Temporary Mistress (9 page)

"Naw drunk," the Duke of Marshfield's heir slurred.

"Maybe he's bored," Brummell noted, his sobriety conspicuous in the sea of drunkenness.

"Never saw Bathurst bored with cunt before."

A general nodding of heads greeted the remark.

"A pony says he's hors de combat." A young man winked.

"Never happened before. I'll raise you a pony against it."

The state of Dermott's health continued in heated debate until the betting included most everyone in the room, for or against, a coin toss deciding who would talk to his doctor in the morning. No one considered asking Bathurst personally.

Not in his current ill temper.

When the earl found himself at Molly's several hours later, wet from the rain falling outside and more sober than he would have liked, Kate was waiting. She welcomed him with a smile despite the late hour, and he followed her to bed, trying not to let his moodiness show. He performed well because he always did and because he didn't wish her to suffer for his own black humor, and once he'd pleasured her and found his own relief, he fell asleep like a man dead to the world.

She wasn't without insight, and she sat up afterward and watched him in the candlelight, wondering what demons were driving him. She knew of the death of his wife and son; was tonight some anniversary? But it had happened years before, and even Molly said he was over it as much as anyone can ever be over such a devastating loss. With female intuition she wondered whether the young lady taking up residence in Molly's quarters might more likely figure in his moodiness. Call it a hunch or a bit of gossip revealed by one of the maids, but if she were a betting woman, she'd say Dermott's newest fancy was contributing to his ill humor. And if she were anything but a sensible young woman who understood earls didn't marry courtesans, she might allow herself to mourn the imminent loss of his company.

But she was eminently pragmatic; she was also very near her financial goals, thanks to Dermott's generosity, and soon she would put period to her life here and return to her young daughter in the country with enough money to live the life of a genteel widow.

Dermott was dear to her. She lightly stroked the gleaming black of his hair spread on the pillow and leaned over to gently kiss his cheek.

He woke at her touch, gathered her in his arms, mumbled something affectionate, and fell back to sleep.

She would miss him, she thought, lying in his warm embrace. He was the kindest of men.

ISABELLA'S EDUCATION BEGAN the following morning. A bath was brought in after her breakfast, and she was bathed and dried in so leisurely and sensuous a manner, she felt as though she were adrift in a dream. And while she was supposed to pay attention to all manner of technique mentioned by Molly, her concentration was fixed, rather, on exquisite sensation. After her bath, she was escorted to a narrow daybed, where she lay down for the next lesson in a tyro courtesan's life. Warm jasmine-scented oil was trickled over her skin, each heated drop like tingling bewitchment as it struck her. With the gentle stroking massage on her flesh artfully heating her senses, her attention wandered once again, Molly's voice explaining the mysteries of amour fading away, the slow, tantalizing hands roving her body too delectable to deny. She found herself substituting her favorite lush fantasy for the sound of Molly's voice, experiencing instead the soul-stirring feel of Bathurst's strong hands gliding over her softly—squeezing, rubbing, drifting in a slow, luxurious rhythm downward until, breath held, she felt her cleft eased open and the sensation of warmth melt into her pulsing tissue.

The intense, spiking pleasure snapped her eyes wide.

"Always see that you are sweet scented everywhere," Molly calmly remarked.

"I see," Isabella murmured, half breathless.

"Bathurst is particular."

His name alone caused a new surge of heat to curl inside her, the perfumed flesh between her legs throbbing anew. "I'll remember," she whispered, remembering as well how Bathurst had looked aroused. How she'd trembled at the sight of his rigid length and size. "Is he here?"

"It doesn't matter."

Half rising, she rested on her forearms. "Is he with someone?"

"He's always with someone." Molly spoke plainly. There was no point in deceiving the young woman.

"Then I shall have to pay more attention, shan't I," Isabella said, lying down again, "if I wish to engage his interest."

"Is that what you wish?" This young girl was refreshing—neither alarmed nor confused.

Isabella smiled. "I do most fervently." Images of Dermott's stark beauty had saturated her dreams, not only just moments earlier but through the night past, and she found herself wanting him with a fevered indiscretion that overlooked all but her urgent desires. Desires she'd not known existed a mere day before. "I almost feel as though I should thank Uncle Herbert and Harold for their villainy in driving me here."

"Such uncomplicated thinking will serve you well."

"Exactly. I'll have my fortune
and
some very fine memories once I leave. Am I not fortunate?"

"Your frankness is disarming."

"You must teach me
everything
," Isabella said with an expansive wave of her arm, "and I shall see that Bathurst has a memorable time."

Molly's brow quirked. "Is this a contest?"

"Do you mind if it is?"

Molly laughed. "He's well ahead of you."

"But not of you, I expect."

"Perhaps… although I offer no guarantees. I've not spent time in India."

"There are Hindu love books. I know there are because a captain brought some back once and Grandpapa quickly put them away. Let's have Mr. Martin find them for us."

Her excitement was a delight. "You wish to send Bathurst over the moon?"

"I wish to arouse him to the most sublime colossal pitch." Isabella's downy brows lifted faintly. "Am I terribly wicked?"

"Wonderfully wicked, I'd say. Why don't I see to some books?"

The first frontispiece they looked at portrayed a handsome young footman, partially undressed, servicing a pretty lady in her boudoir. The caption beneath the picture brought a smile to Isabella's lips:
Being in service requires dedication, obedience, and a willingness to learn
. "The lady seems to be enjoying herself. Although I doubt all employees are so handsome."

"They are if your husband allows," Molly sardonically replied. "This book is rumored to have been written by several noblewomen of the highest rank."

"Then ladies are allowed their vices as well? I never realized…"

"Their vices require a deal more discretion, but, yes, there are ladies who enjoy themselves with equal gusto. For instance, take note of the next illustrations."

In a sequence of five etchings, the tale of a shopping expedition in Bond Street was depicted. The young shop men were dazzlingly handsome and well formed, and from the looks of the various illustrations, bent on offering any particular service a lady desired.

"I always thought the shop men were delightfully handsome, but I never realized
why
they were so good-looking. Is everyone but me aware of their sexual availability?"

"Those who are interested are aware. However, discretion is ever the watchword."

"My education has been sadly lacking," Isabella playfully bemoaned. "Heavens," she exclaimed, gazing at the next illustration, "don't tell me every handsome groom I see in Hyde Park is making love to his mistress."

"I would say, generally," Molly explained, "if one sees a good-looking groom and a lady who takes undue interest in her equine skills, a high degree of suspicion is called for."

"My life has been dreadfully dull. All I ever did was sell shipments brought to London on our vessels."

"Keep in mind, all the pleasures you see depicted are generally reserved for married women. Virginity is still the gold standard for a suitable marriage."

"Well, since I have no immediate plans for marriage and have yet to see a man who would even interest me in that regard—"

Molly's eyebrows rose.

"Surely not. I know what you're thinking, but Bathurst would no more marry me than he would cook your dinner. So I shall be ever so grateful to you for showing me—well, what I've been missing. And allowing me an education in certain pleasures that may interest me in the future—whether I'm married or not."

"You have a fearless air, my dear."

"And why should I not? Would it help in my present situation to be fearful? Would I better survive if I were? I think not. My relatives showed me most viciously what would have become of me if I were docile." She shrugged. "So I shan't be if ever I was anyway," she added, smiling. "Grandpapa spoiled me considerably."

"Not necessarily a liability in your case," Molly noted. "You seem to know what you want."

"I find myself quite enamored of these feelings that heat my body. Once tasted, as they say… I rather look forward to continuing the pleasure."

Isabella was kept busy most of the day with various lessons that would make her more comfortable in the boudoir—how to dress and sit… or lie, how to serve food should a man require it, how to offer him a bath should the occasion arise, what exactly were the degrees of acquiescence most necessary to a woman intent on pleasing a client. Her instructors were all pretty women no older than she who directed her schooling with a casualness and humor she found entertaining.

They had orders not to speak personally of themselves, so she learned little of their background and reasons for occupying Molly's house, but none seemed disturbed to be there and all were enthusiastic about her coming liaison with Bathurst.

"Does everyone know?" Isabella asked when the subject was broached yet again.

"Only a few. We who are helping," a woman named Bess replied. "Molly is strict about that. For your own privacy, she says. But you're really going to like Bathurst. There isn't a woman alive who doesn't."

"So I've heard. Why is he so highly regarded? Beyond his startling good looks, of course."

"He likes women. It shows in everything he does—lucky you. Although he and Kate are pretty exclusive now." She shrugged. "So he's been out of circulation for the rest of us. But he wasn't always. Now, look, let me show you what he particularly likes."

By evening, Isabella was nervously pacing the room. It was all well and good to treat lovemaking like some kind of business of skill and expertise, but she wasn't completely emotionless, nor were her senses. And by the time her round of studies had concluded that day, she was acutely aware of her body's responses to amorous suggestion. She'd been feeling blissfully heated for hours, her skin felt as though the merest touch would suffocate her, images of Bathurst were prevalent in her mind, and the thought of seeing his strong body unclothed when at last they met in bed was so titillating to her senses, she feared she would forget all she'd learned and collapse in a puddle at his feet.

On edge, restless, she felt an irrepressible need to escape her room, or better yet, the house, although she knew it was impossible. Another half hour passed, her agitation heightening, inchoate desires bombarding her senses. Perhaps she could at least do her pacing in the corridor or breathe some fresh air on the small balcony at the end of the hall. Following her impulse, she quit her room, strode through the empty sitting room, and walked out into the hallway. Molly's personal apartments were separate from the business of the house, and quiet.