Only Marriage Will Do (35 page)

“So St. Cyr signed it himself?” Jack asked.

“No. Paul d’Eberhart did officiate at the secret proxy wedding as the other witnesses attested to. Only Paul d’Eberhart,
fils
, signed the certificate, not Paul d’Eberhart,
père
. The elder d’Eberhart was a close friend of Count de Mallain. Their sons were best friends. Little wonder the deception presented itself to St. Cyr’s fiendish mind after the elder died.” Dalbury drained his glass and set it back on the sideboard.

Amiable stared blindly into the room. All that anguish and fear of the past few months for naught. Damn, but he’d enjoy beating St. Cyr unconscious again—if he didn’t strangle him first. He hadn’t seen his wife in a week because of that blackguard. Abruptly he jumped up and slammed the crystal glass down on the desk. “Can I trouble you for the loan of a shirt and jacket?”

“Of course.” A smile puckered Dalbury’s mouth. “You just decided you’re cold?”

“Oh, no.” Amiable grinned at him, the load of grief and worry slipping from his shoulders. “I am going to find my bride.” He headed for the door then gave his brother-in-law a backward glance. “I give you fair warning—she will be restricted to bed rest for at least a week. Husband’s orders.” He slammed the door in his haste to change. No matter. The sound of laughter followed him down the hall.

* * * *

The carriage stopped at the address Katarina had given him, and Amiable looked askance at the run-down houses and broken cobblestones in this seedy neighborhood. Juliet had been here for a week? He shuddered as he left the carriage but reminded himself the subterfuge had indeed worked. No one had found his wife, and considering this place, he doubted anyone ever would have.

Almost nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve. The perfect time for a reunion with Juliet. Amiable entered the gray lapboard building to discover a masquerade in full swing. Laughing and talking, all manner of men and women packed the first room. Most wore costumes more than a little risqué.

A woman raced by, squealing with laughter, garbed as a harem girl, filmy pink silk pants and tunic showing all her legs and a great deal more of her body than expected. He shouldn’t be surprised considering the reputation of this house. Following right behind her, a jaunty Cavalier had a lecherous leer on his face. Beyond them were assorted Greek gods and goddesses, pirates, highwaymen, queens, and one very charming shepherdess.

Amiable made his way through the sea of revelers to stand before the shepherdess. Her gossamer white skirt over fashionable small hoops, a not too daringly low-cut bodice, and dark ringlet curls all proclaimed her a sweet, innocent maid. He knew better.

She flirted shamelessly with a tall fair gentleman dressed in Grecian garb, thunderbolts strapped in a quiver on his back. Zeus perhaps.

He placed a sensuous kiss on her palm.

She withdrew her hand and shook her head at him. A wave of her shepherd’s crook and he melted into the boisterous throng. As she turned toward Amiable, the woman changed before his eyes. The gay coquette disappeared and the sharp businesswoman took her place.

“Good evening, Mr. Morley. I trust your presence means the business is finally settled to your satisfaction?”

“Good evening, Madame Vestry. Indeed, everything is as we have wished. Juliet is undisputedly my wife. I am here to take her home.”

“Very good. Follow me, please.”

Madame Vestry led Amiable through several rooms full of masqueraders to a polished staircase. On the second floor, she led him to the very end of a corridor and indicated the last door on the right. “This has been Lady Juliet’s room during her stay. I deemed it the only one comfortable enough for her.” The woman smiled as she produced a key and unlocked the door. “I will be glad to return to it myself. You may, of course, spend as much time as you wish before you leave. I think you may have things to discuss?”

The obvious suggestion in her words made Amiable look away. “Thank you, Miss Vestry. We do have things to discuss, but we will try to trespass on your hospitality but a little.”

Madame Vestry waved her hand. “Life’s pleasures—wicked or otherwise—sometimes come only once.” Her gaze fastened on his face and she licked her red lips, a seductive smile playing across them. “Enjoy your discussion, Mr. Morley.”

Amiable caught his breath as she turned and sauntered down the hallway, her hoops swaying in a manner designed to provoke a man’s desire. An exceptional woman in many ways.

Recalling his purpose, he knocked discretely on the door before he depressed the lever and walked in.

Juliet sat in a rocking chair before a cozy fire, a book in her hand.

His heart gave a lurch. She was so damned beautiful. Now all his. He closed the door with a click and turned the key in the lock.

“Set the tray on the table, Alice. I will eat before retiring,” she said, so engrossed in her reading she did not look up.

“I’ll gladly be your feast, sweetheart.”

The book fell to the floor with a crash as Juliet bounded up out of the chair and whirled around at the sound of his voice.

“Amiable.” She stood staring at him, a delighted smile spreading across her face. Dressed for bed in a nightgown and robe of soft blue that could not disguise her bulging belly, she appeared as an angel to his starved soul.

“Juliet, my love.” He gazed at her, drinking in his fill. His cock swelled at the sight of her.

She launched herself into his arms. Their lips locked, bodies molded together, touching as much of each other as possible despite the bulk that came between them.

He lifted her, fitting her better against him, never wanting to let her go. Time stood still as lips, tongues, and mouths tangled. Frantic longings and denied desires consumed him. He need wait no longer.

Amiable swept back the covers and laid Juliet down on the soft sheets. Then he recalled exactly to whom the bed belonged.

“Christ.” He collapsed on the bed. “We should leave as swiftly as we can, my love.”

“Whatever for, Amiable?” Juliet purred deep in her throat, fixing him with the most sensual stare he had ever seen from her—a smoky hot gaze that went straight to his shaft, now painfully erect. “Do you really want to wait to begin our feast?”

A frustrated groan emerged. “Juliet, do you realize where you have been staying, sweet? This is Madame Vestry’s House of Pleasure, London’s most notorious brothel. This is the madam’s own bedroom we are in.” He took in his surroundings, expecting to be horrified, but the furnishings were tasteful, almost elegant. Surprising.

Juliet giggled and raised herself so her breasts brushed the thin shirting that covered his chest. He groaned again. She knew she tormented him, the little vixen.

“Of course I knew where I was staying, Amiable. Everyone has been so kind and considerate of me. We owe Miss Vestry quite a debt of gratitude.” She bent her head to nibble on his lips.

“Juliet.” He protested, weaker now, breathing more rapid. “Should we be doing this here and now?”

“Think of it this way, my love.” Juliet said, pulling his shirt free and skimming her hand across his smooth flat belly. “This will be your single chance to enjoy yourself in the House of Pleasure. How can you resist?” She slid her hand beneath his breeches and closed it around his hot, hard member, then stroked upward.

God in heaven, what was she doing? He’d have to give in to the inevitable once more. Quickly. He disengaged her hand and tore off his clothes. As his shirt cascaded to the floor, Juliet gasped.

“Amiable. What happened to you, my love?” She stared at the stark white bandages on his shoulders and chest, her brow furrowing.

He gave her a rueful smile and pressed her into the mattress. “St. Cyr believed he could persuade me to tell him where you were hiding.” A kiss to the middle of her forehead smoothed the frown lines. “He learned the error of his ways.” He kissed his way down her nose. “I don’t believe he will ever bother you again.”

Hovering over her mouth for a split second, he seized her lips with his own, parted them, and thrust his tongue into her. A taste of the homecoming yet to come.

“On the other hand, you are never getting rid of me.” He raised his head to smile lecherously at his wife.

Her face flushed. She encircled his neck and pulled him to her. “Good.”

He loved the smug, contented look on her face as he raked her gown up to her hips, parted her legs and thrust into her. No finesse, no gentle prodding. Only the driving rhythm punctuating one word: mine.

No matter this would be his single experience in the House of Pleasure, minutes later he lay on his back, spent and deliriously happy to have Juliet back in his arms.

Cuddling her to him, he whispered into her ear, “You know this means we’re married for good, don’t you, love?”

She nodded and tightened her arms around him.

“We have been married since July and you were never, ever married to St. Cyr.”

“I knew, deep down inside, all along. Even when we thought I was his wife. When he tried to take me to bed, it felt like a horrible betrayal of you.”

“It didn’t happen?”

“No, it didn’t happen, my love. Because my knight in shining armor rescued me just in time.” She smiled again, a promise in her eyes. “Like now.”

“Now? I’m rescuing you now?”

“Yes, love.” She pulled his head to hers, lips again insistent.

He tasted her eagerness before she trailed licks and kisses down his body.

“I’ve been reading the most fascinating book this week,” she said, tracing a winding path with her tongue along his rib cage. “All about a scandalous woman who does all sorts of naughty things with men, don’t you know? It’s given me such ideas. You need to rescue me from these wicked longings.” Her mouth halted, hovered above his groin, her tongue peeping out between her lips.

His breath stopped. His shaft, so recently depleted, swelled once more.

Juliet licked her lips and it sprang to attention.

“What in God’s name did you read, love?”

“It’s on the floor there. I was reading it when you came in. It’s called
Fanny Hill—Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure
. So now I can be your woman of pleasure.”

Christ. His wife had read the most notorious erotic book available in England. He groaned. Considering where she’d been he shouldn’t be surprised. The smoldering look in Juliet’s eyes as she watched his erection rise made his heart pound. Maybe he should be grateful.

“So raise your lance, my knight, and rescue a lady with a night of pleasures.” She set her lips on the tip of his shaft and slowly slid them down.

Amiable shuddered in ecstasy. “That will be my pleasure, my lady. Always.”

Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical and contemporary romance. She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, she has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all of these elements into her own stories. She lives in Virginia with her family and a small menagerie of pets. When not reading or writing, she indulges her passion for the theatre, working with local theatres as a director. She often feels she is directing her characters on their own private stage.

Jenna is a PAN member of Romance Writers of America as well as a member of Chesapeake Romance Writers. Her debut novel,
Only Scandal Will Do
, is the first in her House of Pleasure series, set in Georgian London. Her medieval novel,
Time Enough to Love
, is a Romeo & Juliet-esque tale, set at the time of the Black Death.

She has equated her writing to an addiction to chocolate because once she starts she just can’t stop.

Turn the page for a special excerpt of Jenna Jaxon’s

Only Scandal Will Do

Kidnapped and sold at auction in a London brothel, Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam squelches an undeniable attraction to the masked stranger who purchased her, pits her wits against him, and escapes him and the scandal that would ruin her life.

Unable to resist temptation in a London brothel, Duncan Ferrers, Marquess of Dalbury, purchases a fiery beauty. She claims she’s a lady, but how can she be? No lady of his acquaintance in polite society is anything like her. Then he discovers she is who she says, and that this latest romp has compromised her reputation. He knows how that is. One more scandal and he’ll be cast out of London society, but he needs a wife who’ll provide an heir to carry on his illustrious family’s name. He seeks out Katarina, intending only to scotch the scandal, but instead finds his heart ensnared. He’s betting their future he’ll capture her heart, but does he have what it takes to win the wager?

Content warning: A blade-wielding heroine who crosses swords with a master of sensuality.

On sale now!

London, 1761

“Put her back in the carriage, now!” Her assailant snarled the brusque command, sending a shiver of fear through Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam.

An unseen attacker seized and tossed her into the coach. Gagged, hands pinioned behind her back, ankles bound together, she lay trussed like a Christmas goose in a cramped bundle on the hard plank floor of the dim carriage, her diaphanous Grecian costume in ruins. Schemes for escape flashed through her head in a dizzying whirl.

The horses jerked forward, the uneven cobblestones of London’s streets jouncing her already aching body.

All because she’d been bored.

Doggedly, Katarina tested the bonds securing her hands, strained against the coarse rope then relaxed, seeking play in the cords. None. She muttered a curse and forced her whole body to relax. Tension would never free her. Rough and tumble games growing up with Jack had taught her that.

Jack! God, where was he? Was he alive or... She’d heard one muted cry when they were attacked, then nothing. If her brother were dead, it would be her fault.