by Merry Farmer
“Lavinia, no,” Armand hissed behind her.
“My lady, I advise against it,” Mr. Croydon said in a grave voice.
Lord Malcolm glared at Lord Shayles as though it were his fault.
“Well, well.” Lord Shayles sidled across the lawn toward Lavinia. “This is an interesting turn of events. Your wife is quite the hostess, Pearson.”
“Dash it,” Dr. Miller murmured to a distracted-looking Lord Gatwick behind him. “I was going to partner with Lady Helm, if you know what I mean.” He elbowed Lord Gatwick, who jolted out of his thoughts and sneered at him.
“Lavinia, you shouldn’t do this,” Armand continued to protest.
“Oh, Armand,” Lady Stanhope cut off what looked as though it would develop into a lecture. “Do let your wife play hostess as she should.”
“But—” Armand gaped, gesturing from Lavinia to Lord Shayles.
“Makes you wonder why you bothered, eh, Pearson,” Shayles laughed.
Lavinia held her ground, staring hard at Armand, demanding he trust her and get on with whatever he planned to do. Armand turned pleading eyes on her, but his expression morphed to a frown when he met her eyes. He glanced momentarily to Lady Stanhope, who also stared him down with a look that demanded complete trust. “Carl,” Armand snapped at one of the footmen hovering by the scene. “I want you to accompany Lady Helm and Lord Shayles. Watch them at all times.”
“Yes, my lord,” young Carl answered, looking pleased to be entrusted with the task.
“Wonderful,” Lavinia’s mother said, suppressing a giggle. “We have our first pair. Now, who else will pair up?”
Within moments, Marigold had stepped up to Lord Gatwick’s side and Lady Stanhope had gone to stand by Dr. Miller, looking thoroughly put out. Lord Malcolm strode to stand beside Natalia Marlowe, whispering something in her ear, and Rupert hooked arms with Bianca.
“I suppose the two of us will have to pair up,” Mr. Croydon muttered to Armand.
“Yes, because that is entirely trustworthy,” Lord Shayles said, dripping with sarcasm, as he offered an arm to Lavinia.
Unease prickled across Lavinia’s skin. The game had yet to officially start, and she suspected that Lord Shayles knew exactly what they were up to. Her heart raced as she ran through their options in her head. The one thing she knew was that they couldn’t call off now.
“Mama, if you will give the word for us to start,” she said, pleased that her voice didn’t quiver for a change.
“Yes, yes, my dear.” Her mother cleared her throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, you may begin.”
“Good luck,” Lord Shayles said over his shoulder as he whisked Lavinia off toward the French garden. “And may the best man win.”
Lavinia remained silent for the first few minutes, darting glances this way and that to make sure Carl was following them and to make sure that Armand and Mr. Croydon would go straight inside. Malcolm broke away from Natalia and snuck into the house after them. If Lord Shayles asked what she was looking at, she would tell him she was keeping an eye on her guests, making sure they got off to a good start. But he didn’t ask. He merely grinned as though he were on a pleasant stroll and escorted Lavinia into the sculpted flower beds and hedges of the French garden.
“This list says that we need to find a shard of china,” he said at last, looking at the small list he carried. “I say we will never be able to find anything with as perfect a porcelain texture as your lily-soft skin, my lady.”
Lavinia cleared her throat, forcing her back straight. “I’m certain that’s not what my mother meant by that item.”
“No?” He led her around a corner and onto a walk that held rows of apple trees in full fruit. The cloying smell of cider filled the air. “I would have pegged your mother as the sort to steer you into precisely the situation that would prove the most advantageous for your social connections.”
Lavinia stopped, letting go of his arm and turning to stare at him. Carl stood several yards away, looking ready to leap to her rescue, but she steadied him with a subtle shake of her head.
“If you are referring to the unusual nature of my marriage to Lord Helm, then I’m afraid you are mistaken, my lord,” she told Lord Shayles, praying she could hold her own against him. “Lord Helm and I have been on friendly terms for over a year. The house party at Winterberry Park merely enabled us to clarify our intentions toward each other.” She didn’t know why she told the lie, but she couldn’t stand the smug look on Lord Shayles’s face.
“Certainly, my lady,” he said, clearly not believing a word. “But we must remember, marriage is only one kind of intimate relationship.” He brushed the back of his fingers along the row of buttons running down her bodice, raking her breast as he did. “Especially when the husband runs off to exotic lands.”
Lavinia froze. Her heart raced, but she didn’t move a muscle either to panic, push him away, or, God forbid, give in to him. She merely stared hard at Lord Shayles’s cold, blue eyes, without flinching. Within seconds, what began as a fear reaction caught hold in her mind. She was suddenly reminded of the way Lord Shayles had abandoned supper when no one rose to the challenge of his prodding.
“Hmm.” Lord Shayles took a half step back and studied her, head tilted to the side. “That wasn’t what I was expecting,” he said, hinting she might be right.
“And what did you expect, my lord?” she asked in as much of a monotone as she could muster. Her mind raced. How much time did Armand need to search Lord Shayles’s room? She couldn’t keep up her current façade long.
Lord Shayles shrugged, then crossed his arms. “To be honest, I’m not certain. I figured there was an equal chance that you’d either scream rape and dissolve into a pitiful mess, or….”
He didn’t continue, so Lavinia asked, “Or?”
A devilish smile pulled at his lips. “Or you’d fling yourself at me and beg me to show you all the things I’m certain your husband would never dare to.”
Lavinia’s heart sped up, but not because of the lewd suggestion. She’d stumbled across something, possibly Lord Shayles’s weak spot. He needed a reaction. “What things are those, Lord Shayles?” she asked, terrified on the inside but desperate to keep her face as blank as possible.
The curiosity in Lord Shayles’s eyes intensified. “I could tell you things that would make you shriek in horror,” he said, his voice a seductive purr. “That is, if they didn’t make you so wet your juices dripped down your thighs.”
Lavinia blinked. Revulsion warred with a strange sense of power and arousal within her—not for Lord Shayles or his words, but because of the power she sensed she suddenly had in the situation—but she battled to maintain a mask of banality.
A frown creased Lord Shayles’s brow and he shifted his weight to his other leg. “There is an exquisite amount of pleasure to be had in pain, my dear,” he went on. “I could do things to you that would have you begging me for mercy in more ways than one.”
Lavinia cocked her head to the side. “Oh? Such as?” Her stomach writhed with snakes, but she stood her ground.
“I could tie you up with rope so rough it would chafe your sweet skin, with knots pressed hard against your most delicate parts,” he said, leaning forward and arching a brow at her. “I’d stimulate you until you were on the verge of coming, and then I’d deny you over and over and over.”
The memory of the way Armand had touched her and the blissful relief she’d felt when her body responded flooded her. But they also left her wondering what it would have felt like if he’d stopped before she’d burst, leaving her suspended in that bittersweet agony of need. But her only outward reaction to Lord Shayles’s fiendish suggestions was to blink once more. “And what would be the point of that?” she asked.
Lord Shayles inched back, studying her. “Perhaps there are other things that would tempt your fancy. I doubt your upright, doctor-viscount-husband would ever dream of smacking that sumptuous ass of yours until it glows pink, then spreading those cheeks
and taking you in the most sinful of ways.”
Lavinia simply stared at him. No one actually did that, did they? She kept her question buried as far inside as she could, betraying no emotion at all. No fear, no shock, no curiosity. She would give the horrible man nothing.
With a short, impatient breath, Lord Shayles changed his stance yet again. “All right, then. Perhaps you are more the sort that enjoys fucking two men at once, or more.”
It took everything Lavinia had not to gasp at his use of such a foul word or his suggestion of something so wicked.
“It’s possible,” Lord Shayles went on. “Very possible. I’ve seen it.” He leaned closer. “I’ve taken part in it,” he whispered. “One man to fill your slippery little cunny, one up to his balls in your ass. I could even arrange a third to thrust his cock down your throat. It’s quite a sight when all four participants come at once.”
Her stomach churned in disgust, and she had to tense every muscle of her body to keep herself from shaking like a leaf in a storm. She focused every last ounce of her concentration on maintaining an expression of pure, absolute neutrality and disinterest.
Of all things, Lord Gatwick came to mind, the way he stared at artwork while Lord Shayles spewed the most hateful things, the way he seemed utterly nonplussed by the sewage he was mired in. A spark of genuine curiosity cut through her battle to hold back Lord Shayles’s evil. Perhaps Lord Gatwick hated the man as much as she did and only feigned interest in art and such to keep his repulsion at bay. But why? Why would the man torture himself with Lord Shayles’s company so frequently if he hated the man? Why would he—
“Bah!” Lord Shayles backed away from her, wiping his mouth as though he’d plucked one of the apples from the trees around them and bit into a worm. “I’ve never met such a cold fish in my life.”
Lavinia drew in a slow breath, surprised that it wasn’t a gasp of shock at being caught in her thoughts. “I’m sorry, my lord. It is my duty to make certain all of my guests are happy and at ease while under my husband’s roof. Is there anything I could do to make your stay more enjoyable?”
Lord Shayles gaped at her, several vile emotions flickering across his face. He settled on condescension and snorted a laugh. “No, my dear. I don’t believe you’d know how to make anything more enjoyable for me in any way. There’s no point in seducing you after all. You’d probably just lay there like a limp squid while I buggered you senseless. You wouldn’t even have the decency to scream when I hurt you.” He tugged at his cuffs, licking his lips as if dispelling a bad taste, and glanced around. “At this rate, Pearson will abandon you for India without my help.” He sniffed. “Which is the quickest way back to the house?”
“The house?” Lavinia asked, still clinging to her blankness, though, oddly enough, it was harder to keep up the ruse now that he wasn’t interested in her. What did he mean about Armand abandoning her for India without his help?
“The house, yes, the house,” Lord Shayles hissed with impatience. He stared at her, then rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid, you know.”
“I never said you were, my lord.”
He ignored her, going on to say, “This whole stupid thing,” he waved a hand, gesturing around the garden, “was just a ploy to allow your dear husband and his friends to search for their letter.”
Lavinia tilted her head to the side, attempting a confused look.
Lord Shayles sneered at her. “Oh, give it up, sweetling. They’re probably turning my room inside out at this very moment. But they won’t find anything.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulling an envelope far enough out for her to see. She knew the Winterberry Park stationery as well as her own. Marigold had sent her dozens of letters on the stuff. “I suppose we should head back to the house and catch them in the act,” Lord Shayles went on as though bored out of his mind. He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
Lavinia had to think fast. She cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind, my lord, I feel I should check on my other guests first.”
“Oh, very well,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Go call for the cavalry. I’ll race you to see who can catch the corrupt politicians first.”
Without waiting, Lord Shayles turned and marched off toward the house. Only when he’d turned the corner did Lavinia let out the breath she felt like she’d been holding for the last ten minutes. She clutched her stomach, heaving for breath, then stumbled to the side and promptly cast up her lunch on the roots of one of the apple trees.
“My lady, are you all right?” Carl jumped into action, racing towards her.
“I’m fine.” Lavinia gasped, shaking violently. “Go after him,” she ordered. “And if you see Lady Stanhope or Mrs. Croydon on the way, don’t prevaricate, just tell them what’s happening.”
“Yes, my lady.” Carl nodded, then rushed off.
Lavinia darted off in the direction she thought she’d seen Lady Stanhope and Dr. Miller head in. The game was over, and if they weren’t careful they’d lose.
Chapter 15
Armand burst into the room where Shayles was staying, Alex and Malcolm right behind him, Maxwell bringing up the rear.
“Now, if I were a disgusting shite of an excuse for a man that had crawled up out of Hell, where would I stash a letter?” Malcolm asked with a dark grumble. He headed straight for the wardrobe, throwing open the doors and yanking Shayles’s clothes from the shelves.
“So much for subtlety,” Alex said, sending Armand a wary look.
Armand returned the look with equal leeriness. Instead of helping Malcolm search the wardrobe or going with Alex to rifle through the bureau, he cut straight across the room and pulled aside the curtains to peer outside. Lavinia was out there somewhere in the company of a fiend. He should be by her side, protecting her, not upsetting Shayles’s things to prove a point.
Not that he’d been much good at protecting her so far. He let out an impatient breath and leaned as far as he could to one side to get the best view of the part of the garden he’d seen Lavinia and Shayles head off into. In the short week of their marriage, Armand had disappointed his young wife more times than he cared to count, and there seemed to be no end in sight. A bride was supposed to glow with love, to float on air at the blessedness of her situation. Armand couldn’t shake the heartbroken look Lavinia had given him earlier in the hall. Even when he was trying to do something right for her, it went all wrong.
“Don’t just stand there, Armand,” Malcolm called across the room as he upended a small purse and shook it, sending coins and bills scattering across the pile of clothes at his feet. “Help us.”
Armand turned away from the window, anxiety gnawing at his gut. “I was keeping an eye out for Shayles,” he half-lied.
“Is he out there?” Alex asked, glancing over his shoulder from the bureau.
“Somewhere.” Armand rubbed a hand over his face, walking to the bed and pushing the covers back to check under the mattress.
“And your wife?” Alex asked on.
Armand frowned, thrusting his hand under the mattress. “She probably hates me at this point.”
Malcolm huffed a humorless laugh and continued his search. Alex turned away from the bureau. “There’s hardly been time for her to come to love or hate you,” he said.
“No thanks to you lot,” Armand muttered. Guilt instantly bit at him and he stood. “No, it wasn’t your fault.”
Alex fixed him with a flat look. “What did you do to that poor girl that puts you at fault?”
“I married her,” Armand said. “She didn’t want to marry at all, to anyone. She told me so. She wanted to live an independent life.”
Alex crossed his arms. “It never would have happened. You’ve seen her mother. That woman was hell-bent on marrying her daughter off to a titled gentleman. Her father isn’t much better. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else, someone worse.”
There was a ring of truth to Alex’s words. “Miller told her I was planning to go to India.”
&n
bsp; Malcolm snorted as he grabbed a pair of Shayles’s shoes from the wardrobe and shook them before dropping them on the pile. “You were never going to India.”
“The offer has been made, and it still stands,” Armand said with a scowl. “And what are you doing with that mess? Shayles clearly doesn’t have the letter in this room.”
“I want him to know we mean business,” Malcolm said. “Unlike you.”
“I would have gone to India,” Armand argued. “I want to keep practicing medicine.”
“Then why aren’t you?” Alex asked. “Other than helping Marigold last summer—for which we are endlessly grateful, by the way—and patching me up after I fell for Shayles’s trap, you haven’t so much as diagnosed a head cold or put a plaster on a cut.”
“That’s not true,” Armand said, avoiding his friends’ eyes. He marched back to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lavinia. “Besides, you two and Peter have kept me up to my eyeballs in parliamentary papers and Liberal Party strategy sessions. When would I even have time to see patients?”
“You could have told us to bugger off at any time,” Malcolm said, abandoning the mess he’d created in front of Shayles’s wardrobe to join Armand and Alex by the window. “Not that we would have.”
Armand sent him a peevish look. “Which proves my point.” He leaned to the side, straining to see more of the garden through the window. “The worst part of it all is, Lavinia said something to me yesterday that struck more of a chord than I wanted it to.”
“What? That you’re a sullen git who can’t change direction when your path turns?” Malcolm asked.
Armand pushed away from the window, glaring at his friend. “You know, Malcolm, you have a mistaken idea of what it means to be a good friend.”
“I speak the truth as I see it, when I see it,” Malcolm said without the least hint of remorse. “The truth is hard, and so must I be. We have too much at stake. The women we love, and have loved, have too much at stake for you to waffle your way through this critical time. Basil saw the truth once I pounded it into him, and so should you.”
