He raised her from the floor. Yasmin had the darkest hair with the coal-colored gaze of a temptress with a delightful accent. She was not Turkish, perhaps a Romany gypsy? Her simple silk wrapper flowed over her naked body, and the scent of her musk perfume permeated the humid air. He closed the door behind her for privacy.
“It is good you speak English. Then you will understand I cannot accept such a gift. My English commander would not allow it.”
“I have many skills you could enjoy.”
Chapter Nine
The Grievous Mistake
Wolferton remembered the hunger that raged in enjoyment of the lazy way she dropped her wrapper to the floor. He inhaled and closed his eyes. It had been so long he’d been with a woman. He held the sides of her head in his hands as he savored the sexual notion. Soon the thought became a reality, the need so great, his past forgotten except for the desire for release. He threw her toward the bed, removed his kaftan, and without restraint, plunged into her, time and again. His cries became a feral plea for relief.
“Ahh,” he growled, until the final moment when it was over. Sanity returned, and he shoved the woman away in disgust. Not with her, but with him for the damn lack of control. Yasmin almost fell off the bed, but he pulled her back.
He could not be harsh with her when he was the one to blame. She performed the act she was taught, the art of seduction. Wolferton, on the other hand, could not help his sinful urges. Celibacy was his decision, and at times he was tested by the devil. He never claimed sainthood.
He scanned the room, took the kaftan off the floor, donned it, and turned from Yasmin. The old ways would not conquer him. He repeated many times the words he’d uttered that such intimacies were weaknesses.
“Yasmin, this cannot be. Rise and put on your wrapper.” He kept his voice gentle as he helped her into the silk robe and caressed her. “Yasmin, my beauty, I will try to explain…this cannot be between us. Your Allah would not forgive this infidel for acceptance of such an oriental flower only to walk away without a backward glance.”
“Effendi, I ask for nothing. We women were meant to pleasure men. Allow me to show you paradise again.”
“I cannot. I do not have time, and I leave tomorrow.” It was a lie, but for the moment it would do. “It is difficult to explain, but military rules prevent me from any relationship. In my country to do such things without ah-sh-k—love it is considered bad. My Turkish words are still poor. Did I pronounce them right?”
“Yes, but your English customs are hard to understand.”
“Think of it as kismet—fate, Yasmin.”
“Inshallah—if Allah wills it,” she answered.
It’s a wonder I’ve lived through all this political turmoil. I need to get out of here. More than all of this, I need to go home, but I won’t live with my bastard of a father.
He convinced her to leave before sunrise. “If they command me to return to you, I cannot refuse.”
“I will take care of the situation. We will never see each other again, sweet Yasmin. Do not worry. All will be well.”
She turned to leave, looked back at him, and he saw a tear escape. He mustn’t weaken. Further contact of any kind with this woman represented another damn test. In the morning, he would request a transfer to Anatolia, a Turkish camp, far from Pera, to train new soldiers as pistol and rifle snipers.
Wolferton looked into the mirror. “Scum, you enjoyed every minute of it.” He cast the mirror to the floor where it broke into pieces. Of a sudden, he was cold, as if ice water poured through his veins, and not the blood of life. He shook in violent spasms. Both outstretched hands were raised above his waist in supplication, almost frozen from any movement. He stripped the bed of all sheets and threw himself on the mattress, still in a shiver and cursed.
Now seated upright, with teeth chattering, he found the coverlet and threw it around his shoulders and rocked in mental anguish. When light entered the room, he arose, threw everything off him, and washed with strong soap as if to cleanse his body of his sin. Wolferton rubbed so hard he drew blood near his groin. At this sight, he stopped and toweled off. He dressed fast, anxious to leave the room, and went to the reception area where a driver waited to take him to headquarters. The ride jostled along the rutted roads.
At the barracks, he went into the officer’s quarters where his superior official handed him a message. The captain said, “This letter arrived for you. It has traveled a long way. Have a seat. Coffee?”
Wolferton shook his head. The note could only mean trouble.
“Colonel, you’ve been recommended for reenlistment for five years. We are most pleased with your performance. I do hope you’ll consider it.”
His superior’s toothy smile, while genuine, could not tempt him. No matter how much he dreaded a return to England and his father, he had seen too much of civil and military systems. To say some customs were unfair and barbaric held truth. Then there was the situation with the woman, Yasmin. He did not wish her punished.
“Take the rest of the day off. I’m sure you have a lot on your mind.”
“Thank you, sir, I do.”
He accepted the letter postmarked from London four months prior, with thanks and left the room. A military driver returned him to his hotel. With a nod to the clerk, the missive in his breast pocket burned against his chest. Climbing the steps wearied him. Upon entrance to his room, Wolferton placed the envelope on a bureau and stood it against the ledge. The surrogate’s name on the envelope appeared familiar. He removed his military jacket, placed it on the back of a bamboo-tied chair, went to the wardrobe, and selected his English dressing gown. The kaftan on a hook reminded him of Yasmin. The glass and bottle of liquor became a welcome sight as he poured a full portion. He ripped the envelope open and read the contents. The decision to stay in Turkey was no longer an option.
Chapter Ten
The Unworthy Heart
London
Later in the evening, Wolferton’s demons continued to haunt him, and on this night in particular, after Halifax’s appearance, he sought relief and entertainment. First, he stopped at White’s to find some friends. However, there were none whose company he desired.
Next, he headed to the demi-monde quarters where courtesans were known to frequent. As luck would have it, there were no acquaintances at the club, but the manager did advise him most of the gentlemen were at a ball at Madame Melisande’s townhouse. He departed and instructed his coachman to take him there.
When he arrived, Madame Melisande greeted him with warmth. “To what do we owe this honor, Your Grace? We’ve missed your munificent presence.” She bowed and gave him a gracious smile.
He nodded. “Any excuse I would conjure would not be truthful, therefore, know I need a diversion, so here I am. I trust nothing has changed since we last met.”
“A variety of distractions to interest gentlemen abound within this establishment. Perhaps you’d like to stroll and find a new acquaintance? However, I do believe Lord Halifax arrived a short while ago with his lady. We chatted a moment ago.”
“Suffice to say I do not look to them for entertainment.” He laughed and walked away. He spied the viscount at a high-stakes card table with five other gentlemen. When Halifax raised his head from the cards in his hand, he nodded but returned his attention to the game as it progressed. Wolferton gave a short nod and proceeded to the garden area.
As a man, he was used to control over everything that surrounded him. Tonight was different, and restless memories of his past unsettled him. He held a fondness for the delightful Yasmin because of her situations. What caused him to resurrect recollections sequestered for so long? The crowded terrace focused on flirtatious couples on assignations, so it seemed. Nothing changed. About to walk away, a silken voice called his name. “Wolferton, is that you in the dark?”
He turned to her. “Marguerite, we meet again and so soon. Fate has a way of manipulation. Haven’t seen you in many years and then twice in one day—and night. How
fortuitous.”
Dressed in a rouge-colored dress, sleeveless and cut so low she could burst out of the bustier, the view presented her generous bosom. However, this night all breasts seemed the same—and held no interest.
“May I join you for a moment?”
“Yes. Halifax is intent on his cards. Does he always leave you alone like this as a temptation to the gods?”
“Wolferton, do you think you might find it in your cold heart to speak nicely to me?”
“I wasn’t aware I lacked gentlemanly courtesies,” he answered in a voice that could vapor the air.
She joined her arm in his. “Come, let’s speak for a moment. I wish to pay you a compliment, one I mean with sincerity.”
Curiosity got the better of him, but he stopped his stroll so they were still in view. Nothing mattered in this place since it was a nest of fornicators and gamers, but still caution advised otherwise.
“I never appreciated your fine decorum and your mannerisms of respect around the gentler sex. I’ve thought about you all day and remembered how good it was between us. No matter what you did or said, you acted every inch the gentleman you are. It is decidedly a gift. There, this is my compliment.”
“Marguerite, I thank you for your flattery, but you cannot turn my head. If you are unhappy with your situation, change it and leave. Halifax might show a streak of generosity.”
“He is a youth who’s in love with himself. In my position, I’ve never expected love, though I always wished for such a wondrous emotion.” No coyness evidenced in her tone, and only apparent regret surfaced. It saddened him to see her so disabused.
Footsteps pounded the marble floor. Halifax made his presence known. “Somehow I knew I’d find you here with Marguerite.”
Wolferton tilted his head and slanted his glance. “Your neglect became my gain. I’ve had a delightful conversation and kept your lady amused. Since you are here, I turn her back to you.” He disengaged his arm from hers, smiled warmly at the woman, and shot dagger stares to Halifax. “Good evening, I’ve had as much entertainment as I can handle.”
More than irritated, he walked away, across the balcony into the ballroom, retrieved his accessories from the porter, left the premises, and snapped at his coachman to attend him. “Take me home.”
He settled himself on the brocade squab, grasped his sword cane between his legs, and held it upright.
No, he would not show weakness and revert to his old ways. There had to be something more in life than this.
Chapter Eleven
The First Villainous Lie
The next morning after breakfast, Jaclyn drank another cocoa and waited for Camille and Wolferton to appear. Halbert announced the arrival of Lord Halifax.
“His Grace is not here as yet. Show him to the drawing room, Halbert. Keep an eye on the silver,” which held a measure of truth in the statement. “I’ll be there in a moment. Please let His Grace and Camille know of the lord’s arrival.”
Taking a last sip of her favored morning chocolate, she arose, settled her skirt, and scooted out of the breakfast room. Wolferton was hell-bent on finding her a suitor, but she didn’t want just anyone. If the truth were known and if she could speak, her heart was set in a different direction. Old enough to marry, her qualifications for a husband were different than the duke’s.
Jaclyn desired the ability to choose. Her guardian did say he wouldn’t hoist just anyone upon her. The situation she surmised offered no real suitors at the moment, but Camille assured her they would soon show up in all their glory.
Jaclyn slowed her steps to the drawing room, and her thoughts muddled. What were Halifax’s qualifications? She’d really have to make some lists in her journal with regard to pros and cons of candidates. Yes, that might clear the complex question of her future and a suitable husband.
At this moment, the word husband annoyed her. England and its customs irritated. Silly women who sought mates aggravated more. Some gave more thought to the purchase of a dress than a lifetime with a veritable stranger. That every available maiden searched hard for a wealthy man assumed too much. These ninny-hammer ladies would smile, cajole, laugh, and engage in witty repartee to impress an eligible bachelor. Sweet heaven, what nonsense. In a short period of time, the family expected her to adapt to strange customs of the ton, flatter men she didn’t know, and demonstrate all her fine qualities, such as the pianoforte and her languages. Even stranger they encouraged her to practice wiles on such prospective men without flirting. Heaven forbid, if anyone was to touch or kiss her, the universe would collapse.
Even the fashions differed from those in Belgium. The styles were more subdued…at least Wolferton’s designs were. Yet some women showed more of their bosoms and raised their skirts an inch or two. This caused her to wonder why his selections were always devoid of a glimpse of—female attributes. If she didn’t exercise care, he’d dress her like a novice in a nunnery. The remote possibility existed that her guardian didn’t want other men to woo her?
Jaclyn entered the drawing room and greeted Lord Halifax. As usual, the man’s sartorial elegance impressed. She found herself inspecting him, for he did have a handsome presence. His smile pleased. His eyes were blue, though not as blue as Wolferton’s deep grotto-like color. Tall and well-packaged all in all, why should she not consider him a candidate? Jaclyn knew only too well the answer she dared not admit to herself but would write in her journal. Without a doubt, she realized the Greek god could not compare to Wolferton.
Out of the question, but why?
She cared not a fig that her guardian was older than she by eighteen years, because he reminded her of man she admired most, her father.
“You seem preoccupied.” Halifax’s voice pierced her reverie. “Miss Moreux, is something amiss?”
She shook her head. “No, just woolgathering. There’s a lot on my mind.”
Thank goodness, within moments, Camille and the duke entered the room. Halifax spoke in a warm tone, “Ladies, I extend salutations to you. The museum should give us ample time to know each other better. Shall we depart? Wolferton’s fine coach awaits.”
Jaclyn accepted Halifax’s arm. Camille and her brother were together. They departed the room to the foyer where they donned their pelisses and overcoats. Halbert held the double-door open. Footmen arranged for the coach step. The ladies chattered, but Jaclyn couldn’t help but note that the men were unusually quiet, like two beasts pounding hooves at each other before they went in for the final kill.
At the National Museum, they were assisted out of the carriage and walked to the entrance, and Halifax purchased tickets. Jaclyn couldn’t help but note the expression on Wolferton’s face at Halifax’s attention to her. She made every attempt to control the smile that begged to erupt.
“Miss Moreux, where do you wish to start?”
“I’d prefer the portrait section. In particular, I’d like to see Thomas Gainsborough’s portrait of Georgiana, the Duchess of Devonshire.”
“We have to walk across to a different gallery section, but why do you mention this portrait from all the others?” His interest didn’t seem feigned, so she went into detail as Camille and Wolferton joined them.
She scanned the room and kept her voice lowered. “Georgiana had a terrible marriage to the Fifth Duke, and he was unfaithful to her during their entire matrimony. Noted for his infidelities inside and outside his home, she suffered patiently.”
Jaclyn raised her hand to her throat. “In faith and friendship, Georgiana convinced the duke to allow a girlhood friend to live with them in their home. He was quick to engage in intimacies with Lady Elizabeth and never batted an eye. Unhappy with all things, she fell in love with a girlhood youth and accepted him as her lover. Of course, her husband found a way to blackmail her and separate them. That man, Charles Gray, later became prime minister of England.”
Her voice choked. “There is much more to the story, but for the moment it will suffice.”
Jaclyn went to Camille
and took her arm. “It is a sad story of a romantic woman who married the wrong man. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so explicit, but this will never happen to me. I’d rather die a spinster.” She gave a hard look to Wolferton and tilted her head haughtily.
He answered, “Marriage to a man, any man, does not guarantee fidelity, my dear. A woman may get to choose, but if a husband wishes to practice deceit before the marriage, he will continue the unfaithfulness. He raised an arched brow. “It is a surprise your school mistress would allow you to write blatantly about the affairs. Not exactly a model paper for a convent school.” His tone declared a dismissal of the subject as improper.
“Your Grace, I did not submit the treatise with the entire story. I gilded it with innuendo rather than facts.” She held her glance to him with a curled smile. “Now, I’ve shocked the men, Camille, shall we go see the portrait?” They ambled ahead, “My tedious monolog might even scare Halifax off, don’t you think?”
Camille nodded in approval and even giggled.
When they got to the portrait the woman in the ultra-large black hat, and sad eyes hung on the wall for all to see. Her beautiful reddish-brown hair blazed like Wolferton’s.
Wolferton seemed annoyed with her exhibition. Jaclyn was the daughter of a good gentleman. Her father deserved better than to suffer his wife’s infidelity. The worst hurt was that her mother never cared to contact her all these years.
Trust and betrayal were key issues, and certainly the important consideration in the selection of any suitor. She’d marry a commoner if she loved him and the man returned that love, like in the romance books. Jaclyn heaved a sigh.
Halifax came to her side. “I admire your spirit, Miss Moreux. A woman should have some input on the choice of a husband. We are not in medieval times, although social mores dictate so,” he whispered, conspiratorially. “If you ever require my assistance in this regard, I am here for you.”
The Blue-Eyed Black-Hearted Duke Page 5
