A Sister's Secret (5 page)

‘We had coffee at Beaufort House.’

Beaufort House was the London residence of Lady Mornington.

‘Just the two of you, pray?’

Annabelle made a gesture. ‘Oh, you surely do plague me, sister, with your questions,’ she said, ‘and in a way not even our pa would.’

‘Pa would be as concerned as I am about your indiscretions,’ said Caroline.

‘Oh, hop, skip and fiddle,’ said Annabelle, ‘I vow myself a model of good behaviour.’

‘When do you intend to return home?’

‘Caroline, I declare! You are the unkindest sister to so rattle me, and you know I don’t intend to return home. I am set on adopting England, as you have, for it is so cool and green, and Charleston is so hot and sticky. But there, dear Caroline, I do not mean to sound vexed with you, only to wish you more indulgent and less critical.’

Caroline stifled a sigh and said no more. Her concerned attempts repeatedly to examine her sister had reached the stage where they were more likely to drive Annabelle into Cumberland’s bed than keep her out of it. She was frankly fearful that her lushly healthy sibling needed only to find herself in the right environment and the right atmosphere for her to allow Cumberland to take her. Intuitively, Caroline was certain it had not happened yet, but just as intuitively she was certain it was not far off. In Cumberland’s presence at functions, receptions and the like, Annabelle took on the flushed look of an excited and tempted virgin. She had her feminine gifts, yes, her arts and her archness, but within the sophisticated circles of London she was a simple, vulnerable innocent. Women smiled and whispered behind their fans to see her in such susceptibility to the intimidating qualities of Cumberland.

The sons of King George were all voracious ladykillers, and prodigious in the ease with which they brought their mistresses or their fancy pieces to pregnancy. Caroline shuddered at the thought of Annabelle, inherently quite a sweet wench, finding herself with child by Cumberland. She must be saved from that. Dear heaven, Captain Burnside must effect her salvation. She had seemed quite taken with him, and Caroline could not think why he had not stayed to capitalize immediately on that. Had the fifty guineas taken him off, never to return? If so, she would seek him out with the assistance of Bow Street Runners and ensure he spent a miserable term in gaol regretting his sin of betrayal.

In truth, Captain Burnside had departed as a matter of psychology, leaving Annabelle miffed that he had not lingered to savour her prettiness, as so many men did. The attentiveness of the Corinthians quickened her,
making her feel that her desirability was such as seriously to affect the emotions of Cumberland. Also, she had felt the captain’s departure left her exposed to Caroline’s suspicions. She was sensitive with the guilt of shameless moments. It was true she had met Lady Mornington, but not while shopping. It had been by appointment, at Beaufort House. There, after some gushing words, Lady Mornington had conducted her from the drawing room to the music room, where Cumberland sat at the harpsichord, his long, strong fingers depressing keys to bring forth the lightest and airiest of musical potpourri, although to look at him one would have thought his forte was to conjure thunder and lightning from the instrument.

Lady Mornington withdrew after a few moments, leaving Annabelle quite unchaperoned, and Annabelle became bereft of speech as Cumberland, on his feet, took her hands, caressed them, kissed them, smiled at her and then bent his head to place his strong lips on hers. It was the first kiss she had received from him on her mouth, and it robbed her of her breath. It lingered, a kiss of exploration, his lips so audacious and compelling that the dew on hers was gathered like honey.

Weakness enveloped her as his bold mouth repeatedly robbed the freshness of hers, and she could scarcely believe his audacity when, with quick deftness, he released her breasts from the low, revealing bodice and surveyed their shy, quivering plumpness, not with the gleaming smile of an unrepentant satyr, but with the intrigued and deliberate interest of a man discovering delectability hitherto unknown. Annabelle crimsoned, and her uncovered bosom itself took on a rosy flush. Mute, mesmerized and dizzy, her virginal blushes were a sweet delight to the royal roué, her unadorned breasts
surely showing the shyness of the untouched. A man who took what he wanted and did what he wanted, though in ways variously subtle whenever subtlety brought more enjoyment than forceful arrogance, Cumberland had no qualms concerning how he might use the virgin sister to achieve conquest of the widowed one. If Caroline thought him intent on bedding Annabelle, she underrated his deviousness. His bedding of Annabelle was only a threat at the moment. If Caroline herself would yield, then Annabelle could go her way still virginal. However, there was the play and the teasing promise of seduction that would, inevitably perhaps, so arouse the sweet innocent that she would recklessly declare to her sister her intent to become his light of love.

Cumberland smiled. A master of the calculated approach to all objectives, he knew Miss Annabelle Howard was unlikely to go home and protest that he had laid unwanted hands on her bosom. Indeed, she stood there in blushing acceptance of his survey, making no attempt to veil herself. Annabelle, further crimsoning under his regard, might have swooned or fled or cried out as his hands reached. But she was too giddy to fly, too enamoured to cry out, and too excited to swoon. Faintly and throatily, she begged his mercy, then experienced burning and palpitations as, in his mercy, he began to caress her breasts as lightly and gently as he had been caressing the keys of the harpsichord. It brought the most alarming, yet the most exquisite sensations to her bosom, and it brought shaking weakness to her limbs. She experienced a wild willingness to be all things to him.

But Cumberland had no intention of ravishing her, and certainly not in Lady Mornington’s music room. He merely wished so to condition her for what might be that her emotional state would arouse unbearable alarm in
her sister. It was natural and inevitable for him to be in devious seduction of her pretty breasts, for they had been pouting invitingly at him for many weeks.

He seated himself on a chair. He drew the blushing, unresisting Annabelle on to his lap, and there she burned and palpitated and begged him to desist, although her mouth responded to his and her sweetly used breasts swelled and stiffened. His touch was subtly sweet indeed, gentling the virgin bosom, and she had neither the sophistication to discountenance him nor the will to deny him. Unlearned in the arts of physical intimacy, she did not know whether her bosom was being seduced or truly loved. She only knew that there was such excitement and pleasure that innocence and ignorance were irrelevant. She drew warm breath, she expelled warm sighs, and burned again to see how shamelessly naked her breasts were.

She felt perplexed and confused only when Cumberland, satisfied that she could be taken at a time of his own choosing, eventually restored her bosom to its covering. He did so with such finality that she suspected, in dismay, he had found them wanting.

‘Oh, sir, did you not like them?’ she breathed.

He laughed, his sound eye mocking. ‘Faith, my cuddle-some beauty, d’ye think they lack sweet prettiness? On my heart, no. Ye’ve a fine pair, by God ye have, and I’ll swear they showed the soft blush of the undiscovered.’

‘Your Highness, you surely are the first man to put them in such confusion,’ sighed Annabelle.

His dark brows arched, and his expression was plainly wicked. ‘Is their confusion a reproach to me?’ he murmured. ‘Ye’ll not ask me to be in contrition, for you own a bosom worthy of tender unveiling and loving caresses.’

‘But to do so, sir,’ breathed Annabelle, escaping from
his lap and standing to reproach him as she felt she should, ‘to uncover them and render them so very confused, oh, it was a boldness I did not expect. Also, I vow, it was unfair, for how might I in my weakness defend myself against your royal high and mightiness, and your manly strength?’

‘Damn me, did I use strength?’ Cumberland’s smile was amused. ‘I thought I gave you only gentleness, and I swear I left no bruises on your pretty pair.’

‘Oh, sir, I declare this conversation too immodest,’ she protested, ‘and cannot continue with same, only entreat you to remember that my parents cherish me. Accordingly, I would prefer noble intentions to further gentleness of that kind.’

‘Noble intentions?’ The dark eye mocked her again. ‘Ye gods, what have we here, a blushing rose with a pricking thorn?’ He came to his feet, but before he could mesmerize anew, Annabelle found strength enough and sense enough to fly.

And she did not, after all, as Cumberland thought she might, reveal to her sister, by way of agitated emotions, that she was closer than ever to yielding to him.

But she did not have to. Caroline knew that her susceptible sister was a mere step from his bed. She knew because she recognized an infatuation that more than matched that which she had suffered herself. During their courtship, she had almost given herself more than once to Lord Clarence Percival, and had consequently listened to his proposal with heady relief and all the physical excitement commensurate with virginity.

Captain Burnside’s talents were an absolute necessity.

For her part, Annabelle could not help wishing that her sister’s old friend would so engage Caroline’s fancy as to divert her attention from all affairs except her own.
She could perhaps contrive to encourage the handsome captain to set his cap at Caroline. No one could say that Caroline, with her inherited wealth and sumptuous beauty, was not among the best catches in London.

She wondered how much of a catch she was herself. She thought of Cumberland, and she sweetly burned.

Despite the fact that she had hired Captain Burnside, that she had decided to place her faith in his manipulative tricks, Caroline could not free herself of worry or of a feeling that his assistance might come too late in respect of Annabelle. And her dearest friend, Lady Hester Russell, the young and lovely wife of Sir George Russell, was in emotional turmoil as the unwilling mistress of Cumberland. Regularly, Cumberland called for her to pleasure him. He lifted a finger, figuratively, and beckoned, and she had to go or risk what he would almost certainly do: acquaint her husband of the passionate love letter she had written at the height of her brief infatuation.

Caroline knew she must make one final effort to appeal to what was left of royal integrity in Cumberland. The day before Captain Burnside was due to arrive as an ostensible guest, she called at the duke’s house. Cumberland, at home, was happy to receive her.

He, she saw, was his usual dark, satirical self, and that much more physically masculine than any of his brothers. The sleek tightness of his beige breeches would surely have offended the matrons of Charleston, who would never have approved such revelation.

She, he saw, was a feminine magnificence of such healthy perfection that by comparison her sister could only be thought of as sweetly pretty. The day was warm, and her flimsy white chemise dress of semi-transparent muslin, allowing a suggestion of her delicate lacy pantaloons to be mistily glimpsed, made her look divinely cool. Its shallow V-neckline permitted no more than a hint of her shadowed cleavage to be observed. Her apple-green cap was a lightness on her auburn head.

Composing herself, she confronted the kingdom’s most reactionary duke in no quarrelsome way. She appealed as winningly as she could to his manliness and to his oft-stated regard for her. She ignored the fact that his regard had always been stated in covetous terms. Once, in his effrontery, he had gambled with her husband, and her husband, in his degeneracy, had staked her body against a German hunting lodge, one of several owned by Cumberland. Her husband had lost, and had coolly informed her that she belonged to Cumberland for a week, that the appointed venue was Great Wivenden. She said nothing to that. She looked at him, she froze him and she ignored him. Cumberland, advised that she had no intention of playing the role devised for her, took it well, permitting himself a laugh, and asked Lord Percival what kind of a husband he was if he could not get his wife to comply with the terms of a wager agreed by gentlemen. Lord Percival replied that some wives came deceptively to marriage, disguising their leanings towards nunnery. He settled in kind, with golden guineas.

Cumberland, standing, feet astride, hands behind his back, listened as his seated visitor embarked on her appeal to his magnanimity. Her choice of words and phrases could not be faulted. She was friendly, reasonable and polite. Cumberland, however, conscious that here was the
epitome of lush American beauty, had his mind more on how she might accommodate his carnal fancies than how he might respond to her requests.

‘Of all things, the innocence of my sister is precious to me and our parents,’ said Caroline, ‘and I would not consider you less of a prince or a man if you conceded that what you might command as a prince or contrive for as a man should be set aside in favour of her honour. Your Royal Highness, you have dazzled her, and unfairly, I think, for she is so new to London and you so overwhelming.’

‘Come, virginity ain’t more than a condition,’ said Cumberland, ‘and I dare swear most young ladies don’t presume to keep it for ever. I have a notion your innocent sister is hotly eager to dispose of hers.’

Caroline lost her composure and drew herself up in anger. ‘That, sir, is not a response I would expect of a prince. Nor is it a response a true gentleman would give. I have called on you to entreat you to end your pursuit, and ask not that you should play a lordly and unyielding role, but to concede as a gentleman would. Is it to be said that the Duke of Cumberland is a lordly prince but never a gentleman?’

‘By God,’ said Cumberland, malice in his eye, ‘ye’ve a splendid impertinence, that ye have, and damned if it don’t make a woman and a half of ye.’

‘I do not consider it impertinent to be in concern for my sister, and I know meekness won’t avail me. I beg you to exercise compassionate majesty, not only in respect of my sister, but also in respect of Lady Russell, whom you are driving to misery and distraction. Yes, Your Highness, I know of what obtains between you and her, for such is her unhappiness that she became desperate to confide. Her letter, sir: give it to me that I may return it to her. If you
seek to increase her wretchedness, I should not hesitate to advise the whole of London that a son of the King has been guilty of unforgivable ravishment.’