Treacherous Temptations(13)

In truth, Barbara had taught him everything he knew, and his well-honed skills had served him well. His gifted mouth had proven an especial delight to several Italian noblewomen with rich and complacent husbands. He supposed he should be grateful to her, but his education had come at a damnably high price.

“La! You are wicked!” she chortled. “What do you propose?”

“I have a few ideas that only require time alone with her. I presume you can facilitate matters to that end?”

“Then you do intend to seduce her.” Her eyes glittered dangerously. “Just don’t enjoy yourself too much, my love.”

“I don’t care for your possessiveness. You would do well to remember that this is purely a business arrangement between us.”

“If it’s purely business, why are you in my bed?” she purred.

“It’s actually my bed,” he corrected. “And there was no appeasing you otherwise.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “No one can satisfy you as I can. Not even your delectable valet, though he was so deliciously accommodating and eager to please. We three had such a time together in Venice, didn’t we?”

“I recall remarkably little of Venice,” he replied in a bored tone. “Most of my duration was spent wallowing in misery and drink, and I was most certainly stinking drunk when you arrived.” The Venetian episode represented the pinnacle of his depravity, a time he would sooner forget.

“And yet you performed most admirably. It’s surprising how little debilitated you are by drink, Hadley.”

“The ability to f*ck anything that moves, in virtually any circumstance, is a rather under-rated talent. Don’t you find it so, my dear?”

“It is indeed!” she chuckled throatily, his bitter irony passing completely over her head. “But I think Vincenzo and I should jog that faulty memory of yours.”

“Then I regret to inform you that I left Vincenzo behind.”

She frowned. “How disappointing. Have you grown bored with him?”

“He proved valuable to me in many ways but he was infatuated, and like an old mistress, jealous of my attentions. Besides, his lack of English would have been a detriment. I have a new valet who arrives later today with the baggage.”

“And what manner of creature is he? This new valet of yours…Does he have any particular talents aside from dressing you?”

“Is that your game now, Barbara? One man at a time is no longer enough for you?”

“One does look for variety,” she purred. “But to answer your question, you have been the only man with both the instrument and the stamina to satisfy me for any length of time.”

“How gratifying.” Her declaration gave him little satisfaction, considering what her simplest touch had once inspired in him. She had epitomized his every fantasy but had used sex as a means of controlling him, making him a slave to lascivious lust. But those days were over. Although for the nonce he needed her, Barbara was under a misapprehension bordering on delusional, if she thought to ever control him again.

He had almost walked out when she had come into his room, but reminded himself that it was she who had unwarily achieved what he could not—not only the means to a fifty thousand a year heiress, but of reprisal over his enemies.

She licked her full lips and snaked a hand down to fondle his crotch. He locked his hand about her wrist. “But darling,” she breathed into his ear. “You already know I am insatiable.”

He pushed her away with a growl. “Better said, a bitch in heat.”

“You think me a bitch in heat, Hadley?” She threw her head back and laughed. “I’m charmed, darling, for that is precisely how I want you to take me.”

Although he felt no real desire for her, his most longed-for wish for vengeance proved a powerful aphrodisiac. So when she assumed a position on all fours, her arse raised in invitation, he capitulated one last time. But all the while he drove into Barbara, his thoughts wandered back to the music room and a pair of artlessly alluring green and gold-flecked eyes.





Chapter Eight


Mary spent the remainder of her day in her room and then took her supper there as well, after Lady Blanchard sent word that she was going out for the evening. At first, Mary tried to divert herself with needlework, but distraction bloodied her fingers more times than she could count.

Had the Conte di Caserta accompanied the countess? She wondered how long he would be staying in London.

She next tried a book of poetry, but after reading the same page three times without remembering a word, she cast the book aside as well.

Why did he visit the countess? Would she see him again?

She finally opted for a quiet game of cards with Jenny, but found herself easily defeated by her maid for failure to keep her mind focused even on the simple game of quinze.

Who was he to Lady Blanchard? Was he an admirer? Or…Mary’s heart sunk at the thought that he might be Lady Blanchard’s secret lover.

With such questions plaguing her mind, sleep eluded her.

The next morning Mary sought to clear her muddled head with a stroll in the expansive flower gardens behind Blanchard House. The cool air had worked a world of good until she encountered a gardener occupied with plucking out bunches of wild growing primroses.

“What are you doing?” Horrified, Mary scooped up a handful of drooping pale yellow flowers.