Simply Sinful (8 page)

What would Peter make of such a domestic scene? She and James, chatting in front of a blazing fire like the old married couple they were. She swirled the brandy around but couldn’t force any past her dry lips.

Peter kept his attention on her as James turned to smile at him. Her fingers tightened on the glass until they hurt.

“Am I welcome, Lady Beecham?”

She looked at him, and his pale blue eyes assessed her in return. His expression remained calm. She had no sense that he was challenging her for James’s affections. He was not the kind of man to mock her or take advantage of her. His speech about honesty at dinner had convinced her of that.

“Yes, yes, you are.” She put down her glass and hitched her bare feet higher until they disappeared beneath the hem of her white nightgown. “I was just about to tell James that I wanted to ask you some questions.”

He sat down in the third chair and smiled at her. “That is an excellent idea. What do you wish to know?”

She looked at James, who nodded encouragingly.

“Ask him what you like, Abby. If you aren’t happy to do this, we won’t. It’s as simple as that.”

“I agree, Lady Beecham.” Peter sat forward. “If we decide to proceed, it’s because it’s something we all want and desire. Not something forced on any of us.”

Again his sincerity seeped through her uncertainty. He seemed to instinctively understand that honesty was something she and James both valued. She clasped her hands in her lap.

“Why?”

“Why would I agree to be part of this?” He smiled, and the sweetness of it made her want to smile back. “Because I am tired of my life and I wish to find a challenge. That would be the simplest answer.”

“We are a challenge?”

“A sexual challenge I have never been offered before.”

Abby frowned at him. “I’m not sure I wish to be ‘won’.”

Peter shrugged, the gesture elegant and fluid. “If we all learn something from this experience, perhaps we all win. I, for one, am willing to give it a try.”

“Why?”

“Because I find you both fascinating and refreshing. Such honesty in a marriage is a rare commodity.”

“And if I say no, will you still continue to see James?”

Peter murmured his thanks as James handed him a glass of brandy. “Not if it is against your wishes, my lady. I have never been the kind of man who comes between a husband and wife.”

“Unless they ask you to, come, that is,” James remarked. Abby frowned as she realized from Peter’s quickly concealed smile that James had made a joke. It occurred to her that if she continued with this wild fantasy, she might soon be laughing along with them.

She silently begged God for some confidence. “I do not wish to end up as a figure of fun.” She locked gazes with Peter. “If this is all an elaborate ruse to persuade James to leave me, I’d rather know now.”

Peter sighed. “I understand how you feel, my lady, and I applaud you for your frankness. The only way I can prove to you that I am sincere is by giving you my word that I will never mention anything that happens between the three of us to another soul. If you can accept that, I believe we can arrive at a very satisfactory arrangement for us all.”

She stared hard at him, noticed the seriousness of his expression and the directness of his stare. Despite her isolation, or perhaps because of it, she considered herself a good judge of character. Perchance it was time to make that leap of faith. She held out her hand.

“Please call me Abigail.”

He took her fingers within his own and lightly kissed them. “And I am Peter. I would be honored to serve you, ma’am.”

James leaned forward and covered both of their hands with his own. He squeezed hard. “Then shall we drink to our new association?”

Abigail sat back as James held up his glass. “To new beginnings.”

She obligingly clinked her glass against the other two glasses and took a small sip of brandy. Her hand shook and the rim bumped her lip, splashing brandy onto her sleeve.

Peter’s fingers closed gently around her wrist and righted the glass. “Relax, my lady, nothing is going to happen to you tonight. We need time to get to know each other.”

She smiled at him as she swallowed some more brandy. “It’s all right; I didn’t think you were going to leap on me and tear my clothes off.”

His smile held a hint of mischief and approval. “That’s for tomorrow night, didn’t James tell you?”

Abby put the glass down before she dropped it. “Are you jesting with me?”

“Yes, I believe I am.”

She found herself smiling back at him and relaxing into her chair. Peter finished his brandy and glanced across at James.

“Before we go any further, I’d like to tell you something about myself. James might already have heard the gossip, but I think you should hear the truth.”

James raised an eyebrow. “I thought we’d already agreed to proceed, but if you think it necessary.”

Peter studied his empty brandy glass. “Twenty-four years ago, the ship I was on was attacked by pirates. Another boy and I were taken prisoner and sold as slaves in Turkey.”

“I remember reading about this in the papers,” James said. “You were rescued at the age of eighteen by an English merchant and returned to our fair shores.”

“That’s correct. We were slaves for seven years.” Peter still refused to look at Abby. “What most people don’t know is that we were slaves in a Turkish brothel.”

Abby covered her mouth with her hand. “But you were only eleven years old when you were captured.”

His mouth twisted. “I suppose we were lucky in some ways. At least the woman who bought us waited until we were old enough to get an erection before she set us to work as sex slaves.”

“And how old were you, then?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Old enough to fuck and for her to be paid for it, that’s all she cared about. It could’ve been worse.” He gave her another charming smile, which didn’t quite succeed in blocking the more horrific images his graphic language had conjured in her mind.

“Christ.”

James finished his brandy in one swallow and slammed the glass down onto the table. Despite James’s outburst, Peter kept his attention on her. “If my past offends you, I would be happy to leave your home. And of course, my offer to remain silent stands.”

The clock on the mantelpiece wheezed and clicked as it struck the half hour. Abby made sure she kept her gaze fixed firmly on Peter. “Why should I be offended by your past? You were the one who had the tenacity to survive it, not me.”

He smiled at her; the beauty of it made her want to weep. He was obviously not the kind of man who needed or expected to be pitied.

“Thank you for that.”

James stood up and rested his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Abby studied the brief flash of stark emotion that clouded his gaze. “As far as I am concerned, you will always be welcome here.”

Peter reached up and patted James’s hand. His long fingers were almost as dark as her husband’s. She imagined them against her pale skin—against James’s warmer tones, imagined them all mixed in together…

James touched her shoulder and she jumped. “I have to go back to London tomorrow. Will you allow Peter to stay and keep you company?” He winked at Peter. “There are two elderly female cousins who live in the house, and my mother resides down the driveway. I should imagine your reputation will be safe.”

If she said no, would Peter leave as well? She smiled at them both. “It would be delightful to have someone new to talk to. I swear I’ve bored everyone here to death with my stories.”

Peter took her hand and kissed it. “I’m sure you could never be boring, Abigail.”

James laughed, his good humor apparently restored. “Oh yes, she can. You wait until she wants to discuss the theories of crop rotation or differing types of fertilizer just when you are trying to eat your dinner.”

Abby scowled at him. “At least you were so bored you slept well that night.”

Peter stood up and bowed. “I’m looking forward to many an evening of just such stimulating discussion, my lady. Now I will bid you good night. It’s been a long day.”

He nodded at James and retreated into his bedchamber. Abby noticed the way James tried not to follow Peter’s movements with his eyes. With a sigh, she hugged him and kissed his cheek.

“James, if it will make you happy, go to him. I don’t mind.”

He met her gaze, hope shining in his. “Are you sure, Abby?”

She touched his cheek. “Yes, go and enjoy yourself.”

He let out a breath. “Thank you. I’ll make sure we are discreet.”

Her smile disappeared as she shut the door into her chamber. She leaned against the brightly painted panels and listened for the telltale click of the opposite door opening. It didn’t take long. She imagined Peter with his arms around James. She pictured them removing their clothes…goodness; she wanted to see them, to understand what they did together.

She wrapped her arms around her waist and stared at her cold, empty bed. Perhaps one day she would be brave enough to ask James to show her exactly what he did, but until then, she’d have to comfort herself and imagine.

7

P
eter stripped off his tight-fitting brown coat and started on the buttons of his blue waistcoat. Eight days had passed since James had left him alone with Abigail, and each one had proved a surprise and a delight. His lover’s wife intrigued him. She was intelligent, argumentative and fond of getting the last word. To his surprise he found her immensely stimulating both mentally and physically. She reminded him a little of Valentin’s wife, Sara, although she wasn’t as beautiful, or perhaps so amenable.

As he slipped out of his waistcoat and handed it to Tom along with his coat, he glanced at the pile of letters that had been delivered to him from home just before dinner. Even from a distance, he could see one of them bore the distinctive scrawl of his business partner.

In truth, he was astonished Val hadn’t tracked him down and confronted him sooner. It wasn’t usually his friend’s style to allow matters to fester between them, although perhaps in this instance he was being cautious because of Sara.

After relinquishing his boots into Tom’s tender care, Peter nodded at him to leave. He was no dandy who needed a servant’s assistance to put himself to bed. He studied the pile of letters again. Damnation, he missed Sara. She accepted him exactly as he was and knew more about him than any other woman of his acquaintance. In bed she was as passionate as her husband, but unlike Val, she was fascinated by the endless sexual possibilities of allowing him to join in their play.

Peter’s cock rose at the thought of Sara’s lush body, and he cupped his groin. A tap on the door that led into James’s room made him swing around, his hand still cradling his balls. Abigail stood there, her hair braided in one thick plait that hung over her shoulder. She glanced at his groin and looked away.

Slowly Peter dropped his hand to his side. What had James done to make her react like an untried virgin to the slightest sign of sexual intimacy?

“My lady? Is something wrong?”

He watched her gather her courage and sent her a quick smile of approval.

“Nothing is wrong.” She cleared her throat, her fingers clasped around the end of her braid. “I just thought it would be interesting to…” She waved her hand vaguely toward him.

“Interesting to…?”

Color flushed her cheeks and her chin went up. “To come and talk to you like I do to James after we have dined, to become more intimate with you. Isn’t that what this is all about?”

He turned back to the mirror, his movements slow and un-hurried. “Of course it is, and you are most welcome. If you wish to talk to me, I’ll finish undressing and we can be comfortable.”

He shook out the folds of his cravat and tossed it over the back of the chair. He was pleased to see Abigail decide to stay and settle in a chair. Keeping his back to her, he undid his cuff links and placed them on the dressing table.

“Will you fetch my dressing gown? It’s on the bed.”

She brought it to him, her gaze fastened firmly on his chest. He remained still as she hesitated in front of him. He held his breath as she reached out and touched his shirt.

“Surely you will be too warm if you keep this on under your dressing gown.”

His nipples hardened as she continued to pet the fine lawn of his shirt.

“You’re right. I’ll take it off.” He smiled down at her. “It’s not as if you’ve never seen a man’s chest before, is it?”

Her palm flattened against his shirt. “James always wears a nightshirt.”

He laid his fingers over hers and trapped them against him. “Always?”

She sighed. “He doesn’t want to be with me, remember? He doesn’t like me to touch him in bed at all.”

Peter guided her back to her seat and sank to his knees in front of her. “I think you are right, we should talk. Tell me all of it. Tell me about James.”

“Why?”

She sat on the very edge of the wing chair, her hands clasped together on her lap, her gaze anywhere but on him.

“Because if I don’t understand what happened to make you so afraid, how can I help you?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Abigail, you can’t bear to look at me and I haven’t even taken off my shirt yet.”

She glared at him then. “As far as I understand it, all you need to do is unbutton your breeches and shove yourself inside me. Why should I worry about you taking off your shirt?”

Peter sat back on his heels. “If you think that is what making love is about, then you are truly ignorant.”

“I’m a woman; I’m supposed to be ignorant about such matters.”

“Is that what you want?”

She brushed surreptitiously at a tear. “I don’t understand you.”

He handed her his handkerchief. “Is that how you want to remain, ignorant and unsatisfied? Do you think that is what James wants for you?”

“James wants me to be happy.”

Peter nodded. “Yes, and I can help you with that, but I need to understand what happened between you to see if I can resolve your problems.” He waited as she screwed up the handkerchief between her hands. “Abigail, I want to help.”

She raised her head and her gaze settled on the fire.