"Romping?"
"We're going to lump along just fine. I'm glad Lavinia persuaded me to visit."
He reached out with his finger, and he laid it on her chin, then traced it down her neck and bosom, till he arrived at the lace on the edge of her chemise. For a crazed instant, she thought he would slip under the fabric to fondle her breast, but he didn't.
He dropped his hand and stepped away. Swiftly, his demeanor changed, the seductive lover vanishing. Feet clicking together, he bowed and said, "Miss Gray, I presume?"
"Yes."
"Jordan Prescott, Viscount Romsey, at your service." "Viscount... Romsey?"
"Yes." He leaned nearer and whispered, "But when we're in the throes of passion, you may call me Jordan."
She shoved him away, rattled by how his warm breath tickled her ear. "Your penchant for discourtesy is astounding."
"That's true, but you're no shrinking violet, yourself."
He strolled out, stopping for a last glance at her. He narrowed his focus, evaluating her as if he didn't understand what he was witnessing.
"I'm so amazed," he muttered.
"By what?"
"By Lavinia's opinion that we'd suit. She's right. For once."
He left, the door shutting behind him, and she collapsed onto a chair.
What had just occurred? What did it mean? What did he want?
He'd confirmed—as Penelope had contended—that he'd come to explore a marriage, but it couldn't be. Lavinia never proceeded without having plotted her own gain. If Margaret were to wed the Viscount, what profit could there be to Lavinia?
Margaret paced, trying to make sense of the situation. Her body was in a state of feminine agitation, her mind awhirl and careening between hope and dread.
Jordan Prescott was a gift too spectacular to imagine, a reward too unlikely to be granted, and she had to learn what was really transpiring.
Desperate for answers, she tugged on her clothes, pinned up her hair, and went to find her aunt.
Chapter Two
Margaret rushed down the hall to Lavinia's suite, and since the door was open, she entered without knocking. The outer parlor was empty, but voices emanated from Lavinia's private boudoir.
"What did you think, darling?" Lavinia cooed. "She was extremely intriguing." "Didn't I tell you she would be?" "Yes, but I didn't believe you." Lavinia and Lord Romsey.! Sequestered in Lavinia's bedchamber!
Margaret tiptoed over and peeked through the crack in the door. It was wrong to eavesdrop, but the rest of her life was at stake, so she refused to feel guilty.
Romsey was lounged on a sofa, sipping a brandy and looking bored. He'd removed his coat and rolled back the sleeves of his shirt, which made the tawdry scene unbearably intimate. But then, as she'd already gleaned, he wasn't a stickler for proprieties. With him, any outrageous conduct seemed likely.
Lavinia popped into sight and perched a shapely hip on the arm of the sofa. At age thirty-four, she was still a great beauty, with long blond hair and big blue eyes, a curvaceous figure and flawless features, but her appearance couldn't mask her temper and selfishness.
She was dressed in a flimsy nightgown that barely covered anything that ought to be covered. The neckline plunged dramatically so that much of her bosom was revealed, and her nipples were visible, the dark centers poking at the sheer fabric.
On witnessing the garment Margaret stifled a gasp. Obviously, there was more going on between the couple than Margaret could have imagined.
"What do you mean," Lavinia asked him, "that you didn't believe me?"
"You have no common sense, so I didn't expect what you'd told me about Miss Gray to be true."
Lavinia pursed her lips in an unbecoming pout, which she quickly smoothed away. "Don't be nasty."
"I'm not being nasty. I'm simply being candid."
"I said I was sorry about what happened in London."
"I'm sure you were."
They knew each other? From London? Margaret's curiosity spiraled.
"When I crawled into your bed," Lavinia was justifying, "how could I have guessed that you'd bring another woman home with you?"
Lavinia had been in his bed? The admission was the most shocking thing Margaret had ever heard.
"How could you have guessed, indeed!" Romsey scoffed. "Why would my mistress of two years be with me?"
"I hadn't planned on creating a scene."
"I disagree. I'm positive it's what you absolutely intended." He toyed with his drink, his loathing of her blatant and impossible to hide. "You never explained what you wanted that night."
"I wanted to discuss the marriage."
"You couldn't do it in a letter?"
"At the time, I thought it would be better if we talked it over—personally."
"I'll just bet you did."
Lavinia's voice was unusually sultry, and she trailed a flirtatious finger down his chest, making it clear that she liked him very much, and Margaret wasn't surprised. Lavinia was fascinated by the aristocracy and had always bemoaned the fact that she'd married a rich brewer instead of holding out for a man with a title.
"We can chat about a wedding now," she said, "unless there's another topic that's captivated you." She leaned forward, the front of her nightgown perilously low, giving him an unimpeded view of her breasts.
He wasn't impressed, and he shrugged. "Let's stick with Miss Gray. What should I know about her?"
His indifference incensed Lavinia, and she'd had enough. She stood and stared down at him.
"You're being an ass."
"Yes, I am."
"Go away. I'm sick of you."
She waved toward the door, and when he didn't move, she turned to stomp out. Margaret cowered, terrified that discovery was imminent, and she couldn't defend her spying on them.
Luckily, Lord Romsey saved her by grabbing Lavinia's wrist and drawing her back to the couch. He didn't tug very hard, but Lavinia collapsed down onto him and giggled like a schoolgirl.
"Convince me to offer for her," he urged.
"You know you want to."
"Do I?"
Lavinia was sprawled across him, their chests, loins, and legs pressed together. He was stroking her bottom, rubbing in slow circles, when he'd only recently caressed Margaret in much the same way.
The man was a dog!
"She's young," Lavinia was saying.
"But mature."
"Oh, very mature," Lavinia concurred. "She's been too sheltered, though." "I realize that."
"But that could be a benefit for you."
"I was pondering the very same."
"You could teach her what you'd like her to do. You could make her practice till she gets it right."
"Practice makes perfect," he snickered.
"She'd be too inexperienced to refuse or complain. Isn't that every husband's fantasy?"
"Not mine. I'd rather have a woman who knows what she's doing."
"Liar," Lavinia chided. "You can't fool me. You men all think with your cocks, and you like to plant them between a fresh pair of virginal thighs."
"Too true."
They both chuckled, and Margaret frowned. The statement had a hidden meaning she didn't understand. She felt as if they were speaking in a foreign language.
"I put you in the room next to hers," Lavinia said. "In case you decide to be swept away by passion, there'll be nothing to prevent you."
"Are you suggesting I sneak in and ravage her?"
"I wouldn't mind—so long as you wed her afterward."
He shuddered in mock horror. "You're
cold, Lavinia."
"Why? I aim to ensnare you. I'm happy to do whatever will accomplish my goal."
"Even if it involves an innocent's ruination?"
"Every female has to spread her legs sooner or later. It's not much of a loss for her, but a gain of everything for me."
"That being?"
"A close alliance with your family."
"Have you a speck of remorse about any of this?"
"No."
"I'm astounded." He toasted her with his glass. "You're even more of a mercenary than I supposed."
"Why? Merely because I insist on a Grand Match for her?"
"No. Because you'll stop at nothing to get what you want."
"Precisely. Don't you forget it." "I won't. I shall be completely on guard throughout my visit."
Margaret was furious. They were bartering over her as if she were a prized cow. In light of Lavinia's enthrallment with the nobility, her motives weren't surprising, but Margaret was disgusted by Romsey's blasé approval of violence to coerce Margaret into an untenable union.
How could either of them presume she'd blithely walk down the path they'd engineered? The moment she left Lavinia's boudoir, her initial order of business would be to have a new lock nailed to her door.
"And if I elect to force the matter," Romsey asked, "and I creep into her bed, what should I teach her first?"
Lavinia cocked a brow. "I know what you like. I've heard all about you."
"Have you?"
"Yes."
"Why don't you show me? Let me see if you've heard correctly."
She climbed onto his lap, her knees on the sofa cushion, her thighs draped over his. As they conversed, she was sliding the straps of her nightgown down her arms so that her breasts were bared, the nipples jutting out, and they were directly in his face. Almost reluctantly, he clasped the two mounds and petted the tips with his thumbs.
Margaret was mesmerized. She hadn't known that adults carried on so decadently. She felt as if she'd opened a portal to a secret world, and she couldn't keep herself from watching.
Lavinia purred, arching her back as she riffled her fingers through his lush, dark hair, and she wore a satisfied smile, as if she'd finally enticed him into behaving as she'd wanted all along.
She kissed him on the lips, the embrace going on and on, though Romsey appeared loathe to participate. As it became more heated, her hands were everywhere, touching and exploring, and oddly, Margaret's own anatomy was affected by the spectacle. Her own nipples came to life, growing rigid and poking at her corset. Blood pounded in her veins, her womb shifted and stirred.
Lavinia slipped to the side, and Margaret was desperate to see more, but the sofa blocked the view so she couldn't figure out what Lavinia was doing. It seemed that Lavinia was unbuttoning his trousers, but why would she? And why would Romsey let her?
The encounter was the strangest Margaret had ever witnessed. Lavinia was smug and preening, on fire with lust, but Romsey was impassive and aloof and had scarcely moved. How could one of them be so vain and inflated, while the other was so impervious?
Lavinia glanced up and smirked. "Are you ready, darling? Shall I escort you to paradise?"
"Would it be worth my while?"
"Of course," she declared. "I'm renowned for my prowess."
He was skeptical. "Are you?"
"Definitely."
Lavinia waited, on a precipice of anticipation, as Romsey studied her with no visible emotion. Ultimately, he shook his head. _
"I doubt you could impress me, Vinnie"—he used a nickname for Lavinia that Margaret hadn't heard before—"so I believe I'll decline."
"You can't be serious!" Rage mottled Lavinia's cheeks, and she climbed to her feet.
"Oh, but I am. I really don't like you enough to have you go down on me, and considering my offensive habits, that's saying a great deal."
"You are a beast!" she fumed. "I don't know why I put up with you!"
"Maybe because you're eager to have a viscount in the family?"
"I don't want one this badly. You lesser nobles are a penny a dozen."
"Yes, but don't forget my dear father. He won't live forever. Someday, I'll be an earl."
"Bully for you." She yanked at her nightgown and tugged on a robe, pulling the belt tight and hiding what she'd been so keen for him to behold only minutes earlier.
He stood and walked away from the sofa so that Margaret couldn't see him, but Lavinia was bristling with malice. He was humored, and he laughed at her.
"Face it, Vinnie," he taunted. "You're a trollop. You always have been, and you always will be."
"Get out of here!" she bellowed. "And next time you need someone to suck you off, you can beg the housemaids. I'm sure any one of them will be happy to oblige you."
"I'm sure they will."
Margaret recognized it as her cue to sneak away. She hadn't ascertained why Romsey wished to marry her, and she didn't care why. He was a distasteful fiend, and she'd never agree.
Her eye was still pressed to the crack in the door, her hand on the knob, when abruptly, it was jerked open. She lost her balance and stumbled into the room.
Lord Romsey chuckled. "Hello, Miss Gray. How kind of you to join us. We were just talking about you."