Bound to Be a Groom (18 page)

“You’d best stop mooning over him or someone will begin to suspect,” Pia said softly as she brought a small glass of ratafia to her lips.

“No one would ever possibly suspect anything,” Farleigh said, without taking his eyes off Sebastian’s perfectly muscled behind.

“Why is that?”

“Because everyone knows I’m in love with you.”

Pia sighed and exhaled through her nose. “You must begin disclaiming such false reports.”

He turned and looked at her spectacular face, long and proud and utterly unfoolish. “The reports are not entirely false, dear Pia.”

“Think how many poor girls in this very ballroom—and their mamas—would give their eyeteeth to hear such an enthusiastic declaration.”

He smiled at her sarcasm and lifted his chin. “I’ve no need of eyeteeth, you know that. And neither one of us is much for exaggeration or flattery.”

“That much is true.” She returned her gaze to the dance floor where Anna was once again swirling about with the very attentive Arthur Wellesley. “You have no need of anything, Your Grace. That much is clear.”

He narrowed his eyes and refocused them on Sebastian who had turned to scan the room for his friends. When he spied Farleigh and Pia, his face bloomed into a fabulously inappropriate smile, and he began heading toward them through the crush of guests. “I used to think so, Pia. But now I’m not so sure.”

“Ah. I see,” she answered softly. “I feel sorry for your future wife.”

“Why is that?” He looked at her intently.

“Oh, please, don’t let’s mince words. Any potential wife will never be able to compete with your feelings for him.” She lifted her chin in Sebastian’s general direction, smiling when she saw he was waylaid once again on his journey toward them.

“Is that so?” Farleigh prodded, drawing her into the trap.

“Of course that is so. It doesn’t take a clairvoyant to see you’re attached to him or . . .” Her voice faded.

“Or what? I like the sound of your self-righteous conviction. It’s so refreshingly unladylike.”

“Very well then. You’re in love with him. How is a wife supposed to compete with that?”

“The same way a husband does.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. The same way Sebastian competes with you for Anna’s affection.”

“There’s no competition between the three of us—” Her gloved hand flew to cover her mouth.

“Aha!” he said, loud enough to draw a few turned heads from the area where his mother was sitting with some of the older doyennes. He lowered his voice. “I suspected as much. You three are, in fact,
three
. Am I right?”

“Farleigh!” she whispered hotly, then lowered her hand and schooled her features to bland disinterest. “Pardon me, Your Grace, for speaking in such an appallingly familiar manner.”

He smiled, enjoying himself in a ballroom for the first time in living memory. “Patrizia!” he said in a tone of outraged surprise that mimicked hers.

Her face blushed furiously, and he had a brief glimpse of what it would be to make love to her, or better yet to make love to Sebastian while Pia watched them with those stormy eyes of hers that never seemed to miss a speck.

“Duke.” She tried to sound stern, but he could tell she was beginning to simmer. “We are in a ballroom.” It was impossible to live in the same house for two weeks and not feel the burbling desire that fizzed and popped around Sebastian, Anna, and Pia. Farleigh wasn’t absolutely certain what their arrangement was, but he was intrigued.

And getting hard.

He thought about a bucket of icy water being thrown on his groin and got his lust back in check. “So we are, Lady Pia. So we are.” She looked at him quizzically. “In a ballroom, that is.”

“Oh, that. Yes, we are.”

He was quiet for a few more seconds, then asked, “The truth is all rather promising, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think I follow.”

“I want it to be four.” He stated it plainly, as if he were placing an order for a new set of neckcloths from Mowbray’s.

“Farleigh!” she whispered harshly. “You mustn’t speak so in public. These are potentially criminal offenses not to be bandied about so blithely.” She kept her eyes on Anna and the flirtatious lieutenant general in his absurd red coat as they whirled around the floor.

Farleigh shrugged. “Funny you should mention the illicit aspect of my sordid nature. As it turns out, the situation becomes far
less
criminal for me with you and Anna hanging about nearby.”

She pretended to ignore him.

“And you
would
be hanging about, wouldn’t you, Pia?” He touched her elbow with his, and he thought he felt her shiver. “I know how observant you are, such a keen eye for the smallest detail.”

Pia groaned at his provocative words. He was right, of course. The idea of watching Farleigh and Sebastian had nearly consumed her with lust over the past weeks. The two men bantered all day long, patting each other on the backs, or that one time, when Anna had been out in the garden collecting roses, when Farleigh had smacked Sebastian’s bottom as he left the room. The two men were always jolly and
physical
. Fencing. Boxing.
Sweating
.

All the while, Pia’s temperature had been rising to dangerous levels through no physical exertion whatsoever. She was often flushed and fluttery. Idiotic, really.

The days were foolish enough—the four of them attending at-home visits about town or taking rides in the open carriage through Hyde Park—what with all that
proximity
. But the nights were far worse. After midnight each night, Pia slipped unnoticed from her guest room into Sebastian and Anna’s bed in the adjoining suite. The three of them enjoyed a tender and consuming passion, and also the simple comfort of being exactly where each of them wanted to be. At home in one another’s arms.

Sometimes Anna was the center of attention, bossing Sebastian around and pulling Pia’s lips to hers. Other times Pia was spread wide, wrists and ankles fastened to the four posts of the tester bed, while Anna and Sebastian licked and sucked and rubbed and cupped and tormented her body until she was begging and begging and crying out. Anna had taken to gagging her with a strip of leather Sebastian had commissioned for precisely that purpose. It seemed they were not alone in their proclivities, Sebastian having discovered a rather accommodating leather smith who was quite adept at making all sorts of anatomically correct
toys
out of the softest hides, polished wood, and finely honed metals.

And of course, there was Sebastian, that delectable creature who wanted nothing more than to please Anna and, by proxy, to ensure that Pia and Anna were left utterly satisfied whenever it was within his power to make it so.

Pia was not a greedy person. Or at least she’d never fancied herself greedy before now. She was ever grateful. She knew full well she had more love and physical satisfaction than most people ever dreamt possible—much less experienced!—in the course of a life spent battling hard, cold reality.

Still.

Lurking in the back of her mind—and, she suspected, in the front of Sebastian’s and somewhere around the perimeter of Anna’s—was the idea of Farleigh. The idea of Farleigh in the same house in his own large bed, quite alone, while the three of them were finding solace and joy in each other, was beginning to nip at Pia’s conscience. It seemed a shame.

He was probably only a few yards away, if one were to remove the walls.

Pia had undertaken the demolition project in her mind many days ago. When Anna licked her or Sebastian toyed with her breasts, Pia shut her eyes and pictured Farleigh there. Sometimes he was across the room, casually holding a glass of whiskey in his strong fingers as he did in the drawing room, exuding all that blasé confidence. Other times he was standing closer, near the edge of the bed, tracing her mouth or the curve of her ear while the other two made her body arch and crack open with pleasure. Farleigh always observed her.

And something about that seemingly clinical act of studied observation had become so exquisitely erotic that the thought of it sent Pia into a weakened state of longing, right there in the ballroom.

“You’ve thought of it, I see,” he said in a low, complicit, throaty voice.

Oh, that voice of his.
So prim and filthy all at once. “I have not . . .” She cleared her throat, not wanting to lie. Because not only had she thought of it but she had contemplated every fantastical permutation. She swallowed. “I have not merely thought of it, Farleigh. I’ve pictured it in exquisite, lifelike detail.”

He barked that arrogant laugh again, apparently not caring who heard or whose wrath he incurred. In fact, his inappropriately forward behavior with the mysterious Spanish lady was more apt to bolster his reputation than ruin it. “I applaud your honesty, Pia. I believe I shall convince you to marry me after all.”

She exhaled again and held her tongue. Anna was finally finished dancing; she and Wellesley were making their way toward them. The ballroom was crowded, and it would still be many minutes before they were all reunited.

Sebastian had been snared in a gaggle of women consisting of the Duchess of Abbyville and three of her six eligible daughters. Farleigh smiled and raised his glass in a tiny salute. Sebastian widened his eyes in a desperate plea to be rescued from the ever-tightening circle. Pia had learned that, even though he was married, most mamas saw Sebastian as a potential bridge to the eligible Duke of Mandeville. The fact that Farleigh was notorious for preferring the company of men—in and out of his bedroom—was of no concern to ambitious mothers in the marriage mart. He was titled and terribly rich. Sexual inclinations were the least of their worries.

“I’ve told him repeatedly he must learn to be more standoffish,” Farleigh said, looking at Sebastian in his pickle.

“It’s not in his nature to be rude. I know it’s difficult for you to understand when someone actually enjoys being pleasant.”

Farleigh swung his head to face her. “That is quite a terrible thing to say to your future husband.”

“Oh, do stop with that.” Pia wasn’t able to hold her stern expression for long, especially when his lips curved into his most conspiratorial, intimate smile.

“I like sparring with you, Pia. It’s almost like talking to a man.”

Pia almost spit out her sip of the overly sweet liqueur. “You know, I think you actually meant that as a compliment.” Her eyes were slightly moist from her enjoyment.

“The highest.” He nodded and returned his attention to Sebastian, who was finally extricating himself—with the help of Farleigh’s mother—from the cluster of desperate women. “Ah, good. Here he comes.”

Sebastian couldn’t have been more grateful to Farleigh’s mother than he was at that moment. She had proved quite helpful in so many regards, but in social extraction she was on par with a military maneuverer. Pia, Sebastian, and Anna had been presented to Farleigh’s mother, the Duchess of Mandeville, at her grand home on Piccadilly the day after arriving in London. The formidable old woman had been more than willing to help implement their plan to get Wellesley to redirect his efforts back to Portugal rather than join forces with de Miranda in the New World. Not that she knew anything about the particulars—she had merely been given the task of introducing the Spaniards into high society, and it was a task to which she was perfectly suited.

While many other matrons had curled their lips at Farleigh’s
animated
behavior, the Duchess adored her son and chose to turn a blind eye to his flamboyance whenever other people commented on it. On more than one occasion, Sebastian had observed her skillful conversational deflections. One older man had recently implied that the duchess should take a firmer hand in disciplining her son and show more concern about putting a stop to the rumors that he was engaging in illicit acts.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” she replied without pausing.

“Disappoint me?” the monocled prig asked.

“Yes, I would hate to rob you of such a pleasant pastime.”

He was beginning to see where she was headed and shifted uncomfortably. “Pastime?”

“Obviously
disciplining my son
is something you have spent much time contemplating. I shan’t take away such a treat.” She smiled benignly, and the man’s wide eyes and falling monocle were his only response. He tried to sputter a reply, but the duchess merely shook her head slightly. “That is all.”