Invitation to Ruin (14 page)
Melissa chewed her bottom lip—was that the definition of love? For a rake like Anthony, it most likely was. She could not imagine Anthony worshipping any woman he did not desire. A slight shiver skittered over her frame. But was Anthony capable of love?
More than anything she wanted Anthony to want her. To be important in his life. If desire achieved that—if it made him “fervently believe he cannot live without her”—then she’d embrace it gladly.
With trembling fingers, Melissa turned the page to the first chapter of Madame’s book—”Setting the Scene for Seduction.” The chapter was focused on gaining a man’s attention to the point of forming some kind of attachment from where a woman could use her skills to flame his desire. She skipped those pages. She was already betrothed to Anthony. She already had a relationship of sorts. She jumped directly to the next chapter, “Tantalising and Teasing.”
In the previous chapter I showed how to gain a man’s interest by stroking his ego. Now you have gained his
attention you must move to the more physical aspects of ego stroking. A feat easy to achieve because, for most men, their egos tend to hang between their thighs.His member, or as I like to tell him, his potent love stick, is responsive to sight, sound, and touch. You have many mediums in which to cause his passions to flare. Luckily for us you can immediately see any effect you are having and change your tactics if need be.
Let us start with sight. A glimpse of skin, a tease of bare flesh, stirs a man’s senses. He cannot help but imagine what you would look like completely naked. That is the nature of the beast.
You must learn to be comfortable with your body. Stand in front of a mirror and learn the art of display. How to move, lean, bend, and pose in order to display glimpses of tantalizing skin. When seated in a chair, bend to pick up your handkerchief which you have artfully dropped on the floor. Watch his eyes latch onto the fall of your breasts, when you lean forward, making your cleavage available for his eyes to drink in. Of course having the correctly cut bodice is an imperative.
Melissa lay the book face down on her stomach and chewed her bottom lip. She had never considered that her body could be used as an enticement. She’d never preened and flirted with gentlemen, preferring to try and attract a man who preferred a woman with a brain. But she had ended up trapped in marriage to Anthony, one of the most seasoned rakes in all of England. He, most likely, would be brought to his knees by the temptation of her body, rather than her brain. Did she have a body that could tempt him? The night he had mistakenly come to her bed, he very obviously enjoyed her body. In fact, he couldn’t hold back his enjoyment, spilling his seed.
Melissa read on, skipping over the art of showing a little leg and other various tricks of slowly revealing yourself. She wanted to know how to entice Anthony to her bed …
Remember my earlier advice. You must own the bedroom, while letting him believe he is in charge. One of my favourite places for seduction is a bath. He is naked and vulnerable in the water. It also seems to calm them down, perhaps it reminds them of their youth when they were bathed. To set the scene I suggest you change into an appropriate negligee. A garment that teases—transparent enough for him to realise you are naked underneath but not enough to be able to clearly see your body’s treasures.
Have a warm hot bath drawn (preferably in front of the fire). Invite him to bathe. Dismiss his valet and undress him yourself, using the process of disrobing to stroke and fondle, kiss and lick, every bare inch of him until he sees nothing in the room he wants, except you.
Melissa’s heart began to dance in her chest as she imagined touching Anthony in this intimate way. Her face flushed and her body burned with longing even though her room had grown cold as the night approached dawn. Could she do it? Was she bold enough to forget her upbringing, forget that she was a lady and act the courtesan for him? Would she be experienced enough to hold his attention? Would he desire her as he had their very first night? Her body knew the answer before she did—yes. She wanted him and she wanted him to want her. She would be brave enough because all her dreams hinged on her success.
Sleep beckoned. Yet, Melissa kept reading. She would become the most well-trained courtesan in all of England if it meant winning the heart of the Lord of Wicked.
A
nthony tapped his riding crop against his gleaming hessians. Thompson, his valet, had done him proud this morning considering the condition he’d arrived home in as daylight was breaking.
How Thompson had the time to clean his boots, so clean Anthony could see his reflection in the leather, was beyond him.
Last night, he’d been at his favorite gaming haunt, Faeroe’s, until the sun rose at six o’clock. Gambling was his second vice. But he couldn’t concentrate on cards with his mind whirling about his fiancée and his brother’s betrayal.
Fortunately, he didn’t go there to gamble. He’d managed to gather information about Rothsay and the white slavery ring. Lord Langtry, one of William Wilberforce’s colleagues, confirmed that Rothsay had closed down his dock and holding pens in Bristol. Anthony knew Rothsay wouldn’t be stupid enough to continue to operate out of what had, until recently, been the largest slave-trading port in all of England.
Unfortunately, no one seemed to know where Rothsay was currently based. They all agreed he still owned a huge fleet of ships and was engaging in trade. The funny thing was—no one quite knew what he traded. Some said wool and grain, others said coal. The fact Rothsay’s cargo was unclear only confirmed Anthony’s suspicions. Rothsay would carry anything that made him a vast profit—including white women.
Langtry had mentioned Great Yarmouth. He said he’d heard Rothsay had recently purchased a house there. That could mean only one thing, he was using the port, but for what?
Blast this wedding. Anthony tried to still his growing resentment. If not for his wedding he could head directly to Great Yarmouth. Instead, he’d have to send Quincy.
Not being able to attend to the matter of bringing down his nemesis wasn’t the only thing his temper was flaring over. He tried to still his rising irritation at being summoned to Lady Sudbury’s well before lunch. Melissa needed to see him urgently, and it could mean nothing but trouble.
He paced the drawing room, swearing beneath his breath. The woman was punishing him. She’d kept him waiting longer than twenty minutes now.
He’d not seen her since the terrible scene in the Cavendish garden two nights ago. He rubbed his temples. He’d acted like an arse. He let his emotions get the better of him. Something he never usually did, mainly because he very rarely had any emotions worth mentioning. He hated feeling so vulnerable. He had let her see his weakness—possessiveness.
His blood still boiled thinking about the sight of his brother holding and kissing Melissa’s hand. The interlude looked so intimate. He should have demanded Richard take his place and marry her instead of him.
She was in league with Richard. Worse, she played him for a fool, pretended it hadn’t been a trap. Dreaming! What virgin dreams of a man ravishing her? He’d been completely taken in by her story.
He hated the dark disturbing feelings she invoked in him—anger, fury, and God damn it, the most terrible of all, jealousy.
He slapped the crop against his thigh. Like a lion trapped in a gilded cage, he prowled from the bright windows, along the burgundy-upholstered sofa, and back to the windows. The urge to roar was eating him up inside.
For the first time in his life, a woman was keeping him waiting like some lap dog. The hiss of his crop was the only sound in the empty room. Did she think he had nothing better to do? He checked his watch. Damn it, he should be pursuing leads regarding Lord Rothsay …
The handle of the drawing room door turned, and the rustle of fabric caught his ears. He shoved his watch back in his pocket and stood with his hands behind his back, legs spread wide, in the middle of the room. His mood, which was already dark, deepened to pitch black.
He watched Melissa, with her usual contained manner, enter the room. She held her head high, and her eyes did not waver from his. They issued a silent challenge. His appalling behavior at the Cavendish ball had not made her cower.
As if hit by big surf in the ocean, Anthony felt waves of embarrassment wash over him. How did this young woman do it? His tongue felt thick. For once, he was at a loss for words, and he lowered his eyes.
Regrettably, they came to rest on her ample bosom, prettily displayed by the style and cut of her pastel-pink gown. His pulse gave a little kick. She folded her hands demurely in front of her, and he wondered what they’d feel like running all over his body. He struggled to control the crescendo beat of lust that surged through his veins.
His irritation grew.
“Good morning, Anthony,” she coolly said, walking to where he was standing and giving a deep curtsy. “Thank you for sparing me a moment out of your busy schedule.” He took a moment to respond, dazzled by the display of soft white flesh and the tantalizing view of her cleavage. The cut of her bodice was low.
He raised an eyebrow. Today he was Anthony, rather than Lord Wickham. She must want something.
His eyes quickly rose to meet hers. She flushed a pretty rose color that matched her dress. She turned away, gracefully strode to the settee, and sat.
Her thick black hair, arranged in a pleasing style, showed off her delicate neck to perfection. Her jugular jumped, telling him she was not as composed as she pretended.
Good. He wanted her unnerved.
“I am a busy man, Melissa,” he said, striding toward her. “Why have you summoned me here at this ungodly hour of the morning?”
Melissa clasped her hands against her lap to hide her shaking. Anthony stood before her clad in a burgundy riding jacket, striped waistcoat that matched his beige shirt and cravat, and a pair of fawn breeches. His dark stare held no warmth, only irritation.
So much for Richard’s theory that with time, Anthony would calm down. She doubted if he’d apologize for his behavior any time soon.
She cleared her throat. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
He spun, and for a moment, she thought he’d march out of the room. Instead, he strode to the mantelpiece, leaned against it, and looked down his aristocratic nose at her. Silence. The man was deliberately making her squirm.
Straightening her spine, she gave a nervous smile. “I suppose you’re waiting for an explanation—”
“After your behavior at the Cavendishes I rather think I’m not in the mood to grant favors.”
Damn the man. Even in his bad mood she couldn’t ignore how handsome he was.
Keeping her voice steady, she began her farce. “As the future Countess of Wickham I assume you would not want your wife’s debts left unpaid.”
His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “So your little charade, pretending ignorance of my brother’s scheme to trap me into marriage, was all about money. Is it not enough I have seen to your brother’s debts?”
Melissa blushed. She wanted to tell Anthony about Theresa, but he’d taken over his father’s slave-trading business. Although he’d closed down the business after his father’s
death, he had worked for his father. Anthony would likely think buying a slave’s freedom a waste of money, and she couldn’t risk him saying no. Not when Theresa’s life hung in the balance.
“I have a small debt that I raked up at Lady Humphrey’s last evening, and I am without funds.” Lady Humphrey, a renowned gambler, often held card evenings for the ladies of the
ton
since women could not openly visit gaming houses. “Her ladyship will expect the debt paid, and I am sure you would not like the embarrassment of me having to plead insolvency.”
“How much is the debt?”
“Two hundred pounds.” Her words spilled forth without hesitation.
Jaw tight, he stalked toward her and halted in front of her. He jammed his hands on his hips and towered over her like Goliath, his face carved with fury. “Am I to expect this behavior will occur on a regular basis? I suppose like brother like sister.”
His eyes swept over her, his contempt making her feel ten inches small. “Everything is slowly becoming clearer. You agreed to Richard’s proposition to trap me in marriage, not just for your brother but for yourself as well.”
“No—”
“Do not add more lies to the ones you’ve already spouted,” he growled. “You played me well. Let me see if I remember your words.” He tried to mimic her voice. “I won’t make you marry me. I want to marry for love.” He gave a hollow laugh. “You should be on the stage.”
She dropped her head. Waves of nausea rose up into her throat. It was pointless to argue, he’d never believe her.
“Since I am left in no position but to grant you this favor I shall call it your engagement gift.”
Her head jerked up. She whispered, “No. As you have already given me an engagement present, I would like to call this a loan against my allowance.”
“I think not.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “This shall replace
my previous present, which due to your underhandedness, I shall take back.”
Melissa slowly rose to her feet, shaking her head. “Don’t do this.”
“The choice is yours—the money or a promise not to bed your cousin.” He gave an ugly smile. “What makes it so interesting is I shall see what means more to you. Money or a faithful husband?”
The room spun. She reached out and grasped the back of the settee. He meant it. Bastard. She sucked in deep breaths. She had no choice. Her pride was nothing compared to Theresa’s life. “I shall take the money.”
His nostrils flared and his eyes hardened. “At last you are finally being honest. Now we both know where we stand.” He spun and marched toward the exit, saying, “I shall send the money to Lady Humphrey’s on your behalf—”
“No.” Without thinking, she flew after him. She grabbed for his arm, but at the feel of his sinewy muscles, a jolt of awareness made her drop her hands to her side. “I would prefer to deliver the money myself. I would not like it known that I run to my husband to pay my debts.”
