Devil's Bargain (22 page)

“This is most interesting of all,” she said.

He did not know what she referred to until he felt it. Suddenly she was there, touching, stroking, and finally holding his ballocks. It was a torture he had not expected. None of his girls had ever been so bold. True they had seen, but it was enough to get them to touch his shaft. He had not forced them to do more, knowing they would naturally seek more information when their husbands required it. But not Lynette. She wanted to know all, and so she had positioned herself appropriately, cupping him fully in her hand while he groaned in pleasure.

“You like this?” she asked, her voice filled with innocent
curiosity. And then, as if to emphasize her point, she shifted her grip, caressing him as she moved.

His response was a gasp.

“Was that a yes?” she asked, but this time he could hear the mischief in her tone. Still, there was nothing he could do about it. Her right hand came forward, not to join her left but to grasp him about the shaft, holding him carefully but firmly. “Do you like it more than here?”

Both her hands held him, making his head spin with hunger. He could not help himself. He moved. He pushed forward against her right hand, groaning in response. “Yes.”

“Yes, which? Which do you prefer?” She alternated her actions, stroking first in one location then the other, and the sensations left him nearly mindless.

Then, suddenly, abruptly, she stopped. Her hands stilled as if frozen, and though it took him some moments to restrain himself, he did at last notice the change.

He opened his eyes. “Lynette?”

She was not looking at him; her eyes were back on the window and the couple beyond.

Shifting, he followed her gaze and nearly groaned out loud. Louise was using her mouth now. Young Bert pumped in glorious abandon.

All Adrian had to do was spare one glance toward Lynette’s luscious lips and he knew what she was thinking. He watched as she looked back down at him, her gaze sliding between his face, his groin, and the tableau through the window, then back again to him.

“Is it safe?” she asked.

No,
he wanted to answer.
Nothing is safe with you.
But he did not. He could not, for she would have to learn this. It was his heaven and his hell that he would be the one to teach her.

“Do not use your teeth. Suction is most delightful, especially when coupled by a squeeze.”

“And the tongue?”

He hesitated, fearing for his sanity. “Do you recall how I explored you?”

She nodded, and he had the joy of watching her whole body flush.

“I give you leave to do the same.”

With a girlish grin, she descended. It was his last moment of sanity for many hours.

They left Jenny’s at dawn.

Never had Adrian been more grateful for a carriage, for he could barely walk. As for Lynette, her eyelids drooped the moment they stepped inside the vehicle. At home he sent her directly to bed, whereas he dragged himself to his library to sit and study his correspondence. He knew if he followed her upstairs he would not be able to resist joining her in bed. So he forced himself to attend estate business—though how he was going to read the ledgers, he had no idea. He barely had the energy to open the envelopes.

Five minutes into the task, sleep was the last thing on his mind. He had been scanning his mail, sorting it in preparation to read. Until one letter came to the top of the pile. It was from Audra.

Slitting the envelope, he pulled out the single page. It was a death notification. Audra’s husband had died.

Smiling, he performed the calculations in his mind. She was now a free woman, a rich widow at the age of twenty-nine.

He stared at the missive, his grin still in place. At least one of his girls was free now, and earlier than expected! He could well imagine Audra’s joy. Would he at last be able to see her smile in truth? A smile that held no hint of canniness or calculation? A smile like Lynette’s?

His mind latched on to the image and would not release it. Lynette had the loveliest smile. Every woman was lovely in passion, and Lynette more so than most. But the picture Adrian most remembered was from before, a smile he was not even supposed to have seen.

It had been a moment from her first day here, a time when he had not expected her to be able to manage the affairs of the house, had expected her to flounder as all his other girls had. But she had more than succeeded, and in doing so had given him the first of the many surprises in store for him.

Yet in that first moment, that initial split second when he had been stunned to discover she had managed to not only buy food but also have an excellent meal prepared, she had turned away and smiled. It was not a smile meant for him. It was not a gloating moment of triumph as she well deserved. It was simply for herself, an acknowledgment that she had done well and knew it.

Thus, she had smiled. And the image had burned itself into Adrian’s memory, for it, he supposed, was the essence of Lynette.

Her every action, her every thought now came from that place: from the sure and certain knowledge that this was something she had chosen to do. Or so it seemed to him. Even though she had been abused by Mr. Smythe, insulted by Lady Karen, and assaulted
by Lord Rendlen, she still somehow managed to keep safe a core within herself, a place that told her she had indeed chosen this life.

And she accepted the consequences.

He admired her. He had never been so sanguine. In fact, he had spent years railing at his own fate, cursing his wastrel ancestors and damning the world in general for being so unfair.

How ironic that he would at last gain his own freedom at the very moment that Lynette lost hers. The moment she said, “I do,” he would no doubt be many thousands of pounds richer. The moment she accepted many years of bondage, playing whore and servant to some old man, he would step boldly into a debt-free life.

Unbidden, his hands clenched into fists, crumpling the death notification into a tiny ball. How many years would it be for Lynette? Five? Ten? Twenty? It was not unheard of for a gentleman to defy all medical logic and keep breathing well into his seventies, even eighties. Would she still be able to smile in triumph in twenty years? Would she still be pleased with her choice? Or would she be cursing Adrian’s name with every breath in her body?

Glaring down at his clenched fists, he abruptly threw the death notification across the room. He did not wish to see it. Did not want to think about Audra or Suzanne or any of his girls. He wished to think of his estate and his own bright future.

With that in mind, he slit the next missive. It was the last of Lynette’s marriage proposals, a discreet letter from her fifth suitor requesting a time and place to discuss the details of his offer. It was this gentleman’s earnest hope that the matter could be resolved
quickly. If all went as he hoped, the man wrote, he and Lynette could be married within a week.

Releasing a curse he had not used in years, Adrian pushed away from his desk, grabbed his hat, and stormed out of the house.

A funeral was a solemn affair. Given her father’s profession, Lynette had attended dozens of these events. Indeed, if hard-pressed, she believed she could recite the service from beginning to end. But not this funeral. Not this time. Because this was the time and place Adrian had chosen for her to peruse her five suitors. He had explained to her the details of their offers. Indeed, he had been quite cold and logical as he recited the benefits of each man, their lacks, their problems.

One had the gout but appeared otherwise healthy.

One had power in the House of Lords, but it was waning.

One had the most money, but an evil, contemptible brood of children.

He had made a list of each man’s attributes, flaws, and finances, and practically thrown the pages at her,
as if he wished to end the entire sordid business as quickly as possible.

Hurt by the change in him, his sudden brusque manner, Lynette had gathered up the pages and fled to her room. There, she’d studied each man, memorizing the facts, pairing them in her mind with her thoughts and impressions.

Then, that night, he had come to her bedroom. She had been hopeful, but it was not to speak gently with her. Not to touch her or soothe her fears. He had wanted to tell her, in the fewest possible number of words, about this funeral. He had said all the gentlemen would be here, and she was to make her final selection the next day, before the sun had set.

She would be married a few days after that.

She had stared at him, a dozen questions on her lips, but before one could crowd past the others and be given voice, he’d turned smartly on his heel and left. And for the first time since she had arrived in his home, she’d heard him lock the adjoining door. There would be no more discussion on the matter.

She’d curled into herself in her bed, staring at the window until exhaustion forced her into an uneasy sleep.

Now the day had come. Within an hour, she would be face to face with the five gentlemen who wished to join their lives with hers. Except she knew they wanted nothing of the kind. Joining? No. They wanted a skilled lover and an entertaining servant to the end of their days.

But they wanted her, and Lynette didn’t know whether to feel excited, repulsed, or terrified. In truth, she felt numb. The facts and figures about the
men in question were a jumbled mass in her mind, none standing out from the others. And yet today—somehow—she had to choose.

“Come along, Lynette. We cannot be late.”

Lynette started at the baroness’s strident tone. The woman had not touched a drop of liquor since that disaster so many weeks before. Instead, she had been steeped in bad temper, obviously anxious for a drink but restraining. And though her expression remained perpetually sour, her body had started to improve. Her eyes were clearer, her skin rosy. Even her attire seemed better somehow. Crisper. Cleaner. Even in funereal black, the baroness seemed handsome.

Or would if she could simply smile.

Then again, perhaps her dour expression was appropriate to the event, decided Lynette as she glided down the stairs. Adrian joined them at the door, looking as dark and funereal as his aunt. But unlike the older woman, Adrian had seemed to shrink in the last few days. Not in stature, but in his soul. Lynette had no way to explain it, and she had tried many times to understand. She only knew that his eyes terrified her now.

His eyes seemed dead. So dead that they seemed to leach the very breath out of everyone, including herself. Around him, she felt cold and flat. And so empty.

That, too, somehow seemed appropriate. After all, this was a funeral where the widow celebrated newfound freedom while Lynette was choosing her jailer. And what better companions could Lynette have in this endeavor than an old bitter woman, pulled out of her cups to chaperone, and a man who could one
night drive her to the heights of passion and the next treat her as so much bad fish?

Of course, she thought with a wild giggle; to cap off the day’s entertainment there was herself, a minister’s daughter, dressed in a black gown so sheer she might as well be standing in her shift. Add to that the very real possibility that a stiff gust of wind at the burial would strip the gown from her body, and most of the gentlemen would not be watching the coffin, but angling to be the one with the best view of her forthcoming nakedness.

All in all, one could not find better entertainment in any theater in the world.

She was being inspected.

Lynette had long since grown used to the stares, the longing looks from young men, even the haughty, arrogant hatred of the women. But this was new. This was an inspection, not by the men but by the other Marlock women.

The funeral and burial had ended a mere fifteen minutes earlier at the family plot. Guests and widow alike had returned to Audra’s home, speaking in hushed tones while everyone looked at everyone else.

Or rather, everyone seemed to be looking at Lynette. Most especially the six other Marlock girls. All six were arrayed in their jewels and finery, all looking at her with catlike eyes, boldly assessing her attributes and apparently finding her lacking.

She recognized the signs. Indeed, she could not have worked with her father for so many years without seeing jealous, tabby-cat women intent on finding fault. And that surprised her. Why the hostility? By
all accounts, each one was well on her way to being free. Over half their husbands had one foot already in the grave. Why wasn’t Audra, the beautiful widow, the subject of such focused yearning? Why weren’t they all clamoring about her, envious of the new life she would soon have?

Instead, they all gathered together and cast their venomous looks at Lynette.

She would have asked Adrian for an explanation. Indeed, she turned, intending to do just that, but he was gone from her side, caught in a group of gentlemen with political leanings. As for the baroness, she sat in a chair to one side, nursing a glass of lemonade and staring resentfully about the room.

Thus there was no rescue as Lady Linston, the fifth Marlock girl, took her by the hand and drew her forward.

“So, you are Adrian’s last, are you? We all thought Marie would be, but apparently you just can’t keep a good man down.” The tiny redhead tittered at her own double entendre as she drew Lynette toward the circle of strikingly beautiful women. If nothing else, Adrian certainly had good taste. Looking about her, Lynette could easily understand how these ladies married well.

They were beautiful, every one of them.

And yet she found she did not like them. Not in the least. Their eyes were calculating, their movements a little too studied, even as each of them moved with languid grace that no doubt drew the eye of every man they passed.

Then she realized with a start that she was jealous of them. Each one had felt what she had, had done what she had done. All with Adrian.

And that, if nothing else, made her angry. Why should she be angry with these women? she chastised herself. They were every bit as much victims in this whole affair as she was. And yet she disliked them. She wanted to bare her nails and shred them to tiny pieces.

“Has he taken you to Jenny’s yet?” asked one. “Every time Henry mounts me, I close my eyes and think of that night.”

“George hates it that I want to sleep naked. He thinks it’s improper! And yet he thinks nothing of dropping his trousers in the library just as I’ve come in from shopping.”

“I was the first one he took to Jenny’s,” gleefully confided another. “He told me after everything I did, they would name the chamber after me.”

Lynette spun around, trying to pair words with faces and names. But for once, her composure deserted her. They had literally surrounded her, their comments coming faster than she could manage, speaking of things she never thought women did.

And perhaps respectable women did not. But Marlock women did, and Lynette suddenly felt completely outmaneuvered and outclassed. What did she know to compare with these women? What did she have?

The circle parted, and the widow Audra stepped forward. Lynette knew Audra had been part of the group from the beginning, but somehow she gave the impression of just now joining them, as a queen entering a room.

Of all the Marlock girls, Audra was the most striking. With raven-black hair and kohl-darkened eyes, she personified exotic beauty. The black gown she wore fit her ripe body like a well-made glove, emphasizing
her curves, her tiny waist, and breasts that were full and lush.

This was no grieving widow, but a woman coming into her own.

When she spoke, her voice was low, a seductive purr, but her words cut nonetheless. “Please, please, girls—give the poor child room to breathe. Do you not remember how new all this was? How overwhelming?” Audra extended her arm in a movement that defined grace. “Come, Lynette, let us sit over there and talk.”

She drew Lynette away, while the others clustered together and stared from nearby. “My dear, you look quite exhausted. Has Adrian been keeping you up at night?”

Lynette looked away, knowing what the woman wanted to hear and angry that she could not bring herself to lie. So she told the truth, even though it burned in her gut to see the triumphant gleam in Audra’s eyes.

“It is my own distemper that is keeping me awake. I find myself thinking a lot lately.”

“No doubt. And yearning. And remembering.” Audra leaned forward, a possessive gleam in her eyes. “I was his first, you know. He said I taught him as much as he taught me.”

Inwardly, Lynette sighed. She knew what she should say. Indeed, she knew exactly what Audra wanted to hear, and it saddened her greatly. Here was a beautiful woman on the verge of a new life, and yet inside she was still clinging to the dubious fame of being the first girl to be debauched by Adrian.

Was that what was in store for herself? Lynette
wondered. Would she someday be leaning over another girl saying:
I was to be his last, you know. But after me, he found he simply could not stop
.

Lynette closed her eyes at the image, trying to force it from her thoughts.

“I was with him for nearly three months,” Audra was saying. “And he personally chose every one of my gowns. Ah,” she sighed, a look of rapture on her face. “I have missed those fittings. Even now, I dream of them.”

Lynette looked away, finally finding enough pity in her heart to say what the widow wanted to hear. “He speaks of you often. I believe he compares every new girl to you.”

As expected, Audra beamed in triumphant pleasure, looking about her in a show of graciousness. “Ah, well,” she said sweetly, like a monarch bestowing a favor. “That is only to be expected. I was his first.”

Then she stood and glided happily away. Lynette watched her go, saw the men follow her movements with their eyes, saw, too, Adrian’s narrowed eyes, which found his first charge, then leaped back to his last.

Lynette met his gaze firmly, strongly, but inside her heart failed her. Was what she just said true? Did Adrian indeed compare her to Audra?

Glancing back at the stunning woman, Lynette realized that if he did, Lynette would be the loser. Audra was everything Lynette was supposed to be. Stately. Sensual. And now, by all accounts, a very rich widow. And at that moment, Lynette felt like nothing more than a lost parson’s daughter wrapped up in some rather sheer paper.

Lynette would have stood and rushed into the ladies’ retiring room, but she was stopped by a slender hand. She turned, seeing the golden beauty that was Suzanne. Slim, elegant, this was the fair-haired beauty Adrian had nearly killed for.

“Do not let Audra upset you,” said the blonde softly. “I think she is grieving more than she lets on.”

Lynette glanced at the widow, watching her move silently through the people in her home, an isolated creature of such sensuousness that all watched. And yet, for all her beauty, Lynette suddenly saw how alone Audra was.

“It is hard, you know,” Suzanne continued. “You nurse a man for years, build your life around his entertainment, grace his bed in constantly new and interesting ways. Eventually it becomes much more than a business arrangement. The transition will be very difficult.”

Lynette looked back at Suzanne. By all accounts her husband would not see the new year. Did she look at Audra and see her own future? Would she soon be as alone as the dark-haired beauty?

“I do not think I can do this.” That was Lynette, as startled to hear her own words as Suzanne. But then the golden beauty reached out, touching her hands in a gentle embrace.

“Of course you can. Indeed, if you are like the rest of us, you must.”

Lynette nodded, knowing it was true. She had committed herself. She could refuse to wed now, but then what would she do? How would she survive? She doubted even a nunnery would take her now. And she had already used so much of Adrian’s money.

She heard Suzanne sigh, the sound so heartfelt it
seemed to tear through her. “We all fall in love with him, you know. That, too, is inevitable.”

Lynette did not need to see where Suzanne gazed.

“We all wish we were you, right now. Still in his arms. Still being taught what was once so special, so new.”

Lynette nodded, now understanding the source of the women’s animosity. Indeed, she thought, he must be the desire of every woman. His broad frame, his dark good looks, and the strength and power he emanated attracted her fair sex like a magnet. She knew how glorious he was, how wonderful his intimacy could be.

Yes, she thought as she looked at the other Marlock girls. They would all be jealous of her now. Just as she would be green-eyed with hatred of the next woman he chose to sponsor.

Lynette spoke, unsure why she felt the need to explain but grateful for this woman’s kindness nonetheless. “I believe you are his favorite,” she said. And though she did not say he had practically killed for her, she thought about it, remembering the pain that gripped Adrian when he spoke of it.

Suzanne merely shrugged. “His latest girl is always his favorite. He cannot afford to feel any differently.” Then she reached up, touching Lynette’s face with tenderness. “And you, my dear, are his last. You will always remain in his thoughts as none of us ever shall.”