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Authors: Cheryl Holt

BOOK: Promise of Pleasure
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“You’re aware of how Felicity treats me,” she mentioned.
“She’s a total shrew.”
“Yes, she is, and how you could consider marrying her is beyond me.”
“If you could see the balance in my bank account, you’d understand.”
“There are some things in this world that are more important than money.”
“I can’t name any.”
Their discussion irked him. He wasn’t worried about Victoria or Felicity, for he never fretted over consequences. If he stumbled on something he liked, something he wanted, he grabbed for it, and he wouldn’t waste time commiserating over every probable catastrophe.
“I won’t listen to your predictions of calamity,” he said.
“I’m just pointing out the obvious.”
“You’re being absurd. No one will ever know that we’ve been involved.”
“How can you guarantee such an outcome? Are you a sorcerer?”
“Yes, I am. Let me show you some of my best magic.”
He came over her, his body pressing her into the mattress, his lips mere inches from her own. As he gazed at her, his heart did the strangest flip-flop.
She made him wish he didn’t have to marry Felicity. She made him wish he was a different sort of person, one who was kind and generous and honest. Gad, she made him wish he could wed
her
instead of her unbearable half sister.
The yearnings were so peculiar—and so foreign to his character—that he wondered if he wasn’t coming down with an ague.
He kissed her, and he was thrilled to find that she joined in with an equal amount of vigor. Despite her maidenly protests, she wasn’t immune to his many charms.
He laced his fingers through her hair, the lengthy tresses tumbling over her shoulders. His hands descended to her breasts, and he massaged them until she began to squirm and writhe, but as he eased her skirt up her legs, he realized that he was awfully sleepy.
He slid onto his side and yawned in her face.
Drowsiness was quickly setting in, and it occurred to him that she must have mixed a drug into the wine, after all. Why would she have? And what could it have been?
He certainly hoped it wasn’t fatal! He’d hate to perish before he had the chance to have sex with her.
“What’s the matter?” she anxiously asked. “Are you ill?”
“No. I’m tired.”
“Tired! Why?”
“What did you put in the wine?”
“The wine! Oh no!”
His limbs were heavy as anvils, and he yawned again, his eyes drifting shut.
“Lord Redvers!”
“Hmm ... ?”
She had the sweetest, most soothing voice. He smiled, feeling as if she was an angel floating over him.
“Jordan! Jordan!”
She shook him, but to no avail. Just then, if she’d offered him a thousand pounds, he couldn’t have roused himself to answer her.
As he glided into a quiet, peaceful slumber, he heard her hissing, “Jordan! You can’t fall asleep in here. You absolutely can’t.”
Chapter 7
“REDVERS? Are you in here?”
Lauretta tiptoed into his bedchamber and scanned the empty room.
From the looks of the tidy blankets, he hadn’t slept in his own bed, so where was he? In whose bed had he slept instead?
She was his paid consort, so she was in no position to complain about his conduct. He’d made no vows of fidelity, nor would she have demanded any.
Yet she liked to know what he was doing and with whom he was doing it. If she wasn’t vigilant, a less scrupulous female could slip in and take her place before she even realized what was happening.
It was important to be cautious.
“Where are you, you bastard?”
She searched his dresser drawers and coat pockets but she found no pertinent clues, so she gave up and headed downstairs to the dining room. Felicity was sitting at the table and gulping down a huge breakfast.
“Have you seen Lord Redvers?” Lauretta asked, hating to admit that she, herself, had no idea where he was.
“No,” the snotty girl answered, “have you?”
Lauretta wondered what Felicity had been told as to the true status of Lauretta’s relationship with Redvers. Felicity was so provincial that it had probably never occurred to her that her future husband was a philanderer. After she was married to him, and his actual character exposed, how would her vanity survive the revelation?
“If you find him,” Felicity fumed, standing, “you may inform him that I’m extremely aggravated.”
“What did he do?”
“After supper, he vanished without a minute of socializing. Then, this morning, we were supposed to go riding, but he didn’t appear.”
“You poor dear,” Lauretta falsely commiserated. “I can’t imagine what kept him away. Can you?”
“No, but it will take an enormous amount of effort for him to get back in my good graces. I’ll expect an apology before noon.”
“I’ll be sure and tell him.”
“You do that.”
Felicity flounced out, and Lauretta huffed with disgust. Jordan would never care about Felicity’s wounded sensibilities or anything else.
Oh, what a painful awakening the awful child would have when she was thrust into the adult world with the likes of Jordan Winthrop as her spouse!
Lauretta couldn’t wait to watch it unfold.
As Felicity’s footsteps retreated, Victoria lumbered in and pulled up a chair. A servant presented her with a plate so loaded down with food that it spilled over the edges onto the tablecloth.
Without so much as a greeting to Lauretta, Victoria shoveled down the meal, not speaking until every bite had been ingested.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bainbridge,” she finally said.
“Mrs. Bames,” Lauretta returned, nodding. “How are the marital negotiations proceeding? Will wedding bells soon chime?”
“Certainly. Lord Redvers is eager, as are Felicity and myself.”
“Really?” Lauretta mused. “I talked to Redvers, and he didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Are you sure you haven’t misread his intentions?”
Victoria narrowed her gaze, studying Lauretta with a dislike that mirrored Lauretta’s own.
“If you’re trying to tell me something,” Victoria snapped, “don’t dilly-dally. Spit it out.”
“As a matter of fact, there is a private topic I’d like to address—if you can promise me your complete discretion.”
Victoria considered, then gestured to the servant, who slithered out and shut the door, leaving them alone.
“May I be frank?” Lauretta started.
“I hope you will be.”
“I’m intimately acquainted with Lord Redvers,” Lauretta bragged.
“I know all about you, Mrs. Bainbridge.” Victoria’s tone wasn’t complimentary. “Please spare me any details.”
“Since you apparently know
all
about me, then you must be aware that I understand Redvers better than anyone.”
“And ... ?”
“His attention span—when it comes to females—is very short.”
“Your point being?”
“He didn’t sleep in his own bed last night, he didn’t sleep in mine, and I’m positive he wouldn’t have slept in Felicity’s.”
“I’d kill him if he had.”
“So where was he? If he’s dabbling with a housemaid, you’ll never get him to focus long enough to propose.”
“He’ll propose.” Victoria was supremely confident in the power of her money. “He’s too desperate not to.”
“If that’s what you assume, then you’re a fool. He hates to be pushed, and he won’t be cornered. If you pressure him, he’ll walk away, and I don’t care how many bloody pounds your daughter has in the bank.”
“Why are you discussing this with me? You can’t be in any rush to see him wed Felicity.”
“Au contraire. I’m delighted to have him marry Felicity. I recommended her.”
Lauretta looked smug, oozing the distinct impression that as easily as she’d persuaded Redvers to accept the match, she could dissuade him just as easily.
“Your enthusiasm seems odd to me,” Victoria mentioned.
“Why would it be? He has to pick someone, and I’d like him to select a girl who won’t give me any trouble. Felicity is very young, and if she becomes his bride, she’ll offer no interference to my own relationship with him.”
“You’re quite certain of your position.”
“He and I are very close.”
“If that’s true, why are you so worried about where he’s spending his evenings?”
Victoria shot such a malevolent glare that Lauretta blanched, and she was more determined than ever to have the stupid wedding concluded so that they could head back to London.
Redvers had promised they would continue on to Scotland, to attend some of the autumn hunting parties, and Lauretta needed funds for a new wardrobe to wear on the trip. At times, she felt as if
she
wanted the blasted dowry more than Redvers, and he had to concentrate on the task at hand.
“We both want the same thing, Mrs. Barnes. We want a quick wedding.”
“Yes, we do.”
“We must work together to make it happen.” Lauretta stood and went to the door. “I’ll try to keep him on track, but would it be too much to ask that you keep your servants in line, as well?”
“None of my servants is bedding him. They wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t they?”
She strolled out, and as she stepped into the hall, she smirked. She’d needled Victoria just enough to have her suspicious of everyone.
If Jordan was fornicating with a maid, Victoria would expose the interloper and send her packing. Lauretta wouldn’t have to do anything, at all, except celebrate once the vows were spoken.
 
MARY sat in a chair by the window, staring out across the park. The sun was fully up, the staff engaged in morning chores, yet Jordan still slumbered in her bed. He’d been out for hours and hadn’t moved. Not even when she’d tugged off his boots, unbuttoned his shirt, or covered him with a blanket.
How was she to get him up and returned to his own room undetected?
What had Mr. Dubois put in that draught? What if Jordan never roused? What if he was a male version of Sleeping Beauty, destined to remain unconscious for all eternity?
She’d watched over him all night, and the quiet interval had created an odd intimacy. She felt as if he’d been given to her for a special purpose, as if he was hers to guard and protect.
She was exhausted, her back aching from the hard chair, and she yearned to take a nap. The bed called to her, and she rose and tiptoed over. She untied the sash on her robe and let it fall to the floor, then carefully eased onto the mattress and stretched out on her side, listening to him breathe.
It was the sweetest moment of her life. His skin was so warm, and he smelled so good, and she couldn’t resist resting her palm on his stomach. As she touched him, his eyes opened, and his devil’s grin was firmly in place.
She couldn’t help but smile with relief that he was finally awake.
“What time is it?” he calmly asked as if lying next to her was the most common occurrence in the world.
“It’s nine o’clock already.”
“I’ve got a pounding headache, but I didn’t drink enough to be hung-over.” He frowned, reflecting on his condition, then he accused, “You tried to poison me!”
“I did not.”
“Then what was in that wine?”
“I don’t know.” At his skeptical glower, she said, “I swear! I slipped you a tonic that I hoped would quell your fascination with me.”
He studied her, his rapt focus meandering down her torso, taking in the fact that she was wearing a nightgown and naught else.
“I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” he murmured.
“What is it?”
“I’m still fascinated, so whatever you gave me, it didn’t work.” He leaned in and kissed her. “Tell me the truth.”
“About what?”
“While I was out, did you have your way with me?”
“I wouldn’t have the vaguest idea of how to go about it.”
“Are you sure you didn’t peek inside my trousers?”
“Gad no!” She blushed.
“I wish you had. I’d have enjoyed it immensely.”
She chuckled. “You are the worst.”
He dragged her over so that she was on top of him, her loins pressed to his, and the wicked contact made her tummy swirl with butterflies.
“My dearest Mary,” he said, “you’re scarcely dressed, and you boldly climbed into bed with me.”
“I didn’t,” she contended.
“Then how did you end up next to me? Did you float?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re here and I’m here, and I’m awfully aroused with morning passion, but my head is hammering so badly that you’ll have to take the lead.”
“Take the lead on
what?
”
“You know what you want.”
He lugged her about so that she was hovered over his lap, kneeling, with her thighs on either side of his.
Once he had her where he wanted her, he yanked off his shirt, and suddenly, she was confronted with too much bare flesh. She yearned to stroke her hands across it, but she was too tentative to proceed, so he took hold of her wrists and laid her palms on his chest.

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