Invitation to Ruin (8 page)

Anthony was supposed to have been Cassandra’s salvation. No one but her man of business and her lawyer truly knew the state of her finances. Christopher’s debts paled into insignificance next to hers.

That two-faced milk-sop Melissa had ruined everything. Cassandra would have to look for another potential, yet rich, husband.

She sighed. With her beauty it should not be difficult. It’s simply she wanted more than a rich husband. She wanted a real man, a man who made her body wet and needy with one seductive look. A man whose erection was so huge she’d feel as if he’d impaled her on it—a man like Anthony James Craven, the Earl of Wickham.

His sexual prowess was legendary. Her feminine folds became wet merely thinking about the pleasure his instrument of passion could give her.

How she’d longed to join his Wicked Club. She was not jealous of the women before her. She planned to be the only member of the club that succeeded in becoming his wife. That’s why she’d tried to play her silly game. She’d built his desire for her until she could see it flaming in his eyes every time he looked at her.

Her fait accompli was when he’d agreed to move in while his town house was undergoing repairs. The fact that she’d paid a man to set the fire had luckily escaped notice.

She tried to keep her tone even. “Tell me, how exactly did you happen to catch them?”

Christopher frowned. “His brother, Richard, came and got me. I thought that strange. I always thought they liked each other. Most thought they were very close.”

It made perfect sense to Cassie. Richard had been pursuing her, too. She was accustomed to men fighting over her, yet to force your own brother into marriage seemed extreme. Plus it wouldn’t stop her bedding Anthony anyway. She bit her lip. No, something else was going on here.

Christopher turned to face her. “I may need help with Melissa. She has not taken her situation well at all. I wouldn’t put it past her to do something stupid, like run away. This morning she was in tears begging me not to force her into this marriage. The girl’s insane. She is completely ruined, a wealthy earl has proposed marriage, and yet for some reason she seems afraid to marry Lord Wickham.”

Cassie gritted her teeth. How did she tell Melissa’s brother that the likely size of Wickham’s member probably hurt his sister to the point that she’s terrified of sharing Anthony’s bed. “Losing one’s virginity can often be a most painful experience. She is probably simply fearful of further hurt. I will reassure her. “

Christopher smiled in relief. “You are most kind. I had forgotten the talk about Wickham’s size.”

Cassandra had most definitely not, and she could not wait to feel the full hard length of him as he drove into her. She would marry him, for nothing was going to stop her.

But what to do about Melissa? A delicious shiver of evil slid down her spine. She knew a man who might help. This could be quite profitable for her in more ways than one.

She licked her lips and fingered her wet folds. Then, the Earl of Wickham would be all hers to enjoy and savor.

She rolled on top of Christopher and began stroking him. “Tell me, how soon are they to wed?”

Christopher’s voice hitched. “Friday,” he panted.

Cassandra kissed and sucked his nipples before she rose to her knees and moved up to grip the headboard, perfectly positioned above Christopher’s face.

“Then I suggest we help them plan this happy event.” She looked down expectantly at her lover. “Now that you are connected to an earl, it should not take me long to find you a
suitable bride. A suitable, wealthy bride. Why don’t you show me how grateful you can be?”

His tongue stroked her; her eyes glazed over and her head fell back. Soon she was riding his face, his mouth sucking and licking until she exploded in ecstasy above him, dreaming of letting the Earl of Wickham do this to her until she fainted from the pleasure.

T
he next morning, Anthony, having let his mother extract a promise to escort Melissa riding in the park later that afternoon, badly needed some good news to lift his foul temper. He arrived at Craven House to inspect the fire damage. He couldn’t take another night under Cassandra’s roof, knowing she was only a few doors away yet due to his promise to Melissa—untouchable.

He took a deep breath. Quincy, his man of business, was quite correct. The smell of smoke had dissipated.

“You were very fortunate, my lord. The fire damage was not very extensive. The house will be ready for you to occupy in a few days’ time.”

The two men made their way back upstairs to Anthony’s study. The actual fire damage was contained to the back of the property, near the kitchens. The rest of his house had simply been affected by smoke.

Thank goodness, for Anthony loved this house. Craven House was a substantial dwelling. He’d bought it five years ago, so it held no degrading memories of his childhood. It was a free-standing Mayfair mansion surrounded by extensive gardens and a high stone wall. There were enough rooms in the grand residence that Anthony rarely had occasion to see his mother.

Not that she stayed in Town often. She preferred to stay at Wickham Manor in Selby near Bath. His father had bought
the Bath property to be near Bristol, which up until last year was the largest slave-trading port in England.

At this moment, Anthony had never been more thankful for the house’s size. He’d need the space to avoid his wife. Wife! His chest felt as if it had been caught in a blacksmith’s vice.

Anthony cleared his throat. “That is good news, because I will be holding an intimate wedding breakfast here on Friday.”

Quincy’s moon face puffed with surprise, his thick, brown brows furrowing. “Who’s getting married, my lord?”

He could not help but give a bleak smile. “Me. Last night I proposed to Miss Melissa Goodly, and to my joy she has accepted.”

Quincy jerked in his seat, nearly falling off his chair. “Er … ah … congratulations, my lord. May you be very happy.”

Very happy might be pushing it, but he hoped for at least happy. Melissa seemed a sensible girl, not so full of unrealistic notions that a companionable relationship could not develop. Besides, she was very aware of her precarious financial state and the privilege that would come with her marriage to an earl.

Turning to more important matters, Anthony asked, “Have they managed to ascertain how the fire started?”

“No, my lord. One of the grooms found a cheroot near a box of old papers the maids keep for lighting the fires. The theory is a box of paper caught alight when a cheroot was carelessly thrown over the wall.”

“Then I suggest we move anything flammable away from the area.”

“It’s been done.”

“Good.” He took his seat at his desk. “Shall we get on? What needs my attention today?”

Quincy handed Anthony a sheaf of papers. “The shipping reports, my lord. Both your ships should arrive this week as expected.”

Anthony looked forward to their return. He expected
Captain Hawker to provide an update on the effects of the Anti-Slave Trading Act. The House of Lords passed the bill in March last year. Slavery had not been abolished, but they’d made it illegal for any British ship to carry slaves.

There was a knock at the study door. Stevens, Anthony’s long-serving butler, entered and presented Anthony with a calling card. “Viscount Strathmore to see you, my lord.”

Anthony raised his head, surprised. He’d not expected his friend until Thursday when they were due to meet at White’s before enjoying a night of entertainments.

“Send him in, Thompson.” He wondered what his good friend, Rufus Knight, wanted.

Anthony rarely saw his old school chum. Rufus had been his best friend since Anthony’s first day at Eton. Richard had attended Eton from a young age, while Anthony’s father tutored—if that’s what you could call it—him at home. When Anthony turned sixteen, his father relented, and Anthony accompanied his twin brother back to school.

Most of the boys thought Anthony extremely odd and paid him very little attention. Except for Rufus.

Anthony to this day did not know what Rufus saw in him. Rufus had pestered him until Anthony finally accepted the slight shadow, as he called Rufus. He followed Anthony everywhere. At sixteen, Rufus was small next to Anthony’s hulking frame. Perhaps it was the protection Anthony provided Rufus with that made him so loyal. For whatever reason Rufus had picked him to be his friend, Anthony was grateful.

Rufus strode into the room, an irritated scowl hanging from his auburn brows. A troubled look darkened his golden-brown eyes, startling within a face conveying a dark tan, which indicated his life of outdoor pursuits, and setting him apart from the rest of the nobility.

Anthony rose to shake hands with Rufus, who before his time at Eton had finished matched him in height and build.

“Rufus, this is a pleasant distraction.” Rufus kept much to himself. As did Anthony—one of the things they had in common.”
My ships have not arrived in port yet. Or could you not wait for Thursday night’s entertainments?”

Rufus gave a bark of laughter. “I am most eager, as you put it, to visit Madame Sabine’s. I hear she has two new demimondes just for us, but I’m afraid I’m here on business.”

Anthony sank back down on his chair. “I don’t like the sound of that.” Rufus worked for the Foreign Secretary, in what capacity Anthony was unsure and he knew better than to pry into government business. “Quincy, leave us please.”

Quincy bolted out of his seat. “Quincy, a moment.” Anthony looked at the clock on the mantel. “Inform Monty I need the grays harnessed and ready by quarter to four. Thank you.” Deliberately, he added, “I am taking Miss Goodly for a turn in the park.”

Rufus’s jaw dropped.

Anthony laughed. “I have some news of my own, and believe me, you will need a drink.”

“I go away for a few weeks, only to return and find you escorting women in the park.” He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should go away more often.”

Rufus often disappeared for weeks at a time on government business. The last time Anthony had met with Rufus, the man informed him that some English merchants were risking life and limb to slip through the Royal Navy blockade. The new Anti-Slave Trading Act made the gamble highly profitable for those who succeeded in breaking the law. “I’ve a feeling that your business here will require a drink anyway. Brandy or whiskey?”

“Whiskey,” Rufus said, his sun-bronzed hand tugging the last riding glove off. “You? Taking a woman riding in the park?”

He tossed his friend a grin and moved to pour them both a drink, waiting for Quincy to close the door behind him.

“Don’t tell me.” Rufus claimed a seat on the other side of a large mahogany desk. “Your mother’s match-making again.”

“Worse than that I am afraid.” He handed Rufus the glass of whiskey, then gulped his own shot straight down. Hissing
the heat out of his throat, he turned to pour himself another. “You owe me congratulations. As of this morning, Miss Goodly is my fiancée.”

“Miss who?” Rufus scowled at him and shoved his unruly auburn hair out of his square face. “I’ve never heard of her. What is going on here? Why are you marrying?”

“Why, indeed?”

Rufus took a sip of his drink, and his mouth curved up in amusement. “I find I am quite pleased you are and that you have given up this nonsense about not spawning future Tony Cravens.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Don’t you start. You’re as bad as Richard.” Taking the whiskey decanter with him, Anthony sat behind his desk. “My so-called brother, a brother I have now disowned, has achieved that which no woman ever has. He’s managed to get me leg shackled.”

Rufus threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“It’s not funny,” Anthony snapped.

“Not to you,” Rufus said, sobering. “I shall have to find Richard and congratulate him. How on earth did he manage that mammoth task?”

With more than a little embarrassment, he told his sorry tale and ended it with: “The moral of the story is, do not go without bedding a wench for more than three months. It addles the brain and makes you susceptible to all manner of treachery. “

Rufus stuck out his glass for a refill. “I know you too well, friend. You do not seem as miffed as you make out. If she looks like Lady Sudbury, she must be a rare beauty. So, are you pleased or disappointed in your betrothal?”

Anthony put down his drink. A flitter of nervousness somersaulted in his stomach remembering Melissa’s horror at the knowledge she would have to wed him. He could not for the life of him work out why. She wasn’t afraid of him. Her calm refusal was not made in fear. He’d almost lost his nerve to carry out his plan when he gazed upon her serene features. She was so composed.

He’d been lost in the ethereal beauty of her, her narrow nose, the dark sweep of her raven brows, and the lush curve of her rose-kissed lips. She was a most lovely creature, and the urge to crush her in his arms had stolen over him so suddenly, he’d almost made love to her again before remembering his plan.

A wry smile twisted his lips. “She is very pleasing to the eye.”

“Ah …” Rufus leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Desire is a good way to begin a marriage. I still cannot believe Lord Wickham has accepted being hog-tied into matrimony so easily. Hell, if I’d known you’d have crumpled so effortlessly, I would have tried to compromise you a long time ago.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to Richard.”

Anthony checked the alignment of his cravat with his fingers. “I have my reasons for wanting this marriage. If you are so enamored of the state of matrimony, why are you not wife hunting?”

Rufus stilled. “You know why. Once I have uncovered the truth about my father and restored my family’s honor, I shall marry. Not before then.”

They exchanged knowing looks. That’s why they were friends. Rufus’s father was reputed to be as despicable as his own. A traitor who’d sold secrets to the French. The only difference was Rufus thought his father was innocent. Anthony knew his father wasn’t.

Rufus’s eyes narrowed. “You mentioned you have a reason to marry. What reason would this be? I thought Richard was supposed to provide the Wickham heir?” Rufus’s smile faded. “I doubt it could be love. You haven’t been pursuing any woman except Cassandra as far as I am aware.”