Mastering the Marquess (53 page)

Lastly, don’t miss the newest Flirt title, Cassie Mae’s
The Real Thing
, which features best friends whose feelings suddenly become more than platonic.

Don’t keep these to yourself! In honor of Romance Awareness Month, spread the word and let your friends partake in some of the romance!

~Happy Romance!

Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher

Read on for a sneak peek of the next intoxicating erotic historical romance in Lavinia Kent’s Bound and Determined series

Bound by Bliss

Available from Loveswept

“There’s a lady to see you, Madame,” Mr. Simms, the porter, said after a brief tap on the parlor door.

“A lady?” Madame Rouge lifted her head from the sealed letter and stared at the door. “A lady?” she repeated.

“Yes, Madame, very definitely a lady,” Simms answered, his tone low and confidential.

The last lady to call upon Madame Rouge had led to adventure and matrimony—for the lady, not for Madame. She was not at all sure that she wished to have another such visit. Ladies did not come to call upon Madame Rouge very often and she rather thought she liked it that way. A brothel was not the place for ladies. It was true that sometimes ladies of particular needs made use of some of the more unusual upstairs rooms along with their desired partners, but they rarely called upon her first.

“Tell her that I am not receiving visitors.”

Simms paled a little, but retreated.

Madame Rouge bent her head back to the missive from Manchester. She really should open it. Her index finger traced the sealing wax and then dropped again to the table.

A tap. Simms reappeared. “She said to tell you that it is Lady Perse calling and she will not be turned away.”

It was Madame’s turn to pale. Hand shaking slightly, she focused on the cup of tea, which sat unfinished upon her desk. Picking up the rapidly cooling beverage, she took a large sip.

Why would a society matron be visiting her? Lady Perse, a woman known for matchmaking and an iron fist.

Madame took another gulp of the tea.

It had been strange enough when Louisa Brookingston—now Lady Swanston, the widow of one of her clients, had sought her out. Having Lady Perse visit was beyond any dream—or nightmare—she had ever imagined.

“Give me a moment and then send her in.” If half of what she’d heard was true, there was no way to get rid of the lady other than meeting with her. “And have a fresh pot of tea and another cup brought in—and cherry tarts.”

She’d hardly finished the words before Lady Perse stalked into the room. Or, at least, she assumed it was Lady Perse. It was hard to tell beneath the heavy veiling. Lady Brookingston had
also come veiled, but her light covering in no way compared to the heavy pile of black draping that confronted Madame Rouge now.

“You know who I am?” The lady spoke without bothering with an introduction.

“Lady Perse, I presume.”

“Good.” Without another word, the woman pulled off her veils and dropped them on the settee, revealing a very narrow figure beneath the most amazing head of hair Madame Rouge had ever seen. It was as if someone had set a very large powder puff upon her head.

What did one say to that? “May I offer you some refreshment?” she said, gesturing to a comfortable chair.

Lady Perse stared at the chair a moment, her nose wrinkling slightly, and then sat on the very edge. “Tea. You do have tea? I am not quite sure what to expect in such a place.”

Taking her own seat, Madame Rouge imitated Lady Perse’s straight posture. “Yes, I have tea. It will be here in a moment.”

Lady Perse pulled a fan from her reticule and vigorously waved it in the air. “Those veils are quite stifling. I will have to be sure my dear Lord Perse lives a long life. I could not bear to wear them daily.”

Madame Rouge merely nodded. “And how may I help you? I assume there is a reason for your call.” There were times when it was best to be direct.

Lady Perse removed her gloves. “I need to talk to you about my nephew.”

“Your nephew? I was not aware you had a nephew.” And Madame knew all about Lady Perse’s relations.

“By marriage. My husband’s sister’s son, Stephan Perth, Lord Duldon.”

Duldon. That explained much. Yes, Madame could understand why there might be questions in regard to Lord Duldon. “And what exactly would you like to know?” she asked.

Lady Perse shut her lips tight for a moment. It was clear she did not wish to say the words she knew she must. She glanced down at her hands for a moment and then raised her eyes to Madame. “I have heard certain rumors about the boy. Rumors I would expect you to know the truth of.”

“I really cannot speak of such things.” And that was true. What a patron did was always held in the highest of confidences. And she certainly could not imagine discussing Duldon’s preferences with Lady Perse.

Lady Perse’s lips grew thin. “I think that is all the answer I need. You do not claim that you have never met the man or know who he is?”

Madame said nothing.

“I was afraid that was the case. The boy is over thirty and needs a wife. This makes the business most difficult. My expertise is not in such matters.”

“Even if Lord Duldon were—were to be a man of certain tastes, these matters usually do not influence marriage. I believe that most men, most lords, know their duty.”

“Duldon does not seem to. It’s far past the time he should have taken care of an heir. He’s the last of the line and …”

“I am sure that …”

“Well, I am not.” Lady Perse cut her off. “And besides, I do want the boy to be happy. If he likes certain things, surely he would be happier if his wife could provide them. I do not like to think of men straying after their vows are said.”

Now that was an unusual view. “You mean men like my father.” Madame Rouge raised her eyes and stared straight at Lady Perse.

Lady Perse met the stare and did not blink. “Yes, my brother would have been far better off had he married for something other than land and lineage. Duldon has spoken of marrying some chit—Bliss Danser, if rumor is correct—for land, as well. I will not have it. I will do all I can to prevent such a match.”

Madame Rouge tried hard to concentrate, distracted by the fact that Lady Perse had subtly agreed that Madame’s father and Lady Perse’s brother were one and the same. She shook her head, feeling her heavy red wig shift upon her scalp, and forced herself to the matter at hand. “So what do you want me to do?” she asked, trying to remember all she had heard of Lady Bliss. Hadn’t she even met the girl once? She’d been involved in the adventures of Swanston and Lady Brookingston. She was Swanston’s sister, but hadn’t she been with the Countess Ormande? If that was true, then …

Lady Perse locked glances with her. “I want you to help me find Duldon a wife. I want you to decide which young lady will suit his tastes—and needs.”

Lady Bliss Danser, daughter of the Duke of Mirth, stared across the ballroom, her eyes locked on the smiling blonde. The girl bounced up on her tiptoes, curls bobbing and ruffles dancing. Her whole being shone with joy and happiness.

Bliss bit down on her lower lip. Hard. Her sharp incisors cut into the delicate skin, the pain holding her in the moment. It was wrong to be miserable at another’s jubilation, but it was impossible to feel pleasure as the stones filling her belly multiplied. If Miss Amy Samson had received an invitation, that meant there was one less to go around, one less chance at salvation.

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

Pulling a deep breath in, Bliss forced the corners of her mouth up and relaxed the tension in her brow. “My what?” She turned to face her best friend, Angela.

“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.

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.

“You don’t fool me, Bliss. I saw you watching Miss Samson.”

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. I never imagined that they’d all go flying off when I twirled. Can I help it if I like to twirl?”

“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 know you too well, and besides her dress is the color of tangerine and has more ruffles than a bird has feathers.”

“Fine. Yes, I was watching her, and yes, it upset me to see that she’d received an
invitation.”

“I don’t see why it should bother you to admit that. 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.”

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.

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

Bliss hated that sentiment. Why should it be a woman’s lot to marry? Men weren’t expected to—well, unless they were heir to a title; that was altogether different. Plus, even if they were expected to marry, marriage didn’t necessarily change anything in their lives. Men seemed to do whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. Wanted. Why did it always come back to that one word? She had wants, wants that seemed unlikely to ever be met.

“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 pretend 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 did rather 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 certainly had no desire for one of her own. The thought made her shudder.

“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?”

Closing her eyes, Bliss stared at the backs of her own eyelids. She did not wish to think about this. She did not. “I don’t want to get married. I need to get married.”

“Explain.” Angela lowered her voice and stepped closer, her breath brushing against Bliss’s cheek.

“My brother is ready to marry me to Lord Duldon. Swanston believes it would be a good thing for me.” She lifted her head and 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 a picture of Duldon formed, tall and brooding, his dark blond hair shining in the sunlight. Even in her mind, however, he looked disapproving, 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 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.