Simply Sinful (18 page)

“You haven’t had sex for more than two weeks?” Peter slid his tongue over the sensitive slit of James’s cock, dipped inside.

“No, damn you, just my hand and my imagination.”

“James?” Peter lifted his head to stare into his lover’s eyes. “I did enjoy every minute I spent with Abigail, and I will teach you to enjoy her too.”

James sighed as Peter sucked his cock deep into his mouth. “God help me, I’m already looking forward to it.”

Abigail breakfasted in bed alone and spent much of the morning interviewing her cook and housekeeper to find out exactly how James managed his London staff when she wasn’t there. Very well it seemed. Indeed, the housekeeper was a little patronizing at first, but Abby soon set her straight. She doubted the woman would question her competence to manage a household staff again.

The house itself was narrow and had four stories and a basement. It wasn’t the original Beecham House, which had been a cavernous mansion on one of the larger squares. James had disposed of it as soon as his father had died, insisting he would never live in it. He’d chosen the smaller house in Finsbury Place, and Abby thoroughly approved.

The clock in the dining room struck one. Abby heard the welcome sound of male voices and sat up straight. Miss Trixie had already been invited to visit one of her oldest friends and had departed in a flurry of kisses and promises leaving Abby alone. She smiled as her two favorite men entered the room. Peter was about the same height as James, but there all likeness ended. He was of lighter build, his hair a soft silver blond. James had the powerful build of an athlete with broad shoulders and strong thighs.

To her relief, both of them looked pleased to see her. She had wondered, during her lonely night’s rest, if they would be so delighted to see each other again that they’d forget all about her. Peter bowed and kissed her hand.

“Good afternoon, Lady Beecham. Are you ready for your first outing into fashionable London?”

James kissed her cheek and settled into the chair next to hers. He nudged her arm.

“Peter tells me we are taking you to a dressmaker he knows or some such frivolous nonsense.”

“We don’t really need to go. My gowns are quite sufficient.”

“No,” James said firmly. “They are not. You look like a dowd. We’ll soon have you rigged out in fine style and then we’ll take you to your first ball before the end of the week. How does that sound?”

“Terrifying,” Abigail muttered, but James was too busy laughing with Peter to hear her. She glanced sideways at her smiling husband. There was a slight purplish bruise on the side of his neck. Had Peter done that, and did James like the sting of Peter’s teeth as much as she did? She imagined them together in bed, felt her body heat in response. She imagined lying between them, legs entwined—and choked on her ratafia.

“Are you all right, Abby cat?”

James slapped her so hard on the back that she almost landed face-first in the turtle soup the butler was serving.

When she finished coughing, she noticed Peter studying her, his expression pensive. After the servants left, he reached across the table and touched her fingers.

“I think Abigail is simply looking forward to our shopping expedition and the evening’s entertainment, aren’t you?”

Her mouth went dry as she studied his handsome face. Despite his concerns about his family, he still found time to understand her and soothe her fears. She drew in a steadying breath, squeezed his fingers and let them go.

“Have you contacted the rector yet?”

“I sent him a message. Apparently he is out for most of the day. I’m sure he’ll reply to me when he gets back.”

Peter’s relaxed demeanor failed to hide the slight tension in his blue eyes. Abby gave him a bright smile.

“Good, then we have the whole day to enjoy ourselves.”

He smiled at her with singular sweetness. “Indeed we do.”

Abby stopped so suddenly at the door of the discreet modiste in Bond Street that she bumped up against James’s chest.

“Abby!”

James grunted and grabbed hold of her shoulders to steady her. Peter maneuvered gracefully around them both and opened the door. He bowed with a flourish.

“Lady Beecham, Lord Beecham?”

James propelled Abby through the open door and bowed back. “Mr. Howard.”

Abby found herself in a small parlor decorated in tones of cream and rosebud pink. Dainty chairs filled the space along with several small tables piled high with fashionable ladies’ magazines. She instantly felt out of place. Peter picked up a journal and immediately flicked to the fashion plates at the end.

“This is the kind of thing you need, Lady Beecham.”

He showed her a picture of a willowy lady with a wistful expression dressed in a thin drape of silky yellow fabric. Abby put on her spectacles and frowned.

“That woman’s neck is as long as a giraffe’s and her arms almost touch her knees! Do you really want me to look like that?”

James chuckled. “Perhaps you look like that already and you just don’t realize it.”

Peter shot James a reproving glance. “Not the dress, my lady, but the color. Do you like it?”

Abby considered the image. “It is a little bright, don’t you think?”

“I think you need to expand your horizons.” Peter tossed the book back on the pile. “Who has chosen your gowns for you up until now? Surely not James.”

“My mother has,” James interjected. “Abby never seemed to care what she wore, so my mother simply took over and provided her with a succession of dresses every year.”

Abby stuck out her tongue at James. Peter turned toward her.

“Is that true? Why didn’t you choose your own gowns?”

She shrugged. “What was the point? It wasn’t as if anyone would see me in them apart from the local gentry and the household staff.”

James patted her knee. “I’m sorry, Abby, that was my fault. I shouldn’t have made fun of you and I shouldn’t have left you alone down there for so much of the year.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, James, don’t start to feel sorry for me all over again.” Uncomfortable with his show of remorse, she turned her gaze onto Peter. “And don’t you start either.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He smiled into her eyes, making her breathless. “But now you have two men who would love you to dress up for them. Will you allow us to help you choose your new wardrobe?”

Abby grabbed one of the Ackermann journals and flicked rapidly through the pages, head bent to conceal her suddenly flushed cheeks. “All right, then.”

“Gracious as ever,” James muttered.

Peter bowed and then sat opposite her, his feet crossed at the ankle, boots gleaming in the lamplight. A china clock on the mantelpiece chimed the quarter hour. The door opened and both men shot to their feet. Abby followed more slowly, her attention fixed on the thin gray-haired woman who came to stand in front of her.

Peter bowed. “Madame Wallace, it is so good of you to see us. May I present Lord and Lady Beecham?”

Madame nodded at James and then resumed her inspection of Abby.

“Good day to you, my lady.” Her accent was northern, her manner that of a drill sergeant. She poked the ruffles on Abby’s chest. “Who on earth persuaded you to wear that gown? It makes you look like a frump!”

Abby glared right back at her. “I am a frump. I’m quite happy being a frump, and there is very little you can do to change that.”

James cleared his throat. “Ah, Abby, my darling…”

Abby ignored him. “I’m not sure if I do want new clothes.”

“Why, because it is easier to hide yourself behind these ugly garments than try and be fashionable?” Madame Wallace snorted. “If you have managed to attract two such handsome gentlemen to your side dressed like this, imagine what you could do if you made a little effort.”

“One of these gentlemen is my husband. He has no choice in the matter.”

“But Mr. Howard is a renowned connoisseur of lady’s fashion. How embarrassing for him to have you on his arm.”

Peter chuckled. “It is no hardship, Madame, I assure you.”

Abby stuck out her chin. “Maybe I don’t want to be fashionable. Most of the women in these plates look awful.”

Madame sighed. “That is because they aren’t real women. If my clients really looked like that, I would no longer be in business.”

Abby cast a defiant look at James, who was frowning slightly at her. Peter seemed to be trying not to laugh.

“Madame, my husband and Mr. Howard believe I need new clothes. I am only doing this to please them but I do not want to end up looking like a figure of fun.” She held Madame’s gaze. “If I don’t like something you propose or make for me, I’ll tell you.”

Madame nodded. “Of course, my lady, although you must promise to allow me to be just as blunt.” She grabbed a handful of Abby’s silk skirt. “If you can wear this abomination in London, you definitely need some advice.”

Abby held out her hand. “Good, then we understand each other.”

Madame shook it firmly. “Then take off that travesty of a dress and let me take your measurements.” She clicked her fingers and a young woman instantly appeared at her side.

“Give me my tape measure and notebook. I will deal with this client myself. Don’t come back unless I ring for you, and I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

Peter closed the door after the girl hurried out. “Are you afraid that Lady Beecham will scare your staff?”

Madame flicked him a disapproving glance. “If you intend to stay in here, Mr. Howard, please be quiet.”

Abby grinned at Peter. “I should imagine that anyone employed by Madame is used to being scared.”

She stood still as Madame expertly unlaced her gown, leaving her in her stays and petticoats.

“How long have you been wearing these stays?”

“As long as I can remember, why?”

“They do nothing to help your figure at all.”

Abby glanced down at her slender form. “What figure is that? I’m built like a boy.”

“You have breasts, my lady. You just need to show them off more.”

Peter touched Abby’s shoulder. “We would like Lady Beecham to have a corset that allows greater access to her breasts. Can you do that?”

Madame cupped Abby’s breasts and pushed them together. “Of course, Mr. Howard. We can make something that appears to offer her bosom up to any man’s attentions.”

Abby shivered as Peter traced the curve of her collarbone; her nipples hardened in an aching rush. Madame ignored them both, her attention on measuring and recording Abby’s waist and hips. When she stood back she was frowning.

Abby bit her lip. “I told you I was better off hidden in those hideous dresses.”

She almost flinched when Madame brandished her quill pen at her.

“You have the perfect measurements to wear these skimpy high-waisted dresses the
ton
is so enamored with. In fact, you are one of the very few women who
has
the boyish figure necessary for the fabric to hang properly. Why didn’t you come to me years ago? I could be famous by now!”

“And if you were famous, you probably wouldn’t have to be bothered by the likes of me.”

“Absolutely, my lady, but I’m no fool. I can make you look beautiful, and in return, all you have to do is mention my name at every possible opportunity.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Peter said. He dropped a kiss on Abby’s shoulder. “I knew you two would get along.”

James sighed. “I’m so glad you are all enjoying yourselves. How much is this going to cost me?”

Abby fought a giggle as Madame turned on James. “I am about to make your wife one of the most fashionable and sought-after women in London and you quibble about the cost?”

James raised his hands. “I apologize, Madame. I’ll just keep my mouth shut and pay up as required.” He winked at Abby. “In truth, I do owe my wife almost sixteen years of her dress allowance.”

Madame nodded. “It is settled, then.” She scooped up Abby’s gown and marched toward the door. “Stay here. I will be back with some garments for you to try on.”

“What about my dress?”

Madame favored her with a deep frown. “I’m going to burn it.”

Peter waited until Madame left and then turned to Abigail.

“I knew you two would come to an amicable agreement.”

She stared at him, her mouth open. “Peter, she is so deliciously rude! How did you know that she would be the perfect person to persuade me to change my ways?”

“Perhaps because you’ve met your match?” James chimed in, his face alight with laughter. Peter grinned at him.

“I’m not as rude as that, am I?”

“No, Abigail, of course you aren’t.” Peter hastened to intervene as Abby glared at her husband. “But you are direct, and I truly believe Madame Wallace has the skill to make you look and feel beautiful.”

Abigail glanced away, worrying her lip. He slid his fingers under her chin. “You will look beautiful, you know. All the men of the
ton
will be after you.”

“But,” she whispered, “I already have all the men I want.”

He rubbed his thumb against the corner of her mouth. “I hope that is the case. James and I will have to be on our best behavior to keep your interest.”

He stepped back as Madame entered, a swathe of garments draped over her arm.

“Move away from her, Mr. Howard, and let me do my work.” She gave him a hard, assessing glance. “I assume you both want to stay while Lady Beecham tries on these garments?”

“Yes, we wish to stay.”

Peter went to sit on the small velvet couch beside James. As he settled back, his thigh brushed against his lover’s. James moved his arm until it lay along the back of the seat, his fingers rested lightly on Peter’s shoulder.

Madame stood in front of Abigail, blocking Peter’s view as she dropped the old pair of stays to the floor and laced Abigail into the new corset.

“There, that is much better. It makes your bosom look higher and fuller. What do you think, gentlemen?” She stepped back and Peter almost swallowed his tongue.

Abigail’s breasts were barely restrained by the corset, her nipples high and tight as if she offered them to a man’s mouth. He imagined burying his face in the luscious mounds, sliding his cock into that cleavage and coming hard and fast.