The Redemption of Julian Price (14 page)

He sat up abruptly and scowled at the cover. “What the devil kind of book is that?”

Ignoring the question, she licked her finger and turned another page. “My beauteous youth was now glued to me in all the folds and twists that we could make our bodies meet in; when, no longer able to rein in the fierceness of refreshed desires, he gives his steed the head, and gently insinuating his thighs between mine, stopping my mouth with kisses of humid fire, makes a fresh eruption, and renewing his thrusts, pierces, tears, and forces his way up the torn, tender folds that yielded him admission. Soon his thrusts, more and more furious, cheeks flushed with a deeper scarlet, his eyes turned up in the fervent fit, some dying sighs, and an agonizing shudder, announced the approaches of that ecstatic pleasure when the warm gush darts through all the ravished inwards; what floods of bliss! What melting transports! What agonies of delight! Too fierce, too mighty for nature to sustain . . .” Henrietta gasped as he snatched the book from her hands.

Julian’s brows rose as he read the spine. “
Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure
? You are reading
Fanny Hill
? Where the devil did you get this?”

“Lady Cheswick gave it to me.”

“This obscene work has been banned for decades.”

“Obscene?” Henrietta laughed. “I find it well written and most enlightening.”

“You do understand that this is a work of prurient fantasy, specifically designed to incite sexual arousal?”

“Yes. I quite comprehend that part, Julian.” She glanced up at him, unable to suppress the curve in her lips. “And I am not unaffected by it. Are you?” 

Tossing the book down, he threw his head back in raucous laughter. “My God, Hen! What have I gotten myself into?”

“Why are you laughing? I told you I wanted to learn how to please you. It is my greatest desire to inspire your love and passion, Julian.”

“My love and my passion?” He rolled her beneath him and kissed her deeply. “My dear, dear, girl,” he murmured between the kisses he rained all over her face. “You should be very careful what you wish for . . . because you just may get it.”

END

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(The Rules of Engagement #2)

Victoria Vane

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O
nly a madman makes a promise in the heat of passion..
. During a midnight tryst in a moonlit garden, Nicolas Needham fell in love—only to walk away. As a younger son with few connections, his pride demanded that he better his circumstances before paying his suit to Lady Mariah. When Nicolas is finally given the opportunity he needs to advance—by negotiating a contract of matrimony on the British Envoy’s behalf—he is shocked to learn that the intended bride is the same woman to whom he once pledged himself.

And only a fool believes him....
Lady Mariah Morehaven has lived a quiet, almost reclusive life in the country. While she accepts that marriage is her unavoidable destiny, as a baroness in her own right, and heir to one of the oldest and land-rich estates in England, she fears becoming the target of fortune hunters.  Entrusting her cousin’s well-connected godmother to help her find a suitable match, Mariah is devastated to discover that the man sent to negotiate for her hand is the very same who broke her heart.

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Love is a passion which kindles honor into noble acts.

John Dryden

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M
y Dearest Mariah,

Twelve long and agonizing months have passed since that fateful night I claimed a kiss and a promise from your sweet lips—the kiss meant to seal a pact that I have failed to uphold.

I strongly wish for what I faintly hope; like the daydreams of melancholy men, I think and think in things impossible, yet have now lost my way wandering in that golden maze.

That night was the loveliest dream, but the future we spoke of is naught but a fantasy that can never be. Thus, it is with a heart burdened with the greatest regret that I release you from your vow.

Please know that I will ever remain—

Your most faithful, humble, and obedient servant,

Nicolas

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"For they conquer who believe they can."

John Dryden

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Bedford Square, London—One Year Earlier

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"M
Y DEAR GIRLS, I have quite the surprise for you." Smiling, Lady Russell poured steaming hyson into three delicate cups of the finest Chelsea porcelain. They were seated in the morning room with sun streaming in through the tall windows, spreading its golden fingers of light across the richly patterned Aubusson carpet. "Lord Marcus has just sent us an invitation to a house party at Woburn Abbey."

"Woburn Abbey?" Mariah repeated blankly.

Lady Russell paused with her hand on the sugar bowl. "It's the country seat of the Dukes of Bedford. Do you take sugar, Mariah?"

"No, thank you, my lady," Mariah answered. "Cream will suffice."

"And you, my dear?" she asked her goddaughter, Lydia.

"Yes, please," Lydia answered, "but no cream."

Lady Russell handed the first cup to Mariah and the second to Lydia before continuing. "After spending a king's ransom on renovations to the house and gardens, the duke is most eager to show it all off."

Lydia's brows met in a frown. "But I am not even acquainted with the duke and duchess. I don't understand why we would be invited."

"Because Marcus wishes to make the most favorable impression, of course," Lady Russell replied.

"I still don't understand what that has to do with me," Lydia said. "Has Marcus not told you that I wish to end our betrothal?"

"He has mentioned it, of course," Lady Russell replied dismissively. "But he also assured me that this rift between you will soon be repaired."

Mariah observed the two women while quietly sipping her tea. Philomena, Lady Russell, was a force of nature, and very accustomed to getting her way, but Lydia could be stubborn to a fault. While Mariah admired her cousin's courage in standing up to such a grande dame, it was clear that the lady was not about to give up either her political or matrimonial ambitions for her son, Marcus.

"I am sorry he has misled you, my lady," Lydia replied, "but Marcus is quite mistaken, as I have no intention of becoming his wife."

"But, my dear, you act in such haste!"

"Six years is hardly haste," Lydia remarked wryly.

Mariah's sympathies were wholeheartedly with her cousin. What self-respecting woman would wait six years on a man?

Lady Russell heaved a martyr's sigh. "I suppose I must shoulder some of the blame for not prodding Marcus. He was so single-minded to establish himself with the diplomatic service that I feared pressuring him to marry would only have caused resentment. But I fear breaking with him at this critical juncture would irreparably damage his prospects. Although Marcus is fortunate enough to have the Duke of Bedford as his uncle and chief patron, he cannot presume wholly upon this family connection. At this juncture in his career, my son must forge his own alliances. In this endeavor, a beautiful and charming wife will be an invaluable asset."

"That may be," Lydia sniffed. "But Lord Marcus's career is no longer my concern."

"My dear girl, could you not wait just a short while before making your decision known? At least until the delegates are chosen for the forthcoming peace treaty? He is my youngest son, and I wish him to secure his future." Lady Russell continued in a cajoling tone, "Would you truly refuse me this small boon when your mother and I were so very close?"

Uncertainty marked Lydia's face. "My lady, I cannot carry out such a ruse purely for Marcus's gain."

"But Marcus is only half the reason for you to attend. You and Lady Mariah must go for your
own
benefit as well. The exposure to such influential people can only do you both credit and elevate you in society."

"I suppose that much is true." Lydia's gaze flickered to Mariah. It was clear her will was faltering. Although she continued to fight, it seemed the dowager was about to win her way. "Mariah could certainly benefit. She has never even had a proper come out."

"No, I did not," Mariah said sadly. Her London season had been all arranged, but then her father suffered a sudden apoplexy. She wistfully considered the invitation but then shook her head. "I could not go, Lyddie. You know I cannot leave Mama alone to manage Papa. She frets so when I am not at home."

"Aunt Eustacia can certainly manage without you for a few more days. She has a veritable army of servants. Don't you think it's time you considered your own marriage prospects? You will never meet anyone suitable while buried at Morehaven."

"Lydia is right," Lady Russell chimed in. "This is the perfect opportunity for you to mix with good society without the pressures of a London season."

"Please, Mariah. You
must
come with me," Lydia cajoled.

Although her conscience bade her to return home, the more Mariah considered it, the more she wanted to go. Lydia needed the moral support, and Mariah's life had become so incredibly dull since her father's illness. Outside of attending her parents' needs, her idle hours were filled with reading, needlework, and long walks. Only occasional visits with Lydia broke the monotony. What harm could there be in enjoying herself for a few more days? Mariah capitulated with a sigh. "You make it impossible for me to refuse."

"Precisely, my dear," Lady Russell responded with a feline smile.

"Perhaps I could go just for a short while."

"It's settled, then.” Lady Russell set her cup down decisively in its saucer. "You will write your mama that you are going with us to Bedfordshire while Lydia and I see to the packing."

***

M
ariah and Lydia descended into the courtyard amongst a frenetic flurry of activity as liveried footmen loaded and secured the provisions and luggage onto the caravan of vehicles. Lady Russell stood on the top stair under the portico with her quizzing glass poised, as if she were a general inspecting an army on parade.

The carriages preparing to depart for Woburn Abbey included Lady Russell's opulent black lacquer traveling coach, an extensive baggage train, and Lord Marcus's sportier post chaise. Lord Marcus and his secretary, Mr. Needham, were currently standing by Marcus's coach, conversing with the driver and looking bored.

"Lackaday, Mariah! Just look at that cowardly weasel!" Lydia jerked her head in Lord Marcus's direction. "First he refuses to accept my decision to break our engagement, and now he's conscripted his mother to intercede on his behalf. He's completely deluded if he thinks to placate me now."

"Perhaps he truly has had a change of heart?" Mariah suggested.

Lydia gave an unladylike snort. "More likely it's only fear of his mother's wrath that prompts his recent actions. I know you always wish to believe the best of people, but Marcus is truly an incontestable cad. I refuse to wait one moment longer on a man who doesn't want me, regardless of his recent and remarkable protestations to the contrary."

"But he certainly
seems
sincere."

"Of course he does!" Lydia chortled mirthlessly. "He's a diplomat. It's his job to hedge, evade, dither, and dissemble."

Mariah grinned. "If recent actions are representative of those dubious talents, he should have quite a promising future."

Lydia sighed. "I would send him straight to the devil but for his mother. Lady Russell was like a sister to my own dear Mum. The two of them conspired the match between us the day I was born. It would have broken Mama's heart to know what a feckless rogue he turned out to be. I will play along only until this house party is over, but once the delegates are announced, this sham engagement shall come to an immediate end. Who knows? Maybe I'll even meet a more suitable gentleman."

Suddenly, Mr. Needham glanced in their direction and caught Mariah watching him. He acknowledged her with a brief smile and an inclination of his head. Although he'd been all that was genial in their brief encounters, she had far too little experience of gentlemen to judge if he was merely being polite or if he might be interested in furthering their acquaintance. She'd wondered if Mr. Needham would also be invited, but the last thing she'd wanted to do was inquire directly. Lydia would surely pounce on any opportunity to play matchmaker. How terribly awkward that could be. She returned an embarrassed smile before hastily diverting her gaze back to their own coach.

Pronouncing their readiness to depart, Lady Russell commanded the baggage coaches to set out ahead of them to Woburn Abbey so that her maid would have time to prepare the rooms and unpack prior to their arrival. Once the baggage was on its way, the coachman lowered the steps. Lord Marcus approached with his arm extended to assist his mother.

"Lud! I have forgotten my laudanum!" Lady Russell exclaimed. "Marcus, pray assist Lydia. I will return in just a moment."

Lydia stiffened. "Are you traveling with us, my lord? I thought you were taking your post chaise."

"Nicolas and I will follow you in my post chaise," Marcus replied smoothly, inclining his head in his friend's direction. Had he failed to notice Lydia's snub, or did he simply refuse to acknowledge her resistance to him?

"Shall we, Miss Trent?" Marcus offered his hand with a smile. She hesitated once more before finally accepting his assistance. After handing her inside, Lord Marcus turned to Mariah, his smile still intact. 

"Thank you, my lord," Mariah murmured. Placing one gloved hand on his arm, she raised her skirts with the other, but her first upward step was accompanied by strong resistance and the distinct sound of renting taffeta. "My gown!" she cried in dismay and turned to find Lady Russell standing on it.

"Botheration!" Lady Russell cried. "How unforgivably clumsy of me! I have trod on your train!"

Mariah stepped back to examine the damage and found a long gape in the skirt of her best day gown.