Sophie couldn’t wait to meet the mysterious marquess. Not for the first time, she wondered if Olivia had taken a fancy to him.
Charlie’s thoughts must have been in concert with hers as she remarked, “It’s a pity Lord Sleat isn’t here, Olivia.”
Olivia promptly blushed. “J-just because I’m his temporary neighbor, it doesn’t mean I’m going to develop a tendre for him,” she said with a proud lift of her chin. “And even if I did, I’m sure he’d never notice me. He’s hardly ever at home anyway. And when he is, he keeps to himself. As do I.”
Charlie threw her an arch smile. “So you’ve noticed his comings and goings then, have you?”
“Hardly.”
“I should bring my kitten Peridot over when the marquess returns from Scotland so she can ‘get lost’ in his garden.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated.
Sophie laughed. “The plan has some merit, Olivia. You should consider it.”
That elicited a most unladylike tongue poke from Olivia, which sent them all into fits of laughter.
The men all cast curious glances their way, and when Nate caught her eye, Sophie smiled back, and he grinned and raised his glass to her.
When she turned back to her friends, she noticed the direction of Charlie’s gaze; she was staring wistfully at Maximilian Devereux, the Duke of Exmoor.
Sophie gave her a quizzical look. “Wasn’t the Duke of Exmoor on the top of our list of eligible rakes, Charlie?”
Charlie shrugged and blushed at the same time; and it wasn’t like her to blush at all. She was clearly pretending a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “Yes, he’s still there,” she remarked drily. “But I’ve decided he’s not fun enough. A stiff duke is not for me.”
Sophie couldn’t resist teasing her. She arched a brow. “What’s wrong with a stiff duke?”
Charlie burst out laughing. “Oh, Sophie! What have I done to you? I’ve corrupted you.” She wiped her eyes and added in a quieter voice, “On second thought, it’s probably my brother.”
Now it was Sophie’s turn to blush. Considering what she and Nate had been up to whenever they had the chance to be alone, she had good reason to. She decided to change the subject. “My dear friends, I will do whatever I can to help you find your perfect matches. Indeed, it seems to be the case that one really doesn’t need Almack’s to catch a husband.”
Charlie’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she remarked, “You’ll be in the family way by next Season. You won’t be any help at all.”
Sophie opened her mouth to protest, but Charlie held up a finger. “Well, you cannot deny that it will be a definite possibility given the man you’re now married to. I’m surprised Nate didn’t whisk you away to the bedroom straight after the ceremony. Unless . . .” Charlie gave her a sly look, and heat seared Sophie’s cheeks.
“Ha! Confess now, Sophie dearest,” crowed Charlie, a triumphant gleam in her eye. “My wicked brother has already had his wicked way with you, hasn’t he?” She lowered her voice and added, “What is it like? In general terms. I don’t want to know all the details because we are talking about my brother.”
Even though Olivia’s cheeks were pink with embarrassment, she leaned forward to listen also.
Sophie lifted her chin in mock indignation. “I will not divulge any details.” She sipped her champagne before whispering, “But it is wonderful. It’s much better than reading about it.”
“Well, so it should be,” said Charlie with a mischievous smile. Then she sighed wistfully. “One day I hope to experience such a marvelous thing, to be truly loved and cherished.”
Sophie squeezed her arm. “I’m absolutely certain that one day you will.”
* * *
* * *
Nate’s gaze drifted to Sophie and he wondered if she would be amenable to sneaking away from everyone very soon. Of course, she looked nothing but divine in her ivory and silver silk gown, but he rather fancied getting her out of the ensemble as soon as possible. His mind’s eye was suddenly filled with the image of her sprawled naked across the enormous four-poster bed in the master suite. He would let down her glossy black hair from its elaborate arrangement of curls threaded with silver ribbon and pearls and slide off all of her undergarments, perhaps except for her stockings. Oh, and she could also leave on her necklace of pearls and sapphires, his wedding gift to her.
Yes, he rather liked the idea of pleasuring her while she was not quite naked . . .
Good God, he needed to change the direction of his thoughts, at once, or before long he’d be sporting an erection. And that really wasn’t done when one’s sister, aunt, and mother-in-law and her young daughters were only a few yards away. He didn’t think his father-in-law, Edward Debenham, and his own father would appreciate such a spectacle either; they might be deep in conversation about crop rotation and irrigation at the present moment, but they weren’t blind.
Nate drained his champagne, hoping that would quell the fire in his loins, then turned to Max . . . and noticed the cad was surreptitiously inspecting his sister. Charlie was openly laughing, her head tipped back, her riotous curls gleaming like burnished copper and gold in the light of the setting sun. Nate knew she was beautiful, in the way one knew a painting or sculpture was beautiful. But that didn’t give his friend the right to ogle his baby sister.
“You dog, Devereux.” Nate’s tone was laced with exasperation. “Stop eyeing Charlie like she’s a potential conquest. If you go anywhere near her, you know I’ll have no choice but to kill you. And I’d rather not.”
Max snorted, his aristocratic nostrils flaring. “I’m not like you, old chap. I’m not likely to get smitten by a fine pair of eyes.”
“Oh, from where I’m standing, it didn’t look like you were admiring my sister’s eyes.”
“I cannot help it if she draws everyone’s eye. Miss de Vere is quite fetching as well.”
“Stay the hell away from my wife’s friend and my sister.”
Max inclined his head. “Trust me, I will. I’m not in the market for a wife.”
“And that’s exactly my point.” Nate clapped him on the back, then grinned. “On that note, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go and speak with mine.”
* * *
* * *
Night had descended by the time Nate finally did have the chance to spirit his new wife away to Deerhurst’s master bedroom to do exactly all the things he’d been fantasizing about all afternoon.
Velvet darkness cloaked the grounds beyond the open casement window; the air was cool but not unpleasantly so, and a light breeze stirred the lace curtains as he sipped a glass of brandy in the window seat. Nestled against his banyan-clad shoulder was Sophie. Her gauzy white robe gaped open, providing him with a tantalizing glimpse of her rosy red nipples. About her slender neck was the pearl and sapphire necklace. She’d kept it and her stockings on during their vigorous bout of lovemaking.
He thought he was sated, but when his gaze drifted lower to the dark shadow of her sex and her long slender legs, he swallowed. He no longer had a taste for just brandy . . .
Sophie was reading aloud to him from Hastings House’s copy of Pride and Prejudice. He’d been doggedly reading it for weeks, and while he found it entertaining, it was also hard work. On more than one occasion he’d been tempted to abandon it. But Sophie had insisted he reach the hard-fought happily ever after between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.
“I do love this next part, when Elizabeth asks Darcy to describe how he came to fall in love with her because what he says reminds me of you: ‘I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.’” Sophie closed the book with a sigh. “I so adore Mr. Darcy.”
“Really?” Nate fondled a lock of her black-as-midnight hair. “I think I might be jealous.”
>
“Surely not. I might adore Mr. Darcy but my heart belongs to you, Nate. You and only you.”
“I’m afraid I am not as noble as Mr. Darcy. From what I recall, he never tried to seduce Elizabeth in a dark garden or the library.”
Sophie lifted her head, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “From what I recall, I was the one who tried to seduce you, Lord Malverne.”
“That’s what I love about you, my Lady Malverne. You have a wicked streak, too, which I plan to capitalize on right now.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm . . .” Nate set aside his brandy glass and bent his head to catch his beautiful wife’s mouth in a rapturous kiss. His hand slid inside the sheer robe and found one of her breasts. “Let’s see how wicked we can both be right now.”
The copy of Pride and Prejudice slid to the floor as Sophie turned in his arms. Her smile was deliciously seductive and, just like her invitation, impossible to resist. “Make love to me, my wicked viscount.”
And, of course, that’s exactly what Nate did.
TURN THE PAGE FOR A LOOK AT AMY ROSE BENNETT’S NEXT BOOK . . .
HOW TO CATCH AN ERRANT EARL
DUE OUT IN SPRING 2020.
It’s oft quoted that charity begins at home. But any well-bred lady or gentleman with a truly benevolent disposition must devote some time and energy to worthy causes, especially those philanthropic endeavors which better the lot of the deserving poor.
This Season, do consider attending a ball, a public assembly, or perhaps even a musicale in aid of charity. Visit our Society Advertisements section to find a comprehensive list of upcoming events . . .
The Beau Monde Mirror: The Society Page
Gunter’s Tea Shop, Berkeley Square, London
April 2, 1818
Thank goodness it is raining.
At least that’s what Miss Arabella Jardine told herself as she stepped out from the puddles beneath the portico of Gunter’s and caught the attention of a jarvey on the other side of Berkeley Square. As the hackney coach splashed its way toward the tea shop, she could pretend she was only dashing away raindrops, not tears, from beneath her spectacles as she turned back to face her three dearest friends in the entire world. Friends she’d bonded with three years ago at Mrs. Rathbone’s Academy for Young Ladies before they were all unceremoniously expelled amid a cloud of scandal for ‘conduct unbecoming.’
Friends she’d only just been reunited with at Gunter’s. As they’d taken tea and indulged in all manner of gastronomical delights, they’d also shared their hopes and dreams. Made plans for the future. Just as they’d done at Mrs. Rathbone’s when they’d formed the Society for Enlightened Young Women. But now, due to circumstances beyond her control, Arabella was obliged to say farewell to her friends yet again.
Blast her family and their inconvenient plans to embark on a frivolous Grand Tour. Arabella endeavored to suppress a scowl as she fiddled with the buttons on her fawn kid gloves. She wanted to stay here in London with Charlie, Sophie, and dear Olivia. Being dragged across Europe to gawk at endless musty cathedrals and crumbling castle ruins was surely a waste of time and money. Money she could put to good use elsewhere given half the chance . . .
Lady Charlotte Hastings—or Charlie to her friends—pulled Arabella away from her disgruntled thoughts by enveloping her in a warm hug. “My darling Arabella, you must hold to your promise to write to us while you are gadding about the Continent.” Charlie’s unruly auburn curls tickled Arabella’s cheek. “I don’t care where you are—even if you’re atop Mont Blanc or exploring the depths of the Black Forest—I will pay for the postage.”
“Aye, as long as you all write back to me too.” Arabella adjusted the shoulder strap of her leather satchel as Charlie released her. The hack had drawn up beside them. “I want to hear all about how your husband-hunting goes this Season.” Her gaze met the eyes of each of her friends in turn. “Each and every one of you.”
“Of course,” said Sophie with a shy smile. A bright blush suffused her cheeks and Arabella rather suspected she was thinking about Charlie’s very dashing, very eligible brother, Nathaniel, Lord Malverne. He’d joined them at Gunter’s for a little while and Arabella was certain she’d detected a spark of interest in the wicked viscount’s eyes as he’d conversed with Sophie. Even though Sophie’s reputation was tarnished by the academy scandal—and her family was most decidedly ‘lower gentry’—he should still be interested. Shy yet sweet Sophie, with her glossy black hair and enormous blue eyes, was breathtakingly beautiful. Indeed, all Arabella’s friends were fair of face and disposition, and accomplished in all the ways that mattered in the eyes of Society.
Unlike herself. Arabella swallowed a sigh. Not only was she a Scottish orphan with dubious parentage and ‘unnatural bluestocking tendencies’—at least according to her aunt Flora—she possessed a gap-toothed smile and was so long-sighted she had to wear glasses most of the time. Even if she did make a debut this Season alongside her friends, she was certain she’d never receive anything more than a passing glance from most gentlemen of the ton. It was a good thing she had other plans for her future. Secret plans. As soon as she bid her friends goodbye, she was going to put them in motion this afternoon. All going well.
Her resolve to succeed in her mission reaffirmed, Arabella pushed her spectacles firmly back into place upon the bridge of her nose; Charlie’s exuberant hug had dislodged them a little. “Are you ready to leave too, Olivia?” The jarvey was scowling at them from beneath the hood of his dripping oilskin. They really should go.
Olivia sighed heavily. “Y-y-yes,” she replied, gathering up the skirts of her fashionable gown and matching pelisse so the fine fabric wouldn’t trail through the muddy puddle directly in front of her. Her mouth twisted—Olivia’s stammer always got worse when she was anxious—before her next words emerged in a bumpy rush. “As m-much as I hate to bid you all adieu as well, I m-must. Aunt Edith will undoubtedly be w-watching the clock.”
Final hugs were exchanged, and once Arabella and Olivia were safely installed in the damp and dim interior of the hackney, it pulled away, barreling across the sodden square.
Olivia de Vere currently resided in a rented Grosvenor Square town house with her horribly strict guardians. Even though it was only a relatively short distance from Berkeley Square, Arabella had made arrangements to share a hack with her friend to not only avoid being soaked in the rain, but to help Olivia escape her gilded cage for the outing to Gunter’s.
A wee bit of subterfuge had been involved; Olivia’s termagant of an aunt believed Arabella’s aunt Flora had accompanied them on their excursion—which wasn’t the case at all. Even though Gunter’s was a respectable establishment, there would be hell to pay if Olivia’s aunt learned her niece had visited the tea shop without a suitable chaperone.
“I really w-won’t see you again before you depart for the Continent, will I?” The expression in Olivia’s dark brown eyes was so forlorn, Arabella’s heart cramped with sadness. She suspected Olivia was often as lonely as she was.
“I’m afraid not,” she replied softly. “Bertie, my cousin’s husband, has booked us all on the Dover Packet and we’re due to set sail for France in three days’ time.”
Olivia’s mouth twitched with a smile. “I’m rather tempted to stow myself away in your trunk. I won’t take up much room.”
Arabella laughed, pleased to see her friend’s spirits returning. “Believe me, I would take you if I could. Aunt Flora and my cousin Lilias are sure to be exacting in the extreme during the journey. Your company would be most welcome.”
Olivia reached out and squeezed her hand. Despite the sheeting rain and the traffic snarls, they were fast approaching Grosvenor Square. “I have a feeling you are going to have a m-marvelous time, despite your misgivings. And who knows, perhaps you might meet a charming Italian prince or handsome Swiss nobleman who’ll sweep you off your
feet.” Olivia’s eyes glowed. “Just imagine it.”
Arabella very much doubted that would be the case. And unlike Olivia, Charlie, and Sophie, she didn’t possess a romantic bone in her body; love matches weren’t for plain, practical women like her. However, she dredged up a smile in an effort to appear lighthearted. “Well, unless his name is on the list of eligible gentlemen we just devised at Gunter’s, I don’t see how I can seriously consider his suit.” She lowered her voice even though no one else was in earshot and rain was drumming on the roof of the hackney. “I mean, with no one of our acquaintance to vouch for him, what if he’s really a dastardly rogue with a skeleton or two in the closet—literally—like a murdered first wife? Or as Charlie mentioned earlier today, what if he’s afflicted with the pox?”
Olivia giggled and gave a theatrical shudder. “Perish the thought.”
“At least your broodingly handsome neighbor, Lord Sleat, is on the list.” Charlie had mentioned the Scottish marquess was a friend of her brother’s and a highly suitable candidate for a husband. Even though he’d been terribly wounded at Waterloo and now sported an eye patch, apparently he was quite the gentleman beneath his rugged exterior. And very popular with the ladies of the ton.
“Yes.” Olivia sighed and tucked a lock of dark brown hair back into the confines of her fine straw bonnet. The hackney coach had stopped before her town house and she threw a wistful glance at the adjacent residence with its ornate pillars and shiny black double doors. “But I don’t see how I shall ever cross paths with him. He very much keeps to himself.” Her mouth curved into a wry smile. “I think I shall secretly dub him the mysterious marquess.”
How to Catch a Wicked Viscount Page 31
