Bound by Bliss (2 page)

Not that the invitation offered salvation exactly. More likely it led to a lesser ring of hell.

“Do you have yours yet? Do you have yours yet?” The soft, breathy voice floated over Bliss’s shoulder, disrupting her thoughts.

Pulling in a deep puff of air, Bliss forced the corners of her mouth up and relaxed the tension in her brow. “My what?” She turned to face her dearest friend, Angela. It was important that not even Angela realized the extent of her inner turmoil.

“Oh, don’t you pretend with me, Miss Danser. You know exactly what I mean.” Angela tried to sound cross, but her smile could not be kept down. Her dark pink cheeks glistened under her crown of ebony locks, her black eyes flashing.

Bliss pushed her own cheeks higher, hoping the strain did not show. “Lady Perse’s tea invitation? But why would I be wanting one of those? You know I’ve no interest in marriage.” Oh, if only that were true. If only the events of the past month had not forced her hand.

“You don’t fool me, Bliss. I saw you watching Miss Samson. There was no mistaking the look of desire upon your face. The more you smile, the more I see your disappointment.”

Blast. Angela knew her far too well. “I was just amazed at how happy she looked. She’s never still, but I’ve never before seen her quivering with emotion. I am surprised all the crystal within ten feet of her didn’t shatter.”

“You’re the only one I know who can accomplish that feat.” Angela wrinkled her nose.

“It was only once and you know very well it was because I’d tried to sew coins onto my dress so I’d look like a gypsy dancer. I never imagined that they’d all go flying off when I twirled. Can I help it if I like to twirl—and that I am a lousy seamstress?”

“Don’t try to distract me. I saw you watching Miss Samson and it wasn’t merely interest that I saw cross your face. It was envy.”

Bliss tried again. She was not yet ready to admit to her own desires. “Maybe I simply wanted her dress.”

“Bliss, I understand you too well, and besides, her dress is the color of tangerine and has more ruffles than a bird has feathers. Even you”—Angela’s eyes swept over Bliss’s pink creation—“would not wear that shade.”

“Fine. Yes, I was watching her and yes, it upset me to see that she’d received an invitation. And I don’t see what is wrong with her dress.” The color really was quite cheerful.

“I don’t see why it should bother you to admit that you want an invitation. Every unmarried woman here dreams of receiving an invitation to one of Lady Perse’s teas. We all want a love match and nobody manages those as well as Lady Perse. And I will not comment again on Miss Samson’s dress.”

Bliss pulled in a long, deep breath and released it slowly. “But I’ve never wanted to marry. You know that.” She might want many things, things she did not understand, but marriage was not one of them. Marriage led to heartache and loss. And a love match only more so. She already knew the pain that love could bring.

It was Angela’s turn to sigh. “I know you’ve always said that, but you were a girl then. You are woman now.”

“And what difference should that make? Are you rolling your eyes at me?”

“Yes, I am, my dear Miss Danser. It is a woman’s job to marry. You know that as well as I. And we all want love. It is in our nature.”

Bliss hated that sentiment. Why should it be a woman’s lot to marry? A man wasn’t expected to—well, unless he was the heir to a title, then that was altogether different. Plus, even if he was expected to marry, marriage didn’t necessarily change anything in his life. Men seemed to do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. “Want.” Why did it always come back to that one word? She had wants, wants that seemed unlikely to ever be met. She wanted to travel the globe. She wanted to race a horse to Richmond and back. She wanted to attend a salon and drink champagne and discuss risqué art in scandalous company. She wanted to kiss and feel and…Blast, she couldn’t even think those thoughts in her own mind, they were so improper, so…It was so unfair being born a woman and even more so to be raised a lady. A lady was not supposed to want.

She bit down on her lip again, relishing the pain. It helped her to set aside all the things she would never be allowed to do, allowed to want—all the things she could never admit even to Angela.

“Don’t you glare at me like that, Bliss,” Angela added. “I didn’t make the rules and it’s not my fault if I actually like them. I’ve always wanted to marry and have children. From the time we were small I’ve wanted to be a mother.”

That was true. Angela had never been content with one doll or even two. She’d had half a dozen and even then she’d pretended all the kittens in the scullery were babies as well.

“I know. I don’t blame you. I’ve simply never felt the same. I don’t even like babies.” Well, that wasn’t strictly true. She rather did like cuddling a newborn and there was nothing to compare with the feeling of soft baby fuzz beneath her chin, but that was only true if the baby in question belonged to someone else. She was much happier on her own.

“Then why are you here and why do you look so upset at the thought of not getting an invitation?” Angela pressed, having no intention of letting the matter drop.

Bliss lowered her eyes and stared down at her delicate green slippers. They were new and she adored everything about them, from the delicate pearls sewn about the toes in a floral pattern to the silver embroidery that formed the leaves beneath the flowers. And the heels. They had the sweetest little heels with a small stripe of silver just above the floor. They were the most wondrous shoes she’d ever had. It was far better to think about slippers than anything else in her life.

“Do you like my slippers?” She held out a toe. “I am thinking about asking father to get me a pair in blue.”

Angela glanced down. “They are lovely, and compliment the rose silk of your gown wonderfully. They bring out the lavender undertones of the silk and…Bliss, you will not distract me. You will not. Why do you want an invitation if you still don’t want a husband?”

Bliss closed her eyes and stared at the backs of her own eyelids. She did not wish to think about this. Thinking of anything else was far better. “I don’t
want
to get married. I
need
to get married.”

“What do you mean?” Angela lowered her voice and stepped closer, her breath brushing against Bliss’s cheek.

“My brother plans to marry me off to Lord Duldon.” She closed her eyes again as she said his name, pretending she was not imagining stark blue eyes staring at her from across a room. “Swanston believes it would be a good match for me.” Lifting her head, she stared at her friend. The words hurt as they slipped through her lips, each one cutting like a sheet of paper slicing one’s thumb. Against her will that forbidden image of Duldon formed, tall and brooding, his dark blond hair shining in the sunlight, and those clear eyes staring at her, watching her, always watching her. A small shiver eased through her as she pictured him. Even in her mind he saw right through her, his blue eyes glinting at her as if he knew all her secrets, all her forbidden thoughts.

“Your brother would never do that. He knows you don’t like Dull-Don.”

“Don’t call him that.” The words were out before she could pull them back. Why could she not clear him from her mind? Why did he linger there, a tall, hard figure of a man, wide muscled shoulders and narrow hips, with high proud cheekbones and those eyes, eyes that seemed to follow her always. Shaking the thought away, without betraying a moment of emotion, she paused. Why was she defending the man? It was true that she didn’t like him, not anymore. He always made her feel uncomfortable, like butterflies were brushing her with their wings—all over.

“It’s your name for him,” Angela replied, defensive.

“Yes, but that was years ago. I should never have told you,” Bliss said, tapping her foot nervously. If only the man really was dull. She’d worked hard to persuade herself that he was, to forget what she’d seen, to forget the images that still came to her in the late hours of the night, the images that filled her with pain—and with something else, something she tried so hard to ignore, to put aside. It was far better to pretend that Duldon was dull, to pretend that was why she disliked him.

“You had to tell me.” The tiniest hint of a smile lifted Angela’s cheeks. “You had to explain that you gave everyone nicknames after you called me Angel.”

The story was an old one, but brought a hint of warmth to Bliss’s chilled heart. “Yes, but you still shouldn’t call him that here. What if someone heard?”

“What do you care? You love a bit of scandal. And besides, it suits him so well. He is such a dull, dull don.”

If only Angela were correct and that the name suited him far better than it did. Perhaps she could still persuade herself that it did. She considered the matter. He might be attractive, perhaps too attractive, but all he truly cared about was his estates and his own amusement. She knew just how much he liked his own amusements—she’d seen far too much of him and his amusements. Her stomach twisted with past memory. She must remember that the man no longer had a caring bone in his entire body. He didn’t care for her any longer, if he had then he would never have…But she wasn’t going to think of that. He might once have been the most exciting man she knew, but she’d been a child then. Now she knew better. If she worked hard enough maybe she could even consider him a bore, a dull don. That would be safe, and deep in her heart she longed for safety.

A shiver took her at the thought. Even thinking about the man made her uncomfortable. She’d like to blame it on Swanston’s marriage plans, but she knew better. Ever since she’d left childhood behind, her stomach had tensed when Duldon was around, tiny flickers of awareness leaving her most uncomfortable. That had been true even before…

How could her brother even think that marriage between them would be suitable?

—

Stephan Andrew James Perth, Lord Duldon, rolled on his side as the clock on St. Michael’s tower sounded the hour, the sheets tangling about his waist. He counted the toll as he ran a finger down one of the fine red welts marking the woman’s bare back. Eleven bells.

A slow sigh escaped between his teeth. Normally such a night’s work would have left him satisfied, but tonight he felt strangely empty, incomplete.

The woman rolled her hips, inviting further play. Almost perfunctorily he raised a hand and gave her a hard swat. Her ass stretched back as a happy moan sounded. Blast. He knew every move to make, but lacked any actual desire. It had been this way for far too many days—weeks or months if he was honest.

The woman turned toward him, heavy breasts falling forward, nipples still swollen from the evening’s play, inviting his touch. A slight smile curved her lips beneath the silken mask she wore. “And how may this humble servant serve you further, master?” Her eyes dropped to where the thick linen of the sheet still draped about his waist.

Her tongue darted out, wetting already moist lips.

Eleven.

Eleven bells.

Shit. He was late.

He’d promised his aunt he’d attend the Evanstons’ soiree. And his aunt, Lady Perse, was not one to be disappointed—plus there was always the possibility that Bliss would be there. He pushed the thought from his mind. He’d thought of her far too frequently these last months, fantasized about her far too often. His cock began to swell at even the slightest thought. Blast. Bliss was going to be his wife, not his mistress. Now, if only the unruly beast would remember that fact and not rear his ugly head at every thought of sweet Bliss.

Without a word, he swung from the bed and reached for his trousers. If he hurried he would make it before the call to dinner. Luckily Lady Evanston believed in a late dinner. Lady Perse would understand. A gentleman could not be expected to arrive early.

“You’re leaving now?” The woman did not sound happy, not at all.

“I am sorry. I must.” He laid a careless kiss upon her rounded shoulder.

She pushed herself up, her breasts almost slapping his chest. “Don’t you want to punish me more? I’ve been a very bad maid. I haven’t completed my tasks.” Her hand reached for the trousers he had just fastened.

He pushed her hand away. Couldn’t they ever be original? He knew it was all a game; his partner was no more a servant than a lion was a house cat, but some days he tired of all the pretense, wanted something real, something true.

Why couldn’t a single one of them admit what they wanted without masks and foolery? But he knew the answer to that question. It wasn’t as if he walked about admitting to his own desires…

“You can’t leave. I am not ready,” the woman complained, her lips forming an unattractive frown.

Now, that was more in character with her real identity.

“Sorry.” But actually he wasn’t. It was as much a relief as anything. “I’ve paid Madame Rouge for the room. You can stay until morning if you wish, perhaps seek another companion.” He draped his untied cravat about his neck.

And then he slipped through the door, his thoughts moving on to the remainder of the night, the woman already forgotten.

—

Bliss stared about the Evanstons’ ballroom one more time. Surely it must be nearly time for dinner. If she didn’t receive her invite soon…

“I still can’t believe what you’ve said.” Angela was not going to let their previous conversation go. “Your brother knows you better than that and since Swanston married Louisa he’s seemed almost human. You need somebody who enjoys a bit of fun. There must be a dozen lords you could marry.”

Bliss kept her head turned away from her friend’s far too penetrating gaze. She did want somebody fun—fun and undemanding—not that she wished to marry at all. Why couldn’t they all just leave her alone to live her life as she wished? Nobody was dependent on her. And her grandmother had left her more than enough funds in trust to be sure that she was never a burden. If only she were a few years older she would buy her own home and settle far away from everybody, perhaps somewhere in the country where nobody would be watching—certainly not a certain vexing earl who lived next door to the family estate, an earl she could not seem to push from her mind. Not that she wanted the boredom of the country, not yet. There were far too many adventures she wanted to have first, too many things she wanted to know, to try. The few days she’d spent with her dear friend Lady Ormande had left her eager for more experience, for the chance to try those things so forbidden to a well-born lady, things she hardly dared imagine. If only she’d had a chance to learn if half the scandalous whispers about the lady were true before she suddenly retired to Scotland without a word to Bliss.