by Diana Quincy
Appearing surprised by her observation, he looked toward the precise composition of the foodstuffs he’d just organized. “I do dislike disorder. I always have.” He gestured toward the food. “Your feast awaits.”
Biting her lower lip, she gave an impish smile. “I am in the mood to be positively wicked, decadent even.”
Stan stilled, except for a lone twitch in the strong curve of his jaw. “Indeed? What exactly do you have in mind?”
She reached for a tart, biting into it with relish. “I think I will go straight for dessert. Can you think of anything more decadent?”
…
The next morning Sebastian relaxed as the hack driver turned in the direction of the lending library. For the first time in his recollection, he felt hopeful, even joyous. He was also as randy as a young buck. His body on edge, anticipating the moment he would find relief inside his wife’s soft and welcoming flesh. Perhaps even by this evening.
Mirabella had been a revelation these last few days. It was more than her obvious beauty that drew him. His wife was unlike any woman of his acquaintance. She literally sparkled, infusing any room she entered with her glowing presence. And she was exceedingly bright, having soaked up a great deal of knowledge and experience from her travels.
During their picnic, talk had turned to her adventures on the continent. She’d proved an excellent conversationalist, witty and engaging, with an occasional hint of naughtiness in recounting her perceptions of her experiences. Bella talked of the museums she’d visited and her impressions of the different countries and people she’d met. He’d been so caught up in their conversation that he’d lost track of time.
She should have had the truth from him by now. He owed her that. Even though she’d stopped him, he’d had an obligation to press forward and reveal everything. Especially now that he knew his attempt to give her freedom had been perceived as abandonment and indifference. She thought him greedy and interested only in her title and wealth.
He would disavow her of that notion today by telling her the glorious truth. He pictured Bella’s face lighting up with happiness and relief. Perhaps she would throw herself into his arms. Maybe she’d accompany him back to his home—their home—on Park Street, where they would finally make use of his wife’s adjoining bedchamber.
The moment the hackney pulled up to the lending library, gladness filled his heart to see her standing near the entrance. She was a vision in a straw bonnet with ribbons the color of sunshine and a matching spencer that caressed her curves. Underneath, Mirabella wore a simple cream dress. He smiled when she caught his eye, but her lips flattened and she looked away.
It had been difficult persuading his reluctant wife to see him again, but he’d promised her it would be their last secret meeting. He meant to keep that vow. After today he planned to parade his lovely wife all over town on his arm. Orford would no longer be needed.
Alighting, he walked toward her. She darted a look down the street behind him, giving every appearance of a trapped animal poised to make a run for safety. Perhaps meeting another man made her feel disloyal to her husband. He smiled to himself, thinking of again of how pleased Mirabella would be to learn the truth.
“Good day,” he called out to her.
“This is a mistake.” She held up a hand as though to stop him, or perhaps warning him to keep his distance. “I just came to tell you I cannot accompany you.”
His heart swelled with compassion for her. “I must talk with you. Please, after today you will understand.” He took her arm. “Come now, I know a quiet place where we can talk.”
She avoided his gaze. “No, my husband expects me today. I must go.”
He halted and his goodwill evaporated. Another lie. She had no plans to meet her husband. Not that she knew of. He stepped much closer to her than was proper. “Do you, indeed?”
“What are you doing?” She backed away, looking around to make sure no one had noticed them. He followed when she entered the lending library and hurried by the circular counter in the center of the shop. She passed a wall of books before finally turning into a narrow corridor that was empty of people.
Halting, she spun around to face him. “This cannot continue. I must not see you again.”
Heat rose in his chest. “Why not? You seem content to allow other males to escort you.”
She drew back. “What are you talking about?”
He stepped closer, his chest inches from hers, jealousy searing his gut. “Orford. Your friend who was with you at the opera and at Vauxhall.”
Her cheeks reddened.
Was it because he stood so near to her, or had he hit too close to the truth about her constant companion?
“He is just a friend.” Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you to question me? I already have a husband to answer to, and you, sir, are not he.”
If only she knew. “And do you, my lady, answer to your husband?” he asked sharply. “Tell me, do you inform him of our encounters?
She paled, but her almond eyes blazed a lovely shade of gold. She pulled her shoulders back, looking every inch the haughty duchess she would one day become. “Move aside, sir. I have obviously misjudged you.”
Instead of stepping out of her path as good manners dictated, his gaze fell to those plush lips, so pink and plump, his to savor. “Just a kiss,” he murmured, unable to stop himself. She was his wife after all. There was nothing improper about it. “And then I shall let you pass.”
She inhaled, her shock evident. “You, sir,” she said scorchingly, “are no gentleman.”
…
Bella took a reflexive step back when Stan moved closer. The potency between them flexed again, upsetting her balance. His eyes were intent on her face, vivid emeralds that easily penetrated her flimsy defenses.
“Allow yourself this one indulgence.”
She felt woozy. His impressive form, with its carved wedges of muscle, no doubt honed by vigorous exercise, stood too near for her to think clearly. The shaving soap intermingled with the tang of clean male skin, coated her nostrils like an elemental calling card.
He stepped closer, a determined tilt to his strong chin. “Why deny yourself just a taste?” he murmured, his voice a warm, seductive purr.
His virility overpowered any remaining morsel of propriety in her. Blood rushed to her brain, hammering a relentless beat in her ears. Lord, she should not have agreed to meet him again. No good could come of it. She hadn’t guarded her emotions all of these years just to open herself up to heartbreak now, when she’d finally resigned herself to doing her duty and joining her husband.
A traitorous thought slipped into her brain. Why not give in to temptation? Why should she go to Sebastian with her innocence intact? He didn’t deserve it and likely wouldn’t even notice. He had all he seemed to want—her fortune and the Traherne prestige. When the time came, he’d probably force himself to bed her in order to beget an heir. But it would not be an act of passion, nor of love.
Her eyes slipped to Stan’s generous mouth and she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss him. It could do no real harm since it wouldn’t ruin her ruin her. Shouldn’t her first introduction to passion be with someone she desired instead of out of duty to a husband who had little use for her?
“I shouldn’t put you through this. The truth of the matter is—” He began, but she stopped him.
“Just this once,” she said, feeling both arousal and fear.
His green eyes blazed. He stepped closer and this time she did not step away. A firm hand cupped her chin, a gentle touch angling her mouth for his ravishment.
Full lips came down on hers, soft and fleeting at first, scattering Bella’s thoughts to the far corners of her senses. She sighed into his mouth and his tongue slipped inside, sampling her with deep, luxurious strokes. He tasted unabashedly male, mingled with a touch of sweetness, edged with the tiniest bit of tartness. Delicious. She’d known such kisses existed, had even seen Josette allow them from her beaus in the p
ast. But she’d never dreamed, never imagined the wonder of it, the astounding pleasure that made one lose all sense of propriety. That made her forget she had a husband.
Stan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer until she was engulfed in masculinity. She pushed herself up against his heat, relishing the unfamiliar intimacy of a warm, muscled male body pressed against her feminine curves. She would allow herself this one taste of temptation before succumbing to duty—and an indifferent husband.
Stan groaned and kissed her deeper than Bella thought was possible. Losing herself in his lips and tongue, she brought her arms around Stan, caressing up and down his back, feeling the hard curve of muscle under his tailcoat. She pulled him to her, kissing him back, tasting and exploring…
“Mirabella Wentworth, is that you?”
Chapter Six
The words come out in a gasp of horror from somewhere behind Stan. Hot and flustered, Bella pulled away in a panic. Freezing in place, Stan let her go.
Bella’s face felt as if it might burst into flames. She knew that voice. It was her mother’s old friend, Lady Hervey. The ton’s sharpest tongue and biggest gossip.
“I thought it was you.” Lady Hervey’s weathered face was pointy with displeasure. “Such behavior is not to be born.”
The hot flush of shame rushed through her as she met Stan’s gaze. Anger darkened his face and he started to turn around. She clutched his tailcoat to stop him from turning around and revealing himself. It would only make things worse.
“Allowing yourself to be mauled by a stranger in a lending library of all places.” Even the feather on Lady Hervey’s ornate orange hat quivered in outrage. “Wait until His Grace hears about this. I am relieved your sainted mother did not live to see the shame you have brought upon her good name.”
Indignation gouged Bella’s chest at the mention of her mother by this petty woman. Her pulse at a full gallop, she raised her chin, pulled back her shoulders, and leveled a determined look at the witch. “By all means, go then and relay your information. Pray do leave us to our privacy.”
One of Stan’s dark brows shot up at the obvious impropriety of her comment, but that lone dimple high on his right cheek also creased with amusement.
Lady Hervey gasped. “Well, I never! You can be assured that no one in decent society will entertain you after they hear of this.”
Tamping down a mix of anger and fear, Bella shot the old bag a rebellious look. “If you are what is considered decent society, then I have no desire to be entertained by the likes of you.”
The other woman’s chest shot out in outrage. “You are a shameless strumpet.” Red-faced, she spun around and hurried away, muttering under her breath.
Bella’s legs gave way, but Stan caught her, lending his steady strength. Good Lord, what had she just done? She was ruined. Lady Hervey would make sure of it. By nightfall, everyone would know Traherne’s daughter had been caught kissing a strange man in the lending library.
Sebastian would know.
“Courage.” Stan’s firm grip still held her elbow. “You’ve done nothing wrong—”
“How can you say that?” She pulled away. “I must go. Promise me you won’t follow.”
He tightened his grip. “Once you hear what I have to say—”
“No!” She spoke sharply, panic threatening to overtake her. “All I want to hear at this moment is your promise.”
He seemed about to say something, but stopped and abruptly released her. “Very well. For now.”
She rushed away from him as nausea flooded her. She’d publicly humiliated her husband. He would surely hear of it. Would he beat her for cuckolding him? Did he even care?
After six long years, she was about to find out.
Bella sat in a leather chair in her father’s study where the pungent odor of stale cigar smoke clung to the walls like ivy. She shifted in her seat, her stomach contracting. A chill encompassed the dark, wood-paneled chamber. It was dimly lit, with curtains partially closed along a lone window facing the street. Through the glass she glimpsed the immaculate Mayfair residences across the way, their quiet serenity at odds with the rioting in her stomach.
Running her hands over her scarlet gown, she smoothed the folds of her skirt, then fingered the gold trim along the scandalously low décolletage of her dress, the cut so deep her entire breasts were in danger of making a public appearance. On the Continent, nobody would give the cut of her gown a second look, but that wasn’t the case here among the ton.
Sebastian and her father were on their way. She forced a deep, calming breath. Let them do their best. She was ready to face their recriminations, the two men who had all but abandoned her to the world, both so caught up in the Traherne consequence they’d barely bothered to acknowledge her existence. Running a look over her gown, she smiled grimly to herself. Well, they would notice her now.
Despite her bluster, she started when a noise sounded at the door. She jumped to her feet as the massive wooden door pushed open and was relieved to see the large, corpulent figure of His Grace rather than her husband.
She hadn’t seen her father in almost three years, since a long-ago school break. He rarely put in an appearance at Traherne Abbey, his countryseat, and never visited the Richmond house. Even when Bella had visited on school breaks, he’d remained in town, apparently preferring its amusements to the company of his only child.
The duke appeared heavier now with more prominent jowls, his brown hair almost completely dusted with gray. Bella felt a jolt of longing. Whatever his failings, he was her father and she had missed him.
His Grace’s black eyes took in her appearance, his obvious disapproval tinged with amusement. “That gown makes you look like a harlot,” he said by way of greeting. “Do you think to distract your husband from his well-placed displeasure by displaying your wares like a common lightskirt?”
Her heart squeezed, but she forced a flippant reply. “Hello to you, too, Father. What a heartwarming greeting.”
He ambled over to the sideboard to pour himself a drink despite the early hour. Some things never changed.
“Clever of you to distract him with your womanly assets.” He chortled. “You are my spawn, that’s for certain. I warned him you’d require a firm hand, but he refused to heed me.”
“No doubt he was too busy spending your fortune.”
“Never did know your place, did you?” Turning to face her, he raised the full glass up in salute. “You are well and truly his problem now.” He downed the contents of his glass in one neat gulp. “I trust he will impress upon you a wife’s proper role. It is past time you behaved with the decorum befitting a lady and a duchess.”
Bella’s throat constricted. Her father, her only real family, had not shown her a glimmer of warmth, just the usual careless disregard. “I am sorry to disappoint you by being born female, Your Grace.”
Walking over to his desk, he leaned his hip against it and crossed his arms. “It is unfortunate your mother sacrificed her life giving birth to you instead of a son. Every man wants a true heir to carry on his line.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But no matter. You will do well enough. In time, my grandson will give the title the consequence it deserves.”
She swallowed hard; her father’s words wounded her more than she would have liked to admit. Lost in her emotions, she barely heard the polite knock at the door.
“Here’s Sebastian now.” Her father looked expectantly beyond her to the door. “Enter.”
Crossing her arms, she braced herself, hearing the butler announce her husband, followed by the sounds of rustling fabric and the footsteps of someone entering the room.
A rich, masculine voice followed. “I see you have reunited with Lady Mirabella, Your Grace.”
She froze in confusion. She knew that voice. Stan. Had he come to protect her from Sebastian’s wrath? Panic exploded in Bella’s stomach. She had to make him leave before Sebastian arrived. She spun around, her heart vaulting in her chest. Stan stood on
the threshold, his formidable presence imbuing the chamber with quiet command. He was dressed to perfection in a navy tailcoat that stretched across his broad shoulders with a soft blue striped waistcoat underneath. Charcoal breeches hugged his powerful thighs before disappearing into gleaming tasseled Hessians.
“Well, here she is.” A thread of merriment was woven into her father’s voice. “You should have taken her in hand before she disgraced us both.”
Squinting in confusion, Bella darted a glance between Stan and her father, questions ricocheting in her head. How did they know each other?
Favoring her with a warm smile and a sparkle in those vivid eyes, Stan approached and offered his arm. She looked at him dumbly, unable to comprehend what his appearance in the duke’s study meant. When she didn’t move, he took her hand and gently placed in on his sleeve. Facing Traherne, he said, “Mirabella could never disgrace anyone.”
His Grace’s eyes widened. “Surely you’ve heard of her indiscretion at the lending library. Lady Hervey says she acted the wanton, allowing some varlet to put his hands all over her person. And that shrew is an insufferable gossip. Bella is ruined. Surely you see that you have no recourse except to banish her from your bed, to distance both of us from her wanton behavior.”
“To the contrary, I would never banish my wife from my bed when I have just brought her to my side.”
Bella’s head swam. She could barely follow the train of their conversation. “What does your wife have to do with this?”
Her father looked at her, his forehead wrinkling. “Have you taken to imbibing like a dockside strumpet as well as dressing as one?”
Brushing a gaze over Bella’s revealing vibrant red gown, Stan’s eyes lingered for a moment on the exposed mounds of her breasts. She reflexively brought her hand up to cover herself, embarrassed Stan should see her in such a scandalous gown. She’d worn it to provoke her father and husband, to show them she didn’t care what they thought and would do as she pleased. But Stan’s good opinion did matter to her.
He surprised her by bringing her hand to his lips. Warm, reassuring eyes caught and held hers for a moment. Heat pushed through her when his soft lips touched her skin in a tender caress. He replaced her hand back on his sleeve before turning back to the His Grace. “Pray do not insult my wife, Traherne.”
