by Emily Royal
And there’s nothing so bad as a discontented wife.
Entering the dining hall, he heard Lady Claybone admonishing her husband. If he needed a reminder to avoid the parson’s noose, it was right before him, donned in purple silk with an excess of lace adorning its ample bosom.
Discontented mother. She turned her attention to Jeanette, scolding her over the food on her plate. Sir Robert cast a brief look of solidarity to his daughter. A good-hearted man, but ruled by his wife.
That would never happen to Henry.
Lady Darlington arrived, patting her hairstyle.
“Time for a little music” she trilled. Definitely not a discontented wife. She took her husband’s arm and smiled, her face still flushed from exertion. Beautiful, vibrant, and charming, no wonder Lord Darlington looked at her with slavish devotion.
Half an hour later, Henry sat, bored with the array of insipid sonatas, each one followed by polite applause and the ardent clapping of an adoring mama, the next mama determined to out-clap the last. By the time Lady Claybone pushed Jeanette forward, most of the company had regrouped in the ballroom, while the rest sat in small groups chatting among themselves.
Henry’s eyes were closed as Jeanette started to play, but after a few bars, he sat up, recognizing the Scarlatti Sonata. Never before had it stirred such emotion in him. She seemed to express her own melancholy as her fingers ran over the keyboard. When she finished, a few gloved hands rippled in applause. Her chest rose and fell in a sigh.
“That was too gloomy. I told you to play the Mozart…”
“I’m not in the mood for Mozart, Mama.”
A nearby group of ladies giggled, and Henry shushed them. Jeanette looked up and their eyes met momentarily before she looked away.
Lady Holmestead moved into his sight. Doubtless Louisa wished to compare notes on his prowess with Sophia Darlington when the night was over. Ten minutes later, he found himself returning to Lord Darlington’s study, this time to cuckold Lord Holmestead.
*
Helping Louisa off the desk, Henry jumped at an angry voice outside the door.
“Henry, my husband mustn’t catch me here!”
“Hush, darling, they won’t come in.” He kissed Louisa to silence her retort, and she purred seductively, rubbing her hand across his breeches. He felt a pull in his groin at the memory of the way she’d quivered and moaned as he’d thrust into her.
The door handle rattled, dousing his passion. Of all the places…
Quickly and unceremoniously, he grasped Louisa by the waist, pulled her to the ground, and rolled underneath Darlington’s desk, taking her with him.
Just in time. The door swung open, casting a ray of light across the rug. Another couple had come to the same idea as he had. Two pairs of feet appeared, inches away from Henry’s nose. He gave Louisa a warning squeeze but she remained still.
“Papa, I don’t care!” The woman’s voice carried traces of a regional accent.
The man’s accent was much stronger. “Jeanie, love, your mama depends on you to elevate our position in society.”
“Society can go to hell!”
“Jeanette Frances Claybone, do you want a thrashing?”
“I’m not Jeanette Frances Claybone! I’m Jeanie Smith. We had a good life before. I helped you with the business. I had a purpose.”
“You have a purpose now, love.”
“To spend my time gossiping with shallow creatures who only care whether they’re dressed in the latest fashionable shade of blue or this horrible pink?”
“Your mama is trying to secure a good marriage for you, Jeanette. You should show her—us—more respect.”
The woman sighed. “It’s not easy. These people don’t like us and I don’t like them.”
“Promise me you’ll make an effort at the Holmestead party. Mama worked hard to secure our invitation. Come here, love.”
After a moment’s silence, Henry heard a rustle of silk and a sigh, and he imagined Sir Robert comforting his daughter. What might it be like to embrace those curves?
“Your mama loves you, Jeanie. She wants you to have the security and comforts she was denied. She lost everything when she fled to England. You can only understand the horrors of poverty if you live it. Your Mama won’t admit it, but it’s her greatest fear. She’ll do anything in her power to ensure you never find yourself destitute.”
“Could you ask her not to try so hard, Papa? In turn, I’ll promise to try harder.”
“There’s my girl. Come on, chin up as we say in the ton.”
Henry heard a muffled laugh before the door opened and shut.
Louisa twisted her body round and tipped her head up until their lips met. “What about a rematch, Henry darling? Under the desk rather than on it?”
“Another time.” Henry helped her to her feet before straightening her lace tuck, his fingers lingering over the dip between her breasts.
“So, they’re invited to your house party?”
“William thinks highly of Sir Robert. He may be a commoner, but at least his wife was an aristocrat rather than a doxy.”
Henry sighed. “I presume you mean Charlotte Winters.”
Louisa gave him a saucy smile. “Charlotte, is it? But I suppose given your—patronage—of her, you’d exhibit more familiarity than most. I hear she serviced many men before she snared Sir Daniel.”
“That’s not fair, Louisa darling. What Charlotte and I did is no different to what you and I are doing.”
“Except that I am married, whereas she was paid.” Louisa offered her lips to him. “Did she give you as much pleasure as I?”
“Of course not.”
Louisa’s brown eyes, dark with female satisfaction, smiled at him, but he could not shake the image of a different pair of eyes from his mind: Miss Claybone’s—dark green, gazing soulfully across the room, forging an invisible connection between them.
He had no wish to see history repeat itself.
Charlotte Winters had been ruined, reportedly by Viscount De Blanchard, during her first season five years ago. With no other choice, she had entered the life of a courtesan to earn a living. It was only by virtue of her last patron being smitten enough to offer for her hand that she’d been able to restore her position in society. Though being a knight, rather than a baronet, marriage to Sir Daniel was hardly a complete restoration.
If Jeanette Claybone were similarly ruined, she might not be as lucky as Charlotte. At all costs, Rupert must be persuaded to abandon his pursuit of her.
Henry kissed Louisa before leaving the study for the second time that evening.
Chapter Three
“There’s nothing so attractive as a virile man astride a powerful piece of horseflesh. I do admire a magnificent beast.”
Lady Darlington didn’t bother to lower her voice as Henry and his friends rode past. She flashed Henry a smile while walking arm-in-arm with Felicia Long. Felicia at least had the grace to blush before casting Henry a hopeful glance.
Henry spurred his horse into a trot. Rupert and Dominic followed, chuckling. Dear God, it was almost worth finding a wife just to remove himself from the attention of all those desperate, unattached women.
To his annoyance, he caught Miss Claybone’s name on Rupert’s lips. A fortnight after the Darlington ball, Rupert’s intentions had only intensified.
“She’s a challenge,” Rupert said, “which makes the prize all the sweeter.”
Dominic laughed. “Why don’t we place a wager on it at White’s?”
Rupert nodded. “One hundred guineas say I’ll have taken residence between those luscious thighs before the month is out. What say you, Dray?”
“I say you’re wasting your time, Rupe,” Henry said, irritably. “Even ignoring your difference in station, she’s too clever for you. You hardly opened your books at Oxford. You’d have nothing to talk about.”
It was an open secret that Rupert’s father, the late viscount, had secured his son’s third-class degree via
a generous donation to modernize the library at Worcester College.
Rupert snorted. “A few love poems will do the trick. I don’t expect to spend much time talking to her.”
Rupert wasn’t giving up. Henry needed to change strategy.
“Very well,” Henry said, “but if I help you, I expect to profit from it. If you succeed in seducing her, then you must pay me two hundred guineas.”
“Done! I’ll secure the spoils by the end of the Holmestead house party.”
“That’s less than a month away.”
Rupert grinned. “I like a challenge.”
The two men shook hands. Rupert was an extravagant fool who only managed to stay solvent by virtue of an excellent steward and the Beaumont estate having been placed into trust. After his gaming expenses and money spent on his current mistress, Rupert had little to spare. He’d soon realize the value of keeping his two hundred. Jeanette’s virtue was safe.
A scream echoed across the park, followed by a splash. The friends spurred their horses into a canter until they came upon a small crowd on the banks of the Serpentine.
“She’s fallen in!”
“Someone help her!”
Rupert dismounted and handed Henry his reins. “Let me through!”
The crowd parted to reveal a sniveling child at the water’s edge.
“My top!” he wailed.
A woman emerged from the water’s surface, a child’s toy in her hand. “I have it!”
“Good God, madam!” Rupert cried. “Are you all right?”
She threw back her head and laughed. Henry would recognize that laugh anywhere.
Miss Claybone stood in the middle of the Serpentine, hair in disarray, water dripping off her gown.
*
Jeanette spat water from her mouth. Disgusting! The child gave her a grin, and she winked back and held out the toy.
The child’s nanny, an iron-gray haired woman, snatched the toy from her.
“Come, Thomas.”
“We must thank the lady, Miss Brown,” the child said.
“You’ll do no such thing!”
He gave Jeanette an apologetic smile, and the nanny tugged at his arm.
“Thomas! We don’t converse with her sort.”
“It’s not contagious!” Jeanette yelled at the nanny’s retreating back.
Murmurs of admonishment rippled through the onlookers. Let them rot.
“All right, ladies. You’ve had your entertainment. Now leave.”
The crowd obeyed the new voice and dispersed, whispering to each other about farm folk tainting the pure waters of London. Hardly pure, the Serpentine was a murky shade of green; mud swirled in the waters around her legs.
The newcomer approached the water’s edge and held out his hand. He looked familiar—light blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and a benign smile of friendship, well-dressed in a dark brown coat, cream breeches, and highly polished riding boots.
She took his hand. The skin was warm and smooth; a hand which, unlike Papa’s, knew nothing of manual labor.
“What were you thinking, madam?”
“The child dropped his toy in the water and nobody would help him.”
“His mama would have given him another one.”
“He wanted that one. His nanny didn’t have the wit to see he was about to jump in after it.”
He removed his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. “We should get you home before you catch a chill.”
“Good Lord, Oakville, what are you doing? You’ll ruin your coat!”
A deep voice came from behind, its owner sitting astride an enormous black stallion.
Lord Ravenwell.
His fingers curled around the reins. The memory of those hands on her skin sent a shiver through her—strong, dominant hands taking mastery of everything they touched. He stared directly at her, his eyes darkening. How could a man be so intimidating? He lifted an eyebrow, then looked away dismissively. Rudely reminded of their difference in rank, she turned back to the man who had come to her aid.
“I think you should leave me, sir, your friend is waiting. I’ll have your coat returned if you would give me your name?”
“Rupert, Viscount Oakville.” He bowed. “And you are?”
“Jeanette Claybone.”
Footsteps clicked along the path. Andrea appeared, dragging her fiancé behind her.
“Jeanie! What on earth are you doing?”
“Miss Claybone,” Theodore said, “you look like one of my deckhands after he’s walked the plank.”
Tall, dark, and unshaven, clad in black and sporting no cravat, Theodore O’Reilly looked every inch the rogue. And he needed to. The seas were rife with ruffians, ships were ambushed, the thirst for riches driving the unscrupulous to piracy. He’d even spoken of women being sold into slavery and spirited across the ocean, never to be seen again.
But looks deceived. Kind, considerate, and utterly devoted to Andrea, when they married, doubtless he’d flout tradition and display an un-aristocratic degree of fidelity toward his wife.
Would Jeanette ever find a man to love her as much?
Theodore turned a disapproving eye on Oakville. “Did this fellow push you in?”
“No, Mister O’Reilly,” she laughed, “he fished me out.”
Rupert bowed to O’Reilly before addressing Jeanette.
“Miss Claybone, may I escort you home?
“There’s no need, sir, I have my friends. But let me shake your hand.”
He took her hand and kissed it, his warm breath sending a whisper of heat across her skin.
“May I call on you, Miss Claybone?”
She smiled in response, but her body tightened at the notion someone else watched her. Keeping her gaze focused on anything but the man who towered over her sitting astride his powerful horse, she turned her back and set off home with her friends.
Chapter Four
Henry spotted Rupert at White’s the next day.
“Dray! I’ve lodged my bet. You need to sign the ledger.”
Henry lifted a finger to the butler who approached him, bet book in one hand, a glass of brandy in the other. He took the brandy and sat next to his friend.
“You mean to pursue this?”
“You stand to win if I succeed.”
The butler opened the book. Three bets had already been lodged that morning. Rumor had it that the Duke of Bowborough had placed a bet of two thousand guineas, that Emilia, Countess of Strathdean, would give her husband an heir by the end of the following year. The cash-strapped duke then tried to bribe several rakes into seducing her.
It was no rumor. Henry himself had been offered one hundred guineas by the duke. Though it would have been the easiest hundred to acquire, he had no desire to seduce on request or father another illegitimate child. Men were supposed to pay the women, not the other way round.
Henry eyed the bet which had been placed before his. Rupert had persuaded Dominic to part with three hundred if he managed to debauch Miss Claybone before the end of the Holmestead house party. Damn. Rupert now had financial incentive.
“How do you suggest I start my seduction?” Rupert asked.
“She has a fondness for music and books.” Henry smiled at the memory of their conversation at the ball. “…and a talent for mathematics.”
Rupert rolled his eyes. “Mathematics? Lord save me.”
“You’ve got no chance.”
Rupert drained his glass. “Nonsense. I’ll wager she already sees me as a something of a savior. Are you sure you don’t want her?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
The image of Jeanette in the water assaulted Henry’s mind, that lush body rising from the water like a nymph. Her gown had clung to her form, exposing every curve; two dark pink nipples had been visible beneath the white muslin. Boldly, she had met his gaze, and he’d looked away to hide the lust in his eyes as he’d listened to every word she had said to Rupert, seemingly thinking nothing of the fact that she’d save
d a child’s life.
With such a woman in his home, heart, and bed, a man’s life would be far from dull. He closed his eyes, relishing the notion. An equal in wit and intelligence, so unlike the fawning society misses; but she was not for him. He could not afford even the slightest risk to his heart.
“She strikes me as a woman whose ideals of morality surpass yours,” he said, sipping his drink to hide the lust in his voice. “If I were you, I’d give up.”
“Absolutely not,” Rupert said. “I’m determined to have her.”
Henry’s skin itched, and the brandy glass threatened to shatter in his grip. He must ensure Rupert failed.
*
“Miss Claybone! What a delight to see you looking so well.”
Turning her attention from the violinists tuning their instruments, Jeanette looked up from her seat. Oakville stood before her, his mild blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight.
“Lord Oakville! I had no idea you were coming to the concert.”
“I adore music, and the countess always procures the best musicians for her soirees. I trust you’re recovered from your accident.”
“I can’t understand why such a fuss was made of it,” she said. “The sea’s much colder than the Serpentine.”
His eyes crinkled into a smile. “Is there anything you’re afraid of?”
“Society.”
“Society only frightens us when we face it alone, Miss Claybone. You need never be alone if you permitted me to escort you.”
“Jeanette…”
A finger dug into her ribs.
Mama.
“Oh, forgive me,” Jeanette said. “Mama, this is Viscount Oakville.”
“How delightful!” she exclaimed.
“Charmed to meet you, Lady Claybone.” Oakville lifted Mama’s hand and kissed it. “Might I have the pleasure of your daughter’s company at supper?”
“She’d be delighted, wouldn’t you, Jeanette?”
He bowed and rejoined his party. A dark-haired man stood at the edge of the room, his back to her. He turned as Oakville approached him.
Lord Ravenwell. He smiled at his friend before he spotted Jeanette, and then his smile disappeared. Even at a distance, contempt exuded from his stance. An uncomfortable heat bloomed in her cheeks. Was there so much in her to be despised? His eyes darkened, the raw power of his gaze rendering her immobile.
