“You are the perfect height,” he whispered as his hands trailed down past hers to finally rest along her thighs. “Your legs are shaped as a man likes. Strong to grip him. Long to entice him.” Then he gathered
some of the fabric in his hand, drawing it upward so that it pulled against her skin. “How does this feel?”
She shivered; she could not help it. After this afternoon’s waxing experience, her legs tingled at the slightest touch. He clearly knew this because he did not draw the dress higher, but whispered it back and forth across her skin.
“How does this feel?” he repeated.
“As though I am someone else. A stranger in a new body.”
“It is no stranger,” he said, his head dipping down toward her neck. “It is only you as you were meant to be.” His breath heated the skin along her neck and her hair prickled with awareness. “Beautiful.” He dropped a kiss just above her collarbone. “Alluring.” And then he bit her. It was the slightest nibble, the tiniest taste, but she felt it like an explosion. She gasped, and her body clenched.
“Do you feel it?” he continued. Then he continued along her neck, nibbling, kissing, and occasionally sucking.
“I feel you,” she whispered.
“But your body. Is it tight?”
She closed her eyes, experiencing the clench of her belly, the shudder of her breath. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Are your breasts taut?”
She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure. Then, with a single trailing stroke, he touched the side of her breast, straight out until he flicked the end of her erect nipple.
She gasped as a bolt of lightning shot through her.
“Do you see how this dress shows me that? Do you see your full breasts?”
She opened her eyes, wanting to see what he did. It was only her standing before him. But then again, it was not her. She saw a young woman who seemed to exude sexuality. Her lips were red. Her breasts pointed. Tight.
“Yes,” she said. And as she spoke, she leaned backward against him, for her legs would not support her.
“Men like to look at nipples. They like to see a woman aroused.”
Again she closed her eyes, luxuriating in the feel of him behind her, supporting her, while his lips played along her shoulder and neck.
“See yourself!” he commanded, and her eyes flew open. “This is the sight of a woman. Look at your lips.”
She did. When had she wet them? She did not know, but they were full, red, and glistening with moisture. And her eyes. They were open, wide, and…slightly dazed.
“I am beautiful?” she asked, her voice coming out as a throaty whisper.
“Ahhh,” he groaned at her words. “You take my breath away.”
Then he nibbled upward, kissing her shoulder, biting her neck, and, lastly, wetting her earlobe with his tongue.
“I have a present for you,” he whispered.
She shivered as his breath skated along the moisture he left behind. He extended his arms until she was surrounded by him. In his hand he held a jeweler’s case. He waited for her attention.
It took effort, so entranced was she by the sight of his dark chin against the white skin of her neck. But
in the end she looked to his hands, curious to see what he held. He opened the box. Within it lay two gold earbobs, impossibly long, with dangling blue jewels shimmering at the tips.
“They were expensive, for all that they are glass. But believe me, they will be well worth it.” He shifted, lifting out one earring. “Let me put them on you.”
Without thought, she tilted her head sideways to give him better access, and she felt his smile against her skin. Then, as he raised his hands, his forearms brushed her breasts.
Again she shivered, and his grin grew wider as he attached the first earbob.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
She complied and he pressed her head the other way, allowing him to place the other earring. Then the strangest thing happened. He began to kiss her more fully. To stroke her. All along her neck. But with the earbobs brushing against her skin and the heat of his breath warming the stones, she could not tell what was his touch and what was the jewelry.
“I am kissing you, Lynette,” he said, though she wondered how he could be doing that and yet still speak to her.
Her response came without thought. “Yes,” she whispered.
“I am tasting you.” His heat brushed across her shoulder. Or was it one of the blue stones?
“Yes.”
“I want you, for you are the most incredible creature alive.”
She smiled then, knowing he was feeding her ego, a trick to bolster her throughout the coming evening.
Somehow she didn’t care. When he said it, she believed it. And if she doubted, his lips were there, on her body, telling her exactly what she wanted to hear.
She was beautiful. And he wanted her.
“Now, open your eyes.”
She did, and was shocked to see that he was across the room from her. The feeling of his lips on her shoulders had come from the earrings, not from him. The rising heat came not from his breath but from herself.
He grinned at her.
“You will be my best girl yet.”
She straightened, suddenly flustered.
“No!” he called urgently, stepping forward. “Do not become self-conscious. Lynette, I gave you those earrings so you would remember. Tonight, if you feel awkward or confused, simply tilt your head.”
At his urging, she did so, and felt the earbob once again stroke her skin.
“Do you feel it? Do you remember?”
She bit her lip, a slow smile pulling at her cheeks. “Yes. I remember.”
“And when you walk, do you remember my hands on your legs?”
At his gesture, she took a tentative step forward. The fabric of her dress slid across her legs, sending a bolt of tingling awareness through her.
“Yes,” she whispered, awed and a little overwhelmed by the feeling.
“Then you are ready.” With a courtly gesture, he extended his arm to her. She took it easily, almost gracefully, and she was rewarded for her actions.
Straightening her spine, she returned his smile. “Yes,” she said softly. “I am ready.”
The opera house was filled with people.
The carriage ride had been close enough. With both the viscount and the baroness sitting across from her, both watching her with steady, inscrutable regards, Lynette had been hard-pressed to breathe, much less relax.
But then she had stepped out of their carriage, taken the viscount’s hand, and looked about. Everywhere she turned there were beautiful women, handsome gentlemen, and wealth. Money, riches, and jewels. That was what she saw most.
Thanks to the viscount’s whispered compliments, she felt as if she was lovely enough to compete with these women. And when she felt her confidence lagging, all she needed to do was look into the admiring eyes of the young men. They were quite obvious in their comical attempts to gain her attention.
The old men, however, were vastly different. Those gentlemen smiled at her, many boldly assessing her from top to bottom. They gave her disdainful looks. Haughty looks. Still, their stares were filled with a hunger that ate at her confidence. They made her feel dirty, unwholesome somehow. In fact, if it was not for the encouraging smiles of the viscount beside her, she likely would have turned about and run.
But she could not. And so she began a litany to herself.
I am beautiful,
she reassured herself. Then she tilted her head and felt her earbobs tickle her skin.
I am beautiful.
I am beautiful.
I am poor.
That thought slipped like an evil wind below her defenses, pointing out what everyone else could see.
The main difference between her and all the other attendees: except for her glass earrings, she wore no jewelry. Not even a decorative hairpin. Her gown was simple, her slippers plain. Her attire could not have declared poverty more loudly if it were written across her bodice.
How odd, she thought irreverently. She had never realized before just how significant wealth was—the outward trappings, the ostentatious show. As a minister’s daughter, she had never felt its lack. A clergyman’s child wasn’t supposed to adorn herself with finery. Now, for the first time, she saw how important jewels and clothing were in society. Money was written in the very cut of one’s coat, in the whisper of silk in a lady’s gown, and in the gems glittering from every female throat, wrist, and finger.
They were rich, and she was poor.
For the first time she understood why her father cozied up to the wealthier people in his parish. Now she knew that this was the arena to which her father had aspired. Here were the people he wished to associate with. But to be among them, one had to be rich.
“What are you thinking?” the viscount whispered in her ear.
“That I will never be one of them. Not until I am wed to a man as rich as Croesus.”
“You will never be one of them ever.”
She stumbled at his bald statement, and she might have fallen had he not been holding her. But before she could phrase her question he continued, explaining his cold statement.
“It is not wealth that is so important, Lynette. It is the power that money brings. Unfortunately, no woman can hold power. Her only influence is
through her husband. And your husband will likely be too old to hold sway here.”
She shifted slightly, shock and hope intertwined in her voice. “But when I am a widow…?” she asked.
“Then you may use your money to buy an influential husband. But you will never be allowed to wield true power yourself.”
She hesitated, thrown by his words, forced to ask the obvious question. “Then why am I doing this?”
He paused, turning so that he looked directly, forcefully, into her eyes. “Wielding power and living comfortably, happily, in your old age are two entirely different things.”
At that moment she finally understood his task. He was not saving her from a loveless marriage. He was not handing her the means to control the people who sought to use her. He was merely helping her find peace. A way to be independent enough to seek her own future.
“And do not forget your siblings. Do well here and you can keep them from a similar fate. Your sister can have a real Season, your brother his commission.”
She felt a smile tug at her lips. “I am buying your freedom as well.”
He dipped his head, acknowledging her statement in the most urbane manner possible. But as he bent, his hand did something entirely different. He stroked her thigh. It was the merest brush, but again her legs felt incredibly sensitive and her skin began to tingle as it had earlier.
“Smile, Lynette,” he whispered. “There is someone I especially wish you to meet.”
She was incredible.
Adrian could barely believe his eyes, but it was true. Every time she moved, every time she shifted or spoke or even looked somewhere, all eyes followed her. They watched how she walked, how she spoke, how she simply stood. And when she looked somewhere else, they followed her gaze to see what had drawn her attention.
Lynette was a success.
Adrian felt his gut ease at the knowledge. He had spent the last week dropping hints about town. By now his particular hobby was well known among the gentlemen of a certain set. All he had to do was mention he had a new girl, and many ears pricked up. Mention that this girl was by far his most alluring, most amazing, and, in general, most perfect catch ever, and more than just ears poked up.
But for all the interest he had already stirred, tonight
was the most important. Tonight he would see how she functioned in society.
Would she stammer in timid mortification as Suzanne had? Would she boldly assess every man who came across her path as Audra had? Or would she be the queen she was even now revealing—modest, charming, and with an innate sensuality so devastating it made a man’s teeth sweat?
Already the gentlemen were lining up, angling for introductions.
“Lynette, may I present to you Lord Winterburr. Lord Winterburr, Miss Lynette Jameson.”
Lord Winterburr was barely fifty, worth twenty thousand pounds per annum, and unfortunately in excellent health. Still, he was well worth a look, and Adrian was pleased as Lynette performed beautifully for him.
“Stephen Gibson, Earl of Ashford.” The earl was old, crotchety, and ready to die any day. Unfortunately, his previous wife had already run through most of his estate.
“Mark Thompson, Lord Histon.” Young, devilishly handsome, and randy as hell. But Lynette, of course, didn’t know any of that. All she knew was that he was holding her hand and gazing with devotion at her, his russet brown locks reminding Adrian of a puppy dog. The kind that attracted women like a magnet.
“Brian Strack, Earl of Bonhaven.” Brian was well into his sixties, cursed with a perpetual cough, and reportedly worth over ten thousand pounds per annum. He was an excellent candidate. Apparently, the gentleman thought so too—he held Lynette’s hand longer than was appropriate, then took advantage of his superior height to peer down her bodice.
Lynette, of course, was blissfully unaware of the man’s lascivious intentions, but Adrian saw them and gave Strack a frosty glare. With a respectful bow, the man withdrew.
And so it continued. Introduction after introduction, with Lynette amazing them all.
“Darian Swanson, Lord Rendlen.” Rendlen was older, but not in his dotage. His income was highly respectable and, given his lifestyle, Adrian did not expect him to live long. His blond hair and blue eyes made him appear almost angelic, but his appetites were as dark as Satan. Personally, Adrian found him hypocritical, self-centered, and a perfect example of the worst of the peerage. However, the ladies of his acquaintance seemed to think him riveting. Adrian had heard more than one dowager echo her granddaughter’s sigh of longing whenever the man appeared.
And Rendlen seemed most particular in his attentions to Lynette.
“Come along, Lynette,” Adrian said, a cold note in his voice. “We would not wish to miss the opening.”
“Of course not,” she returned, her eyes still on her newest acquaintance. “If you will excuse me, Lord Rendlen?”
But Rendlen, apparently, would not release her. He held her hand, drawing it toward his lips as he, no doubt, stroked her palm with his long fingers. “I am afraid,” he said in a low, seductive voice, “that I find I am not prepared to release you.”
Lynette shifted, her eyes crinkling in merriment. “And why not, my lord? Has your hand cramped?”
“Yes,” he returned, “that must be it. I am afraid I shall not be able to relieve this particular malady until you promise to ride with me tomorrow afternoon.”
Lynette hesitated. Indeed, so did Adrian. He did not like Lord Rendlen, but the man had a great deal of influence. Any woman who received his particular attentions would capture the interest of more than one hungry bachelor. And better yet, more than one older gentleman would relish snatching a young prize away from Rendlen.
Those thoughts flew through his mind in barely a second. Long enough for Lynette to turn her questioning gaze toward him. Long enough for Adrian to give her a slight nod of approval. He could only hope that Lynette was level-headed enough to trust him when he told her Rendlen was not an eligible candidate.
“Of course, my lord,” she said sweetly to Rendlen. “I shall be happy to accompany you.”
“Excellent. I look forward to it.” The man bowed and sauntered away.
At last, they walked toward their box. It was well placed, far to one side. It was not the best location for viewing the stage, but it was perfect if one wished to be seen. And Lynette was definitely a woman to be seen. In fact, Adrian was a bit surprised by the heady feeling of having her on his arm. It was glorious to know he was the envy of every man present.
She was stupendous, and he could not suppress the pride, the pure male satisfaction that—for now—she was completely his.
And she was also falling, he realized with a shock, tripping over her own feet as she stumbled into an older gentleman.
“Oh, my,” she was saying. “I’m terribly sorry.”
When Adrian looked up, he saw a happy coincidence. Indeed, here was the very man he had hoped,
somehow, to intrigue. And that man was even now helping Lynette regain her balance.
“It was my fault entirely,” returned the gentleman.
“Please,” said Adrian, as he stepped forward. “Allow me to be of some assistance. Lynette, this is an old friend of my family. Thomas Kirkley, Earl of—”
“Earl of Songshire,” she interrupted, slipping into a deep curtsy. “Good evening, my lord. I truly must apologize.”
“Little Lynette,” crooned the earl. “You are looking quite grown up.”
Lynette straightened, her color obviously heightened, her movements more stilted than Adrian had seen all evening.
“Am I to understand the two of you are acquainted?” Adrian drawled, unable to suppress a surge of annoyance. Good lord, he had been wracking his brain for the last week trying to figure out a way for the two of them to meet. And here they were, already acquainted?
“His lordship attended services at my father’s church,” Lynette answered, her voice high and slightly shrill. Adrian slanted a quick look at her. Her color was elevated, her attitude anxious, and abruptly he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.
Of course she would meet someone from her father’s church. The cleric had practically lived to toady up to the upper class. It was inevitable that Lynette would meet one of her father’s parishioners, and he cursed himself for not preparing her for this eventuality.
He moved closer to touch her, to try somehow to reassure her, but he found he was forestalled by the
earl, who had both his hands on her arms, smiling as he looked warmly at Lynette.
“My late wife’s family lived in the village, and we quite looked forward to your father’s sermons every Sunday.” He glanced at Adrian and winked. “All that fire and brimstone got her blood moving.”
Adrian smiled and nodded, surprised that he had to force himself to stand back and allow Thomas and Lynette to become reacquainted. Songshire was the perfect husband for Lynette. Well-placed in society. Thirteen thousand pounds per annum. Widowed slightly more than five years earlier—long enough for him to tire of being alone and start looking for a replacement. And he was in his late fifties and a gout sufferer. With no known vices or dark peccadillos, he would be an excellent match for Lynette.
Yet Adrian had to clench his hands at his sides to keep from interfering.
“Well, Miss Jameson, I am pleased you were able to contact the baroness. I hope everything is working out as you hoped.”
Adrian felt shock stiffen his spine. Songshire had provided Lynette with the baroness’s address? Lynette had never revealed how she had learned of the services he and his aunt offered. She had only mentioned that, as a cleric’s daughter, she’d heard things not deemed appropriate for her young ears. This information put quite a new spin on Songshire’s presence this evening. Especially given the man’s obviously proprietary hold on Lynette’s arm.
But he could not allow that just yet. It was too soon in the game for Adrian to allow even an old family
friend to stake a claim. And so he stepped forward, ready to ease Lynette away.
But again he was forestalled, this time by his aunt. The baroness pushed in front of Adrian and smiled coyly up at Songshire. “My lord,” she said sweetly, “what a fortunate happenstance that we should meet today.”
“Agatha!” his lordship exclaimed. “My God, Adrian, you are surrounded by beauties.” And with that, he bowed over the baroness’s hand.
For her part, his aunt blushed prettily, like the veriest schoolgirl, but her speech was still fluent, low. Almost seductive.
“I received your card when Horace passed on. I cannot tell you how much it meant to me.”
“And now here you are. With your nephew.” Again, the earl’s gaze traveled among the three of them, boldly assessing the women.
Beside him, Adrian felt his aunt stiffen. “Adrian has been very kind to an old woman.”
“Not old, surely,” came the earl’s automatic response. But even as he spoke, his eyes lingered on Lynette.
Then, abruptly, the interaction was interrupted.
“Papa! There you are! We were becoming worried.”
Everyone turned to see the earl’s daughter, the delicate and very wealthy Lady Karen, push rudely into the group and link her hand through her father’s arm.
“Come, come,” she chided her parent. “The farce has already begun.”
“I will be there in a moment,” returned her father, patting her arm fondly. “I was just saying hello to some dear friends.”
Then it came. The cold stare and the equally disdainful sniff. The woman knew. In fact, likely all the women understood exactly what the Marlock family did for money. They often comprehended more than the men. And that knowledge was apparent in every rigid line of Lady Karen’s body as she tried to pull her father away.
“Come along, Father. Geoffrey is quite worried.”
She turned her back on them, giving everyone the cut direct. It was expected, and Adrian refused to let it effect him. But beside her, Thomas did feel awkward. Unfortunately, he was being dragged away by his own daughter. He shifted, gave all three of the Marlock party an apologetic look, and bowed as best he could. Then his daughter hauled against her father’s arm, and he all but stumbled as they disappeared into the crowd.
Adrian did not move, waiting instead to see how Lynette reacted. To his right, his aunt cursed under her breath. Both she and he were well used to such scenes. It was Lynette who concerned him now.
This, too, was an important part of the first evening out. By appearing with him, and in that dress, Lynette was now thoroughly branded as a Marlock woman. She would suffer such cuts every day for the rest of her life. It was important that she learn how to handle them now.
Stepping forward, he took her arm and gently guided her into their box. He could tell that she was only now understanding what had just occurred. As a minister’s daughter, she had been the height of respectability. Likely this was the first time anyone had been openly rude to her, much less given her the cut direct.
And yet she did not seem devastated. Merely subdued.
“Lynette—”
“We used to play dolls together.”
He paused. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lady Karen and I. When her mother came to services, she always stayed afterward to speak with my father. Then Karen and I would play dolls.”
He did not wish her to, but he knew she had to finish her thought, to say the words out loud. When she did not continue, he completed the thought for her. “And now she will not even look at you.”
Lynette looked down at her hands. “Yes.”
“She is a spoiled, pampered girl who has no idea what real privation is.”
Silently, Lynette nodded.
“There will be many like her, Lynette. Many who do not understand or even want to try. And there will be many who wish to destroy you merely because they can.”
He felt her body flinch at his cold words.
“You must find a way around them. You have chosen your course. It would be tragic if you allowed such narrowness of mind to deter you.”
She did not speak, but he felt her body still as she considered his words.
“Only you can decide if you are wholesome and good. Only you—”
“And God.”
He frowned slightly. She had not spoken of her faith before this. If she allowed the church to rule her thoughts on this matter, they were ruined for certain.
“Yes,” he agreed, though his words were cautious and slow. “God. Of course.”
He waited, unsure how to proceed. He wanted to touch her, to reassure her, but knew that if she felt sullied, a man’s touch could very well end this adventure the same evening it began.
She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Then I shall allow God to judge me and not these women.”
Abruptly, he found himself grinning. It was as though a great weight had rolled off his shoulders. She had passed the test! Indeed, she had passed the last of tonight’s trials. From lascivious gazes to open leers and the cut direct, all that had occurred in the short time it took them to cross from the opera house door to their box. And she had performed through them all with amazing skill and poise.
Good God, she was even smiling as if all the world were at her feet. And indeed, it would be. Very soon. He could not be prouder if she was his own wife.
And with that happy thought, he led her to her seat.
Lynette was in hell.
She wasn’t sure she believed in her father’s world of hellfire and brimstone. Why would a loving God create such a hideous place? Everyone sinned. Need everyone expect to burn eternally in hell? But for her, hell existed right here. Right now. It encompassed the entire opera house, and it consisted completely of two people: Lady Karen and Lynette’s own father.