled they both seemed to forget that they had spent the majority of their marriage flinging insults at each other at every opportunity. Why, the things Josephine called Traverson paled in comparison to the names Catherine had screamed at Marcus. It seemed the two of them would never come to terms, until suddenly they had. Now they acted like besotted fools, fawning all over each other and exchanging secret little winks that they thought no one else saw. It was disgusting. It was embarrassing. It was… enviable.

  “She did,” said Traverson, drawing Josephine’s attention back to his face. His color was slightly high, but his expression was one of absolute determination. “And as all of the rooms are taken, we will be sharing this suite.”

  “The devil we will!” Josephine cried. She waited for Traverson to back down. Waited for him to lower his eyes and slink out of the room without an argument as he had done a hundred times before. When he did neither of those things, she frowned slightly and repeated, “I said the devil we will, Traverson. Did you not hear me?”

  One of his dark eyebrows lifted, giving him a rakish appearance that she did not find wholly unflattering. “I heard you,” he said calmly.

  “And?”

  “My trunks will be brought up shortly. You may sleep here with me, or you can go outside and sleep with the horses. It is your choice, Josephine.”

  “You—trunks—sleep—horses,” she sputtered, unable to form a coherent sentence. When was the last time Traverson had stood up to her? She could not remember. Perhaps he never had. “You cannot stay here. I simply will not have it.”

  A glint entered Traverson’s stormy gray eyes. A dangerous glint. A predatory glint. He took a menacing step forward and Josephine, her eyes wide with alarm, stumbled back.

  Once, before their marriage, she had overheard a fellow debutant sighing over Traverson’s eyes. “Wolf eyes” she had called them. Josephine had never understood the comparison until this very second.

  Holding up her palm, as if that would be enough to ward him off, she began in an unsteady voice, “Now Traverson, please do not do something you will regr—”

  “Stop talking,” he growled.

  One lanky arm reached out and curved possessively around her waist, yanking her tight against him. The other grasped her neck, his fingers burrowing into the loose tendrils of her coiffure. He drew her head back and their eyes met, wolfish gray against deep pools of lavender.

  Josephine felt her heart slam against her ribs as she gazed up at him breathlessly. He seemed so much larger up close. Harder.

  Tougher. And heaven help her, she liked it. For too long she had felt nothing when a man held her. Oh, she always said the right things and writhed the right way, but she never felt anything. Nothing real. Nothing tangible. Certainly nothing like this.

  “T-Traverson,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

  “The hell if I know.” He pulled. She pushed. He pulled harder and she felt his body tremble. With a mewling whimper she gave in, allowing herself to be drawn against his hard, tight body until she could not distinguish where he ended and she began. Her hands crept up between them to wrap around his neck, and she guided his mouth to hers with a needy moan that started low in her belly.

  Their teeth bumped. Josephine angled her mouth to the side, parting her lips and inviting his tongue with a little lick of her own against his bottom lip. He tensed, and she could feel his arousal pressing insistently against her thigh, just as she felt the awkward slide of his tongue inside her mouth.

  “Traverson,” she gasped, breaking free. “Have you… Have you ever done this before?”

  His eyes dark, his voice little more than a rumbling growl, he said, “Kissed you before? No.”

  “I meant ever. Have you ever kissed—”

  His curses filled the air, and he ripped himself from her arms so savagely she tripped. Quickly righting herself, she saw the pain flash across his face before he could hide it, followed quickly by embarrassment that left his cheeks red and his eyes little more than angry slits. He has never kissed a woman, she thought dazedly. And if he has never kissed one, then he has certainly never bedded one. “Traverson,” she said hesitantly, not quite meeting his gaze, “are you… are you a virgin?”

  He had turned to face the door, but now he swung around to face her, his fists clenched, his jaw tight. “And if I am?” he bit out, the angry heat in his voice daring her to say something. Daring her to mock him. Daring her to laugh.

  Josephine opened her mouth to do just that, but the words died in her throat. With something that felt almost like tenderness filling her breast, she took one step towards him, then another. “I just never thought… Why would you not tell me?”

  “You would be the last person I would tell. You, who has bed so many men you cannot remember a time when you were a virgin.”

  The words were intended to hurt, and Josephine flinched from them, not because of their cruelty, but rather because they were coming from Traverson. Traverson, who had never returned any of her thinly veiled barbs with malice. Traverson, who had always followed her about like a loyal puppy, making no attempt to disguise his love. Traverson, who had never been with another woman…

  “It is nothing to be ashamed of. You should be…” Josephine paused, searching for the right word. “Proud,” she finished lamely. “You should be proud.”

  “Is that why you do not have any?” he asked.

  “Have any what?”

  “Pride.”

  Her shocked gasp was muffled by the slamming door as Traverson stormed from the room.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “And then he asked me why I did not have any.” Josephine, curled up in a tight ball of misery, looked up from her knees to gaze out across the pond. She and Catherine had been sitting on the shore for what seemed like hours, but it had just been within the past few minutes that she had gathered the courage to talk about what had occurred between her and Traverson within the bedroom.

  “Have any what?” Catherine said as she absently tossed bread crumbs to the ducks that swam circles in the water, sending little ripples splashing up against the sloping embankment and wetting Josephine’s bare toes.

  “Pride.”

  Catherine looked up sharply. “He did not,” she said, her blue eyes rounding.

  “He did and what is worse is that he was right. I do not have any pride. You know what I have done, Catherine. You know how I have acted.”

  “That still does not give him the right to say such things to you,” Catherine said loyally. Tossing the last of the crumbs into the water, she ignored the flurry of wings and the frantic quacks and grasped Josephine’s arm, pulling her to her feet. “Traverson loves you. All we have to do is speak to him and explain—”

  Gently prying her arm free, Josephine shook her head. “Explain what? That I slept with
every man in the Ton to get even with him for forcing my hand in marriage?”

  “Surely not every man.”

  Catherine was correct. Despite the rumors to the contrary, Josephine had not invited scours of gentleman to her bed. William had been the first, Lord Penny the last. In between there had been less than half a dozen, not that it made a difference. Any more than zero was unacceptable in the eyes of her peers and the Church, not to mention Traverson.

  The moment he had pushed that hideously plain ring on her finger she had been sworn to fidelity, an oath she had taken great pleasure in breaking the first time, and the second. Beyond that the act of adultery had grown rather tiresome, truth be told, but she kept it up because what else did she have? A husband who claimed to love her, but had never touched her, and a legion of admirers who expected her to conduct herself in a certain fashion.

  Josephine may not have become a Duchess, but she had made certain she was notorious in her own way. A way she had once found acceptable, but now she was not so certain. Everything was a jumble. Her thoughts were a mess. Less than a day ago she had been secure with herself and her life. But that had been before. Before Traverson had showed up at Kensington. Before she had noticed the wolfish gleam in his eyes. Before he had held her as if he never wanted to let her go…

  “Catherine,” she said abruptly, turning to face her dear friend.

  “Yes?” the Duchess asked, looking up with a distracted smile.

  “I believe I am in love with Traverson.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Of course.” Looping her arm through Josephine’s, Catherine patted her hand as they began to wander back towards the estate.

  “He is the only man who has never fallen at your feet. He loves you, but he will not give in to you, which until now you have found intolerable.”

  Josephine blinked. “I have?”

  Catherine nodded. “You have. But now you realize that is exactly the sort of man you need. Someone you cannot boss around.

  Someone who will love you because of you , not what they can get from you. Someone, curiously enough, exactly like the man you are already married to. There is only one problem, dearest.”

  “What?” Josephine breathed.

  Turning her head to the side, Catherine’s eyes grew dark with sympathy as she murmured, “You know now that you love him, but does he still love you?”

  To say that dinner was an awkward affair would have been a gross understatement. With Catherine at one end of the long mahogany table, Marcus at the other, and Josephine and Traverson in between, the conversation was forced and stilted. For his part Traverson remained largely silent, staring holes in his rapidly diminishing glass of brandy.

  He could not look at Josephine for fear of seeing her laughter, nor could he address the Duchess for fear of the same. That left only Marcus, who while a pleasant enough fellow, was fond of discussing accounts and bonds and things Traverson knew little about and cared even less for.

  When dessert finally arrived in the form of trifles dipped in chocolate cream, he ate quickly and pushed his dish aside first.

  “If you would excuse me,” he said, still looking down, “I fear I am not feeling well.”

  “Would you like to retire to the drawing room for some port?” Marcus asked, setting his own spoon aside.

  “No,” said Traverson, shaking his head. “Continue your dessert. I believe a walk in the fresh air will serve me well enough.

  Good evening, Your Grace. Lady Kensington. Lady Gates.” He nodded to each in turn, but it escaped no one in the room that the nod reserved for his wife was the shortest and coolest of them all.

  Escaping through the main door, Traverson shrugged out of his overcoat and vest, setting them aside on the railing before he descended the steps and turned left, towards the side gardens. The thick night air rolled over him, smelling of roses and jasmine. The heady scent reminded him of Josephine, and he forced himself to breathe through his mouth as he hastened through the gardens to the open field beyond.

  The knee high grass slapped against his trousers as he walked, his long legged gait taking him rapidly away from the lights of the mansion until only the moon guided his sight.

  Only when the estate had faded away and he was surrounded by nothing did Traverson finally stop. He bent over, grasping his knees as he fought to regain his breath. Now he knew why he never attended dinner parties. The stiff clothes. The suffocating stillness of the air. The rich foods. The bloody effort of it all. Sucking in a ragged breath, he stood upright and ran a hand through his hair, pulling his head back until he was able to stare pensively at the moon.

  Even as a young man he had been more comfortable in libraries than drawing rooms. Had preferred open fields to gambling halls. Had desired the sweet simplicity of the country to the bloated swell of the city.

  Not for the first time Traverson thought he would have fared so much better as a common man, without the restrictions and rules having a title in front of his name imposed.

  “Complete your studies, gain the admiration of your peers, and marry a beautiful lady who will give you sons,” he said to himself, repeating the words his father had blustered a thousand times before.

  Well, he had succeeded at one of those things. And failed miserably at the other two. Of course, he had accepted long ago that he would never be accepted by the Ton, nor did he ever want to be. He was too eccentric, his disregard for society too great. If Traverson never attended another ball, horse race, or dinner party he would die a happy man. Or would he?

  One needed more than science to be happy. They needed acceptance. Kindness. Love. Three things he had once hoped to receive from the woman he was in love with. Now he knew better.

  Josephine was not capable of accepting anyone other than herself. She was never kind. And she had never loved him. It had been a fool’s errand to believe otherwise.

  He squeezed his eyes shut as her voice, husky from their kiss and tinged with surprise, echoed in his ears.

  “Traverson… are you a virgin?”

  How she had managed not to burst out laughing he had no idea. He had given her ammunition of the highest order and she had just stood there dumbstruck, her eyes wide as saucers. Shock, he decided. She had been in shock.

  There was no doubt the laughter was coming and because of that inevitable fact Traverson had made all the necessary preparations to leave Kensington at first light. Many things he could stand, but being mocked by his own wife for a secret he had managed to hide for so long, a secret so embarrassing he had never breathed a word of it to a single soul, was not one of them.

  Truly, it was the height of irony. The lascivious wife bedded everything that moved, while the honorable husband stayed home and pined for her. Well, he was done pining. Done waiting. Done making excuses for a woman who deserved none.

  His mouth hardened. From this moment forward he would stop having feelings for Josephine. He would pluck the love from his chest as ruthlessly as the robber fly drew out the liquefied insides from it’s prey. Cruel, difficult, but efficient. And then he would get on with his life. Find a woman who—

  “Traverson?” Josephine’s trembling voice, several octaves higher than normal, cut him off mid thought. He answered her without thinking, and the relief in her tone was palpable. “Oh, Traverson. I have been looking for you for the longest time. I feared you had left.”

  As he watched her silhouette draw closer, Traverson cursed himself for making his presence known. And then he cursed Josephine. First the damn woman could not stand to see him, and now she would not leave him alone.

  “What do you want,” he said flatly when she reached him.

  Panting slightly, Josephine tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and frowned up at him. Beneath the moonlight her skin appeared more flawless than usual. The pale silkiness of her face all but glowed in the dim light, and her hair truly did resemble spun gold. A thin sheen of perspiration covered her chest, making her ski
n sparkle as if sprinkled with diamond dust.

  “I… I was searching for you,” she said, looking bewildered by his cold greeting. “To see if you were feeling better. I walked all through the gardens, but you were not there. What are you doing all the way out here? Are there snakes?” Her eyes did an apprehensive sweep of the tall grass. “Spiders? Oh, Traverson, there are not any wolves, are there?”

  “I heard them howling earlier,” he said solemnly, and was rewarded for his jest with a high pitched squeal of fear. A second later his arms were filled with quivering, gasping female as Josephine launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Burrowing her face in the crook of his collarbone, she whimpered, “Did you truly hear them? I knew they were out here. We must get back inside before they find us, Traverson. We must.”

  It was odd, to see Josephine genuinely terrified of something. She was always so strong. So comfortable. So bloody arrogant.

  Traverson almost considered sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her gallantly back to the house, but his new vow stopped him.

  You are a robber fly, he reminded himself darkly. So be a robber fly, Traverson. Not a damn doormat.

  “I was joking.” Grasping her shoulders, he pushed her slowly and deliberately away from him. “There are no wolves this far south, Josephine. There are snakes and spiders, but your caterwauling has no doubt driven them off.”

  She scowled up at him. “That was not very kind, Traverson.”

  “No,” he agreed. “It was not.”

  Hugging her arms to her chest, Josephine asked, “Why are you acting like this?”

  “Like what?” he said, being deliberately obtuse.

  “Traverson!” Josephine stamped her small booted heel into the grass and glared.

  “Yes?”

  “You are… you are… Well, you are being something and I do not believe I like it at all!”

  Arching one eyebrow, Traverson settled back on his heels and regarded her with thinly veiled amusement. It was not an expression he normally wore, and he was somewhat surprised it came so easily. Rather like an actor portraying a certain character for a play, he had adopted the demeanor of one of those caustic lords he so abhorred. And he was enjoying ever second of it. “Perhaps it would be best if you returned to the estate now.”