Lessons From a Scarlet Lady (21 page)
“To drown myself in the attempt, then,” Damien countered, grinning, relaxed in a sprawl in his chair. He lifted his hand. “And no, I don’t need any lectures on the virtue of getting leg-shackled for life to one woman and settling into marital bliss. The French are challenge enough.”
“Bliss?” Bonham grinned. “Well, at times the term applies. The bedroom being the spot that comes to mind.”
“One may have the same bliss without being tied to one woman for life,” Robert pointed out.
His younger brother should know, Colton thought. If ever there was a young man who had sampled the bliss offered by England’s noted beauties, it was Robert. “I think we all have noticed you subscribe to that philosophy, Robbie.”
“Who knows though,” Damien said, “if that might not all change? Maybe even soon.”
Colton’s interest sharpened. Was he missing something? When Damien spoke in that tone of voice—meaning no tone at all—it was prudent to take notice. His younger brother rarely wasted words. What was more, a small flicker crossed Robert’s face that could actually be construed as an expression of consternation.
“Do you know something I don’t?” Colton asked bluntly, curious as hell, for it wasn’t often his youngest brother became disconcerted over anything.
“No, he doesn’t.” Robert set down his glass and rose. “I think Damien is so used to playing spy he feels he must drop cryptic remarks just to stay in practice. Please excuse me, gentlemen. I have been forced into the musical performance this evening and need to make sure I haven’t forgotten how to wield a bow.”
“You agreed to play?” This little house party was becoming more interesting by the minute. Robert was notably reticent about his love of music.
“Your wife asked me, so how could I refuse? I believe she is doing her best to make this a resounding success.” Robert elevated a brow. “I think we were just discussing how difficult I find it to refuse a beautiful lady.”
After he left, Colton gazed at Damien. Bonham, too, looked curious. “What the devil is going on?”
His brother laughed in his quiet way. “Let’s just say I have an interesting theory and leave it at that, shall we?”
Brianna disliked parties that structured every moment of the day, so she left the afternoons free for the guests, offering them the choices of long walks over the grounds, rides in the countryside, relaxation in the enormous library, or a trip into the villages nearby if they wished for a bit of shopping. She wouldn’t even have suggested the scavenger hunt that morning, but Colton’s grandmother had insisted, and now Brianna was glad she’d agreed. For one thing, everyone seemed to jump in with lighthearted enjoyment, and she got to spend some time with her husband during the day, which was a rarity.
She, Arabella, and Rebecca had chosen her sitting room as a retreat, the décor at least not full of flounces of lace, but more in the style of an elegant Louis Quatorze drawing room, with antique French furniture and silk-covered walls. The color palate of lemon yellow and cream was soothing and she’d already decided to extend it to her bedroom, though she was sure Colton would insist they return to London the minute everyone departed. Mrs. Finnegan, she thought with a sigh, could doubtless oversee the changes, though she would have loved to do so herself.
“You really couldn’t ask for nicer weather for this, Bri.” Arabella, pretty in a gown of sprigged muslin, held her glass of sherry in a dainty hand. “Everyone has commented on it.”
“It’s lucky, I agree.” She nodded. “How dismal it would be for all of us to be trapped inside the whole time.”
“And Lord Emerson and Belinda Campbell have definitely developed a penchant for each other. A grand success for any hostess.” Rebecca smiled, her words teasing, but there was a set to her shoulders that suggested a strain of some kind.
Brianna could all too easily guess what it might be. “I really did not dream your mother would decide you and Damien would suit, Beck. Not that he isn’t a good catch, but the situation is obviously making you uncomfortable. I will do my best to see to it you are not paired with him all the time.”
“I like him—that isn’t the problem.” Rebecca made a face. “It is just so mortifying to be shoved under his nose on a constant basis.”
“Besides,” Arabella said, looking sympathetic, “isn’t he going back to Spain? It would be horrible if you were to form an attachment and he returned to the war.”
“I don’t think my parents see past his fortune and impending knighthood.” Rebecca glanced away toward the window, a wistful look on her lovely face. “My feelings are taken less and less into account as each day goes by.”
The confession Rebecca had made in the Marston’s music room back in London came to Brianna’s mind.
. . . I’m in love . . . he isn’t suitable . . .
Brianna said impulsively, “Can’t Bella and I help in some way? You look so unbearably miserable at times. I think you should tell her what you told me. It isn’t as though the three of us keep anything from each other. Maybe it will ease things to talk about it.”
“Tell me what?” Arabella looked mystified, her brows drawing together.
Rebecca turned back and gave her a resigned smile. “I have an unfortunate affliction. It must be a disease, mustn’t it, to fall in love with entirely the wrong man?”
“In love?” Arabella stared, repeating the words as if she’d never heard of the concept. “Oh dear. That’s marvelous . . . or I suppose not. Why is he the wrong man?”
“She claims her parents wouldn’t approve,” Brianna chimed in.
“Why not? Unless he’s some stable boy . . . oh, he isn’t, is he?” Arabella seemed as much at a loss as Brianna had been when she first heard of the problem.
Rebecca shook her head. “The two of you are wonderful in every way, but I can’t tell you.”
Brianna and Arabella looked at each other. If Rebecca hadn’t wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye in a surreptitious motion, Brianna might have just let the matter drop. Instead she said firmly, “We always respect your privacy, Beck, you know we do. Trust us. Maybe it isn’t as awful a situation as you think.”
“Trust is not the problem. Far from it, but it’s complicated.” She sighed and lifted a slim hand to smooth a loosened lock of hair from her cheek. “Complicated and simple at the same time. My parents are adamant I marry this season, and who can blame them? To their credit, they have no idea what is truly going on. They just think I am being stubborn on the subject. I suppose I should have said yes to the Marquess last year. He would have been . . . acceptable.”
Acceptable. Brianna thought of her feelings for Colton. Who wanted an
acceptable
husband, especially if one was wildly in love with someone else? “This mystery man, does he return your interest at all?”
acceptable
husband, especially if one was wildly in love with someone else? “This mystery man, does he return your interest at all?”
“I think it is possible my interest is reciprocated, but good sense tells me that will be the extent of it. I am probably a passing fancy, if I am that at all.”
“Maybe,” she said, “as I suggested before, Lady Rothburg can help you.”
Arabella let out an incredulous laugh. “Dear heaven, Bri, tell me you don’t still have that scandalous book?”
“Of course I do.” Brianna smiled, unrepentant. “I assure you it is fascinating. I’ve read it from cover to cover now.”
“I assure
you
no respectable woman is supposed to even glance at it.”
you
no respectable woman is supposed to even glance at it.”
“It is somewhat fun to be
un
respectable now and again.” She thought of how much more ardent her husband had become. His passion was no longer constrained, and the last time he had come to her bed she had done nothing to provoke him. Not only had he forgotten his ritual of dousing the lights, he had picked her up and nearly tossed her onto the bed as if he couldn’t wait.
un
respectable now and again.” She thought of how much more ardent her husband had become. His passion was no longer constrained, and the last time he had come to her bed she had done nothing to provoke him. Not only had he forgotten his ritual of dousing the lights, he had picked her up and nearly tossed her onto the bed as if he couldn’t wait.
It was exactly what she wanted. That elevated sexual sense of her as a woman, and not merely a wife. As a woman who could, and would, please him.
And, she was beginning to discover, also enjoy herself. The enhanced experience was not Colton’s alone. She shot a sideways look at Arabella, also newly married. “You know, you might benefit from the book also. It’s quite enlightening. I wish I’d read it before, well, you know,
before
.”
before
.”
Arabella’s cheeks took on a pink hue at the allusion to her wedding night. “Would it have helped? I mean, not that it was terrible or anything like that. Andrew was very understanding and gentle, but I was so horribly nervous. It’s fine now.”
“That’s the point.” Brianna had a feeling she was blushing a little also. “It can be much, much better than fine.” She looked at Rebecca. “The book isn’t strictly about intimate matters either, Beck. Lady R has an entire chapter dedicated to how to make a reluctant man come up to scratch. As a married woman, I didn’t really need to read that one, but it is all so fascinating I couldn’t help myself. Lady R has personal experience in capturing the attention of any gentleman she desires. She claims complete success in attaining her goal using certain techniques.”
“Actually, I was hoping you would lend me the book after all.” Rebecca’s voice held a slight quiver. “Perhaps if I try. . . . My parents would be horrified, but I have come to the conclusion that if I don’t do something soon, I will be forced to accept a proposal from a man of
their
choice, not mine.”
their
choice, not mine.”
“I think it is an excellent idea. As you both know, I am a great believer in Lady R’s methods.” Brianna rose. “The book is in my room. Let me fetch it.”
She went into her bedchamber, recovered the tiny gold key from her dressing table, and dug out the ornate antique box that had once belonged to her grandmother—who would be scandalized beyond measure over the current contents—from the bottom of her armoire. The book sat against faded velvet like a precious jewel—at least, that was how Brianna viewed her forbidden possession. The cover was unassuming leather embossed with scarlet letters, and the pages well worn. Brianna had wondered more than once about the previous owner or owners. She felt a certainty that Lady Rothburg had helped many women before her, or surely the book would have been destroyed rather than finding its way into that dusty little bookshop.
Brianna returned and handed over the volume. “Do try the chapter titled, ‘Never Forget You Know What He Wants More Than He Does.’ ”
Rebecca stared at the cover, straightening her spine. “I wish I did know what
he
wants. I definitely know what my father doesn’t want, but I have thought it over. . . . In truth, I’ve thought of little else lately.” Her face took on a resolute expression. “I have come to the conclusion that what
I
want should count for something. After all, it is my life and my happiness at stake.”
he
wants. I definitely know what my father doesn’t want, but I have thought it over. . . . In truth, I’ve thought of little else lately.” Her face took on a resolute expression. “I have come to the conclusion that what
I
want should count for something. After all, it is my life and my happiness at stake.”
Brianna understood that sentiment all too well. It had made her purchase the book in the first place. She said firmly, “The advice might be unconventional, I warn you, but trust Lady R to help you, Beck.”
Chapter Twelve
The more effort he puts into the seduction, the more you should contemplate his sincerity.
From the chapter titled: “If It Isn’t Love, What Is It?”
T
he baroque drawing room was warm in the early evening. Or perhaps, Robert admitted to himself, he was nervous. Not terribly so, but nervous enough his cravat felt tight even though he had adjusted it twice. Playing for a crowd, even one as small as Brianna’s party of guests, was not something he agreed to often. Occasionally he did so for his family, at his grandmother’s request, and he’d played for his mother’s small, discreet wedding to her Italian count. Lazzaro had wanted Vivaldi, naturally, and it had been Robert’s pleasure, the Italian master being one of his favorites. And when his mother came to him afterwards with tears in her eyes and hugged him fiercely, looking so young and lovely in her wedding finery he felt a little misty himself, for he loved her and it was moving to see her happy again after the devastating loss of his father.
he baroque drawing room was warm in the early evening. Or perhaps, Robert admitted to himself, he was nervous. Not terribly so, but nervous enough his cravat felt tight even though he had adjusted it twice. Playing for a crowd, even one as small as Brianna’s party of guests, was not something he agreed to often. Occasionally he did so for his family, at his grandmother’s request, and he’d played for his mother’s small, discreet wedding to her Italian count. Lazzaro had wanted Vivaldi, naturally, and it had been Robert’s pleasure, the Italian master being one of his favorites. And when his mother came to him afterwards with tears in her eyes and hugged him fiercely, looking so young and lovely in her wedding finery he felt a little misty himself, for he loved her and it was moving to see her happy again after the devastating loss of his father.
“Imagine London’s premier rake, he who is purportedly addicted to lovely ladies and the turn of a card, a magnet for scandal, playing at a country house party in a duet with a virginal young miss just to please his sister-in-law.”
Damien’s caustic observation interrupted Robert’s thoughts. He glanced up at his brother, who had strolled up and stood next to him. “No one will believe it,” Robert answered, “so I am quite safe in keeping my notoriety secure.”
Damien’s expression was bland, but that was hardly something new. “I find it rather hard to believe, myself. Tell me, is there something about an entrancing pair of aqua eyes that moves you to your present generosity with your talent? Brianna told me she was delighted Rebecca was able to persuade you to play. I distinctly heard you imply to Colton that Brianna had asked you to perform. In fact, you outright lied, which is not like you. Nor is playing before an audience. Since the delectable Miss Marston is a common denominator in both unusual occurrences, it has me wondering.”
It was too close to the mark for comfort and Robert gave his brother a black look. “Doesn’t pitting your wits against Bonaparte give you enough to worry about? Surely my personal life can’t compare to that level of intrigue.”
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