Ripe for Pleasure (21 page)

“And Leo, they will cross. I can guarantee it.”

Beau laughed and came to take Charles’s arm. “Nonsense, Augusta. You simply like to arrive early so you can spy on everyone
else as they arrive. Admit it!”

“Must you be so vulgar?” Lady Glennalmond glared
at them all, clearly wishing she weren’t forced to associate with them.

Beau’s reply was drowned out by Leo. “It’s Beau. Of course she must. If only to infuriate you. May I escort you to the coach,
my lady?” He held out his free arm and Lady Glennalmond, very much on her dignity, took it.

“Your sister is-is—” Augusta seemed unable to utter whatever horrible term sprang to mind.

“Is none of your damn business, Augusta,” the dowager said with a hint of annoyance. “And so I’ve told you time and again.
Content yourself with having soured Glennalmond past all hope.”

Charles found himself grinning. Beau giggled softly and gripped his arm. “You’d think my dear sister-in-law would have learned
by now not to attempt to remonstrate with me, at least not in front of Grandmama,” Beau whispered. “Oh, and that reminds me.
I have a question for you. About Leo. Well, about his mistress, really.”

Charles glanced down at her. He was not at all loath to enlighten her if it would cause further problems for her brother.
“Certainly, Cousin.” He put his hand over hers as they descended the stairs.

“Who is she? No one will tell me.”

Charles smiled. Beau was like a loaded gun with a hair trigger, liable to go off at any moment and likely to cause all kinds
of damage when she did.

“I don’t know that I should tell you, dearest.”

She gave him a fake pout. “But you’re going to.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are, Charlie.” She grinned up at him, eyes squeezed nearly shut with glee.

“I suppose I am,” he agreed, heaving a dramatic sigh for Beau’s benefit. Just how many foxes could he fling into this particular
henhouse? “I’m a bit worried about poor Leo. You see, he’s become entangled with a very mercenary widow, and I very much fear
he’s going to be wounded when she throws him over…”

CHAPTER 23

R
ed lanterns illuminated the walkways and courtyards. Fire, rather than water, filled the fountains. Smoke drifted over the
garden in billowing clouds, adding to the atmosphere. Music filled the space, cutting through the trees and drowning out whatever
noises might be coming from the darker walks and bowers that filled the grounds.

Leo found himself searching the crowd yet again. Someone was watching him, or someone was watching Viola. He hadn’t been able
to pinpoint the source, but the sensation was unmistakable. The creeping sense of dread between his shoulder blades was sharp
and distinct.

The guest list was exclusive and particular. The cicisbei of The New Female Coterie filled Vauxhall, along with their chosen
prey. The women present were made up of the ranks of the fallen, the more elite prostitutes of Covent Garden, and a few heavily
masked women who Leo guessed to be of his own class, just incurably curious or licentious.

“It’s quite a theme you’ve picked, my dear.”

Viola twinkled up at him from behind her mask. Kohl rimmed her eyes so that they appeared luminescent. “It seemed appropriate.
According to most people, it’s hell we’re all bound for eventually.”

“And with inducements like these”—he waved his hand around at the scantily clad women and general debauchery of the evening—“it’s
likely tonight will strike a few more names from St. Peter’s list.” And deservedly so. He didn’t think of himself as a prude,
but revels such as this had never interested him.

Viola chuckled. “No doubt. Shall we see what we can do about securing our place in the afterlife? Or shall we sneak about
and take in the sights?”

Leo felt the slightest bit of shock flood from his chest up to his neck and spread onto his cheeks. “What exactly are you
suggesting, my dear?”

Her grin widened, and she shrugged one pale shoulder. “All the world’s a stage…” She took him by the hand and, laughing, led
him into the darkened lanes that crisscrossed the garden. They slipped past other couples with similar goals. Soft cries filled
the night, mingling with calls of nightingales and the crackle of the bonfires.

Viola pushed him off the path. His back hit a tree and she dropped to her knees. His cock swelled in anticipation, his heartbeat
surging into it. She deftly opened the fall of his breeches and freed his cock from the layers of linen and silk.

Her lips slid over the engorged head, tongue pressing, sliding, teeth ever so faintly riding along the shaft. Her hand gripped
the base, thumb working along the bottom edge in time with her mouth.

Leo leaned back against the tree and tried to remember to breathe. She was indecently, decadently, absurdly good with her
mouth. So good he couldn’t even bring himself to resent whoever had taught her such skill.

He was fairly certain none of the girls he’d find at Almack’s would ever match her, no matter how much tutelage he provided,
and lucky him, he’d never have to find out. The beauty of being a younger son was that he’d never have to marry to produce
an heir. He would never have to bed a virgin and pray she’d welcome his amorous attentions with something more than resignation
to duty.

He rested one shaking hand on Viola’s head, wanting to touch her but careful not to destroy her coiffure. A soft titter dragged
his attention to the path. A couple stood watching. Excitement pulsed through him. He shut his eyes and concentrated on the
sensation of Viola’s mouth on his flesh.

He’d been well aware that the risk of being caught added spice to such encounters. He didn’t need the further knowledge that
actually having an audience had its own cache. Suddenly the appeal of an orgy made perfect sense.

It was too dark to know who they were. Too dark for them to know who he and Viola were, thank all that was holy. The rising
edge of his release hit, and he opened his eyes again to discover the couple was gone, off no doubt on their own adventure.

Viola took him a tad deeper into her mouth, and his knees nearly gave out. He came with a groan, wanting to shout. She swallowed
and sucked again, the sensation almost too much to bear. She released him, then grinned as he dragged her up off her knees.

“My God, woman.”

She traced one finger along his slowly deflating cock. “Am I really your god?”

He laughed. “At the moment, most certainly.” He adjusted himself and buttoned up his breeches. She cupped him with one teasing,
possessive hand.

“Excellent. Your deity would like a drink.”

“And then perhaps a blood sacrifice?”

“Perhaps.” Viola took a small metal tin from her pocket and held it out to him. “Ginger drop?”

Leo chuckled and took a small candy from the tin. It was sweet and hot on his tongue, not unlike Viola herself. He pulled
her close and kissed her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer your own pleasures be attended to first?” He slid one hand down
her back to cup her bottom.

Viola kissed him back, tongue delving into his mouth to steal the bit of candy she’d just given him. “Most certain. The more
time you have to plan, the more delightful the results are likely to be.”

Champagne in hand, Leo raked his gaze over the crowd yet again. A pair of unmistakable green eyes caught his attention. The
woman was concealed behind an elaborate devil mask, complete with horns and a pointed beard, and enveloped in a red-and-black
shot-silk domino, but the eyes were distinct.

When he discovered who had brought his sister to a courtesan’s debacle, there was going to be hell to pay, and not simply
because it fit the evening’s theme. Damn Beau, she was always causing some kind of dustup.

Her presence shot his plans for the rest of the evening
all to flinders. “Dearest.” He handed Viola her glass and bent so as not be overheard. “I’ve a devil of a problem.”

Viola sipped her champagne, tipped her head, and gazed up at him with wide, questioning eyes.

“My sister is here.” There was no prevaricating. No point to it. He was going to have to desert her among her friends.

She blanched. “Your sister, but—”

“Yes, Beau. Damn her.” Leo grimaced.

Viola’s hand locked about his forearm. “Where?”

“In the devil mask and shot-silk domino. Trying to hide in the doorway of the rotunda. I’m terribly sorry, but I have to take
her home.”

Her grip didn’t loosen. “Are you mad?” Viola pushed up her mask, tiny golden horns twisting into her curls. “She’ll cause
a scene if you storm over there.”

“And she’ll cause a scandal if I don’t.”

Viola heaved a sigh, bosom straining against her bodice, making him curse Beau anew. “Don’t be ridiculous. Let me go.”

Before Leo could protest, she was weaving her way through the crowd, ducking past dancers, eluding would-be partners. He kept
his eyes on his sister and tried to pick her escort from the crowd.

Viola pushed past a paunchy priest and shooed away a grinning Lord Harrington, whose only concession to his wife’s party was
a pair of horns rising from his balding pate.

As she reached the rotunda, it became clear to him that whoever had brought his sister, the bastard was nowhere to be found
at that particular moment. She was
quite alone. Marooned in the middle of a party she hadn’t the slightest excuse to be attending.

“Mrs. Dalrymple!” Viola called out loudly enough for even him to hear. “We thought you in Paris. Is red the new style of toupee
there? Very fetching.”

His sister stood transfixed. Viola linked arms with her and pulled her out of the rotunda and into the crowd. Beau said something,
clearly trying to release herself from Viola’s grip.

“Yes, yes. Back from Paris. So very good to see you again.” Viola propelled her through the dancers. “No, no, Lord Harrington.
I’ve been looking for Grace all night, and so has Lady Worsley. We’re off to find her now.”

Beau stiffened as they approached the edge of the crowd and she spotted him waiting. Viola forced her over the last few feet
until they were beside him. “Mrs. Dalrymple, may I present Lord Leonidas. He’s been eager to make your acquaintance all evening.”

Leo bowed, grateful that Viola had set the ruse in motion, and his sister dropped him a stilted curtsy in return. “Shall we
stroll, ladies?” He offered them both an arm, and the three of them set off in a wide circle toward the entrance.

“How dare you, Leo.” Beau’s hushed whisper was laced with anger, possibly with mortification. Good, she ought to be mortified.

“How dare
I
?” He quickened his pace, dragging them both along past the stream of gaudily attired revelers making their way to and from
Vauxhall.

Leo handed his sister and Viola into one of the small boats at the end of the Vauxhall stairs and leapt in after
them. The waterman pushed off with a jolly shout. Leo crossed his arms and ground his teeth.

“You had no right—”

“Not a word until we get home,
Mrs. Dalrymple.
”

Beau glared at him, then turned her head to stare haughtily across the water. Viola fairly curled into herself beside him,
shrinking under the blaze of anger that flickered between him and his unrepentant sister.

At the White Hall Stairs, Leo hailed a hackney, and as soon as they were inside, the shouting began.

“You’d no right! No right at all.” Beau ripped off her mask and threw herself back into the corner. Her hair tumbled down,
pins scattering unheeded in all directions.

Leo took a deep breath, and then another. “You’ve been indulged beyond all reason, Beau. But this is too much even for you.
Who brought you?”

She glared at him, mouth set in a mulish frown.

“Damn it, Beau. No one who meant you any good would have consented to bring you to a damn courtesan’s ball. Who brought you?
Palmer? Richardson?” Leo tossed his own mask onto the floor of the cab and raked his hand through his hair. “Maybe Glennalmond
was right. Maybe we should have left you to Granby.”

Her head snapped up, chin rising as though he’d stuck her. Leo leaned forward. Beau had to understand. Had to be made to understand
if her own innate sense of self-preservation was really so utterly lacking. “You’re going to reach a place where no one will
have you. Where there will be no saving you. Martin and Granby weren’t your fault, but this—tonight—this was, darling.”