Where Destiny Plays, page 26
He righted the stool and sat alongside, surveying her nudity longingly before resting his elbows on his knees, linking his fingers together and staring at the floor. “I’ve thought and thought about us, about almost nothing but us for the last few weeks. I tried, believe me I tried, but I cannot find a way out of this marriage business or my duty to provide an heir.” He lifted his head, his gaze deep. “Lavinia, I cannot live without you, I must have you in my life beyond mere friendship.” He sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly. “I could only think of one resolution to our dilemma.” Anguish furrowed his forehead.
So he had come to the same conclusion as she.
“I know.” She reached out a hand and he took it, letting the water drip on his trousers. “But you do not need to pay for my house or buy me jewels. I’ll be the least troublesome mistress you’ve ever had.”
He kissed her hand. “That’s not quite what I meant.”
“Oh?”
“I thought I might purposely seek out a particular type of wife. I thought I might find a wife who wouldn’t mind if I lived with you.”
That was definitely not what she had expected. “So a wife who is kept like a mistress and a mistress who lives with you like a wife?”
He nodded. “I would perform my marital duty until I had a son. An arrangement something like what Joseph and Sophia have.”
“Joseph and Sophia are each married to their true love. They have affairs with others.”
“I meant on a philosophical level. A woman who would not require fidelity.” He cleared his throat. “A woman such as Penelope Hardcastle.”
“And you know this how?”
He grinned. “Darling, a man can tell what type a woman is from her salacious propositions. And her perfume.”
Lavinia laughed. “She might possibly be perfect.”
“Or, I could find a wife who for some reason needs a husband but does not need him to be the man she is in love with. Perhaps she herself is in love with the wrong man. A married man.”
“And do you have another candidate in mind, Arthur?”
“Unfortunately no. And how to find such a woman would be difficult.”
“Charlotte and I might be able to sift through gossip.”
He brightened. “So you’re game?”
“I think I would seethe with jealousy during your nuptials to Penelope Hardcastle.”
“You could conveniently be traveling abroad.” He got up and took off his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair. “Lavinia, I know it’s not what either of us want but it’s all we can have.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat.
Lavinia rubbed her thighs under the water. “You would live here with me?”
He worked on his collar and tie. “While my wife and children lived at my house in Belgravia.”
“The Richmonds will never put up with such an arrangement.”
“They will have to.” He lay his waistcoat over his jacket and placed his collar and tie on the dressing table.
“It’s not just your wife I will have to share you with.”
He unfastened the top buttons of his shirt. “I will have to play the part of father upon occasion.”
She scowled. “I will settle for nothing less than you being the most adoring and devoted father, my lord.” She glanced down at her very feminine nudity. “I didn’t mean children.”
He stilled.
“I meant Joseph.”
“Oh.” He rolled up his left sleeve, then his right. “I suspected you knew. The night he saw you in my bed at Atherley Keep.” He sat on the stool. “Darling, I don’t need to continue the affair.” He snorted grimly. “I’ll be far too busy with women and children.”
“A man can give a sort of comfort a woman cannot. I would not expect you to give him up. However you will need to keep the secret from your wife.”
“I know. I hate keeping secrets.” He stood and bent over to kiss her cheek. “You will not be a secret.” He moved the stool to the head of the tub and began removing her hairpins.
“What are you doing?”
“I believe Marie was about to wash your hair. I’ll do it instead.”
“Do you do this with all your mistresses?”
He laughed as he finished. He grabbed her silver-backed hairbrush from the dressing table and brushed out her tresses.
“You’ve done this before.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps.” He leaned over. “Let me take care of you,” he said in a seductive drawl.
She gazed up at him, his expression softened with supplication. He knew the risks to her heart. He would have to endure the same. She nodded, finally ready to take the plunge into the waters of love.
He said nothing of import while he urged and prodded her into position to wet her hair in the warm water then hunched her over while he massaged soap into her scalp. The gentle pressure of the pads of his fingers eased her anxieties before clean water rinsed away lingering apprehensions.
He lay her back against the porcelain to hold her arm while he glided the soapy sponge up and down, carefully avoiding touching her breast. He lifted a leg and squeezed the sponge from knee to foot, she flinching when he tickled her arch, his smile under knowing eyes revealing he would remember that particular weakness. He moved to the other side and repeated his ministrations, first with her leg then with her arm, not touching her intimate areas, the room silent but for the slosh and trickle of water and the crackle of the fire.
He gently bent her forward to attend to her back, dredging the sponge over the ridges of her spine, the fragrance of lavender and rosemary imbuing the rising steam with their soothing essence. He encircled her waist to draw the sponge over her stomach, from the hair between her legs to her rib cage, once again avoiding erogenous areas.
He slid a hand over her face in a request to close her eyes. Her sight obscured, other senses heightened, the aroma of herbs and flowers, the heat of the bath, the sound of him fussing too long with something behind her.
And then he touched her. His hands curved around her sides to each cup a breast, weighing them before kneading the buoyant flesh under the water. He pinched a nipple, her flinch much like when he tickled her foot, sending water to slosh over the rim. He moved slightly to slide a hand across her belly to tangle in the hair of her mons.
He slipped a finger inside her sex. She opened her eyes in surprise.
“Do you always become aroused when having a bath, my lady?”
He slid a finger then two in and out, his face stoic as she descended to the depths of sensuality.
Only then did she notice he was utterly nude.
She reached up to his chest, gripping his hair as he shifted his erotic torment to her clit, taking her to the moment just before climax, holding her there as his gaze locked with hers.
“Please,” she begged.
He picked her up and out of the water, his hands gripping her slippery skin, then bent her over the rolled porcelain rim, giving her backside a little swat. He straddled the edge of the tub, one foot between her calves, and wrapped a strong arm around her. His cock nudged her sex until he found his aim.
He slammed inside her, jerking her forward, splashing water onto the floor. She slapped her hands against the wet tiles, seeking purchase. He held her securely, one hand digging into her waist, his other grabbing the tub’s edge, his fingers curling to the iron underneath. His thrusts were determined, his rhythm frenzied. He had cared for her, had pleasured her and now was taking possession of her.
And she gave herself to him willingly.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded with a low growl. “Come for me.”
He squeezed her waist, the sign that he held her fast. Awkwardly she maneuvered her hand between her body and the porcelain, between her legs, as determined for satisfaction as he. She found the unrequited nub and pressed down, shooting a pang of pleasure to pulse around him. He groaned in appreciation. She rubbed to his rhythm, closer to the cusp of rapture than she had thought.
She came with a jolt, clamping around him, taking him to the brink. He spent inside her with a guttural cry, his hold determined while he emptied himself.
He pulled her up to standing, helped her out of the tub then wrapped a warm towel around her back and pulled her to him. She sobbed against his shoulder, relieved they had found a way to be together, an imperfect solution but a solution nonetheless.
He draped another towel on her wet hair and scrubbed vigorously, his indelicacy sending her into giggles.
“Ah, that’s better. My mistress should always laugh with delight.”
She kissed his lips. “There will be loads of scandalous gossip.”
“And it will all be true.” He smiled. “Your cook can begin providing dinner for two this evening. And your housemaid can learn to expect a man in your bed, starting tonight.” He hugged her to him. “I love you, Lavinia. I want the world to know.”
* * * * *
Arthur could have sworn it was the middle of the night, but that didn’t seem to stop Sims from knocking on Lavinia’s bedroom door.
She stirred at his side in bed. “Yes, Sims?”
The butler remained behind the closed door. “My lady, I apologize. There are callers.”
At this hour?
“The Marquess of Richmond and Mr. Joseph Phillips are here to see you and Lord Petersham—”
Their arrangement had just begun and already they were entertaining callers? At three in the morning?
“The marquess assures me it is urgent.”
Arthur jumped out of bed. “It bloody well better be urgent.”
He pulled on his trousers and threw on a robe, his chest bare but for his braces, while Lavinia dressed in a nightgown and robe then hastily tied back her hair.
They held hands as they went downstairs to the morning room. They would certainly have to brave a hearty berating from Father.
Sims led them inside the morning room and waited by the door. Joseph leaned against the opposite wall, peering through a lifted curtain to the dark street. Father stood by the hearth, watching the housemaid light the fire, the yawning girl slightly disheveled. Sims snapped his fingers. The girl looked up then blushed deeply. She scurried out. Sims followed and closed the door behind them.
The fire crackled in the silence. Arthur led Lavinia to the sofa and sat her down then took his place, standing at her side.
“What is this about, Father?” He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
“And good morning to you, Arthur.” Father nodded to Lavinia. “My lady.” He remained by the fire, holding his hands over the warmth. “I do apologize for the intrusion, Lady Foxley-Graham. Phillips and I went to Arthur’s first but we found him not at home.” Father lifted a brow at Arthur. “Your valet did not seem to think it a secret where you were.”
Upon his note that afternoon Owens had arrived at Lavinia’s with a small trunk, had attended Arthur in dressing for dinner then had left, preferring his own bed in Belgravia. “I did not instruct him otherwise. I refuse to keep my relationship with Lady Foxley-Graham a secret any longer.”
“Good.”
An unusual response, especially from Father.
“We are here at this hour because Parliament has just ended for the night.”
And politics couldn’t wait until after breakfast?
Father paced before the hearth. “Arthur, remember when you suggested little Henry be named heir to the Marquessate of Richmond?”
Lavinia looked at Arthur in shock. He had never told her. There had been no reason to. Father had dismissed the idea categorically.
“Yes, Father.”
“When the letters patent creating a peerage are affixed with the Great Seal, the succession detailed therein becomes immutable. Well…practically.” Father stopped his pacing. “There is only one way in which the authority of the Great Seal can be circumvented.” He smiled at Lavinia. “I think you know the answer to this, my lady? Unless it is too early in the morning.” He chuckled.
Lavinia’s forehead crinkled in lines of surprise or worry. She glanced up at Arthur before returning her attention to Father. “By Act of Parliament.”
“Yes. To change the terms of the original letters patent, including the rules of succession, a peer can submit a Private Bill. This is rarely done and the circumstances must be extreme.” Once again Father smiled at Lavinia. “Apparently members of both Houses thought this situation extreme. They acted swiftly.”
Her eyes widened as if comprehending. “I’m not sure I follow,” she said warily.
“Earlier this morning, Parliament passed an act effectively naming Henry Abraham Phillips as the heir to the Richmond marquessate.”
Stunned, Arthur dropped onto the sofa next to Lavinia. She gaped. Her hand covered her mouth as her face twisted in emotion.
“The queen and I discussed the possibility of the extinction of the peerage given the recalcitrance of my son.” Father scowled at Arthur. “She thought such a situation would be a shame. She drew up the letters patent to create a new peerage, a new marquessate with the same title but with a remainder clause creating a different line of succession. There will be two Marquessates of Richmond held by me concurrently. Upon my death, the original marquessate will descend to you, and Henry will become effectively the heir apparent, worthy of the title Earl of Petersham. When you die, Arthur, the first marquessate will die, the second will take effect and be held by Henry.”
Arthur gasped. He had been holding his breath at the unbelievable news. He eyed Joseph. “Your son? A British peer?”
Joseph grinned. “Remember our conversation in the House of Commons, my lady?” He quirked a brow at Lavinia. “When I mentioned sacrifice?”
Lavinia blushed with a sidelong glimpse at Arthur. He bristled. Knowing Joseph, they probably engaged in more than mere conversation.
“You asked if I was worth making a family sacrifice for,” she said softly.
Joseph turned to Arthur. “Twenty years ago, I was a poor dock worker in New York City. I fell in love with the daughter of a British peer but she was promised to a blackguard, the very same scoundrel who had destroyed your future.” He walked toward the sofa. “You sacrificed everything to save Sophia, sacrificed your family’s heritage and history, sacrificed your own beliefs in such a system. And most astonishingly, you sacrificed your own heart by not allowing yourself to ever fall in love again.” He stopped before Arthur. “But a heart is a disobedient thing, isn’t it?”
“Joseph—”
“Besides enabling my marriage to your sister, you’ve made me a very wealthy man, Lord Petersham. After our quibble, Richmond and I swallowed our respective pride and discussed what we could do, both of us realizing you deserve to be with the woman you love.”
Lavinia croaked a sob. Joseph gave her hand a little squeeze.
“It took an Act of Parliament to allow you to be married, my lady,” he said.
The floodgate holding her tears burst. Arthur wrapped her in his arms, his brain mired in a fog of incredulity.
Father cleared his throat. “I realized your marrying Lavinia would be for the benefit of the marquessate, son. Her political connections run deep.” He handed Arthur a small box. “However I suggest we hold the wedding after the Royal Assent for the act, just to be sure.”
Arthur opened the box. Nestled within the pale-pink satin lining was Mother’s betrothal ring, a golden topaz set between two diamonds. The same ring worn by all the future Marchionesses of Richmond. Henrietta had once worn it. Now there was to be another.
Lavinia sucked in a tremulous breath. He slid to the rug to kneel before her, holding her face to look at him. She smiled through her tears, like sunshine spearing the clouds on a rainy day.
“Darling, oh my darling.” He tried to stop his own tears but could not. “Will you marry me? Be my countess, be my marchioness, be my wife? Please, please say yes.”
Her choking sobs prevented speech until she closed her eyes and strained to steady her breath. Recovered, she gazed at him. “Yes, Arthur, yes. It is my utmost desire to be your wife.” She wiped an errant tear from her cheek. “I love you with all my heart.”
He took her left hand in his, trembling with giddy joy, and slipped the ring on her fourth finger. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the precious setting. “You have made me the happiest man alive.” He glanced up at Father and Joseph. “Thank you.”
Father lay a hand on his shoulder. “Come to dinner tonight and we’ll celebrate.”
“Yes, Papa.” It was all still seeming like a dream.
“Phillips, let’s go wake up my secretary. Billings will have to be prepared to fend off press inquiries as soon as the papers come out.”
Father and Joseph nodded their farewells.
Arthur barely saw them leave. He was too busy kissing his fiancée.
Chapter Twenty-Two
London, November 1880
Arthur’s invitation to Countess Winthrop’s annual masquerade had been rather exceptional that year. Under the usual scroll-work and feminine typeface enumerating the vague details of the event was a note engraved in a somewhat more lavish script:
Lady Petersham has prepared an exclusive gift for the Sultan in celebration of your marriage.
Lady Petersham. Lavinia Harwell, the Countess of Petersham. His wife.
Three months since their wedding day and he was still giddy.
He stood on the landing of Countess Winthrop’s dramatic entryway overlooking the grand lobby and surveyed the guests. A waft of floral perfume announced the presence of a masked odalisque at his side, her bounty barely shielded. She extended a slender and bejeweled arm and escorted him down stairs, through corridors, and beyond double doors to a lavishly decorated room. The dim glow of hanging braziers revealed an excess of velvet and embroidered pillows strewn on top of Persian carpets, and lengths of silken textiles draped tent-like from the ceiling. Two divans framed a darkened central space. A shadowy figure reclined on the divan on the right.
