Promise of Pleasure (2 page)

For a brief instant, she wished she was pretty and rich like Felicity and Cassandra, but she tamped down the notion. She’d never wanted to be
like
them.

“What would I do with a fortune anyway?” She sighed.

“Why would you consider wealth to be cumbersome?” a male mused from behind her. “I’ve always been able to devise numerous uses for large amounts of money. It’s really not that difficult. You’d be surprised at how quickly you adapt.”

Mary whipped around, coming face to face with a man who had to be thirty-year-old Jordan Winthrop, Viscount Redvers, the only son and heir of the Earl of Sunderland.

He was very tall—six foot at least—and very handsome, his features masculine and perfect: high forehead, strong nose, generous mouth. His hair was black as night, his eyes a deep indigo, like the sky at sunset. His legs were impossibly long, his waist narrow, his chest and shoulders broad and muscled—which she could clearly see because he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

She didn’t think she’d ever viewed a man’s naked chest before, so she hadn’t understood that it would be covered with hair. It was dark as the hair on his head, thick across the top, then tapering down his stomach to disappear inside his trousers.

Though she couldn’t fathom why, the sight was exciting and disturbing.

Why hadn’t she been notified that he was on the premises? How would she explain her lurking in his private quarters?

Gulping with dismay, she made an awkward curtsy. “I apologize, milord. I wasn’t told that you’d arrived.”

“I was just about to wash. I asked the footman to send someone to assist me, but I didn’t realize he’d be so accommodating. I’ll have to convey my gratitude.”

She blanched, eager to rush out, but he was blocking the door, her sole route of escape.

They were in an isolated part of the mansion, and he was renowned as the most infamous rake in the kingdom. His dastardly repute was built on amorous peccadilloes, duels, debts, and deceits.

He might do anything to her.

He took a step forward, and she took one back, until she was at the wall and could go no farther.

Evidently, he presumed that she would bathe him. Did the housemaids attend guests in such an outrageous fashion? Was it common?

How could Mary not be aware of such illicit behavior? She spent enough time with the servants; she should have had an inkling of what went on behind closed doors.

What might a woman do for a man like Redvers? She wished she knew. A more brazen female would probably have poured water in a bowl, dipped a cloth, and swabbed it all over him, but she never would.

In her entire life, she’d never committed a single daring act, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“Would you ... you ... excuse me?” The quaver in her voice apprised him of how he’d unnerved her.

“No.”

“I’m not about to help you wash.”

“You’re not?”

“No.”

He chuckled, a low, seductive baritone that tickled her innards and made her knees weak.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said.

“Pretend what?”

“You don’t have to play the shy maiden with me—unless you enjoy a good fantasy? I don’t usually care for games, but I’m happy to oblige you.”

He took her hand and placed it on his trousers, as if he expected her to unbutton them. Her knuckles brushed his flat belly, and she yanked away and huddled against the plaster, feeling like a canary that had been cornered by a very large, very hungry cat.

He drew her to him until her torso was crushed to his, and the intimate positioning had a peculiar effect on her anatomy. Her skin prickled, her breasts ached, and the mysterious woman’s spot between her legs grew relaxed and wet.

“I demand that you let me leave,” she said.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“You’ve made a mistake.”

“Have I?”

“Yes. I’m not here to ... to ...”

“To what? To
fornicate?”

“That word”—she scowled—“what does it mean?”

“What do you suppose? It means every wicked deed you can imagine—and even some you can’t.”

She had no idea what he was describing, and she wasn’t in any mood to find out. Especially from a notorious libertine who had come to Barnes Manor to discuss marriage with Felicity.

“If you continue,” she threatened, “you’ll be sorry.”

“I doubt it. I’ve never been
sorry
about anything. Ever.”

“But you don’t know who I am.”

“I don’t care who you are. You’re very pretty, which is all that matters to me.”

At his remark, she was frozen with surprise. No one had ever told her she was pretty. In fact, her stepmother insisted she wasn’t, as did her tepid beau, Harold.

The odd compliment distracted her, so she was unprepared for him to bend down and nuzzle at her nape. His bold advance was so shocking—and so delightful—that she was paralyzed, unable to fight or flee as she ought.

He nibbled away, his crafty fingers sneaking up, caressing her thigh, her hip, rising till he audaciously stroked her breast.

She hadn’t realized the mound was so sensitive, and she became so agitated that she might have swooned, but his strong arm kept her from falling to the floor in a stunned heap.

“Please ... stop,” she breathlessly murmured.

Her plaintive supplication registered, and he pulled away and frowned.

“Aren’t you carrying your maidenly protests a tad too far?” he asked. “You’re too old for all this virginal umbrage.”

“Old! I’m only twenty-five.”

“Then quit acting like a debutante. I don’t like it.”

Just then, the door to the outer chamber opened, and a female called, “Redvers, are you in here?”

Mary didn’t know who had arrived, but if she was caught with the viscount, there’d be hell to pay. She squealed with alarm and tried to draw away, but he wouldn’t release her.

“Who’s out there?” she whispered.

“It’s my special friend, Mrs. Bainbridge.” He appeared humored by Mary’s panic. “She won’t like finding you with me.”

“Let me go!” she begged.

“No.”

“Redvers,” Mrs. Bainbridge called again, as she marched toward the dressing room.

Mary pushed at him with all her might, but Redvers merely laughed and turned them so that he was leaned against the wall, with Mary snuggled to him, her back to his front. His arm was draped across her abdomen, holding her in place.

A voluptuous beauty entered. She had auburn hair and big green eyes, and she was attired in a stylish maroon gown that accented her striking features. She oozed a sophistication and polish that Mary couldn’t have managed in a thousand years.

“Who is
that
?” Mrs. Bainbridge inquired, nodding at Mary, her displeasure clear.

“The footman sent me a valet,” Redvers explained, “but she’s the wrong sex and she’s terribly prim and boring. May I keep her anyway?”

Mrs. Bainbridge’s gaze was lethal, and she assessed Mary as if Mary were a pet dog. “No, you can’t
keep
her, darling. I won’t have you trifling with the servants.”

“She was about to wash me,” he claimed.

“I was not!” Mary seethed, but they ignored her.

“If you need washing,” Mrs. Bainbridge declared, “
I
shall tend you. Don’t pester the hired help.” She glared at Mary. “Be gone, you filthy harlot, and if I catch you sniffing around the viscount again, I’ll have you whipped.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Mary muttered, stumbling away from Redvers.

She skirted Bainbridge and hurried into the adjoining bedchamber.

Cheeks burning with mortification, she slowed, trying to regroup and ease the rapid pounding of her heart. What had just happened? And what should she do about it?

Would Redvers tattle to Victoria? Should Mary, herself, confess what had transpired? What would she say? That she’d been groped and maligned by a reprobate?

Gad! Mrs. Bainbridge had to be Redvers’s mistress, yet he’d brought her to Barnes Manor with no thought to Felicity.

How could Felicity marry him? He was depraved in a manner beyond comprehension.

While Victoria had first crowed over Redvers’s visit, she’d been brutally frank about his scandalous character. But had she been informed as to the extent of his corruption?

Victoria was a baronet’s daughter, who’d married down by accepting Mary’s father. She’d never forgiven him for her plunge in status, and she was determined to rectify her mistake by arranging a lofty union for Felicity. Victoria was set on the match with Redvers—as was Felicity herself.

Dare Mary enlighten them as to the true state of his degeneracy? Would they be concerned about it?

As Victoria often counseled, a woman could overlook many faults in order to become a countess.

Feeling conflicted but more calm, Mary was about to tiptoe away when she noticed the door to the dressing chamber hadn’t shut all the way; she could peek through the crack and spy on Redvers. And though she was positive she’d be damned for all eternity, she did exactly that.

Mrs. Bainbridge was standing very close to him, stroking a wet cloth across his chest and stomach.

“Better?” she asked as she tossed the cloth on the floor.

“Much.”

“I can’t believe you let that drab little maid assist you.”

“She was convenient.”

“If I hadn’t walked in, I suppose you’d have had her skirt up over her head.”

“Most likely.”

Mrs. Bainbridge leveled a glance that was meant to both chastise and seduce.

“You know I detest it when you dabble with slatterns.”

“And you know that it’s none of your business. Don’t presume to scold me.”

She scowled as if she might quarrel, but on seeing his stony expression, her pout changed to a smile.

“You are the worst libertine in the world,” she charged.

“I’ve never denied it.”

“Let me remind you of why you don’t need anyone but me.”

“Yes, why don’t you? My encounter with that little drab—as you call her—has left me out of sorts. Why don’t you do something interesting to earn your keep?”

“You don’t pay me any longer, remember? Not since your father snipped the financial cord.”

“Then do it for free—and get on with it.”

“Ooh, you are such a wretch! Why do I put up with you?”

“Because you’re mad about me, and you know it.”

“I know nothing of the kind.”

“Give over, Lauretta,” he chided, using her Christian name. “You’re a mercenary, and you’ve cast your lot with me. Your claws will be dug in till I’ve inherited and spent my old man’s last farthing.”

“Yes, they will, and Felicity be damned.”

“Yes,” he concurred. “Felicity be damned.”

Their cold words cut Mary to the quick. She wanted to sneak out, to escape the evil pair, but despicable as it sounded, she remained rooted to her spot.

Mrs. Bainbridge grabbed the waistband of his trousers, pulled him to her, and initiated a passionate kiss. Their lips were melded, their arms entwined, their hands everywhere, and Mary watched, agog, as they writhed and touched.

Other than a hasty, furtive embrace she’d once witnessed at the harvest fair, she couldn’t recollect ever having seen two people kissing. She hadn’t understood that it would be so physical, and the spectacle rattled her.

She felt tingly all over. Her nipples hardened and throbbed; her heart started pounding again.

Mrs. Bainbridge pushed him out of sight, which irritated Mary enormously. She couldn’t see them, but she could hear their groans and sighs, the rustling of fabric. A few minutes later, Mrs. Bainbridge moved back into view. There was scant evidence to clarify what had occurred, but the woman’s dress was askew and her hair had fallen from its combs.

She flashed a confident grin at Redvers. “Next time you consider embarrassing yourself with a housemaid, please recall that I’m your mistress. No one can satisfy you as I can, and don’t you forget it.”

“I’ll try not to,” he tepidly replied, yawning.

“You are such a rude beast!”

In a snit, her hips swaying to and fro, she sashayed from the room. Mary couldn’t make it to the door without Mrs. Bainbridge observing her, so she dashed over and hid behind the drapes until Mrs. Bainbridge exited into the hallway.

As her footsteps receded, Mary was anxious to creep away undetected. She peeked out, but Redvers was over by the dressing room, leaned against the doorjamb, waiting for her to emerge.

She gasped with dismay.

“She’s gone, my sly voyeur,” he said. “Would you like to continue where we left off?”

He’d seen her? He was aware that she’d been spying?

“Aah!” she shrieked.

“Did you enjoy the show?” he asked, smirking.

She blushed a dozen shades of red. “You are the most disgraceful, disreputable person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

“I have to tell Victoria what you’re really like,” she absurdly threatened.

“She already knows.”

Mary spun and fled, his contemptuous laughter ringing in her ears.