To Please A Lady (The Seduction Series) (6 page)

She didn’t bother to curtsey. Ignoring her husband’s glare, she spun around and swept from the room, determined to keep her head high. She’d been married only a short time when she’d started to hear the rumors… her husband had not been faithful
during courtship, nor after marriage. The truth had been bad enough to swallow then, but now his mistresses were moving in next door? She’d be the humiliation of the
ton
. People would whisper behind painted fans even more than they did already. How much was she to endure? Thank God Graham wasn’t in the hall; she couldn’t stand to see the man now, of all times.

“My lady,” Mrs. Handler called out.

Eleanor froze at the foot of the stairs, gritting her teeth. How much was she to endure indeed? Apparently a lot. Should she ignore the woman, continue up the steps? No, because then they would think she cared, and she was past caring if her husband slept with all of London. Slowly, she turned. When she spotted Graham hovering near the parlor her skin crawled.

“Graham, leave us,” she demanded.

The man turned slowly and left, but she had no doubt he was listening from around the corner. The house was full of her husband’s spies. She’d found that out when she’d allowed a friend to visit without his permission a week after they had married.

“What is it?” There was no need to pretend friendship with the woman. Amusingly enough when they’d first met some six years ago, Eleanor had actually thought they could be friends. Mrs. Handler had seemed genuinely kind. Maybe in another life, the woman had been. Perhaps she had merely been seduced by Lord Beckett, as Eleanor had. But her compassion for the woman had long since died.

“I want…” Mrs. Handler stepped closer and lowered her voice. She was pretty with her round features and full figure, yet she was the complete opposite of Eleanor. There were many nights when Eleanor lay awake wondering if her husband had ever truly been attracted to her, or if he preferred someone with a more curvy form. “I need you to know how much I care about you both.”

Eleanor blinked at her, bemused. Surely she had misheard. “Care? About us both?”

“Indeed.” She nodded so hard that the topknot of dark hair slipped, a silky-straight strand falling down around her chin. “I know you do not believe me, but there is nothing worse than an unhappy marriage; I should know. But I’m content now, and I only wish you the happiness that I have found.”

“Yes, but you were fortunate, for your husband died.”

Mrs. Handler gasped, startled by her blunt words. Eleanor didn’t care. She barely cared about anything anymore, and that was the worst of it. Worse than the pain and heartache… the numbness.

The woman wrung her hands together, obviously nervous, as she should be. “When a man and woman are forced into a union in which they don’t enjoy each other, it is not surprising that there may not be love between the two.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear.” Eleanor smiled. “We were not forced. I had every intention of loving my husband. Unfortunately, he didn’t love me. No, instead he loved the maid, the cook, my best friend, and that was only within the first week of our marriage.”

Lady Handler flushed, tucking the loose lock behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I did not mean for him to fall in love with me.”

Eleanor released a harsh laugh. “You think he’s in love? Then it is I who feel sorry for you. As you will soon uncover, Lord Beckett is incapable of love.” Eleanor was determined to waste no more time on the woman. She turned and started up the steps. “Have him as often as you like. If it will keep him from my bed, I bless your union.”

She knew her voice carried to Graham and didn’t care. She knew that Mrs. Handler would most likely tell her husband what she had said, yet she didn’t bloody well mind in the least. No, because in that moment as she made her way up the steps she was determined. Determined that she would make another appointment with Lady Lavender. She was determined, just once, to know passion. Two could play his game.

She pushed open her bedchamber door, startling her lady’s maid, who sat sewing by the fireplace. “Fanny, you know the Rutherfords’ sinful masked ball?”

“Aye, I do.” Fanny watched her warily. “Everyone does.”

“Wonderful. See if you can get me an invitation. It’s time I started enjoying life once more.”

Her lady’s maid smiled as she stood. “About bloody time.”

Eleanor crossed her arms over her chest and moved to the fireplace, enjoying the warmth of the flames. She’d heard the rumors. She knew Lady Lavender often attended the ball, escorted by her male whores. If her husband was going to kill her, she might as well die happy.

Chapter 3

There was only one ball in polite society where Lady Lavender was invited every year: the Rutherfords’ masked dance. It was a scandalous affair that was hardly appropriate for young bucks looking for wives and virginal debutantes, but for the more adventurous members of the
ton
it was a night they would not soon forget. James knew for a fact Lady Rutherford was no client, but merely loved to be the talk of the
ton
, and inviting Lady Lavender certainly created talk.

For the past six years, Lady Lavender had been invited, and for the past six years, James had been her escort, trusted and loyal lapdog that he was. Which made the fact that he had been suspicious of her for the last few days only add to his guilt.

He considered her a friend. They considered him her pet. He tried not to let it bother him; most of the time it didn’t. But then he spotted
her
… Mrs. Richards, the woman who had been so aghast at his youthful age… the beautiful if cold-looking blonde who had left him, rejected him, really, for some reason. Aye, when he spotted her he didn’t want to be seen as Lady Lavender’s little toy. He merely wanted her to see him as he was… a man.

He shifted from behind the marble column to get a better view and watched her float across the room like a bleedin’ dove amongst foxes. She wore a pink silk gown trimmed with lace and roses, the bust so low her creamy breasts were on proud display. The familiar rush of heated lust swept through his body. She belonged here, a queen amongst subjects who paled in comparison. She belonged more than any of them. It wasn’t merely her beauty that set her apart from the rest, no, it was her confidence, her very being. Although she wore a mask the same rose color as her gown, he was sure the woman was Mrs. Richards. Yes, she belonged here, at balls with the wealthiest London had to offer. So why the bleedin’ hell had she risked it all by visiting a brothel?

“Because if my husband ever uncovers the truth, he will kill me.”

Her words had haunted him in the days since he’d seen her last. Of course any husband would be irate if he found he’d been humiliated. In fact, they’d had to deal with more than one angry spouse, which was why Ophelia kept only the most brutal of guards on staff. But there was something about the woman’s words that disturbed him. Almost as if… as if she truly believed her husband would kill her.

He scanned the crowds and found Lady Lavender easily in her rich purple gown. Sure enough two hulking guards stood behind her. She was in deep conversation with a young, handsome dandy who had most likely been dared to speak with her. She would not notice if he slipped away.

James briefly touched his black mask, making sure it was in place, then moved along the outskirts of the ballroom, avoiding the crush of visitors, and headed toward Mrs. Richards. He did not intend to speak to her, of course. He’d destroy her reputation. But he couldn’t deny that he was curious about the woman and at the very least wanted to know her real name. Was she titled? Did she have children? A million questions flooded his mind when he’d rarely been curious about any of his clients before. What was it about her that had him so enthralled?

He paused beside a potted palm, half-hidden by the plant, and took a glass of wine as a servant went by. Mrs. Richards chatted with a few patrons, but for the most part she strolled casually through the ballroom, her face unsmiling, her gaze only mildly curious, as if she’d merely stopped by on her way to something more important. Hell, what was wrong with him? He’d never cared about a client before. Caring interfered with business.

“No, it can’t be,” a young woman in a brilliant yellow gown whispered furiously, drawing James’s attention. She stood only a few feet away, huddled close to another woman, both twitching their painted fans excitedly. “It is! That blonde hair… that cold demeanor… dear Lord, it’s Lady Beckett!”

“Indeed! I never!” the older woman exclaimed.

“Neither I! The epitome of elegance and grace, here?” They both giggled behind their fans, but spotting James they broke off, flushing. They had the courage to attend the ball, the gall to gossip about others, yet they would not look him in the eyes.

“Ladies,” he murmured with a slight incline of his head, intent on teasing them.

Their flushes spread and they clutched onto each other, scampering away as if he’d threatened to steal their virtue. James sighed, downing his wine, and found her again.
Lady Beckett.
A lady then. He wasn’t in the least bit surprised. Her elegance and the large jewels she wore gave her away. He started to turn away, his curiosity sated, when she inclined her head ever so slightly. Their gazes met. For the briefest of moments something warm and surprising flashed in her cold, blue eyes. Shock, a little nervousness, and something else he couldn’t quite identify. She jerked her attention away from him, and the moment was gone before it had barely had time to begin. But James was sure of one thing… she had recognized him.

Aye, she’d recognized him, and he’d been thoroughly dismissed. He watched her walk away with a small group of other elegantly dressed women. Women who would never risk their
reputation by visiting Lady Lavender’s, yet she had visited, hadn’t she? James frowned, annoyed for some reason. He had a feeling he would never, ever see her again. Why that bothered him, he wasn’t sure. He turned away from her, determined to forget the woman with the sad eyes, a woman much too good for the likes of him.

He had other clients to dwell upon and she was merely a fleeting star in a night sky full of brilliance. He glanced around the room, looking for someone who might be interested. There were plenty who whispered seductive words, who had grabbed his arse a time or two, but none of them appealed at the moment. Still, there was always a surge of interest when they made an appearance. And so he would smile mysteriously, wink at a woman or two, and come Monday there would be a few new clients added to the list.

It was the same thing every year, over and over again. Most guests at the ball were either young and curious or old and bored with life. He should be grateful for his position, he’d reminded himself repeatedly in the last few days. After all, he’d never in his life tasted champagne before he’d met Lady Lavender. Never slept on silken sheets or worn the finest of French fashion. And never would he have been able to support his family.

She’d promised him riches, and she’d come through. So he didn’t mind the lewd glances and occasional wandering hand from women… and men. At least he had never minded before. But tonight… tonight was different. Tonight he felt the odd desire to crawl out of his own skin, to be free of it all, to know something different.

He shook off the unsettling feeling. He was here to do business for Ophelia, the woman he owed. More business meant more money for his family. And so he smiled charmingly at the ladies he passed, although he wanted to frown. He smiled, even when they looked him over like he was nothing more than prime horseflesh. Smiled although he knew he did not belong here and never would.

“Sir.” A servant paused next to James, tray in hand.

“Thank you.” James set his flute upon the tray and started to turn away, intent on capturing at least one new client that night.

“No,” the man whispered furiously.

James paused, glancing back. The man’s face was utterly red with embarrassment. He didn’t speak, merely slid a folded note toward James. Frowning, James took the missive and moved away. Another mysterious letter. Surely Alex wasn’t contacting him here, of all places. He slipped behind a column, hidden from view, and opened the note.

Head through the kitchen and meet me in the back garden.

Dare he hope that Lady Beckett had written the note? No, he wasn’t that lucky. But it was obviously from a woman, if the feathery handwriting and floral scent were any indication. It must be a client, one who frequented the estate, for they were the only ones who would be so bold. He glanced toward Lady Lavender, and as she met his gaze, she understood. He needed no permission, as long as he was working.

He placed the note into his jacket pocket and followed the corridor toward the back of the house. The dancing, laughing guests did not notice, for he’d learned early in life to become one with the shadows. The farther into the house he traveled, the quieter it became. He followed the dimly lit corridor past many wealthy paintings of landscapes and dour-looking relatives. Past maids and footmen scurrying to get drinks to spoiled guests. Even past a few couples kissing in the shadowed corners. It was a ball that was not for the innocent. Nothing surprised him anymore.

At the end of the corridor he could see the serving maids rushing around the kitchen, various meals in midpreparation. He breathed deeply the scent of bread, roasted duck, and other delicious servings. It was one of many benefits of his station in life… the meals. Meals he never could have imagined, let alone tasted, as a lad. He turned left and headed out the back door. He
knew the layout well, for he had entertained more than one tryst in Lady Rutherford’s gardens.

The night air was cool and crisp. Only a few stars were visible, for they were not far enough away from London to escape the gray cloud of smoke produced by the factories. He shifted his gaze west to the stone wall and beyond. There was the countryside. Just beyond those hills. And out there, hours away, his mum and sister breathed in the clean air. Perhaps tonight they were eating his mother’s famous beef stew and wondering where he was, what adventures he was on. The thought made him uneasy, melancholy.