Deception in Regency Society: A Wicked Liaison / Lady Folbroke's Delicious Deception. Christine Merrill
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He bowed low over her hand. ‘What is it?’
She resisted the urge to inform him that she was not now, nor ever wished to be, his dear. ‘In private.’
‘My study, then.’ He turned to lead her to the exact place that she did not wish to be.
‘Not so private as all that, I think. The garden, perhaps? It is quiet enough there.’
‘And most romantic in the moonlight.’
She bit back another retort. There would be time enough in fifteen minutes to set him straight.
He took her hand and led her to the balcony doors, and, at the back of her mind, she felt a minute pass. And another, as he led her outside, and down the stone steps to the garden. When they were in the darkness and a distance from the house, he turned to her and smiled. ‘To what do I owe this sudden desire to be alone with me? Have you reconsidered my offer?’
‘You know very well the reason. Have I performed to your satisfaction in this little farce?’
‘Most admirably. We can make it a regular occurrence, if you wish.’
‘But I do not wish,’ she said firmly. ‘I have told you over and over again.’
‘And yet, you agreed to do it tonight. And it was a delightful evening. Not so terrible as you made it out to be, I’m sure.’
‘There was only one reason I agreed to come, and you know it full well.’
‘Ah, the necklace.’ He reached into his pocket, and produced the rubies, holding them in front of her.
She snatched the thing from his hand and secreted it in her reticule, turning to go back to the house, no longer caring about Smythe and his fifteen minutes.
Barton’s fingers closed on her upper arm, holding her in place. She attempted to pull away, and he tightened his grip, ever so slightly. To struggle further might leave bruises on her skin. She imagined the shame of going back into the ballroom, the red marks of a man’s fingers already blossoming on her arm.
She stayed still.
‘Willing to stay with me, after all?’
‘I do not wish my behaviour to create gossip.’
He smiled, realising that he’d won again. ‘And why would a rumour frighten you? If I am in the wrong, and you do not wish to be with me, then surely you could appeal to one of the many gentlemen of your acquaintance for assistance?’ He snapped his fingers. ‘But that is right. Many of the gentlemen here have received set-downs from you, have they not? They are likely to be more sympathetic to my plight. Over and over again, you allow men to lead you to the fence, and then you do not jump.’
‘That is not the way it has been at all,’ she argued. ‘I had no idea that the gentlemen in question did not intend marriage. Or you, for that matter. I never sought anything less.’
Barton smiled. ‘How refreshingly naïve you are. I think it is the combination of experience and naïveté that attracts me to you. You believe it is possible to go back to the way things were, before you married, and to have a second chance at a husband and a family. But you will never again be that young and innocent. When men look at you, they know that you are too old to guarantee a first child, but fully ripe for all the pleasures that a man might wish to experience with a woman. When we look at you, my dear, we know that you know precisely what will happen when you are alone with us.’
He smiled and drew closer. ‘I can see it, even now. The lust sizzles in your eyes. You fear scandal, more than you fear my touch. I can steal a kiss, perhaps a caress in the darkness. These things do not alarm you so much as the thought that someone might catch us at it. I suspect that you would have no problem giving yourself freely, if you could be assured of the discretion of your partner. Take this instance. If you do not submit, you must walk away from me, and I have but to call out and draw attention to the fact that you are with me, or squeeze your arm, ever so slightly.’ He tightened his grip, and then relaxed it again, as he felt her submit. ‘Then people will notice that we were alone together, and there will be even more talk than there already is.’
‘People will think you a brute for forcing yourself on a woman.’
‘Since the woman is yourself, and you just spent the evening at my side as hostess, I doubt that anyone will assume force. It is far more likely that they will assume you were a willing participant in anything that might have occurred. The assumptions of a curious society will be confirmed, the minute you complain. Or you can allow me to kiss you, here in the dark, and we can return to the ballroom separately. No one will be the wiser.’
Damn her for her foolishness in thinking she could win against Barton in his own house. She had gained the necklace, only to lose more ground. And damn Mr Smythe for using her as well. He had been gone more than fifteen minutes, she was sure of it. And he thought nothing of leaving her in the clutches of Barton. Now that Smythe had what he wanted, he had forgotten her.
It would do no good to fight Barton now. If she gave in, perhaps the incident would pass quickly, and she might escape. She closed her eyes and tipped her head up to meet him as he leaned in and kissed her.
And she did nothing to stop him, because he was right. The last thing she needed was more gossip. When he wished for her to open her mouth, she did that as well. She could but hope that he would not take things too far in so public a place. And after tonight, scandal or no, she would not be alone with him again.
He was doing his best to arouse feelings in her, and she took great pleasure in ignoring the attempt. If he wished to make love to her, then let him. But eventually, when she did not respond, he would lose interest and let her go. In the meantime, she would see to it that the experience was not so pleasurable as he imagined.
He was working industriously on her mouth, and his hands were on her shoulders. It was only a matter of time before they strayed lower.
She was disappointed to find that she felt neither desire nor outrage at the fact. Her mind felt strangely detached from her body, uninterested in the proceedings and wishing only to go home and put the experience behind her. Let him do what he wished and be done with it. It had been so long since she’d felt anything at all, she doubted that Barton could move her with his fumblings.
As though he’d heard her thoughts, Barton’s hand began a slow descent towards the swell of her breast.
And then he pulled away from her with an oath. There was the sound of someone crashing clumsily through the ornamental shrubbery, soft, tuneless whistling growing louder as the intruder approached.
Barton took off in the direction of the sound. ‘Here, you. What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Trying to find my way out of this damn briar patch.’
Constance strangled a laugh. It was Mr Smythe, making it clear to all within earshot that he was done with whatever business he’d been up to.
‘I only wanted a breath of air. Two steps from the house and I was lost in the wilderness. I’ve a good mind to complain to the host.’
‘I am the host, you drunken idiot. And you’re stepping on my rose-bushes.’ Jack was furious.
Constance stepped off the path and disappeared into the darkness, leaning against a tree and giving way to silent giggles.
There was a pause as an apparently drunken Smythe took stock of the situation. ‘Roses? So I am. Oh, well. No harm done. The spindly little things were half-dead, anyway. Could have used more water.’
‘They are in perfect health. And they are imported from France.’
‘Well, that’s your problem. Get yourself some proper English flowers. Just as pretty and not so delicate.’
‘Get off of my yard, you drunken buffoon! I invited you here, Smythe, on the recommendation of a friend. I can see I was mistaken in the courtesy and it will not be repeated. Kindly take yourself from the premises, before I have