Tutoring Miss Molly (3 page)

“Why do I have to tutor this old spinster, what is her name?” Devlin tugged on the tight cravat around his neck.

“Miss Molly Cambridge,” his father replied. “Because I promised her aunt I would educate her in the ways of seduction.”

“Superb! Another manipulative courtesan.” He punctuated each word. “Just what we need around here.” Ignoring his father’s sneer, Devlin strode to the glass cabinet and poured a generous portion of whiskey. “I grow weary of scheming women exchanging pleasures for jewels or to gain a fashionable townhouse in London.”

“You have grown weary of everyone,” his father said and waved his hand. “Our friends, our home…me.”

He raised his gaze. “Not you, Father. Just this…this lifestyle.”

“Then why do you not set a wedding date? I know Lady Audrey impatiently awaits the day you honor the betrothal contract.”

“A contract you and her father made when we were children,” Devlin countered, unable to keep spite from his words.

“Have you not found her suitable? She fits in well at the manor, ever eager to give and receive pleasure.”

Shuffling to the window, his stare was pensive. “Perhaps I wish for a bride to be chaste and loyal. For her lips to touch only mine.” He turned to his father. “When I marry, I wish only to kiss my wife for the rest of my days.”

Richard scoffed. “Do not be dull, my boy. It does not suit the Harman name.”

He shook his head.

His father placed his hand on Devlin’s shoulder. “I want an heir, and you
will
honor the betrothal contract.” Richard loudly cleared his throat as if the matter was resolved, and sat behind the desk. There was no point in discussing anything with his father when he made that grunting noise in his throat.

“About Miss Molly.” His father wiped unseen dust off his table.

Devlin grimaced, hoping he had diverted his father’s attention from the subject.

“Do not give me that somber face, Dev. I want the lass to be the best courtesan this manor has ever seen.”

“Why do you care what happens to a spinster?”

Richard studied the back of his hands, a calm look settling in his eyes. “I used to love her aunt.” A wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “But I had a duty to marry your mother and it broke Rose’s heart.”

He shook his head.

“I regret how I treated Rose.” A look of tired sadness brushed over his features. “But I have the opportunity to make it up to her. Give her niece a chance at a better life. If you tutor her with your legendary expertise, all of society will gossip. Miss Molly will be a lady in high demand.”

 “I am sorry to spoil your plans, Father. I simple refuse to tutor the spinster.”

Richard lowered his eyes, a devious smile crossing his lips. An ominous feeling burned in Devlin’s stomach along with the whiskey. He did not like it when his father grinned like that.

Opening a carved wooden box on the desk, his father pulled out a cigar and flint box. “Do you know what society is saying?”

Devlin rolled his eyes. “Do I care?”

“They say the Marquess of Wilton is dashing by far in Parisian tailored suits, but when it comes to women his eyes are as cold as ice.”

“That is not so,” Devlin scoffed. “My suits are from Italy.”

A puff of smoke came from his father’s tight mouth. “I know you have been restless as of late. This lifestyle of decadence has left you…unsatisfied. By chance, what you need is a fresh young girl. Miss Molly—”

“Is no longer fresh nor young. I questioned Joves before he left me with your summons. She is past forty winters and has the look of a maid who resides in a pig pen.”

“Our butler has a nasty disposition for a man of his station.” His father’s brow creased as he sucked on his cigar.

A knock sounded at the door and a pretty servant with curly, golden hair entered. “You called for me, Your Grace?” she asked with a slight French accent.

“Yes, Yvette, I have a need of your
special talents.
” Richard motioned for her to come closer.

Yvette gave him a saucy wink and hastened to his father’s side. “How may I please you?”

Pushing his oversize chair back, his father answered, “Why don't you use your imagination while you are under my desk?”

Licking her smiling, pink lips, the servant crawled under the table.

Shifting on his seat to give Yvette better access, Richard asked, “Where were we?”

Devlin swallowed the rest of his drink and placed the crystal on the desk. “I am leaving.”

“Son?”

Devlin turned, suppressing his contempt with indifference. “What?”

Richard’s eyes rolled upwards, his hands reaching for Yvette’s golden locks. “Slow down, my sweet, slow down.”

“Father? You were saying,” Devlin urged, strumming his fingers on the door.

“Ah, yes. Let us have an accord. A wager perhaps?”

“I wish not to discuss this subject with your penis in Yvette’s mouth. Perhaps another—”

“No, we will discuss it now.” His father gently pushed Yvette’s head away from his lap. “Stay there my lovely one. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Doing up his breeches, Richard faced him and entwined his hands together on the desk. Devlin could almost see his father’s mind working to his own advantage.

“If Miss Molly is the chosen courtesan for the mistress auction, I will break your betrothal contract with Lady Audrey.”

Devlin’s mouth dropped open, a glimmer of hope catching in his throat. “And if the spinster cannot be tutored?”

“Then you will honor the contract and marry Lady Audrey by spring.”

“That’s blackmail!” Devlin fumed.

“Blackmail is such a harsh word. I rather think of it as a family wager with benefits.”

“Either way, you get what you want,” Devlin mused.

“Yes, but if you succeed, you will be free to marry a dreary virgin in white—as long as she is of our noble station, of course.”

Devlin snorted and strode to the door uncertain if he was better off or not.

“I need an answer, my boy.”

“I'll do it!”

Chapter Three

With one hand holding the portrait and the other pleasuring herself, Molly’s gaze locked on the erotic view of the three lovers outside the window. The glass steamed with her hot breath, blurring the vision of the ménage
à
trois. Molly tilted her head, oblivious to everything else. Her attention remained on how wonderful her moist flesh sent delicious ripples over her heated body. What would it be like to be one of those women who—

The portrait was ripped out of her hand, and she jumped in fright.

A stranger leaned over her with a dark, murderous look.

Where did he come from?

Backing against the windowsill, embarrassment and fear stirred within until she wanted to melt into the lush carpet. Sweet Mary, did he see her touching herself?

“Do not handle this painting again,” he growled and roughly brushed a lock of bronze hair off his forehead.

“I—I—”

“You were probably about to steal it,” he accused and lingered over the portrait. Clearing his throat, he returned the frame to the mantle.

Shock and anger dampened her arousal. “To what purpose would I steal a painting of a woman I do not even know?” She shoved her hands on her hips.

His keen gray-blue eyes were like silver metal, coldly assessing her. Beneath his scowl, his square face and wide mouth was dark and foreboding.

“To sell the frame,” he said in a low voice, thick with accusation.

With an unladylike snort, Molly stepped closer and glimpsed at the portrait, “Who is she?”

Silence answered. Was her question too impertinent?

“
She
is my mother, Lady Ann.” He touched the frame with tenderness.

“She is beautiful.”

He glanced up at her statement. The pain etched within his pale eyes mirrored haunted memories. He ran a hand through his copper hair and studied her shrewdly. “My mother furnished this room. She said it afforded her great comfort.”

“Your mother must be a fine lady.”

“She was.” He sat on the sofa and crossed his legs with casual ease, his lips thinned. “But she hated me.”

Shocked at the matter-of-fact statement, Molly stared at him. “Surely not.”

She sat in the seat opposite the mysterious gentleman. Acutely aware of his virile physique, he commanded an air of sexual confidence and power. She’d wager a female would have no defense with her virtue against such overwhelming masculinity.

He edged forward, a cynical twist to his mouth. “Do not concern yourself. Lady Ann despised everyone.”

“How is it you are so sure she hates you?”

No sooner did the words leave her mouth, Molly regretted them. Oh why can’t she control her curiosity? Boldness with personal questions had found Molly in many awkward situations. This one included.

Molly squirmed in the heavy silence of the gentleman’s prickly glare. Coughing delicately, she wanted to change the subject when her surly companion interjected in a rich baritone. “She must have hated me. Why else would she kill herself?” he calmly replied, as if he conversed about the weather while strolling through Vauxhall Gardens.

A myriad of emotions flitted through his eyes, and then a veil of disinterest fell into place. “I have been neglectful of my manners. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Marquess of Wilton, Lord Devlin Harman the Fifth. Since I have the
honor
of tutoring you, you now belong to me and will obey
my command at all times.”

The aristocrat studied Molly’s reaction, but she would not give him the advantage of knowing how her chest stung with irritation. She had never belonged to a man before, especially one so arrogant and self-assured. Molly schooled her features into a blank stare. She must brace herself for the scandalous life of a courtesan. If this was how it was going to start, then so be it.

His brow furrowed with surprise. Was he disappointed she accepted his command?

He cleared his throat. “The next full moon will hold the mistress auction where the courtesans are bid upon. This is
your
chance to show unique sexual skill before the more experienced guests. Once the auction is completed, the highest bidder will make love to you on stage...in front of everyone.” His gaze traveled the length of her body. “It is very prestigious for a courtesan to be chosen. If you are, your desirability as a superior mistress will be assured.”

Devlin’s tone dropped and he leaned forward. “If you find this disagreeable, then by all means you may leave now.”

“I have no disagreements,” Molly said, her voice firm.

Devlin arched an eyebrow.

“No, I suppose you would not.”