Beloved (22 page)

“You didn’t select sweets,” Devlin whispered back.

“No, but I thought …” He looked sideways at Devlin. “Didn’t you select them?”

“No. You didn’t say anything about sweets.”

“But—”

“Who are they from?” Justine asked. “We should all like to share this treasure, Ella.”

“Who the
devil
are they from?” Saber muttered.

Ella opened the card, read it, and replaced it in its envelope. She slipped the envelope inside her sleeve.

“Well?” Justine said.

Margot smiled and covered her mouth.

Saber went to Ella. “Who sent the sweets?”

She looked up at him. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it damn well does matter. Who?”

Saber heard Devlin say, “Saber, old chap,” but ignored him. Ella sighed and produced the envelope again. She handed it to
Saber. “Read for yourself.”

The heavy cream envelope contained a matching card on which, in a spidery hand, was written: “Your humble servant, Knowlton
Carstairs.”

“Carstairs,”
Saber exploded. “The bloody nerve of the man!”

“Saber—”

“I’ll deal with this, Devlin. I didn’t think you’d even met Carstairs,” he said to Ella.

“The man who was your first suggestion as a husband for me?” she said. “I met him briefly at the Eagletons’.”

“And he has the gall to approach you like this?”

Ella looked around the room. “Evidently he is not the only one who has the gall.”

Saber narrowed his eyes and finished reading the card aloud: “I hope I may call upon you.” He tossed envelope and card aside.
“He
hopes he may call upon you.
”

“Well,” Ella said, selecting a sugary morsel. “We must expect a visitor, then.”

“Over my dead body,” Saber said through gritted teeth.

He looked at Ella. She smiled, and popped the confection into her mouth.

“T
urn around,” Pom told Precious, twirling one forefinger. “All the way around, my pet.”MMM She did as he instructed, wobbling
a little. Her hair hung loose tonight. In the glow from wall sconces in Father’s study, the long tangle of ringlets shone
a harsh red.

“Slower,” Father mumbled around a mouthful of dates. He all but reclined on a brass-studded leather chaise near the fire.
“Do it again. Much slower.” His voice was slurred, his eyes rheumy.

Pom made a slow circle with his finger. He sucked hock from his goblet, watching Precious as he did so. The smell of her was
strong. Some French concoction she’d bought on one of the Wokingham accounts in the Burlington Arcade. She’d already bragged
to him about “Woky” telling her to have whatever she pleased.

The girl made another somewhat ungainly revolution. “Not so bad,” Father said, scooping up more dates and eating them from
his palm. “Nice pair, hmm?” He made a vague gesture toward Precious.

A pair meant to be used, Pom thought. And he intended to use them well. After all, the debts arising from this speculative
venture would be his if it failed. But the venture would not,
could
not fail. His turn to win had come, to win and to wreak vengeance.

Father waved his free hand again. “Always was partial to red there, y’know. Your mother’s was red.” His vision cleared for
an instant.

Pom didn’t like it when his father talked about the mother Pom didn’t remember. “I was surprised you decided to puff it off
in the
Times,
Papa,” he said, changing the subject. “Makes it more difficult later, didn’t you know?”

“How so?”

Shrugging, Pom pushed to his feet and filled his glass. “Official. Means there’ll have to be a lot of explanations later.”

“Round you go again, m’girl,” Father said, then, “I meant it to be official, Pom. Didn’t I, Precious?”

She giggled.

Pom detested her giggle. “We haven’t told you what we’re about this fine night,” Father said to him. “Shall we tell him, Precious?”

“Ooh, yes,” she said breathily. “Better hold on to yourself, Pom. Wouldn’t want you to lose precious jewels in your trousers.”

She was coarse. Ladies might be carnal, but they were never coarse. Precious was no lady—and he did not like what he thought
his father was telling him. “This so-called betrothal,” he said carefully. “We must be certain it in no way affects Precious’s
chances for a good match afterwards.”

Precious giggled again. “Stop there,” Father told her when she faced away from him. “Plenty to hold on to at the back door,
too. Man of my maturity appreciates a well-developed female arse.”

A soft arse, Pom decided, at the same moment when he threatened to do exactly what Precious had warned he might. His trousers
bound him. He adjusted himself.

“Look at him!” Precious dropped back her head and laughed raucously. She peeped at him over her shoulder and laughed again.
“Do you have an itch, Pommy, darling? Should you like me to scratch it for you?”

“Mine’s the only cock you’ll scratch until I tell you otherwise,” Father said, sounding petulant. “There’ll be no calling
off the betrothal, m’boy. Before the night’s out you’ll be rutting with your future mother-in-law. The next Lady Wokingham.
Don’t tell me the thought doesn’t appeal.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Never more so. Shall we tell him now, Precious? After all, this is going to be our present to Pom, isn’t it?”

Pom’s stomach clenched. Conspiracy. His father had entered into some sort of conspiracy with this willing whore. Pom’s last
swallow of hock rushed back up his throat, acid, foul.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Pom, m’boy. You know the way the land lies. That’ll never change.” Father winked, and his other
eye drifted shut to match. “You’re my heir. You’ll get everything.”

“There isn’t anything,” Pom snapped, approaching Precious. And older men than his father had produced offspring by females
who’d found ways to press their sniveling brats’ claims. “Not a bloody penny, Father dear. So far we’ve pulled off an amazing
feat—almost no one guesses, certainly no one of account.”

“That’s what this is all about,” Precious told him, her chin resting on a plump shoulder. “It’s all part of the plan. A sort
of rehearsal, isn’t that correct, Woky?”

Woky.
“Absolutely correct, my luscious little sweetmeat.”

Pom took one of Precious’s ringlets and wound it around his finger. “You two seem to have been busy with your planning. In
private.” He wound and wound, until Precious winced.

“Planning for you, Pomeroy,” Father said with some asperity, asperity ruined only by a hiccup. “I’ve got to give our Precious
a great deal of the credit, too. Mostly her idea.”

Pom released the ringlet slowly. “I’m in suspense.”

“It’s a practice,” Father said, grinning, spittle spraying with each word. “Isn’t that right, Precious?”

“A practice,” she said. “We’re going to make sure you get it right on the day.”

What interested him now was a real performance. “I tire of this,” he said, fumbling at the fastenings on his trousers. “Enough
talk.”

“Step away, Pom,” his father said, good-naturedly enough. “Sit down and do as you’re told.”

“I said—”

“Sit
down
, Pom. Be gracious. It’s unbecomin’ for a man not to be gracious when he’s given a gift.”

“I want to—”

“
Sit down,
” his father roared. “We’re going to rehearse your weddin’ day, you ungrateful whippersnapper.”

Pom narrowed his eyes, but he subsided into a wing chair that matched his father’s chaise. For some moments there was silence
but for the crackle of the fire. The room was over-warm. Heavy green damask draperies covered the windows. A worn, green and
brown silk rug almost obscured the dark floorboards.

Precious stood on a wooden footstool from which the cushion had been removed.

She was naked.

Lord Wokingham mumbled and sniffed, and struggled to a more upright position on the chaise. He said, “That’s what we’re going
to do, isn’t it, my luscious? We’re going to ensure he makes the very best of his opportunities.”

“Yes!” She squealed and drew up her shoulders. “It’s going to be delicious, Pommy. I can hardly wait. We’re going to go through
every teensy thing tonight. Will you help your Precious?” She pouted.

“Help her,” Father ordered. “Bring out the clothes.”

Pom raised his eyebrows and asked, “What clothes?” Father waved toward a leather screen arranged across one corner of the
room. “Behind that thing.”

Spread on a bench behind the screen lay a creamy satin gown and various other female garments. Pomeroy gathered them up and
carried them out. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

Father guffawed and snorted. “Dress the girl! Dress her for her weddin’—to me.”

Pom folded his arms. “The hell I will.”

Precious pointed a toe. “Wouldn’t you enjoy putting on a stocking for me, Pommy?” Her high voice wheedled and she teetered
precariously on her plinth. A plump, pink ballerina on a too-small music box—turning, turning. He could almost hear the tinny
sound of a clockwork waltz. “Pommy?” she repeated.

He looked from her foot to the red bush that so pleased his father.

“Help her,” Father said. “It’ll be worth it. Get you in the mood, so to speak.”

Scowling, Pom selected a lacy white stocking from the pile of fabulously expensive clothing and bent over Precious’s wriggling
toes.

“Easier if you kneel down,” she told him. “Better view, too, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m damned if I’ll—”

“Just tell yourself she’s Ella,” Father said slyly. “That’s what we’re doin’ here, Pom, making sure you do this perfectly
with Ella.”

“With Ella?” He grew even warmer. “Yes,” Father said. “With Ella. Take your time, m’boy, but do it. With Precious’s help we’ll
soon manage to deal with that little problem. To our great advantage. And to your satisfaction. But, in the meanwhile, we
might as well enjoy the anticipation, what?”

Pom’s heart speeded. He went slowly to his knees and pulled the stocking on, unrolling it over Precious’s limb, smoothing
it past her knee, stroking the soft, bare skin of her thigh.

Sweat broke out on his face, his back. “Naughty, naughty!” Precious smacked his hand when it reached her red curls. “If you
go too fast, you’ll spoil it. And Ella isn’t as passionate as me, remember. She’ll need a bit more persuading.”

Pom took the other stocking and repeated the process before tying a silver garter above each of Precious’s dimpled knees.

Ella’s legs would be long and slender beneath his hands. He wiped the back of a wrist over his brow.

The very air in the room had grown warm. “The stays,” Precious said, and held her arms straight out. Pom picked up the gusseted,
boned garment. “I doubt Ella Rossmara wears stays,” he said.

That brought a wrinkle to Precious’s smooth brow. “She will wear stays on her wedding day. We want to see her in them, don’t
we, Woky?”

“Mmm?” Father had dozed. He roused himself. “Mmm. Yes, ’course. Whatever you say.”

“What does she mean,
we
want to see Ella in stays?” Pomeroy and his father had certain rules where these things were concerned.

“Tell him, Woky.”

“Precious will be with us when you take your Ella.”

“No!”

“Yes,” Father said. “Be guided, Pom. The Rossmara girl will be the more vulnerable in the presence of another female. We’ve
no doubt she’ll appeal for help, for understanding. Titillatin’.”

“She’ll want me,” Pom said, pursing his lips. “She doesn’t know herself yet, her passion. I’ll make her know it, and want
it. She’s mine.”

“Put”—Father indicated the stays—“put ’em on.”

Pom hesitated, then spread the heavy cotton garment open and wrapped it around Precious’s very soft, very pink and white body.
She lifted her breasts and leaned toward him. “Ooh,” she said, “won’t you like putting stays on Ella and making her do this
for you?” She brought a chubby pink nipple to his mouth, but withdrew quickly when he went to suck it.

“Lace her in,” Father said shortly.

Pom ran his tongue around Precious’s nipple. He sprang even harder inside his trousers.

Father scooted to the edge of the chaise. “You’re not doing it the way it’s supposed to be done. You don’t get to this part
until
after
the ceremony.”

Ella’s breasts were smaller, firmer, more pointed. Pom’s legs trembled with lust. He closed his eyes and filled his mouth
with Precious’s turgid female flesh. Ella would taste sweet. She’d moan and push against him.

“Do as I tell you,” his father said. “Do it now.”

“He’s thinking about Ella, aren’t you, Pommy?” Precious said, gasping, clutching his head to her.

Reluctantly, he pulled away. He regarded her wet nipple, before turning her around and beginning, awkwardly, to lace the stays.

“Nice,” his father said, grunting as he got to his feet. “Very nice. I believe I’ll have you in those, m’dear. Later.”

Precious’s giggle was predictable. “Come and help me get comfy, Woky.”

Pom held his teeth together and yanked the laces till Precious gasped. Her future husband amused himself with her breasts,
and the red “there” that so pleased him.