Page 14 of Enslaved
“Thank you for the invitation, but I don’t think so,” she said coolly.
“I shan’t let you escape today without a commitment of some sort.”
A commitment was the last thing Diana desired. There was safety in numbers and she hoped for a couple of seasons on her own, free from a husband’s control and demands. “I suppose I shall be at Almack’s again on Wednesday, if Prudence has any say in the matter, and unfortunately she does,” Diana said ruefully.
Peter cursed under his breath while keeping his polite mask carefully in place. Christ Almighty, the sacrifices he must make to get his debts paid off and keep him plump in the pocket were nothing short of excruciating. Ah well, Almack’s it would have to be. He could not afford to let this delectable morsel escape. Though Lady Diana Davenport did not give the impression she was panting after him, he hoped her indifference was an act. In any case, he intended to get her to the altar one way or another. There was always one tried-and-true method of ensuring a lady begged for marriage, and planting his seed in this particular lady would be a very great pleasure indeed.
Peter’s plans for the evening made his blood surge in anticipation. Though he was loath to ask his brother for money, he had no choice. Deciding to beard the lion in his den, Peter strolled into the library and waited for Mark to look up from a pile of business correspondence.
Without glancing up from the desk, Mark Hardwick said, “In the drawer of the library table.”
Peter laughed. “What makes you think I need money?”
Mark raised his eyes. “Don’t you?” he asked bluntly.
“Yes, but damned if that was going to be the first thing out of my mouth.”
“Oh, I see. First you were going to commiserate with me about the Davenport library, then you were going to inquire where I intended to dine, then you were going to ask me if I got laid last night, as if you give a good goddamn.Thenyou’d get around to the subject of money.” Hardwick threw down the quill and stretched. “Look at all the trouble I’ve saved you.”
There was only a thousand in the drawer. It was his brother’s way of trying to curb his gambling. Though all he felt was resentment, Peter smiled his thanks, then departed quickly to meet his friends for the planned evening of dissolution.
“Wick, you’re late again!” Hellgate complained. “We have a bitch of a night planned. Aren’t you eager to get started?”
Peter joined his two friends at the. Prospect of Whitby, a pub in Wapping. “Oh, I believe I’m up for it,” he leered.
“I ordered for you, just in case,” replied Jeremy Montagu, as a barmaid served up a platter of fifty raw oysters.
The Earl of Barrymore had his hand up the wench’s skirt in a flash, and when she tried playfully to slap him, he grabbed a handful of thigh and squeezed cruelly. His friends laughed; they were not known as theBloodsfor nothing. The clutch of extroverts thought themselves daredevils. All three bucks suffered from the infection of blood-lust and the order of the night was brutality.
They made their way into the dirtiest slum in London. The streets were crawling with whores and the three friends prided themselves on choosing the most slatternly. It was an act of bravado to indulge this perversenostalgie de la boueand delight in a sordid escapade in a filthy bed with an unclean whore.
* * *
At the opposite end of London, in fashionable Park Lane, the Earl of Bath followed a maid upstairs and was shown into a luxurious dressing room.
In the adjoining bedchamber Vivian, Countess of Belgrave, smiled at her reflection in the large mirror. She ran her jeweled fingers though her flame-red hair and reached for a large flacon of perfume. As she did so, the black satin wrapper slipped from one shoulder and she knew none would ever dream she was past thirty. This was only the second time Lord Hardwick had accepted her invitation, but already she knew she wanted him. Permanently.
On a sudden impulse she pushed away the perfume flacon, a wicked smile curving her lips. Allowing the black satin to fall open, she slid her hand between her legs, dipped a finger into her slippery wetness, and dabbed it behind her ears. She dipped again, this time tracing her fingertip across her breasts and up toward her white throat. Finally she dabbed behind her knees, in the small of her back, and then inside her wrists for good measure.
She opened the adjoining door and pretended surprise. “Mark, darling, you must be early—I’m not even ready.”
They were both aware of the pretense, for in fact Lord Hardwick was late. “You look ready enough for me.”
“We could dine here instead of going out,” she suggested huskily.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured, pushing open her bedroom door with his foot and lifting her into his arms. He laid her back on the bed, admiring the effect of her white skin and flaming hair against the black satin cover. He began to undress in a leisurely fashion, mildly surprised at how avidly she watched him. She arched against the pillows at her back and allowed her knees to fall apart in an open invitation to skip most of the preliminaries. He complied willingly, mounting her quickly this first time. There would be ample time to savor all the nuances of sensuality later.
For the next two hours Mark Hardwick lavished attention upon Vivian. His cardinal rule with a woman was to leave her satisfied. All women were not the same in bed, thank God, and he always focused completely on a new lady to learn her needs and desires, her likes and dislikes, and to show her in no uncertain terms what it took to please and satisfy him.
He had no intention of staying all night, which was rule number two. Her reaction to this would determine how soon he would return or if he would return at all. As it turned out, Vivian was too replete to protest overmuch when he swung his legs from the bed and reached for his shirt.
“Beast! I can’t lift a finger, while you’re ready to prowl about London.”
“Any objection?” he asked lightly, carefully watching her face.
She was far too shrewd a woman with too much at stake to object. And truthfully she had no complaints about the passionate hours they’d shared.
He bent to drop a kiss on her tussled red hair. Her body arched deliciously, her heavy eyelids closed. “Mmm,” she murmured.
