Pleasure for Pleasure

by Eloisa James

  His sister was having an affaire.

  His fiancée had just handed back his ring in no uncertain terms. In fact, he had no fiancée. Sylvie was gone.

  And little Josie had been ravished.

  He felt like the hollowed out inside of a gourd. Of these three events, the only one that really mattered was the last.

  Griselda…well, he supposed that he was hardly one to chastise someone for affaires. Lord knows, he’d had more than he could count. Almost.

  He loved Sylvie. But was he really capable of loving anyone? Probably not. Because he’d feel more anguish at her rejection, if that was the case.

  But Josie. Josie. Tears almost came to his eyes. He blinked hard and shouted to Wiggles.

  “Where to?” came the shout back to him.

  “Felton.” Because suddenly it was all clear to him. Josie was ravished. She was ruined. She might even carry a child from this day.

  Unless he married her.

  Of course he was a devil’s bargain, soiled as he was with the reputation of a roué and the tired soul of a degenerate. But he was better than nothing, and if she didn’t want to marry the father of her child, she could damn well marry him.

  As Mayne sat in the carriage, the fixed truth of it only grew firmer in his soul. For the first time in his miserable, misbegotten life, someone needed him.

  A block or two later he shouted at Wiggles, and redirected the carriage to the bishop’s palace where his uncle lived. His uncle had written him a marriage certificate once before. Felton had snatched that out of his hands and married Tess himself.

  But there was no one to step forward and marry Josie. She was the laughingstock of the ton, and now she would never be a marriage prospect, no matter the size of her dowry. What did women do with a child born of such a union as she had endured?

  But he couldn’t seem to think that far, because every time he considered what had happened to Josie a black cloud came over his eyes and he broke out in a sweat, finding a moment later that his fists were curled and he was breathing heavily.

  There, in the darkness of the carriage swaying down St. James’s Street, Mayne made an oath to himself.

  He’d marry Josie and then he’d find that bastard, whoever he was, and kill him.

  Slowly.

  It was the first time he’d smiled in hours.

  28

  From The Earl of Hellgate,

  Chapter the Twentieth

  She was my queen, my paramour, and my agony. I would have done anything for her, even lay down my life at her feet. Slowly our relations changed. She grew less commanding and more amorous.

  Rather than commanding my caresses, she caressed me. Reader…

  Do you know what I like most about this story?” Annabel asked. She was sitting on Tess’s dressing room stool, her hair falling about her shoulders, just as she had looked when she received Tess’s summons. “I love the fact that his mouth was open when you slung all that manure at him.”

  “I would have swung the shovel, not the manure, against his face,” Tess said tightly.

  Josie was just out of a hot bath scented with jasmine. It was all beginning to feel like a nightmare passed by. After all, no one had seen her; Mayne had taken care of that. “Mayne led me straight to his carriage,” she said, knowing she was repeating himself. “After I knocked him to the floor!”

  “Poor Mayne,” Tess said thoughtfully. “It does seem that his life is oddly entwined with ours. As if he were our possession. First I was to marry him, although Annabel, you wanted the privilege. Of course, Imogen never wanted to marry him.” She was sitting on the edge of the bed, and had thrown her hair forward and was brushing, so that her voice emerged, rather muffled, from behind a chestnut-colored waterfall of hair.

  Josie could feel that Annabel was looking at her. She pretended to be adjusting the belt of her dressing gown.

  Tess continued, oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. “And I don’t think that Josie ever expressed such a wish. Josie, didn’t you expressly say that you wouldn’t take a man over twenty-five?”

  There was silence in the room. Josie could feel herself turning pink. Annabel’s eyes were narrowed.

  Meanwhile, Tess kept brushing. “I can’t imagine any woman not wanting to marry Mayne. I was perfectly happy to do so. He’s magnificent looking—”

  “If tired,” Annabel interjected.

  “With a good estate.”

  “Not like your husband’s.”

  “Pooh!” Tess said, throwing all her hair to the side and straightening up. Her face was pink. “Lucius would be the first to say that he owns far more properties than he has any use for.”

  “I would applaud your ambition,” Annabel said to Josie, “but there’s the unfortunate problem of his fiancée.”

  “What!” Tess yelped. She turned to Josie. “Are—”

  “Of course not!” Josie said. “Could we return to a more reasonable subject?”

  “Well, I don’t understand exactly how you ended up walking alone with that despicable young man,” Tess said. “Where was Griselda?”

  Annabel frowned at her. “That’s irrelevant. If you haven’t noticed that Josie is showing every sign of having fallen in love with Mayne, I’m not so unobservant.”

  “I have not!” Josie said hotly.

  Tess put down her hairbrush. “For all the level of obliviousness you credit me with, Annabel, I think it is you who is showing a singular obtuseness. Mayne has a fiancée. Moreover, he is infatuated with Sylvie. If our Josie has indeed taken a fancy to him—and who wouldn’t, given his obvious attributes?—it can do no good for us to refine upon the subject. He is marrying Sylvie.”

  “Well, as to that…” Josie said.

  Her sisters’ heads snapped in her direction.

  “No!” Annabel gasped.

  Josie couldn’t help grinning. “She slapped him.”

  “Slapped him?” Tess echoed. “Sylvie? Sylvie de la Broderie slapped Mayne?”

  “What on earth did he do?” Annabel said. “I’m sure he deserved it.”

  “He didn’t!” Josie said. “He didn’t—”

  “How do you know?” Tess asked.

  “I could hear.”

  “You were eavesdropping!”

  “Of course she was eavesdropping,” Annabel said, exasperated. “You’re starting to sound like an old biddy, Tess. Are you telling me that you would tiptoe away if you happened on a scene during which Mayne was being slapped and…are you saying that she broke off their engagement altogether, Josie?”

  And, at Josie’s nod, “Fascinating!”

  “But perhaps I shouldn’t tell the details to Tess if she disapproves,” Josie suggested.

  Tess rolled her eyes. “The deed is done. Feel free to divulge the details.”

  “He kissed her,” Josie said.

  Annabel frowned. “And?”

  “And she slapped him.”

  “That was it? One kiss and she decides she’d rather not be a countess? You must have missed something, Josie.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Tess asked.

  “Perhaps he grabbed her breasts,” Annabel said with relish. “Frankly, I cannot imagine Sylvie enjoying a grab and tickle.”

  “He didn’t,” Josie said. “He would never do something like that.”

  “Oh, you’d be—”

  “No, I wouldn’t!” Josie snapped. The very suggestion made her think about Thurman and the way he pawed her front, for all the world as if he were an elk trying to uncover grass from the snow.

  Annabel looked at her narrowly. “All the more reason why Thurman deserved that shovelful of manure.”

  “Did he paw you?” Tess exclaimed.

  Josie wrinkled her nose. “It wasn’t terrible. Just—”

  “Terrible,” Annabel said. “There is a reason why young women are supposed to stay with their chaperones, you know.”

  “It seems to have been a remarkably wanton afternoon,” Tess observed. “Where on ea
rth did Mayne manage to kiss Sylvie in such a way that you observed her?”

  “We were in the stables,” Josie admitted. “But they couldn’t see me.”

  “What did she say after she slapped him?” Annabel asked. “I always meant to slap someone for the impertinence of kissing me, but somehow I generally forgot.”

  “Well, Mayne kissed her, and then there was a terrible crack when she slapped him.”

  “And then?” Tess said, obviously fascinated despite herself.

  “I probably shouldn’t—”

  “Tell or we’ll have your guts for garters,” Annabel said.

  “You can’t tell your husbands,” Josie said.

  They both nodded.

  “Well, Mayne said something like, ‘Sylvie, what devil’s game are you playing?’ His question might have included an expletive or two,” Josie said. “I was so surprised, you understand.”

  “Yes, yes,” Annabel said, waving her hand. “And Sylvie?”

  “Sylvie said, and I know I have this right: ‘When I decide to be manhandled by a canard, I will know where to come, Mayne. I thought you were putting your degenerate life behind you—but obviously you wish to drag me into the muck with you.’” Josie finished with fine dramatic flair.

  “Canard?” Annabel said. “Isn’t that French for a duck?”

  “Well, perhaps I got that word wrong, then, because I’m sure she didn’t mean duck,” Josie said. “She really sounded quite violent. Or rather, not violent so much as disgusted. She was revolted. You could tell. She was shaking.”

  “Not to be pedestrian,” Tess said, “but perhaps Mayne has bad breath. It comes from bad teeth, as I understand. Lady Dayton told me—”

  “He doesn’t,” Josie said firmly.

  “It’s a question of teeth,” Tess began, but Annabel waved her into silence.

  “Josephine Essex,” Annabel said, “do you care to tell us precisely when Mayne kissed you?”

  After a second of silence, Josie said, “It was only one kiss.”

  “One kiss?” her sisters said in chorus.

  “Not even a real kiss. It was just a kiss to show me how to walk right.”

  “What?” Tess said.

  “Did you enjoy it?” asked Annabel.

  Josie could feel herself growing pink. “Not so much,” she said. “It was just a kiss, after all.” She tried to give a casual shrug. The kind of shrug that indicated she certainly had not been dreaming of that kiss every single night since it happened.

  “Just a kiss,” Tess said. “Do you know what is most interesting about this, Annabel? Mayne kissed me once.”

  Josie transferred her scowl to her eldest sister.

  “I did not enjoy it, and I don’t believe he did either. We shared one extremely tepid kiss when we decided to marry, and I distinctly remember thinking that all the talk of kisses must be wildly over-estimated, as it was nothing special.”

  “Not like Lucius’s kisses, hmmm?” Annabel said mischievously.

  “Hush. And I happen to know that Mayne kissed Imogen as well.”

  Josie swallowed. Apparently she was just the last in a long line of Essex women whom Mayne had graced with his attentions.

  “She didn’t enjoy it either. In fact, to hear her tell the tale, Mayne kissed her only so that he could convince her that there was no point to their having an affaire since there was no desire between them.”

  “And now we have a third woman, Sylvie, who has described Mayne as a lackluster kisser,” Annabel said. “Poor Mayne! He really must be handicapped in that area.”

  “That’s absurd!” Josie said hotly. “He—He—” She floundered to a stop.

  “He what?”

  “Stop clowning about like that,” Tess said to Annabel. “If Josie enjoyed Mayne’s kiss, it’s all for the best, but if you think about it, the man has really suffered a trail of disappointment. Didn’t he fall in love with Lady Godwin before she rejected him?”

  “In love with Lady Godwin? Mayne?” Annabel repeated. “I don’t think so. I think he’s in love with Sylvie, more’s the pity for him.”

  Josie bit her lip. “I know he’s in love with Sylvie. He told me himself.”

  “Before or after he kissed you?” Annabel asked.

  “After. And before. He wanted to make certain that I didn’t take the—it—too seriously.”

  “Wasn’t that generous of him?” Annabel asked. “That man deserves a fall more than any gentleman I’ve heard of lately. How dare he warn you that he’s in love with another woman and then kiss you?”

  “He was only trying to help,” Josie said. “And he has had the fall, Annabel. He lost Sylvie.”

  “Will she go back to him?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s hard to explain but she was truly revolted. I could hear it in her voice.”

  “Poor Mayne,” Tess said.

  “Fie on that,” Annabel said briskly. “We know of four women who disliked his kisses: Lady Godwin, Tess, Annabel, and now, Sylvie. But we know of one who enjoyed them.”

  Josie felt her blush getting hotter. “That has nothing to do with it,” she managed.

  “That has everything to do with it,” Annabel said. “If you wish to marry him, then your sisters are just the ones to make sure it happens.”

  “Are you cracked?” Josie cried. “I can’t marry Mayne. It’s madness even to say that aloud. I’m young and he’s—and I’m—I’m fat.”

  “You are not fat,” Tess snapped. “I am tired of hearing that, and I’m tired of seeing in your eyes that you’re thinking it. You are beautiful. Have the past few days taught you nothing? Why do you think that loathsome Thurman stole his loathsome kisses? Because you are beautiful, and since you gave up the sausage corset, the men are slavering over you. And if you think Mayne hasn’t noticed that, you’re cracked. I saw him look at you myself.”

  “Nonsense. Mayne wouldn’t ask me to marry him in a million years.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have made a study of marriage. You know that. I’ve catalogued every single novel published by the Minerva Press in the last few years. Men ask women to marry them, as far as I can see, because they are struck by reverence for their delicate beauty. Or because they are somehow forced into the marriage by a ruse. Mayne shows no interest in my delicate beauty, even if I had it, and ruses are not as easy to pull off as one would think.”

  “What do you mean by a ruse?” Annabel said, looking interested.

  “A trick. A stratagem. The word covers a multitude of sins,” Josie said. “Every marriage that didn’t happen in a conventional way. Your marriage, for example. You married due to a scandal.”

  “And mine, I suppose,” Tess put in. “Since I married Lucius after he engaged in just such a ruse to get Mayne out of the way.”

  “Imogen’s second marriage was conventional—”

  “In some ways,” Annabel said, laughing.

  “But her first came about due to a ruse.”

  “The evidence seems to be heavily weighted in favor of such strategems,” Tess pointed out. “I suggest that we approach Mayne and the question of marriage with that in mind.”

  “Easier said than done,” Josie said. “Ruses are all very well if one is as delectable as the two of you. But I—”

  “No more of that,” Tess said. “I agree with Annabel. If you want Mayne—and God knows, you’re the only one who seems to want him—then you shall have him.”

  “I didn’t mean to encourage you,” Josie said, feeling alarmed. “Truly, I wouldn’t wish to marry in such a harum-scarum way. The fact that your marriage is a good one doesn’t mean that the end result will always be so favorable. I’d hate to take such a risk.”

  “Even if it were to marry Mayne?” Annabel asked, with interest.

  Josie opened her mouth and then hesitated.

  “Our way is clear,” Annabel said to her sister.

  “No,” Josie said despairingly. “No!”

  “Watch us,” Annabel said.r />
  29

  From The Earl of Hellgate,

  Chapter the Twentieth

  Dearest Reader, you know me now as well as I know myself. And I’m sure you understand that as her passion for me sweetened, so did mine wane. Before long, I was no longer her faithful swain, and…ah, darling Hippolyta…forgive me. The tempests of our early relations were such that I could not be happy in the Paradise that you later offered me.

  Smiley had spent the last twenty years as Mr. Felton’s butler in town (a distinction necessary, he felt, to distinguish himself from Mr. Felton’s three other butlers, all of whom presided over establishments situated, regrettably for them, in the depths of the country). He was accustomed to a quiet life. After the master married, the household certainly became more lively, but the mistress was as calm as her husband. They did not keep late hours.

  But tonight! Here it was ten of the clock, and Smiley was conscious of a faint feeling of resentment. First the Earl of Mayne brought the young Miss Essex to the house. Then the Earl of Ardmore and his wife arrived. They were family, of course, but Smiley felt that family had its place.

  It was time for him to retire to his snug little sitting room, where Mrs. Smiley would have a pan of hot water ready for his feet. Powerful trouble it was, standing on his feet all day long, and much of that on marble floors.

  Not an iota of his thoughts showed on his face as he opened the front door yet again. “Your lordship,” he said, bowing to the Earl of Mayne.

  “Smiley,” the earl said. “Would you be so good as to announce my arrival, and that of my uncle, the Bishop of Rochester?”

  Smiley took the earl’s many-caped greatcoat and the bishop’s velvet cloak and ushered them into a sitting room. Suddenly his feet didn’t hurt as much as they had earlier. Could it be that his house was about to be party to a wedding?

  What other reason could there be for tumbling a bishop out of his bed? Smiley opened the study door just as the Earl of Ardmore said something about kisses.

  “The Earl of Mayne and the Bishop of Rochester,” Smiley intoned, with some satisfaction. So it was about kisses, was it? In his experience, there were kisses and kisses. The kind of kisses that led to a bishop appearing in the house at a late hour of the clock went along with a tumble…