Seducing the Marquess (Lords and Ladies in Love) Page 3

  Two days later, Eugenia twisted and turned, studying herself in her looking glass. Would she even have the nerve to wear this gown outside of her bedroom? Sally had remarked on how wonderful she looked and had also fashioned her hair in a very different style, instead of her usual chignon. It was swept back from her face in a loose bun at her crown. Strands of wispy curls lay against her cheeks and long neck.

  The emerald green satin gown, embellished with gold strands, shimmered as she turned. The neckline was almost scandalously low, with the tops of her plump, creamy breasts on display with the help of a new corset. The gold and emerald necklace rested between her breasts, bringing one’s eyes to that spot. Matching emerald bobs danced from her earlobes.

  The girl in the mirror also looked different. Gone was the placid, cool expression. In its place was the face of a young woman, cheeks flushed, with excitement in her eyes. Ready to face her husband’s reaction, she pulled on her long gold lamé gloves and picked up her matching wrap. One final glance in the mirror and she turned to head out the door.

  …

  Devon stood by the fireplace, sipping on a brandy, waiting for Eugenia. He was at sixes and sevens with the death of his former mistress. As soon as word had spread of Margaret’s sudden death, he’d begun to receive furtive and not-so-furtive invitations from various widows and bored matrons to join them in bed.

  He’d known for some time he would eventually have to let Margaret seek a new protector. No longer had he found her desirable. She hadn’t changed—he had. Marriage had made him behave in a most peculiar manner. Eugenia was the perfect wife, just as he had planned. Gentlemen of his rank and position kept mistresses to relieve their wives of their baser needs. He’d heard that lecture from his father many times. So why did he find the thought of securing another mistress distasteful?

  He placed his empty glass on the small table and headed to the door when he heard Eugenia speaking with Bellows. Devon left the library, strode down the corridor, and came to an abrupt halt as he reached the entry hall. All the blood left his head and raced immediately to his lower parts. His mouth dried up, and his muscles tightened.

  Eugenia stood calmly conversing with Bellows as if she wasn’t standing there practically naked. His eyes went directly to her bosom, on display for all to see.

  What the devil!

  That was not the only thing surprisingly different about her. Her hair was in a much different type of style than she’d always worn. A rush of anger washed over him that he reluctantly defined as jealousy. Clearing his throat, he approached the butler and took her pelisse out of the man’s hands. He had the urge to snap at him to turn his back.

  He quickly covered his wife’s body and whispered, “I believe you might have left part of your gown upstairs, my dear.”

  Instead of looking chagrined as he’d expected, she turned to him with a bright smile. “Do you like it, my lord?”

  Taken aback at her attitude, he said, “’Tis lovely, but I would like it a lot more if there were more of it.”

  Again, she stunned him by waving off his concern. “I thought it was perhaps time for a change. I am no longer a young miss.”

  Discombobulated, he helped her into the carriage and sat across from her. She didn’t look the least bit concerned that he thought her gown was too revealing. In fact, he was almost sure she seemed pleased by his reaction. This, combined with the condition he’d found her in the other day when she was rushing down Bond Street as if the devil himself were nipping at her heels, disturbed his sense of equanimity.

  He’d always been the type of man who knew what to expect and surrounded himself with people he could count on to always do the same thing. The right thing. He settled back in his seat and watched her from underneath shuttered eyelids.

  She certainly seemed like Eugenia. She sat ramrod straight, her hands gracefully resting in her lap, a slight smile on her face. The problem was, she didn’t look like Eugenia. The wisps of hair that dangled alongside her face, the two bright spots of red on her cheeks, the brightness and excitement in her eyes. And when she took off that pelisse…

  He shook his head. No, she certainly didn’t look like his wife.

  They drew up to the front of the Beresford’s townhouse, the carriage slowly rolling along as they awaited their turn to alight. A footman opened the door and Devon jumped down, turning to take Eugenia’s hand. The smile she cast him warmed his insides and made him grin like a schoolboy.

  What the devil is the matter with me?

  Whatever it was that had overtaken him reared its head once again when they entered the building and she turned her back to the butler to help her remove her pelisse. He had the overwhelming urge to tell her to keep it on. But, she slid out of the garment and turned to him. “Do I look all right?”

  Damn, he couldn’t even answer her, his mouth was so dry. She looked stunning. He extended his arm to her. “My dear, you have never looked better.

  “Unfortunately,” he muttered under his breath.

  They moved to the top of the stairs where the butler announced them. As they made their way down, he was disconcerted to notice all the men who did more than glance in their direction. Some of them were outright ogling. His wife! He pulled her a bit closer and steered her toward the area where the matrons gathered. Where she generally spent her time at the balls they attended.

  They had no sooner greeted several of the ladies then Eugenia was swamped by young bucks requesting a dance. This was absurd. She was a married woman. She belonged here with the other matrons, not traipsing all over the ballroom with different men. He waited for her to brush them off—in a very polite way, of course—when she stunned him by smiling at one after another and wrote their names on her dance card.

  “My dear, I hope you saved a dance for me,” he said as the last of the men left to seek out their partners for the number the orchestra was just beginning.

  “Of course.” She held out her wrist and he signed his name to the second cotillion set. “No waltz?”

  She looked at her card and frowned. “I’m afraid not, my lord. It appears they are all taken.”

  “But we always share a waltz.” He gritted his teeth and attempted to regain his dignity after sounding like a small child denied a candy stick. Lord Buckley, who’d lingered when the others had left, bowed in Eugenia’s direction. “My dance, I believe, my lady?”

  “Yes. It is.” She turned to Devon and tapped his arm with her fan, like some flirting debutante. “I will see you later. I assume you will be enjoying cards?” With that statement, she took Buckley’s arm and left him standing there gaping after her. He turned on his heel and, not too graciously, headed to the card room.

  …

  Eugenia took a deep breath and then stopped, afraid she would tumble out of her gown. What had she been thinking wearing this? As much as she’d loved the way she looked in her bedchamber mirror, right now she felt as though she stood naked in the ballroom. The neckline of her gown was no lower than any other woman in the room. Except the debutantes, of course. But she felt a definite chill on her chest and worried she might come down with an ague.

  The dance began, and she moved carefully, not wanting to expose any more skin than was necessary. Lord Buckley stared at her bosom for so long she felt the need to tap him on the head with her fan to remind him where her face was located.

  One thing she did feel good about was Devon’s reaction to her gown. She’d thought when he’d first seen her in the entry hall that he would swallow his tongue. His eyes had bulged out, and he seemed to have had a hard time catching his breath. From what she’d read in her book, those were all good signs.

  She and Buckley moved through the steps of the dance, which didn’t allow for much in the way of conversation. That was fine with her. She’d noticed as soon as they went to the dance floor that Devon had headed to the card room but had not looked too happy.

  For the first time that she could remember, the time passed rather quickly at a ball.
Even as a debutante, though she had certainly had her admirers, never had her dance card been completely filled. But then that nasty moniker The Ice Queen had seemed to follow her no matter what event she’d attended.

  This experience did make her wonder at the shallowness of men, however. Just because she exposed her chest, suddenly she was popular. At this point, after being twirled around the dance floor, occasionally having her foot tread upon, she would much rather sit with the matrons. Her feet hurt, she was very warm, and was quite tired of men staring at her breasts.

  The quadrille ended and Mr. Bancroft escorted her from the dance floor. She checked the card dangling from her wrist, and Devon was next. Within seconds he was alongside her. He bowed. “My dance, I believe.”

  She smiled at him, grateful for his attendance. “Do you mind terribly if we don’t dance, my lord? My feet are quite tired, and I would prefer a turn around the gardens. Maybe sit for a while?”

  Ever solicitous, he immediately regarded her carefully. “Of course, my dear. In fact, I would enjoy nothing more than some time alone with you in the garden.” He took her hand and, instead of placing it on his arm, he intertwined their fingers and led her across the room to the French doors, stopping briefly along the way to speak with other guests. The intimacy of the contact warmed her, reminding her of their courting days. Once they left the heat and noise of the ballroom, the cool air revived her, and she immediately felt better. Hand in hand they strolled down the steps to the garden below.

  “If you are not well, I am not amiss to leaving, but you do seem to be enjoying yourself,” he remarked.

  “Yes, it has been fun. I believe I needed only a bit of air.”

  They passed the fragrant rose garden, the balmy air sweet with the scent. Devon spotted a small wooden bench under a silver birch tree and led her to it. “This will give your poor feet a rest.”

  She moaned with relief as she settled on the bench. It was nice being out here in the garden with Devon. They hadn’t done much of that when he was paying her court. He had always been so careful of her reputation.

  He placed his foot on the bench alongside her, leaning his forearm on his leg. “Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?” His eyes captured hers with an intensity she’d never seen before. Eyes that she would have preferred drift to her bosom remained on her face. She sighed inwardly. Sometimes it was taxing being married to a gentleman.

  She raised her chin and smiled. “I thought you disapproved of my gown.” My goodness, was she flirting? She’d never been good at the games most debutantes played. Flirting, eyes over the top of her fan, head tilting, slow smiles, saucy head shakes. But now she felt powerful, as if she could actually hold Devon’s attention.

  “All I disapproved of was the attention you would receive from other men.” He used his knuckle to raise her chin. “You are a married woman, after all.”

  And you are a married man.

  “And The Ice Queen,” she snapped.

  He studied her for a minute. “I never liked that appellation.”

  “Do you deny it didn’t present some appeal?” She raised her chin, amazing herself at her impertinence.

  “It never appealed. I thought it crass and unfeeling.”

  “You do not see me as cold?” She had to push. If she were going to change things between them, she needed more than the book. She had to encourage Devon to see her as a warm woman.

  “No, my dear.”

  Then why won’t you make love to me the way you do your mistress?

  Tears filled her eyes, which she attempted to hide by turning her head.

  Devon dropped his foot to the ground and extended his hand. “You do not seem yourself. Perhaps we should return to the ballroom.”

  She hopped up so fast she almost tumbled forward. “Yes. I find my gown has left me quite chilled.”

  Drat the man. Why was life so different for men and women? That fact had always annoyed her. Why had Mama made her sit inside, doing embroidery, practicing watercolors and the pianoforte, when she’d wanted to be outside with her brother, running free? She’d begun to question why the good lord had given her a brother with whom she could not play.

  As the only daughter, she had been constantly watched, criticized, instructed, chaperoned, and made to feel her only worth lay in securing an advantageous marriage and producing children for a husband who would never love her, since marriage was a business arrangement.

  Husbands were free to continue drinking, gaming, and keeping mistresses, while wives did nothing more than change prisons and jailers. The one time she’d voiced her opinion on the matter to her mother, she’d been sent to her bedchamber with no dinner and a stern warning to accept life the way it was.

  She’d made her debut and her shyness, deemed hauteur by the ton, had immediately shackled her with that horrid name. Nevertheless, after two Seasons, she had dutifully accepted the man who had offered for her, not sure if it was a blessing or a curse that she’d fallen in love with him. He always treated her with respect, but like that rebellious young lady sent to her room to ponder her fate, she wanted more.

  Hopefully, with the help of the book, she would have just that.

  Chapter Three

  “An accidental peek at a woman’s ankle can be more alluring than her naked body.”

  Secrets of the Bedchamber, p. 23

  “My dear, you must stop by one afternoon and see my roses. The garden is absolutely delightful.” Lady Ravenshaw’s long face glowed with pleasure, turning her unattractive countenance into something almost pretty.

  Eugenia sipped her now cool tea and nodded in the woman’s direction. She and her mother, Lady Clarendon, had been paying Lady Ravenshaw an afternoon call, something she did every other Wednesday. Eugenia’s thoughts drifted away from her hostess’s harangue on the difficulty of maintaining a decent gardener, while she pondered her life. Something she’d never questioned until she’d found that book last week.

  It disturbed her to realize that not only was her married life one of expected events, she’d even arranged her social calendar the same. She and her mother called on their friends on the same days each week, accepted calls at her and her mother’s home on the same days. They discussed balls, parties, clothing, on-dits, gardens, and everything except what had become Eugenia’s new interest.

  How to seduce her husband.

  But then, no proper lady would ever discuss such a thing. And all her life, she’d been the epitome of a proper lady. She sighed and returned her teacup to the saucer on the small table in front of her.

  What if I behaved like a mistress?

  She caught her breath, and her cheeks flushed at the scandalous thought. If she followed the advice in her book, that was precisely how she would behave. Or, she assumed such behavior would liken her to a mistress.

  Oh, my.

  Her attention was drawn by Lady Ravenshaw, realizing she was addressing her. “I’m sorry, my lady, I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”

  Her hostess’s raised eyebrows brought a flush to Eugenia’s cheeks. “You do not seem yourself, today, Lady Devon. Are you feeling out of sorts?”

  No. It is just that I don’t want to talk about your garden. I want to talk about seducing my husband.

  “Yes, I do feel a headache coming on. Perhaps I should cut my visit short and return home so I can rest before tonight’s activities. Devon and I are joining Lord and Lady Melrose at Vauxhall Gardens.”

  Lady Clarendon studied her daughter for a moment. “It is unlike you to have a headache, Eugenia. I hope all is well.”

  “Yes, Mother. It is probably my courses.”

  Her mother patted her hand. “Oh, dear. No child again this month?”

  Eugenia thought of her husband’s scheduled visits to her bed. Monday, Thursday, and Saturday. She’d never given it much consideration, but now she wanted to ask him if he would visit on Friday. Or, perhaps—gasp—on Sunday after church services. She giggled, imagining Devon trying to figure out how t
o keep her body completely hidden during his duty call, sans the cover of darkness.

  Her mother leaned in. “It is not polite to giggle, daughter. You sound like a hoyden.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Eugenia stood. “I believe I will call for my carriage.”

  Mother scrambled to her feet, a frown marring her perfect countenance. “Yes, dear. You don’t seem at all yourself today. Perhaps a rest with a lavender cloth for your head will restore you.”

  After offering their good-byes, they descended the steps and then settled in the carriage, arranging their skirts as the vehicle moved forward. “Mother, were you satisfied with your marriage?”

  Her mother’s startled look almost made Eugenia giggle again. “Whatever do you mean? Of course I was satisfied. What a strange question. I had everything I could possibly have wanted.”

  “Had you?”

  Her mother shifted on her seat. “I have no idea what is wrong with you today, Eugenia. You are acting most peculiar. I hope it is only your courses that have set you off.” She brushed her skirt and gazed out the window.

  After about five minutes, Mother raised her chin and said, “Why wouldn’t I have been satisfied? Your father and I had a cordial relationship. I had a respectful positon within the ton, raised two children, and was left quite comfortable when Papa passed.”

  “I do not know. I think women are very restricted. When we are single every move we make is watched, reported, and commented on. Once we marry, instead of more freedom, we are under our husband’s control.”

  Lady Clarendon waved her hand. “Nonsense. I did whatever I chose.”

  “As long as Papa approved.”

  “What could I possibly have wanted to do that your father would have denied me?”

  Make passionate love.

  Lord, if she ever said that to her mother it would most likely bring on apoplexy. It was best at this point to discontinue the conversation. “Nothing, I am sure. You are right, Mother, marriage is a satisfying undertaking for a woman.”