Dreams of Desire (13 page)

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Authors: Cheryl Holt

BOOK: Dreams of Desire
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“You’ve fallen in love,” he said.
“Nothing that dramatic. I’m just . . . just . . .”
“Smitten?”
“A tad.” He raised a skeptical brow, and she admitted, “Perhaps more than a tad. I carefully followed your instructions, but there was an . . .
accident
and I wound up staring at the wrong man. Ever since, when I’m around him, I can’t help myself.”
“You seduced him?!”
“Mr. Dudley! I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how.”
Her cheeks heated with chagrin, as he sighed and patted her shoulder.
“It’s like that, is it?” he muttered. “What is your biggest worry? Is it that there could be a babe?”
“No!”
“You can tell me the truth, because if that’s the problem, I’ll have you talk to my sister. She has remedies for every type of feminine difficulty.”
“Matters haven’t progressed so far.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.”
“I seem particularly affected. That’s all.”
“The gentleman in question, he is not?”
“He’s lust-filled, but hardly infatuated.”
Dudley pondered, then nodded pensively. “Male lust is often an early sign of amour. We’re thick creatures; we don’t always recognize what’s occurring.”
“But he can’t be besotted. It’s ludicrous to think he would be.”
“Why is that? You’re very pretty. You’re smart and pleasant. Why couldn’t he be besotted?”
“Because he’s very much above me in station, and . . . and . . . he’s engaged to be married.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s Lord Penworth?”
“Yes,” she miserably confessed.
“It’s happening again,” he reflected more to himself than to her.
“What is?”
“The last batch of Spinster’s Cure that I mixed has been very powerful. It’s produced several matches that were completely impossible.”
“Are you saying that Penworth might end up married to me?”
“Yes, that’s precisely what I’m saying.”
“Don’t be absurd. Men like him don’t wed women like me. It’s a law of the universe.”
“Over the past summer, it’s happened twice. As the romances were blossoming, I had this same conversation with the other two young ladies.”
“I need an antidote.” At the request, she felt like an idiot. Why ask for an antidote for a concoction she deemed to be fake? “Is there one?”
“No.”
“What should I do?”
“There’s nothing
to
do.”
“I have to try something. I still have the second vial you sold me. Should I take another dose? Should I find a different man—a more suitable man—and drink it while staring at him?”
“You can, but it won’t help.”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“I told you when you bought it: My potions are extremely potent. Your destiny has been altered. So has Penworth’s. He just doesn’t realize it yet.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Why shouldn’t I? It’s true. He won’t be marrying Violet Howard. She might as well pack her bags and depart for London.”
Lily glanced around, terrified that Dudley might have been overheard. Luckily, no one was hovering.
She stood, irked with herself for participating in the inane chat, for giving credence to his outlandish remarks. It only encouraged him to be ridiculous. “This discussion is silly,” she said, “and I’m putting an end to it.”
“If you didn’t want my opinion, why ask for it?”
“Temporary insanity.”
He laughed. “You can pretend I’m a fraud, but it won’t change anything.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will. Drink the contents of the other vial. If it’s all so much nonsense, where’s the harm? If you’re wrong . . .”
His voice trailed off. He looked smug again, much like the earl when he was being belligerent while making a point.
She was aghast. “Could the situation get worse?”
“It’s all poppycock, so why would it?”
A frisson of fear wiggled down her spine.
“I do not believe in potions,” she declared.
“You don’t have to believe for the magic to work.”
“I do not believe in potions!” she repeated more vehemently, the phrase running through her head like an incantation.
She stomped away, and he called, “Miss Lambert?”
She whipped around. “Yes?”
“After you swallow the second dose, inform me at once. We’ll talk.”
“Why?”
“Your problems will be exacerbated, so we’ll have to decide on your next course of action.”
“You are mad, and I am done with listening to you.”
She spun and fled.
Chapter 9
“HE’S quite a manly fellow.”
“I’ve noticed that about him.”
“Probably much more
masculine
than you realized.”
Edward and Violet stood on the terrace, arm in arm. He smiled wanly as he pointed at John, whose horse had just jumped a fence, then thundered away over a distant hill.
The smile Violet flashed in return was troubled, which certainly boosted Edward’s mood. It was humorous, making her question her choice of John as fiancé.
John was in his element, riding about the estate. His color was high, his hair tousled by the wind, and—clinging to the back of a magnificent stallion—he cut a dashing figure. Any woman worth her salt would have been riveted, but Violet was easily swayed, and it was a simple matter encouraging her to see what wasn’t there.
“He’s rigorous in his habits,” Edward said.
“Yes, he is.”
“It’s indiscreet of me to mention this, but you have such a delicate constitution. Have you thought of what it will mean for you?”
“In what way?”
Edward managed a competent blush. “In your . . . ah . . . wifely duties.” He patted her hand. “You’ll be fine. You’ll weather it well.”
“If only . . .”
He seized on her hesitation. “If only what, darling?”
“If only Father had selected someone who was a tad less . . .
robust.
”
“Someone who appreciated what a slight and feminine creature you are?”
“Yes.”
“Someone more like me
,
perhaps?”
“Yes.”
Edward pulled her around to face him, so they were very close.
“My dearest, Violet!” he gushed.
“Yes, Edward?”
“I’m sickened that John will be your . . . your . . .” He bit off an oath. “Oh, it’s hopeless.”
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing. John is my brother, and the two of you are due all the happiness in the world. Despite my feelings, I can’t wish for more.”
“What feelings?”
“Don’t you know, Violet?”
“No.”
“It’s always been you—the girl of my dreams—but with John in the picture, I never had a chance.”
“I had no idea.”
Neither did I!
Edward crudely reflected.
He was in love with her, all right. With her dowry and her status as a duke’s daughter. It was the story of his life that it would all fall to John, who’d already received so many boons that he failed to appreciate any of them.
“I wonder if I should speak to Father,” she tentatively broached, but Edward was quick to quash any rash conduct.
If he perpetrated a betrayal with Violet, it would be reckless and fast, such as absconding with her on her wedding day. He would glean enormous satisfaction from leaving John standing at the altar.
“No, my sweet,” he cooed. “You can’t speak to the duke; he’s made his decision. You shall be John’s bride, and I am doomed to admire you from afar. We can’t yearn for more. It would be wrong.”
“I suppose it would be.” She sighed.
Over her shoulder, he glanced up and saw Miranda beckoning to him. From the sultry gleam in her eye, it was clear the twins were planning decadency again, and he was eager to participate. Scotland was proving to be as boring as he’d anticipated, his only amusement being his flirtation with Violet.
He’d invited her to go riding in the gig, and she was like a clinging vine. How was he to be shed of her?
“Did you hear that?” He peered toward the front entrance of the castle.
“No.”
“I think my mother is calling you. She told me she wanted you to accompany her on her afternoon visiting.”
“How considerate.”
“She must be searching for you. Perhaps we should check.” He pretended to ponder. “Never mind. We can catch up with her when we return.”
“We’re in no hurry,” Violet insisted, her perfect manners surging to the fore. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Last I knew, she was in the drawing room.”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
“While I’m waiting, I’ll dash up to my bedchamber and fetch my coat. I’ll meet you out in the barn.”
She hastened away, and he dawdled till she’d rounded the corner. The instant she was out of sight, he strolled over to Miranda.
“You’re getting awfully friendly with Violet,” she noted.
“Violet is of no consequence, and she’s engaged to John. What do you want?”
“Are you busy?”
“No.”
“Melanie has finished her bath. She needs you.”
“Then I am hers to command.”
They climbed the stairs to the twins’ bedchamber, and by the time they entered, his anticipation was so great that he could hardly walk. His erection was that pronounced.
As occurred at their previous dalliance, they marched straight to the dressing room, where Melanie was immersed in the tub. She came up out of the water and stepped to the floor.
“Will you dry me?” she inquired. She whirled around, showing him her back. Her hair was piled high on her head, a few wet tendrils curling down.
Miranda handed him a towel, and he started at Melanie’s neck, wiping with slow motions so he could prolong the moment.
He arrived at her waist and dropped to his knees, running the towel over and over the globes of her ass, daring once to swipe it in her crack.
Unsure as to what would happen next, he was delighted when she spun and ordered, “Do my front.”
He fumbled up her calves, being particularly clumsy, but he couldn’t help himself. With him still kneeling, he was staring directly at her pussy, and he was able to definitively determine that she had no hair covering the indecent mound. Her privates were bare as a baby’s bottom.
How had she removed it? Did she shave herself? Did a maid? Did her sister shave her?
Gad, he could vividly picture it! The two of them nude, Melanie on her back, her thighs spread so that Miranda could work unimpeded.
If he was lucky, he might be asked to watch someday, maybe even assist. At the prospect, blood rushed down to his penis so quickly that he nearly fainted.
“Open your legs,” he advised her.
“No talking!” Miranda barked, sounding like a captain of a military regiment. “Melanie, give me the whip.”
Edward was agog with speculation as Melanie reached into a dresser and pulled out a riding crop. She offered the whip to Miranda, and Miranda tapped him on the shoulder. Not too hard, but with sufficient force that he knew it would hurt if she chose to play it rough.
“You missed several spots,” Miranda sternly chastised.
He hesitated, not certain to which spots she referred, and she slapped his other shoulder, harder than before. He applied himself to Melanie’s breasts, rubbing the towel in circles, arousing her nipples till they were taut little buds.
“That’s enough for now.”
Melanie shoved him away as Miranda took the towel.
“Stand up,” Miranda snarled.
He obeyed as she shifted behind Melanie. Her clothed torso was snuggled to Melanie’s naked one. She wrapped an arm over Melanie’s waist and held her close.
“We want to look at your phallus,” Miranda said. “Unbutton your trousers.”
He swiftly complied.
“Let us see how big you are. Let us see if your cock is worth having.”
He wasn’t worried about exposing himself. His rod was impressive. He yanked it out, and it dangled toward them, a rigid, angry appendage, begging to be stroked.
“Would you like Melanie to touch it?” Miranda asked.
“Yes ... yes . . .”
Melanie knelt down, while Miranda observed. She was in charge of events, but curiously unaffected.
Edward braced, hissing out his breath as Melanie put her tongue to the root, then traced a leisurely trail to the tip. He assumed heaven was approaching, that she would suck him between those ruby lips and take him to paradise, but as his balls clenched, she drew away and stood.
He lunged for her, and Miranda cracked the crop across his wrist, leaving a red welt.
“You may only proceed if you have my permission,” Miranda explained.
“But I want to—”
“I said
no
!”
She smacked his cheek. At any other time in his life, with any other woman, he’d have wrenched the whip away and given her a taste of her own medicine, but for reasons he couldn’t fathom, he didn’t move.

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