Duchess of Seduction (Hearts in Hiding Book 3)

by Beverley Oakley

  Two hours ago, Madame Zirelli had seemed the incarnation of the evil that could come between a husband and a wife. Now Cressida had to acknowledge the huge debt she owed the woman.

  And act on it.

  Quickly and with mounting excitement, Cressida tidied her hair and dusted a discreet veil of powder over her heated face. Her body pulsed with the knowledge of the power it soon would yield. Justin had left her at Catherine’s, believing she would allow herself to be swayed by her overbearing cousin.

  But Cressida was stronger than that and instead of either remaining with Catherine or hurrying home, she’d sought answers from Madame Zirelli.

  She’d not been disappointed.

  Now, every minute that passed seemed a minute too long before she could bask in Justin’s embrace and enjoy what she’d missed for so long.

  A pair of hopeful eyes stared back at her from the looking glass. The dispirited, frightened creature Justin had encountered at Catherine’s was nowhere in evidence.

  In a burst of excitement, Cressida rose, accidentally knocking the writing desk from her dressing table with her elbow .

  It crashed to the floor, breaking apart and spreading pages to the far corners of the room.

  Anxious not to delay her visit to Justin a moment longer, Cressida crouched and quickly tidied the various papers, the words on numerous reports and pieces of parchment blurring before her eyes. There was no point in reading them. Perhaps she never would. Justin could discreetly return them, for Cressida understood too well now the bleak history of a woman who’d been stripped of her one true love and her child—a sorrow compounded when she’d become a victim of sexual exploitation and finally, with no family support, had nevertheless managed to carve out a life for herself against the odds.

  Hurriedly, she placed the pages in the remains of the little writing desk and was about to close the lid when she noticed a single folded letter sealed with wax had fallen to her seat. When she picked it up to place it with the others, the seal disintegrated and the letter unfolded before her eyes.

  She saw the name Sir Robert and, to her surprise and confu- sion, another name jumped out at her amidst the tight, spidery scrawl of the unfamiliar hand.

  Annabelle Luscombe. Annabelle was her old friend. She was involved with the Sedleywich Home for Orphans together with Justin.

  Her eyes returned to the name of the letter writer: Sir Robert?

  Sir Robert? Surely a coincidence—and surely not the Robert of whom Madame Zirelli spoke? If it was, why would the letter be unopened? Without reading full sentences, Cressida scanned the letter and another name jumped out at her: Lady Banks.

  Without thinking what she was doing might be wrong, Cressida carefully smoothed the letter, sat down upon the chair and began to read. As she moved from the familiar greeting, her confusion grew .

  “ My dear Mariah—” Sir Robert began.

  If this was the same Robert, Cressida tried to remember what she knew of Sir Robert. He was married. He had children, she thought. Though his had once been a name with which she’d been familiar, she’d not heard mention of him in years.

  “I do not know if this wi! find you, or indeed where you are or whether you are married. I was saddened at news which filtered through to me in Basle, where I’ve lived the past sixteen years, of your divorce, but I hope you have found the happiness you deserve.

  Throughout the fifteen years of my marriage, I have thought of you with great fondness, hoping that life has treated you we!. I have been living abroad, returning only recently a#er my dear wife, Lucile, died, and indeed I’d not have risked stirring up the past, Mariah, were it not for an occurrence some weeks ago which begs for clarification if I am ever to sleep easily again.

  It is difficult for me to write this, but I have no choice for if—as I believe—I have been in ignorance these past nineteen years, then you have carried a terrible burden.

  Several weeks ago, I attended Lady Sommer’s ba! where I chanced upon a girl who bore such an astonishing resemblance to you that I cried out to my "iend, “Who is that young woman?”

  “Don’t you know your own niece?” he told me. “Your sister’s child, Miss Madeleine Hardwicke. S he is to marry Lord Sitherton in six weeks.”

  In the intervening sennight, I have pondered the matter and my disquiet has not abated.

  Mariah, you cannot know how distressed I was at our enforced separation and the lengths to which my parents went to ensure I remained at Oxford rather than rush back to see you when I heard you’d been engaged as a governess in Dorset .

  As you did not reply to my letters, I did not persist, thinking you wished to close that chapter of your life.

  It is strange, returning to England a#er sixteen years to find both my parents dead. I know Lady Banks was no friend to you and if I could have turned back the clock to make that chapter of my life right, I would do it.

  But life is fu! of regrets and we cannot change the past, though we can atone—and, if I could, I would.

  N ow, sadly, my older my older sister—whom I feel I never knew; and is the mother of a child I’ve never met and whom she believed she could never have—is to follow our parents to the grave. I have so many unanswered questions.

  Perhaps you have some of the answers. Nothing would gladden my heart more than to meet with you again, so we may discuss all that happened so many years ago.

  With fond memories,

  Yours ever, Robert.”

  Cressida dropped the letter. Madame Zirelli’s kindness toward

  Cressida had stemmed from a genuine wish to supply her with the knowledge to control her own fertility, because it was this lack of knowledge that had ruined her own life.

  Ruined, because she’d been stripped of a child she could never know.

  Tonight, Madame Zirelli had learned that Miss Madeleine Hardwicke was the daughter she could never acknowledge. In three days, Miss Hardwicke would marry the ageing peer, Lord Slitherton. How well Cressida remembered the lackluster spirits of the apparently once-vibrant young woman as she stood beside her intended at the ball that would change Cressida’s life. The ball at which Catherine had stripped bare Cressida’s belief in her husband.

  Such lies!

  Cressida refolded the single sheet of vellum and tapped the table with it, unable to dismiss the uncomfortable knowledge that the wedding would be as decidedly lacking in joy for Madame Zirelli as it would be for Miss Hardwicke. And poor Miss Hardwicke would have to live with the consequences for many unhappy years to come.

  Slowly, Cressida rose, tossed back her head and studied her face in the looking glass.

  She could not think of Miss Hardwicke now. Cressida had other priorities. No, poor Miss Hardwicke and her unhappy state of the heart would have to wait.

  So would Madame Zirelli’s.

  But right here in Cressida’s hands, was surely the antidote to a great deal of unhappiness.

  She dropped her hands and again stared at her reflection. Her eyes shone, her cheeks glowed. She looked like a woman in love. A woman with the world at her feet.

  A woman at the height of her power and beauty .

  What a galvanising thought.

  Stroking Madame Zirelli’s little writing box, she ran over all the

  possibilities.

  A few hours remained of the long, confusing and extraordinary night she’d just experienced.

  Many years of happiness stretched ahead of her. She truly believed that.

  But what of the fates of Madame Zirelli and Miss Madeleine Hardwicke? Their helplessness and their sorrow weighed heavily on Cressida’s shoulders and she wished she had the means to wave a magic wand to effect their future happiness.

  But...didn’t she have the means to do just that?

  Knowledge. She had knowledge and knowledge was power. Pushing back her shoulders, Cressida made a vow .

  She would do what she could. She would do everything in her power to persuade Justin to exert his power to do what he could to mak
e things right.

  Maybe, just maybe, Cressida thought with breathless excitement as she pinched color into her cheeks, she might be able to unite some unlikely forces and give the ton something to relly get excited over.

  Maybe, just maybe, she could take the initiative, for once, and not only direct her own future on an onward loving course with her husband, but do something that would advance the happiness for two other deserving, hitherto helpless, woman.

  Wouldn’t that be a something to celebrate?

  Chapter 14

  “Cressida?”

  Justin, billiard cue in hand, jerked round as Cressida pushed open the double doors to the games room and

  stepped inside the heavy double doors. A nervous tic pulled at the corner of his mouth as he regarded her through black eyes shadowed within cavernous sockets.

  Cressida’s heart lurched. It looked like her poor darling had been pacing the house like a caged beast, tormented, since she’d apparently sided with Catherine all those hours ago.

  But she’d not known, then, what she knew now .

  She tried to banish her guilt with the knowledge that she was here with a very altered perspective.

  And a very altered motivation.

  “Justin, forgive me.” She took a few steps towards him, then stopped, regarding him more closely as he stared warily at her. There was a desperation about him that was so at odds with his usual sang !oid that struck Cressida like a blunt instrument. Justin had always seemed so in charge, able to ride out any storm.

  And yet, her behaviour had clearly rocked him to the core, leaving him wounded and vulnerable.

  She had done that. She had had the power to do that.

  A power she’d abused.

  “Justin, I know the truth. I know that everything you’ve told

  me is the truth and I’m here to apologise.”

  She didn’t move forward, waiting—perhaps?—for her husband

  to come to her, enfold her in his arms and pour out his relief?

  But of course, he didn’t do that—and it was hardly surprising he did not, for hadn’t Cressida led him a merry dance these last few weeks?

  No, months.

  Justin was in no position to know what Cressida wanted and so Cressida was going to have to tell him.

  Or show him.

  “Good Lord, Cressy. What are—?”

  “Hush,” she whispered as she wrapped her arms about him, one

  hand creeping downwards to undo the the buttons of his breeches. He stiffened as she slid one hand into the slit to cup his balls gently. His instant erection, straining against her hand, sent a surge of satisfaction through her, and she raised herself on her toes to press her lips to Justin’s mouth, which had pursed in

  surprise.

  She heard him swallow. And then his voice, low and warning as

  he pulled slightly away, “I have not the fortitude to bear this if you don’t truly mean it, Cressida.”

  The air left Cressida’s lungs in a rush as she returned the flat of her soles to the ground. Her determination almost followed. Of course she should have prepared for such a response. Everything she’d put him through would lead to such scepticism.

  She tried again.

  “Please trust me, Justin. I know I’ve hurt you. But this...this comes from the heart,” she assured him, hesitating as she weighed up whether to continue.

  Or should she just stop proceedings and simply explain, in plain and straightforward terms, what had led to this?

  He relaxed slightly but he didn’t take this avowal with the unadulterated pleasure that would have made her task so much easier.

  Tensely, she reassessed her tactics. Her bravado. No, she couldn’t simply tell him. He had to know how she felt. He had to feel it from the bottom of his heart. If he had to learn to trust her again, then so be it. Now was as good a place and time to start as any.

  With one hand on his shoulder and the other fondling Justin’s manhood, Cressida twined her arms about his neck and pressed herself close again.

  At first his response was only lukewarm but as she deepened the kiss, her tongue darting inside to explore the cavern of his mouth, she registered his excitement building in tandem with her own.

  He’d dropped the billiard cue and trapped her between the edge of the heavy table.

  “God, Cressy, I hope you know what you’re doing,” he croaked between kisses, holding her as if he could never let her go.

  “I do, Justin,” she reassured him, slithering suddenly to her knees.

  “Cressida...darling!”

  Yes, this was bold. She’d done this not so long ago as a delaying tactic and in desperation, inspired by the vestal virgins; but now she was doing it because she wanted to pleasure her husband—and it didn’t matter where proceedings went from there.

  Gently, she eased Justin’s manhood from his breeches, and weighed it in her hand. Lord! She was fascinated. So this was the power he wielded with such devastating results...under cover of darkness in the bedroom, beneath the counterpane.

  With the blood pounding in her ears, she grasped her husband firmly and gently circled the tip with her tongue, thrilling to feel his whole body stiffen.

  He held himself tightly as he gently stroked the top of her head. “Oh my God, Cressy, you are full of surprises.” His whisper was delighted and full of awe.

  Cressida raised her eyes to slant him a sly smile as she murmured, “While looking for you at Madame Plumb’s, I stumbled upon a tableau not meant for the eyes of a lady.” It seemed only right to hint at her journey to this point. He needed to understand something behind the change in her. “And yet I think we were all ladies at Mrs. Plumb’s, and most of us were looking for the same thing.”

  Of course, having a chat at this juncture was not the height of amorousness but Cressida didn’t want him to fear she’d leave him in the lurch at the last moment—as had happened before.

  At his frown, she clarified in a low whisper, “Ways in which we might combine pleasure with power.” She stroked him then, still on her knees and looking up at him, kissed him with great tenderness. “I’m so sorry for all that you’ve been through, Justin, but I have learned so much. And do you know who has taught me so well?”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. Perhaps he didn’t want to know right now. No, of course he wouldn’t. Cressida had a lot to learn on how a man behaved under the onslaught of pleasure- giving such as she was used to receiving from her husband.

  But...he needed to know .

  “I was looking for you, Justin, and I met a woman who was kind to me. A woman who gave me information I desperately needed but...I didn’t know how to ask. She gave her name as Miss Mariah but it was only when I heard her call out to you in the corridor at Mrs Plumb’s that I realised she was—” Her breath hitched in her throat and Justin, seeming to realise what she was about to say, gripped her shoulders to pull her up as Cressida finished, “Madame Zirelli.”

  She wriggled out of his grasp, shaking her head as she maintained her position on the floor. “No darling, this is for you. Let me do this in my own way. Just know that I now understand who and what she is: a good woman and no threat to me, as I’d feared.” Putting her fingers to her lips to as she prepared to dip her head once more, she added, “Nor have I the slightest doubt about your constancy .”

  “Enough talking, my darling, for I know—” he growled, but whatever else he was about to say was truncated by a deep groan as she took him deeply into her mouth, sliding her tongue around the base of his engorged member, her whole body tingling with excitement, power and anticipation at his responses as she licked and suckled.

  His hands tangled in her hair as he threw his head back, his face a mask of ecstasy, she was excited to see when she flicked open her eyes. “You are exquisite,” he groaned, his breathing tortured as Cressida built up the tension with her tongue.

  It was all so new to her, and all so wickedly exciting. She could afford to be as tantalizing
as she wished, for she had precautions and she had knowledge. A week ago, this hugely important aspect of her life, the foundation of her marriage, had been mired in dark, swamp-like ignorance.

  While Justin moaned his pleasure, Cressida could provide him with all he could want of a wife, fulfilling her conjugal side of the contract. With interest. Without repercussions every time. Without fear. It was exhilarating, and it was just the beginning.

  “And now it’s my turn,” she whispered when she felt him nearly at the cusp. She wanted this moment to confirm their sexual life would never be the same but yet, oh, so much better.

  Still holding him with one hand, she hastily retrieved the French letter from the reticule at her knees and slipped one of the strange sheaths Madame Zirellia had given her onto him, stroking and massaging him to keep up the momentum. Not that that seemed in any danger of slipping.

  He was shocked at first, but he understood, throwing himself into the game with as much enthusiasm as she’d hoped. Her womb throbbed with want and she was desperate for him by the time she rose to her feet, twisting in his grasp so she had her back against the table.

  She did not have to say the words that had been forming on her breath—‘Take me here.’ Her actions conveyed their own eloquence, and with a cry of pleasure, Cressida threw back her head and gasped as his hands encircled her waist and he lifted her onto the table, moving in to take her ankles and wrap her legs around him.

  Breathless, panting and excited, they laughed as together they hoisted her skirts up around her waist.

  She wanted no preliminaries. She was clear about that, her lust too advanced, her desire too urgent. She needed to feel herself full and hot with him thrusting deep inside her. She wanted him to lose himself in her as he’d done when they were lovers as much as newlyweds, and the consequences were a bonus, not a bane.

  She wanted to reclaim him.

  With her arms supporting her weight, she opened lust-laden eyelids as Justin pushed into her, first with tentative exploration, for it had been so long since they’d done this, then with serious intent as he picked up the pace with smooth assurance. She sucked in a sharp breath as she closed her eyes, thrilling at the memory of Justin’s expression, glazed with passion.