by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens
“But they will. They already do. The whole world already assumes.”
Edeline’s world consisted of about three hundred people. Still…
“I cannot imagine why.” He had been very discreet. None of the servants on that yacht would speak a word, no matter what they had surmised. Nor would any of those in this house.
“She was at the theater with us. That was enough to do it. Now she will stay in this house, like a guest. Everyone thinks I have befriended her, Barrowmore. Everyone.”
Ah. Of course. He should have known Edeline would only be noticing if the talk was about her.
“As if I would permit such familiarity from an inferior,” Edeline continued. “It is humiliating to have such gossip spread about me, and you are the one who caused it. Now you add fuel to the fire.”
A ridge of anger rose in him at the way she spoke of Selina. “Mrs. Fontaine is a gentleman’s daughter. Perhaps your friends do not know that. You should explain it, if anything more is said.”
“She may have been born as one, but now she is a seamstress. My seamstress. She should no more be strolling my gardens or chatting with a duke than should any other servant.” She pouted. Her unhappiness turned her voice to a whine.
He had never liked pouting. He detested grown women whining. Both raised the devil in him. Selina never pouted.
“They are my gardens, as it happens, and I will decide with whom I chat. Here is the solution. Should anyone say anything, explain that she is not your friend, but mine.”
“Yours? As if anyone will believe that.” With a huff, she turned and strode toward the door. “If she continues in her presumptuous behavior, I will have to end my patronage.”
The hell you will. He caught himself before he flung that after her, but the retort erupted in him with an icy fury. How dare this inconsequential spoiled child look down on Selina? Edeline should pray that after living her entire life she possessed one quarter of Selina’s refinement.
A footman entered the library. He carried what looked like a fat letter. He retreated after handing it over.
Rand opened it, but knew what it contained. He had not expected this until tomorrow. It was just as well he had it in hand tonight, because it appeared fate was conspiring. Whether for him or against him, he did not know.
“I think you have heard these stories before.” Barrowmore made the observation toward the end of the dinner. He had entertained her with tales of the foibles of the ton thus far this Season, and had not shrunk from sharing the gossip that initiated the more dramatic episodes.
“Our ladies have a way of chattering on while we fit them,” she said. “We hear much we should not. However, none of your stories have been told by them. All they speak of is the coronation.”
“You mean Princess Caroline.”
She nodded. “Everyone has opinions about that.”
“They are sympathetic, I assume.”
“Not all of them. But I do not think it matters to them what they believe should happen. They are too busy speculating on what might happen.”
The topic subdued the duke. “It is a tangle, and neither will end up the better for it. It has been a miserable union from the start. Not surprising, since he was forced to marry her for diplomatic reasons. Yet, that is the lot of princes. Of most of us. If anyone should have known how it would be, it was a crown prince.”
“Did you not support his attempt at divorce?”
“No. Oh, her behavior was indiscreet, even scandalous, but so was his. I did support their continued separation, and still do. He will not crown her as his queen. He will not have her present when he is crowned.”
“Surely he will not bar the doors of the cathedral.”
“I think he will. Literally.”
“No wonder our ladies are breathless with anticipation.”
“It will be the best theater of the year,” he said sardonically. “No woman deserves such humiliation, no matter what she has done.”
Selina drank the last of her wine. The meal finished and the table cleared, it was time to retreat to her chamber. She had enjoyed herself, though. Sitting together here, at one end of the long dining table, she could ignore that another night fifty others might be present too. Listening to Barrowmore tell stories—and he told them very well—had increased their informality.
She liked this man. She not only found him handsome and magnetic, but also friendly and very human when he shed his ducal aura. The public Barrowmore might make her tremble, but the private one made her smile.
No, that was not true. The private one made her tremble, too, but not out of awe for his station. She had spent the last two hours trembling when he looked at her. She did so right now.
“I thank you for the invitation to dine with you.” She made to stand. “With your leave, I will retire now.”
“Not yet.” He stood, too. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”
He led her to the central stairs, then up to the library. Two stories high, it showed a balcony all around above, accessed by stairs at one end of the chamber. Beautiful woods and sumptuous fabrics managed to tame the grandeur of the huge space.
He sat her on a divan, then retrieved something from a writing table. “This is for you. I arranged it several days ago. I want you to have it.”
She took the thick, folded vellum packet. “What is it?”
He sat beside her. “I have been trying to come up with the right word for what it is. My difficulty in doing so is why I want you to have it now.”
“Now as in not before and not later?”
“Not before because I had not thought of it before. Not later because perhaps later all the likely words to explain it would take on meanings I do not intend.” He took her hand in his. “It is not compensation, you see. It is not a bribe either. Nor is it a gift. I suppose it is justice.”
“Justice. Goodness.” She unfolded the vellum into a large document sheet, full of words and seals. She squinted at the florid writing and pieced it out. It took longer for her to comprehend the implications. They rendered her almost speechless.
“You are giving me that manor house near my village?”
“It is not entailed, and it is almost never used. If you ever go back, you can live there. If you never do, you can still benefit from the rents and income. It is not a large property, but it is livable.”
“I cannot accept this.”
“It is done. It is yours. That is what all those seals and signatures mean.”
“I can never live there. It does not change why I left.”
“It probably changes more than you think. However, sell it if you don’t want it. A better plan is to send this document to your father and ask him to have it managed for you. He owns property, and will know what to do.”
She stared at the document. Not a gift or a bribe. “Justice, you called it. For what?”
He took the vellum and began folding it back into its rectangular packet. “For my family’s carelessness when you were younger. For how you had to leave your home. For the hours you spend on your knees fitting dresses.” He set the vellum aside. “And, if I am honest, for my showing insufficient strength in resisting my desire for you.”
“I thought you displayed impressive strength yesterday.”
“I am not referring to yesterday, Selina.”
She could never claim she did not receive fair warning. Not that she needed it put into words. The air crackled with restless passion. He spoke as if the deed were already done, however. As if they both knew how it would be.
“I am not looking for a protector,” she said. “Even with carte blanche.” She had to smile when she said that, as she remembered the little misunderstanding that had started them down this path.
“I admit I would like to take care of you, and see to your security. However, if you do not want that, I will accept whatever you permit. You will have to allow me to give you a few gifts, however. Lovers do that.”
Lovers. It was not
the same as being a courtesan, or even a mistress. What it had in common with those roles was the normal lack of permanence for a liaison with a duke. She had allowed herself no illusions or dreams about that. He would marry some day, maybe soon, and when he did whatever they shared would end.
She desired him as much as he did her. Just sitting here speaking of this had her excited and aroused. Her body ached to experience again the glories of yesterday.
He cupped her head with his hand and eased her toward him. He kissed her. “You are not arguing,” he murmured. “You are not refusing me. You must do so now if you intend to at all.”
She embraced him and kissed him back, and made her final choice.
Chapter Nine
She fit in his arms, perfectly. Her passion rose along with his. Having decided to give herself, she did not hold back.
Rand barely contained the urge to possess immediately. His hunger for Selina had distracted him for days, and owned his mind the last few hours. With her kisses of acceptance he experienced not only a primitive joy of victory, but also a masculine gratitude.
Their kisses turned consuming and their caresses possessive. A thought entered his fevered brain, that he should take her above, to a bed. His impatience did not want the delay, but he rose to his feet with her still in his arms and guided her toward the door. Pushing it open a fraction, he pulled away from her lips.
“Leave,” he commanded through the slit. Footsteps shuffled away on carpet and marble.
“The servants?” Her question came as little more than an exhale.
“They are gone. Come with me.”
He did not let her go, but drew her up the stairs, kissing her, holding her. She floated along, her body bound to his closely by his arm, her head angling to accept kisses scorching her neck.
He needed no commands in his apartment. As soon as he opened the door, another within closed. He stopped and embraced her properly so her form aligned with his and he could feel her totally, his hands smoothing over her curves. He had to part an inch so he could reach the buttons of her dress, but it was hell to relinquish the full connection.
“I favor these dresses you wear,” he said while he worked the buttons. “So convenient. It is a wonder they are not more popular.”
She reached down to release a few buttons herself. “Women who lack maids also favor the convenience. That is one reason ladies of the ton will not wear them. I must tell the shop to explain their usefulness to lovers, however. We may get dozens of commissions.”
He made quick work with the dress and started on the short stays. Once he released her body, he ceased thinking about much at all.
Warmth. Velvety skin. He had to release her to shed his coats and pull off his boots. Then he fell on the bed with her, mad with hunger. He pulled down her chemise and lost himself in the erotic swells of her breasts, kissing and licking until her cries rang in his ears. He resented a delay while he finished undressing, hating any pause to the pleasure lest its perfection be ruined.
Finally he was atop her, his cock prodding her thigh, her head thrown back and her lips parted in her delirium. Gritting his teeth for control, he aroused her breasts until her delight pealed over and around them. He rose enough to put his hand to her mound and her cries turned anguished with need.
He wanted her badly. Ferociously. More intensely than he could remember ever wanting a woman. Each of her cries cut one more thread of his control. Eventually her abandon pushed him beyond the point of any sense at all.
He entered her harder than he intended. Harder than he should have, his mind acknowledged at once. Driving pleasure immediately buried that instant of rationality. His passion built furiously. Her cries continued, now affirming and begging while she opened to his thrusts.
It seemed forever that he took her, but also not long enough. Completion promised ecstasy, but he wanted his possession of her to be total and eternal. Finally he succumbed. His release crashed through him. It broke apart his mind and saturated his body in profound sensation.
No sooner had the blast of pleasure exploded, however, than enough self-awareness returned for him to remember the beginning rather the end.
The soft body he held in his arms belonged to Selina Duval, not Mrs. Fontaine, and up until a short while ago, she had been a virgin.
He rose up on his forearms and looked in her eyes. “You should have told me.”
Selina knew what he meant. She doubted virginity could be hidden in such a situation, but she had hoped she might pull it off. “I said there had been no liaison with Giles. You just did not believe me.”
“He told me there had been.”
She could not imagine why Giles had lied about it. Perhaps he had told others that, too.
“I cannot blame you for believing him.”
“However, I can blame him for lying. There was no need to. It was ignoble.”
“Are you angry now? At me, I mean.”
He kissed her. “Of course not. I am of two minds about it, though. I am relieved you were never his. But I am aware I wanted you to be experienced, because it would permit this. Then again, I am stupidly pleased to be the first.”
“That is three minds, I think.”
“So it is. Was there ever a Mr. Fontaine? Or did you have a white marriage?”
“He is a fiction. Being a widow explained much.”
The look in his eyes said he had known that part. But Mr. Fontaine had also permitted this, hadn’t he? She suspected that the mind behind that handsome face now reviewed the rules of chivalry, and how he had broken some.
“I am not a child,” she said. “You asked me to be your lover, and I agreed. I think it was a splendid decision on my part.” She adjusted her body enough to remind him they were still joined. “I do not regret it. Do you?”
“Me?” He laughed quietly, then withdrew and rolled to her side. “Ask me tomorrow, when I am not so damned pleased with myself.” He kissed her shoulder. “Still—”
“Don’t. Please, just do not. I had hoped you would not know. I do not want your guilt or apologies for something that gave me such joy.”
“As you wish.” A bit of the stern duke entered his tone. She suspected he really meant it will be discussed another day.
“I shall kill your brother if I ever see him again, for lying about me,” she said after settling alongside him and resting her head on his chest.
“I will take care of him for you, in my way.”
“I expect you can cut off his allowance or something.”
“He does not need an allowance from me. He has his own income, in the thousands, from the portion left him by our mother. Unfortunately, he has a weakness besides lovely country girls about whom he lies to feed his own conceit. He gambles, and loses big, so he is often in serious debt.”
“Is that why he is not in town now?”
“Now and in the past. I suppose I will pay off his creditors again. It is an old story between us.”
She angled her head so she could see something of his face. “He is a trial for you, isn’t he?”
He did not respond at once. “He is, but I think I envy him,” he finally said. “Not for him were the chants about duty his whole life, or the close watch of a father on an heir. He grew up free in comparison to me. I was two people from the day I was born. Randall, and the Duke of Barrowmore. I accept the duties, and do not deny that I enjoy the power, but sacrificing the first in order to be the latter became natural and expected. Giles only had to be Giles, in all that was good and bad about that one person.”
She gave him a little poke. “I forgot to ask which is my lover, Randall or the duke. How careless of me.”
“They cannot be separated, Selina, even if I wished it.”
She allowed herself to begin drifting to sleep. She knew all about the duke part, and what it would mean to her someday. She would make sure he never felt obliged to explain it.
Chapter Ten
Being a duke’s lover proved more complicated th
an being a duke’s mistress, Selina soon learned. She still went to the shop every day, where she worked hard. Only instead of walking home, she walked to an agreed-upon spot where a carriage waited to take her to him.
With the days lengthening, they twice joined at the end of the fashionable hour and rode in the park before going to Manard House. Another day the carriage made its way to the British Museum, kept open at the duke’s request, just for him and his guest.
Once she did not need the carriage, because she brought Edeline four garments from her new wardrobe. Selina left the dresses in Edeline’s apartment before descending the stairs to the library, where the duke awaited her.
Edeline’s new coldness did not thaw with that visit. If anything, the young girl went out of her way to speak with disdain. Selina wondered if Edeline knew of the affair. They were not being secretive and most likely the word was out that Barrowmore had a new friend.
She doubted the news made more than a ripple in the gossip stream, however. She was not a notable friend, after all. Not an important lady or some old lord’s wife. She was not even a celebrated courtesan. No one would remain interested in a duke’s dalliance with a dressmaker.
Her own world learned the rumors. She could see it in their eyes. Curiosity sparked there, not scorn. He was a duke, after all. Thus did great power offer protection.
Selina counted the hours each day while she worked and sewed and fitted her ladies. She anticipated being back in his arms, and encompassed by the intimacy they shared. She relished their conversations before, and their jokes and easy talk after. She held her lover close to her body, and, she admitted, increasingly closer to her heart.
Ten days after that first night in Manard House, she received another one of Edeline’s notes. Bring the rose dinner dress, it read. I must have it by eight o’clock tonight.
“She is too proud to be borne,” Felicity said when Selina showed her the note. “I’ll have a messenger bring the dress to her. We are too busy to have you at her beck and call.”
