Miss Foster’s Folly (10 page)

She recoiled. “Of course not. He doesn’t need to know about that.”

“Don’t you think he needs to know that you plan to leave his bed for a Frenchman’s and then a Spaniard’s and then the same in Italy?”

“It’s none of his business,” she said. “I only want him for one night, and then I’ll move on.”

“What do you think he’d do if he knew?”

“He’d dig his heels in even more, the stubborn man,” she said. “I’d never get into his bed.”

“You’re not having much success now, are you?”

She started pacing again. “I was so close today. You should have heard the noise he made when I touched him. One more encounter, and I’ll have him.”

“I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this.”

She stared at Millie.

Millie sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

“I know just how I’ll do it.” She hadn’t worked out all the details yet, but she’d get to his house that night. Late enough that he couldn’t possibly send her back. Once there, she’d either seduce him outright or do it while he slept.

“Lord Derrington will become my lover this very night,” she said. “I’m not going to give him any choice.”

A shiver raced through her, and her sex tightened at the thought. Their bodies lusted for each other with a power she hadn’t known existed. Only one thing stood between them and satisfaction: his obstinacy. But he was a man, and his defenses would be down while he slept. She’d have what she wanted before the morning—his cock in her sheath and all the pleasure that promised. Lord, how could she get through the hours until she could make that happen?

“Did you hear something?” Millie said.

“What? What did you hear?”

“A sound like the door closing,” Millie said. “But I know I shut it when we came in.”

Her heart sank. “Could someone have heard us?”

Millie rose, went to the door, and opened it to look outside. After a few seconds, she turned back. “No one out there. I must have imagined it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m telling you, no one was out there.”

Juliet’s racing heart slowed some. “I guess I’m still a bit tense.”

“Lady Mitford will be waiting for us in the drawing room.” Millie gestured toward the hallway outside.

Juliet joined her and they left the morning room. She glanced around as they went along the corridor. Millie was probably right about imagining that sound. But what if she wasn’t?

***

Derrington sat in a chair before the fire in his morning room, his only companions the brandy snifter in his hand and the aching cockstand in his pants. He’d had Russell turn off the lamps and dressed for bed, only to realize he’d never get to sleep in this condition. Then, he’d come back down to sit in the darkened room and try to make sense of Miss Foster and the chaos she’d wreaked on his life.

What an evening it had been, even worse than the excursion to the orchid nursery, though he’d hardly thought that possible. Whether by design or by her very nature, Miss Juliet Foster could turn his world upside-down and somehow make him crave even more of her insanity. It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t the Winslow Curse have skipped him and allowed him to fall in love with a modest woman, as his mother had been?

Love? Bloody hell, had he fallen in love with the impossible female? She occupied his mind constantly. She wreaked even more havoc on his body. He’d given himself some relief there in Mitford’s garden by taking out his cock and stroking it until he’d spent into his hand like a lad in his first encounters with lust. And then, the moment he’d sat beside her in the drawing room, Priapus had reared his head again.

Was all that love or just unquenchable hunger? How was he supposed to know? He’d never been in love before and didn’t have anyone to ask. The only possibility he had was Blandings, and he’d never get a straight answer out of him.

“Lord Blandings, my lord,” a voice said from nearby.

The very man. Derrington glanced around to see Russell on the threshold. “I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“I was on my way, sir, when there was a rap on the door.”

“It’s late.”

“He said it couldn’t wait.” Russell lifted his brow in disapproval at so late a visit. He’d never actually voice any such opinion, of course. Soul of discretion, that one.

“Send him in and then retire for the night.”

“Very good, sir.”

Russell left, and Derrington set aside his drink and rose to greet his late-night guest. Immediately, Blandings entered, looking agitated even for him.

“You haven’t brought me another bug to admire, I hope,” Derrington said.

“Beetle,” Blandings corrected. “But this is much better than that.”

Derrington gestured toward a chair. “Sit and tell me what has you so excited.”

Blandings ignored that and instead propped an elbow on the mantle, looking as if he’d burst. Derrington resumed his seat and waited for whatever had puffed up his friend to spill out of him.

“I overheard a very interesting conversation tonight,” Blandings said. “It concerned you.”

“The Mitfords? Their servants?”

“No, dear boy. Mrs. Marlow and her cousin.” Blandings’ brow wrinkled. “Did you know Mrs. Marlow’s name is Juliet? I thought it was something else.”

Juliet. Miss Rhodes must have called her Juliet. Blandings had, indeed, heard a private conversation.

“You were the topic of discussion,” Blandings went on. “When I happened on them, Mrs. Marlow was calling you magnificent.”

“That isn’t the word I would have expected.”

“But it appears she’s also quite put out with you.”

“Pour yourself a drink and sit down, won’t you?”

“Capital idea,” Blandings said, as if he’d never consider that possibility on his own. Even in the near darkness, he found the decanter and snifters and served himself. Finally, he took the chair next to Derrington’s and sipped his drink.

Derrington retrieved his own brandy and took a swig. “Well?”

Blandings lifted his glass in a toast. “Excellent brandy.”

“I meant Mrs. Marlow.”

“Ah, yes. She’s a good deal more outrageous than the rumors let on.”

“How so?”

“It seems she’s planned a voluptuous tour of the Continent for when she’s left here,” Blandings said. “The story about taking Miss Fletcher to Geneva seems to be just that: a story.”

“What do you mean ‘voluptuous tour’?”

“A trip through the boudoirs of France, Spain, and Italy,” Blandings said. “‘Sleeping my way across Europe,’ she said.”

Derrington choked on his brandy. “She what?”

Blandings giggled. A fully grown man, giggling. “She has it all planned out. From here to France to Spain and then Italy.”

“But she can’t.” Dear Lord in heaven, what was the idiotic woman thinking?

“What’s to stop her? She’s rich, unattached, and experienced in the ways of the flesh.”

“But, you see, there’s the problem. She isn’t,” Derrington said.

“She seems rich enough to me.”

Yes, but she wasn’t experienced. Blandings wouldn’t know that, though, and Derrington wouldn’t tell him. “She isn’t unattached. She’s attached to me.”

Blandings snorted. “Seems as if you have a bit of a job convincing her of that.”

“So it would seem.”

“So then, you really have settled on her,” Blandings said.

“Absolutely, and she has no say in the matter.”

Blandings laughed again. “In my experience, women always have some say.”

This time, Derrington rose and went to the fire. He set his drink on the mantel and gripped the edge in his fist. “I should have spanked her, after all.”

Behind him, Blandings hooted in amusement.

Juliet Foster was clearly out of her mind. She’d created some ridiculous fantasy of having multiple European lovers, but she didn’t want any of them to know they were frigging an innocent. She likely had told him the truth when she said she’d planned this trip before she’d met him and her plans had included posing as a widow. First, she’d need a man to take her virginity, and who better than someone she’d leave behind in New York? She’d planned to use him once and toss him aside.

He groaned. Oh, God, he
did
sound like a melodrama.

“She wants you, too, Derry,” Blandings said. “She’s bound and determined to have you.”

“She said that, did she?”

“Straight out. Only, you’re not cooperating. She’s quite miffed about it.”

He turned. “Of course, I’m not cooperating. I don’t just plan to swive her. I’m going to marry her, curse her hide.”

“How are you going to manage that, old man?”

“By not giving her what she wants. She can try whatever she wants. The only way she’ll know me is in the marriage bed.”

“Well, then, I’m doubly glad I came to warn you.”

Derrington straightened. “Warn me?”

Blandings’ grin was bright enough to see it across the room even in such little light. “She declared to her cousin that she intends to make you her lover. This very night.”

“Spanking’s too good for her.”

“I don’t see how she’s going to do it, seeing as the night’s nearly over, and she isn’t here.”

“Oh, she’ll attempt it.” Derrington rubbed the bridge of his nose and managed not to groan again. “Never underestimate her.”

“Excuse me, old man, but how is it you know her so well? You only just met her at Mitford’s ball.”

“Oh, I know her. Miss Juliet—that is—Mrs. Juliet Marlow is like a tropical hurricane. One moment, you’re minding your own business and there’s scarcely a cloud in the sky. The next, a whirlwind’s caught you up, and you know the storm very intimately, indeed.”

“That doesn’t sound entirely pleasant.”

“It isn’t.” But it was exhilarating, frustrating, and anything but dull.

“And yet, you want to marry her?”

“Tell me, Blandings, is your wife a docile, compliant thing?”

“Margaret?” The man hooted again. “She’d feed me to her mother’s hounds if I tried to cross her.”

“Would you want your marriage to be merely pleasant?”

“I’d prefer things if she could abide me when she’s breeding.” The man ruffled his fingers through his hair as he always did when flustered. “But our better days are more than merely pleasant.”

“Then you see my point.”

“I do.” Blandings finished his brandy and set the glass aside. “I’m off for my bed. I don’t think even Mrs. Marlow will venture out this late.”

“Excuse me, my lord.”

A footman stood at the doorway wearing a robe carelessly thrown over his nightshirt. He held a candle in his hand. “There’s someone in the kitchen wants to talk to you.”

“I thought you were all in bed,” Derrington said.

“I was, sir, ’til she threw some pebbles at my window.”

“It’s a she.” Blandings lit up.

“Gypsy woman, your lordship. A beggar.” The footman turned to Derrington. “I tried to send her away.”

“Thank you, Tim. I’ll take care of it.”

The footman disappeared, and Blandings shot out of his chair. “Mrs. Marlow. By Jove, she’s a cheeky one.”

“And determined.”

“I love married life, but for a moment, I could wish that I were single and she’d brought her cousin,” Blandings said. “Like the old days, Derry.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“So say you,” Blandings crowed. “My bet’s on the hurricane.”

Derrington clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I’ll see you out.”

“Very well. But I’ll expect a full report on the morrow.”

He took a candle from the mantel and lit it in the fire. Then, he guided Blandings to the front of the house, opened the door, and watched as he climbed into his carriage. After the man had left, he closed and leaned against it. He rested for a moment and then took a breath for fortitude and proceeded to the kitchen.

She was exploring the scullery when he came in. She must have carried a candle, because a glow shone from inside.

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” he said.

“Well, there you are.” She stepped into the kitchen. “What took you so long? A gypsy could have stolen anything and been long gone by now.”

“I knew you were no gypsy.”

“How?”

“No gypsy woman is stupid enough to be out alone in London at this time of night,” he said. “How did you get here, by the way?”

She lifted her chin in that defiant way she had. “I walked.”

“What?” he nearly shouted. “God’s breath, you could have been killed.”

“It wasn’t very far,” she said. “And this is a nice part of town.”

“No part of London is safe after dark,” he said.

“I know about cities.” She stared at him as if she’d never heard anything so stupid. “We have bad neighborhoods in New York, you know.”

“No doubt you prowl them, too.”

“I don’t have to,” she said. “They don’t have anything I want.”

“And what is it you want here?”

She gave him a sly smile. “I would think that’d be obvious.”

“Sex.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “With me.”

“Isn’t that what a woman usually wants when she visits a man late at night? Alone.”

“No.”

She cocked her head and stared at him. “It isn’t?”

“I meant, no, I’m not going to take your innocence. At least, not tonight.”

She shrugged out of the shabby cloak she’d worn as a disguise. Underneath, she wore a flimsy chemise, transparent enough to show off the curves of her breasts above the top of her corset.

“Bloody hell, you didn’t wear that out in public did you?” Stupid question. She had to have worn it, or she wouldn’t be standing in it right now in his kitchen.

“It was hidden,” she answered. “Even your servant believed my disguise.”

“He’s far too sensible to think a lady would show up at the kitchen door at this hour.”

“But I’m not a lady. I’m a scandalous widow.” She walked to him, rested her hands on his arms, and tilted her face upward. “Don’t you like me this way?”

God help him, he had to stare down at her. His poor brain hadn’t yet forgotten the way her soft flesh had felt in his hand earlier that night. Nor the way her nipple puckered and stiffened in his mouth.

She gave him a smile. She recognized the power she had over him, the little vixen. “Why are you being so obstinate? If I really were a widow, you wouldn’t hesitate.”