Seducing the Marquess (Lords and Ladies in Love) Page 2

  …

  The next afternoon Eugenia browsed the shelves of Webster’s bookstore on Bond Street. This was her favorite time of the week, when she allowed herself the luxury of wasting time looking at books and picking out two or three that she would purchase for her growing library. She didn’t add them to the main library, since Devon would not want to be disturbed by her entering to find a book while he was working.

  The previous night’s ball had not been as difficult as she’d thought it might be. Since Mrs. Forestor had been a known courtesan, her name would not be mentioned in polite society with innocent young ladies present. She’d caught some knowing looks from the older women present and stumbled upon two ladies in the retiring room having a robust chat that quickly came to an end when Eugenia entered the room.

  Her attention returned to the book shelves as her gloved fingers moved over the books, looking for something different. She pulled a book from the shelf, and the binding snagged another one alongside it that tumbled to the floor. Her eye caught the title in bold black letters. Secrets of the Bedchamber. She bent to retrieve it, and the tome fell open in her hands. Her eyes grew wide and she gasped before snapping it shut, glancing furtively around to confirm no one was nearby.

  Assured of the emptiness of the store and with the book clutched in her hand, she hurried to the back of the shelves to make certain no one saw her, and slowly opened the book. Heat rose to her cheeks. A drawing of a naked couple in a very awkward position almost made her giggle. Did people really move their limbs into that sort of an arrangement?

  As she flipped through the pages, she noted it contained advice on how to conduct oneself with regard to sexual concourse between men and women. She licked her suddenly dry lips, her heart thumping as she read the words and considered the additional drawings. The one with the woman on her knees in front of a naked man, with her… Oh, my!

  Her hands shook and her breathing increased. Heat shot from her middle as she attempted to hold in a giggle. The Ice Queen was melting…

  I must have this book.

  The thought flashed through her mind without consideration. Of course the problem she faced was getting it out of the store. It hardly bore thinking of her embarrassment if Mr. Webster noticed the title and knew the contents. She chewed on her lip—very unqueenly—and pondered how to take possession of the knowledge in the book.

  Mayhap she could come in every day and huddle in the corner of the store and take notes? No. She had to own this book.

  The idea popped into her head so quickly she questioned all the years she had done everything the right way. Never once had she succumbed to improper behavior. Until now.

  She would steal it.

  Not really steal it, of course. She would slip it into her reticule and purchase two other books. Then, she would distract Mr. Webster with conversation and leave money on the counter for the naughty book. Yes. She would do it!

  Her heart pounding fiercely, she took note of her surroundings and almost swooned at her impertinence. Not only was she buying a scandalous book, she was actually tucking it into her reticule so she could walk out of the store with Mr. Webster completely unaware of her actions.

  She cringed to think what her mother would say. Shoving that to the back of her mind and taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she selected two books and headed to the front of the store, the weight of the stolen book banging against her leg as she walked. Good heavens, she’d never done anything at all like this in her whole life. How did thieves function every day? She was a bundle of nerves.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Devon. Did you find books for your pleasure?” The older man greeted her as she laid her books on the counter.

  For your pleasure?

  She forced down a giggle. Did he know she had tucked the scandalous book into her reticule? Why had he used that particular phrase? With a lavender-scented handkerchief, she gently dabbed her upper lip where beads of moisture had formed. Lord, she never perspired. A life of crime was certainly not for her.

  “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Webster.” Rattled even further by her shaky voice, she shoved the two books across the counter. “I will take these, if you please.”

  He reached for the books and grinned. “I had no idea you were interested in the Aborigines, my lady.”

  She gasped at the title of the book the man held out to her.

  The Habits and Culture of the Aborigines by Lord Stephen Manors.

  Dear heavens, was that the book she’d picked up? “Yes, as a matter of fact, I thought …well…to…to broaden my knowledge of the world,” she finished lamely.

  “Very commendable, my lady.” He wrote some figures on a piece of paper and added them up. “That will be fifteen shillings.”

  Eugenia stared at him aghast. How could she go into her reticule for her money? She wanted to stomp her foot at forgetting this part of the transaction. How would she do that with the man standing there staring at her?

  Heat rose to her face until she felt as though she would combust. “Um, this is so silly.” She gave him a strained laugh. “But it seems I left my money at home. Could you please place this on my account—if I have one, that is?” She’d always paid for her books. In some small way it made her feel as though she had some control over her life, even though her pin money came from her husband.

  “Of course, of course, my lady. Lord Devon maintains an account, and I will be happy to add your purchase to his.”

  “Th-th-thank you.” One more swipe on her upper lip with her handkerchief. Since she could not go into her reticule for her money, she was indeed flat-out stealing the naughty book, after all. Before she could give too much consideration to her actions, she fled the store.

  Head down, she hurried away, her mind in a jumble, not really sure which way she was walking. She had even left her poor maid, Sally, still browsing the shelves of the bookstore.

  She’d walked only—nay, practically ran—about a half a block when she nearly crashed into a pair of fawn breeches, silver waistcoat, and dark brown jacket. Her eyes climbed up the figure to meet a pair of very familiar dark brown eyes. His brows rose, and he gaped at her. “Eugenia? Is everything all right, my dear?”

  …

  Devon stared down at his wife. His flustered wife. Something he’d never seen in six months of courting and five months of marriage. She was panting heavily, there was a light film of perspiration on her upper lip, and her face was as red as the apples being sold from the fruit cart across the street.

  She regarded him, her mouth agape. Something else he’d never seen before. The poor woman was obviously in a bit of distress. “Eugenia? Is something amiss?”

  Eugenia shook her head, almost as if to clear it. “No. No, nothing at all, my lord. I am fine. Just taking a stroll.” She cast him a grin that would give a small child nightmares.

  “I don’t wish to contradict you, my dear, but you are flushed and seem out of sorts, and galloping along, rather than strolling. Perhaps I might escort you to Gunter’s for an ice?”

  She glanced at the reticule that dangled from her wrist, and her red face paled. What the devil was going on with his usually unflappable wife? “Yes, my lord. That would be quite pleasant.”

  Devon extended his elbow, which she gripped, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting to be snatched away. Very strange.

  Due to the temperature of the day there was a considerable crowd outside the store. He escorted Eugenia to a small table under a tree where the air was cooler. That might help to calm her. He shook his head. Never had he experienced a need to calm Eugenia. She was…well, he had never liked the moniker the ton had bestowed on her. The Ice Queen.

  She appeared a bit more composed when he joined her with the ice. She fanned herself and smiled brightly at him as he placed the ice in front of her. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes. Much.” Why did he think she was lying? She kept glancing at her reticule as if she expected it to jump up and bite her. When she took a taste of h
er ice, a small piece stayed on the corner of her mouth. Distracted, she didn’t seem to even notice. He motioned with his finger to his mouth.

  “What?”

  “Your mouth.”

  “What about my mouth?”

  “You have a piece of ice stuck there.”

  Instead of reaching for the handkerchief she always kept in her reticule, she simply moved her tongue out and scooped up the piece of ice.

  All his blood rushed to his groin.

  What the devil is the matter with me? This was his proper wife he was feeling lust for, not some doxy. As they continued with their treat, he seemed to see her for the first time since their encounter. Her hair wasn’t quite as perfect as it usually was. There remained two bright spots on her cheeks, and the sight of her running her tongue around her lips to catch the ice had him realizing how very plump and inviting those lips were.

  Of course he’d kissed those lips before. Certainly not in the way he wished to devour them now. But their copulating had always been what was proper between a husband and wife. Not wanting to upset her delicate nature, he’d always visited her in the dark, offered a few perfunctory kisses before he entered her, then quickly took his leave so as not to disturb her rest. Exactly the way he’d been instructed by his father before he’d ever thought of taking a wife,

  “Remember, son, a wife is a special person with tender sensibilities. You must not upset her by treating her like a light-skirt. Protect your wife, show her the proper respect, and slake your lust on a mistress.”

  Perhaps he was merely fascinated by her lips because of the five months he’d been without his normal sexual release. Not that he had no control over his lusty inclinations. He was not a young pup, but a man fully grown, capable of behaving as a gentleman with his wife, whom he had always treated with the utmost kindness and consideration.

  “If you are finished with your ice, my dear, I shall escort you home. Is your maid with you?”

  She licked her lips once again and looked at him with surprise. “Oh, dear. Yes, I believe she is. Though I might have left her back at the carriage, waiting for me.”

  Odd. To his knowledge, his wife had never before misplaced a servant. “I will have the footman with me instruct her to return to the house, and I will see you home in the carriage I brought.”

  “That is not necessary, my lord.” She fumbled with her reticule as she attempted to rise. “I am sure you have other business for which you need attend.”

  “Not at all. I shall be happy to see you home.”

  Still ruminating on the curious behavior of Eugenia, he extended his arm and they walked away from Gunter’s to their carriage. After only a few steps, it came to his notice the sound of something heavy slapping against her leg as they walked along. It sounded to his ears as if she carried a heavy object in her reticule. When he glanced down at the small bag she patted her upper lip with a lavender-scented handkerchief and turned quite red in the face.

  “Is there something in your reticule that I can carry for you?”

  “No!” She snatched the bag from her wrist and held it protectively over her bosom. “I purchased some candies and might feel the need to have one.” She darted a glance at him. “Soon.”

  They reached his carriage, and he helped her in. He eyed her as they rolled away from Bond Street. She continued to clutch the reticule to her person, her face going from bright red to pale white. If he didn’t know his wife so well, he would think she had something in her reticule she did not wish him to see.

  Doubtful. Eugenia was nothing, if not predictable.

  Chapter Two

  “A man will take notice of a change in hairstyle and manner of dress.”

  Secrets of the Bedchamber, p. 40

  Eugenia hurried up the stairs and entered her bedchamber, chasing her maid, Sally, away, grateful the maid arrived home safely after she’d abandoned her. She was so unnerved by stealing the book and then running into Devon, of all people, that she actually felt sweat on her body.

  She quickly engaged the lock, glancing furtively at the door joining her bedchamber with the sitting room between their rooms. She dismissed any idea of him coming through there since he used the portal only three times a week to attempt to impregnate her. She refused to call it making love.

  But now she held in her hand a book that would show her the mysteries of desire and passion. Things she assumed had kept her husband visiting Mrs. Forestor. God rest her black soul.

  Sliding the book out of her reticule, she opened the cover and her eyes grew wide. Licking her dry lips, she moved to the padded seat under the window where the light was better and began to read.

  The next morning, she thrust the book under her mattress and hurried to the breakfast room. She’d read the night before until the candle alongside her bed had burned out, still shocked at what she’d learned about behavior in the marriage bed. She had no idea that people engaged in such activities. All Mother had told her before her wedding was to, lie still, think of redecorating or new gowns, and soon it will all be over. Your husband will be pleased, and you will have done your duty.

  Devon sat at the head of the table, an empty plate in front of him, his head buried in the newspaper. Seemingly startled by her entrance, he dropped his paper and stood. “Good morning, my dear. I am surprised to see you so early.”

  “Yes. Well, I did not feel like a tray this morning.” Casting him a bright smile, she made her way to the sideboard where she placed an egg, a slice of toast, and an orange on her plate. She moved toward the table, not quite sure where she should sit since she’d never joined him for breakfast before.

  Devon appeared just as confused as she did, although he did have the presence of mind to hold out the chair next to him. He turned to the footman in the room. “Her ladyship will need hot tea, please.”

  Eugenia added, “Will you please send word to Madame DuBois that I will be visiting her this morning? Tell her about nine o’clock.”

  “A new gown, my dear?” Devon took a sip of his coffee and smiled at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

  “Yes. I feel the need to try something different.”

  He reached over and covered her hand with his own. “I love all of your gowns. They suit you.”

  She groaned inwardly. “Precisely,” she muttered.

  Devon frowned. “What did you say dear?”

  She waved him off. “Nothing, just going over my schedule.”

  If she were to have a new gown made in time for the Beresford’s ball two days hence, she must see her modiste quickly. This gown would be like no other she’d ever owned. After going through her wardrobe, it was plain all her gowns were expensive, well-made, and lovely. For a young unmarried woman. The time had come to change that.

  They suit you. Therein lay the problem.

  She’d found, aside from the scandalous drawings in her book, advice on how to secure the attentions of one’s husband—or any man, for that matter. Since her knowledge of men and marriage had been gained only from her strict governess and her impeccable mother, that sort of information had never been provided.

  In the dark hours of the night, as she’d heard Devon return from his club, she had decided that due to Mrs. Forestor’s demise, she had the opportunity to have the kind of marriage she’d dreamed of as a little girl, before she’d been informed that her marriage would be no more than a business arrangement. She’d loved her romantic fairy tales with prince charming, and now she wanted her own.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Devon, who folded his newspaper and laid it alongside his plate. “Do you have plans other than the visit to your modiste?”

  “Mother and I will be paying calls this afternoon.”

  “Ah, yes. Do wish your mother well from me. Perhaps we should plan a dinner party sometime soon. I am sure Lady Clarendon would enjoy a quiet evening at her daughter’s table. Perhaps a few of her friends, as well.”

  “That is a very good idea, my lord. I will see about it presen
tly.”

  Despite her best intentions, she’d fallen in love with Devon even before they’d gotten married. He was tall, muscular, handsome, and charming. When they were courting and betrothed, he’d turned all that charm on her.

  He’d escorted her to the usual balls, routs, theater, and opera, but he had also arranged to have fresh flowers delivered to her every few days with short notes, thanking her for her presence the evening before. He’d sent little gifts—ones acceptable to a lady one was courting: handkerchiefs, sweets, and posies. A very attentive betrothed, he’d also spent more time than was expected at her side during social events. Always solicitous about her welfare, Devon had made sure she never became fatigued or overheated at outdoor events. She’d always felt protected and cared for, and even thought she’d found her prince charming.

  Alas, it seemed her prince charming had believed marriage was, indeed, a business arrangement. She’d spent many a night listening for his return from his mistress. Many a tear-shedding night. She knew passion and desire lay buried inside her. The little girl had wanted her knight in shining armor.

  She would have it.

  Devon stood. “I have business to which I must attend. I will see you at dinner.” He bent and kissed her on the top of her head, much like one would do to a young child or a pet dog. She hid her smile, wondering what he would have done had she raised her face so his light kiss had landed on her lips? Her scandalous book was giving her equally scandalous ideas.

  The ride to the modiste was taken up with plans for the new gown. Something richer in color, no more pale debutante shades for her. And, of course, a much lower neckline, even though just the thought of appearing in such a gown made her heart thump. Would Devon even notice? Or would he still have his usual one dance with her, then head to the card room, and eventually to his club, while she remained alone in the ballroom among the other well-behaved matrons?

  Due to her reputation as The Ice Queen, she’d had very few requests for dances during her Seasons, except for the few perfunctory ones with older gentlemen who liked having a young girl on their arms.