Treacherous Temptations

Treacherous Temptations by Victoria Vane





To the real Mary Edwardes who proved a clever pawn can indeed become a queen.





“Though virtue and vice divide the world, vice has by far the better share.”

- English proverb





Prologue


London’s Hanover Square - 31 December 1720

It was an unusually late hour when the staid Earl of Blanchard, a man of unusually stringent habits, stumbled past his footman reeking of spirits. Endeavoring to escape from the putrid fermentation of growing scandal, he had withdrawn to his club to spend the evening into the wee hours in solitary rumination of the shambles of his life.

She was his second wife, younger by thirty years, and he’d been an infatuated fool for her. He’d nearly ruined himself with the extravagant gifts he’d used to woo her, and now for his madness he was accounted the biggest cuckold in the country. There’s no fool like an old fool.

After hours of reflection, he’d reached a solemn resolution, but now that he stood outside her bedchamber, he found himself faltering. His hand trembled on the knob, for he already knew what he would find on the other side of the mahogany portal. Nevertheless, he was unable to fight the self-destructive impulse to see with his eyes what his heart and mind had continued to deny.

Devoid of candle or lamp, he entered her chamber and advanced to the tester bed, drawing back the luxurious silk hangings with quavering fingers to expose the shadowy forms entwined in the deepest repose of sated slumber.

The Earl of Blanchard retrieved the loaded pistol from his pocket, vacillating with an unsteady hand between the two targets— his wife and her lover—until the latter turned in his sleep to reveal shockingly familiar features in the dim moonlight.

Overcome by the unspeakable treachery, the earl stumbled backward, clutching his chest, gasping for air. In the end, he placed the muzzle in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.





Chapter One


Republic of Venice – March 1722

Hadley, self-styled, Lord Blanchard fumbled with the key, dropped it, and then groped in the dark, cursing the slothful valet who failed to answer his summons. His ill temper was as much due to his gaming losses as by the clumsiness induced by an over-abundance of alcohol. Although he’d polished off an entire case of Canary wine with his cronies, the countless casks, and plethora of bemasked bedfellows, provided only fleeting succor for his distress.

He had come to Venice to lose himself in the faceless throng of revelers, and the Queen of the Adriatic had welcomed him as warmly as a new mistress. With his letter of introduction from the Duke of Wharton, Hadley had enjoyed the best of accommodations without the inconvenience of having to pay for them. This good fortune had also allowed him to indulge for a time, in a spree of unbridled debauchery, and where better than Venice? For nowhere in Europe boasted such a paradoxical picture of piety and depravity as the Venetian Republic during carnival.

By light of day, she affected a demeanor of respectability. Her ladies, modestly hidden behind filmy black veils, and her gentleman who concealed their nightly dissipations with false facades of refined gentility, seemingly found no greater delight than innocent promenades in the Piazza, sampling frittola, and perusing shops for silks and pointe-de-venice.

With the arrival of dusk, however, the true Venice awakened. Donning her gilded and bejeweled bauta, she revealed her soul beneath a thousand torches lighting the canals with sputtering brilliance over shimmering waters. With her countless covered gondolas affording floating places of refuge for sinful delights, she reveled in all of her concupiscent glory.

Hadley had immersed himself in the illicit offerings, passing his days in indolent idleness and his nights in inveterate debauchery…until his luck in the gaming rooms had run dry. He had already replaced his diamond shoe buckles with paste and now his funds continued to diminish at an alarming rate. Would he soon be reduced to begging alms of friends and groveling for his bread? He was the heir to an earldom, for Christ’s sakes!

Nearly ready to kick the door in, he found the key at last and slid it into the lock. When the door gave into the dimly lit chamber, he was assailed by a stream of words spoken in a breathy feminine gush.

“My darling, my dearest love! We are together again at last!” The warm feminine figure flung herself into his arms, melding to him in a ravenous kiss. He was at first stunned by the unidentifiable sensual assault, but what mattered the voice when attached to such a welcome?

Although still enshrouded in a drink-induced fog, his prick readily responded. Without a word of reply, he fisted her hair, backed her to the wall, and tore away the damnable barrier of the dressing gown to find her nude beneath. Hot tongues met and tangled as she yanked at his clothes.

“God, yes!” she groaned deep in her throat, groping for and releasing him. “Magnificent! Just as I remember you.” Her voice was low and weighted with lust. “Now, damn you! I want you now!” she cried between biting kisses that tore at his flesh.

He lifted her, crushing her against the wall. She undulated against him, her legs wrapped about him, squeezing his flanks. He plunged into her, only briefly relishing the initial sensation of glorious wet heat, before partially withdrawing and slamming back into her.

“Yes! Harder. Faster,” she demanded, her nails clawing through layers of silk brocade and linen. Ruthlessly, he pounded into her gasping, writhing body, until sweat beaded his forehead and pieces of plaster flaked from the wall. Tension coiled deep in his groin. He was on the brink. Three more brutal thrusts and he exploded just as she screamed her release.