The Mysterious Governess (Daughters of Sin Book 3) (29 page)

“Well, as a matter of fact, I’m marrying Mr. Woking, and if that’s the door knocker I can hear it’s probably him now to ask permission.”

She could have heard a pin drop. Mutinously, she raised her face. “Well, aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

Cousin Stephen didn’t seem to know what to say. Her mother just looked confused. “Mr. Woking. I’ve heard nothing of this gentleman. Well, nothing...complimentary. Why, I thought you favored—”

“Well, it doesn’t matter who I favored, I’m marrying Mr. Woking, who has been in love with me for two seasons and whom I finally have favored with my acceptance.”

Stephen turned to her mother as he reached for the baby. “Mr. Woking is the nephew of Lord Debenham.”

“Goodness...
dangerous
Lord Debenham?” her mother asked, uncertainly.

“The nephew is a different kettle of fish.” Cousin Stephen began to rock the child, who was starting to grizzle. “Nothing dangerous about him at all,” he added, though not in a tone that suggested this was a good thing. He looked suspiciously at Araminta. “Why are you marrying him?”

Araminta took a walk to the window. “Because it’s nearly the end of my second season and I have to marry
someone
,” she said breezily. “He’s in line to inherit extensive landholdings, he’s pleasant enough, and he’ll be a good husband.”

“You mean easy to manage,” Cousin Stephen said.

Araminta bristled at his tone as she turned. “I have quite lost my heart to the gentleman,” she said as a dreadful pang regarding lost Lord Ludbridge threatened to undo her. “I am going to marry him, and now you’re going to come downstairs and give Mr. Woking your blessing.”

“Don’t you speak to your cousin like that,” her mother admonished her. “I own I am just as astonished to hear this announcement. It’s not like you to settle for...well, second best.”

“Second best?” Araminta took a few angry steps into the center of the room and raised her chin. “I will
never
settle for second best and I will never
be
second best. This suits me in every way, and I will not hear another word to dissuade me.”

She turned back toward the stairs and put her hand to her belly. Were those flutterings of fear or something else? No, Jane had said it took at least four months before any movement could be felt and she was only a little over one.

In the nick of time, she’d managed to find a father for her baby, even if she would forever pine for the one who’d got away.

And she wasn’t referring to Sir Aubrey.

***

T
he entire bon ton, it appeared, had turned up to celebrate the impending nuptials of Miss Susana Hoskings and Mr. Edmund Dunstable at the lavishly decorated home of the bride-to-be. Swathes of red and gold silk adorned the lintels, enormous vases of luxurious blooms perfumed the air and the jewels of the richly-garbed crowd sparkled beneath the chandeliers.

Yet the uninvited might have been excused for thinking it a celebration in honor of Miss Araminta Partington and Mr. Roderick Woking.

“Congratulations, Miss Partington! Congratulations, Mr. Woking!”

The good cheer was abundant this evening as Araminta stood a few yards from the front door beside her new affianced, who was beaming like the cat who’d got the cream. Araminta looked at him askance and was about to remark upon the crumb clinging to his lip when she realized it was a pimple.

Yes, she was marrying a pimply boy. Her heart shriveled a little more at the thought.

“Everyone seems so pleased for us, I feel a trifle guilty.” Mr. Woking—Roderick—picked up her hand and kissed it as another gathering of guests was announced. “Why, thank you, Mr. Crossing, Mrs. Crossing. So kind, and yes, I am the luckiest of bride grooms.”

Araminta managed a weak smile as she responded to the latest well wishes. “Yes, such a lovely evening,” she agreed before murmuring to Roderick, “Don’t feel guilty. We’ve managed to steal the attention from Miss Hoskings’ lackluster match. Look at the dreary girl, standing on the other side of the doorway. Doesn’t she know she cannot wear that shade of puce with a complexion like hers? Yet she’s made a decent match, can you believe it? Five thousand a year, though I can’t imagine he’ll want to spend much time away from his club. Nevertheless, she looks like she’d put up with anything. I’m sure tonight is the most exciting she’s ever likely to have. She’s lucky she received an offer at all, with such a hatchet-face, poor dear.”

“The girl is nice enough.” Roderick lowered his head and his eyes glittered. “Her aunt was ruined by my uncle, don’t you know?” He gave a slow nod of his head, as if proud of the fact. “My uncle, Lord Debenham, has quite a reputation with the ladies. Don’t think your family is the only one to be mired in scandal, though of course it’s not the gentlemen who need to worry about reputations and that sort of thing. Your sister should have been more mindful of the consequences her actions had on you, Araminta, my love. Have no fear, however, that I hold her—or you—in contempt.”

“I don’t,” Araminta responded acidly. “But can you really believe that a roly-poly like Miss Hoskings had an aunt who caught the attention of Lord Debenham?” The mention of the gentleman with whom she’d nearly courted disaster made her shiver.

“Appearances are deceptive, aren’t they, my dear-heart?” He sent her a sly look, which made Araminta think she was going to be sick again.

When she did not respond, he went on, a trifle too eagerly for the fact they were in public—or anywhere, for that matter. “The manner in which you pretended to hold me in such disdain when in fact you were mad for me has made me all the wilder for
you
.”

He’d dropped his voice to a rushed whisper and his normally pasty face, now shiny red in the glow of the candles, reminded her of an overripe tomato as he slanted an impassioned gaze across at her. “My goodness, but last night was magnificent, and I am so glad you see the merit in a hasty wedding, though of course we need not observe the abstinence that would ordinarily be necessary, given what has already occurred.” He chuckled as he clearly dwelt on their grubby, thirty-second encounter on a banquette in his drawing room the previous night.

“Please excuse me, I’m suddenly not feeling quite the thing,” Araminta whispered hurriedly over her shoulder as she left his side and dashed into the corridor in search of a chamber pot. This time she really
was
going to be sick.

She was not familiar with the house, and the labyrinth of passages presented more of a challenge than she’d expected. Finally she found what she was looking for and, whipping aside the curtain, gasped her stomach’s contents into the gaping hole.

It took her a few minutes to gather herself. She walked shakily back into the dark corridor and leaned against the wall with her eyes closed, her head tilted upward.

What nightmare was this? Was she really going to marry Mr. Woking in three weeks? Right now it was almost as if God were punishing her. But why, when it was Hetty who had behaved so wretchedly—meaning Araminta had had to work so hard to save the family’s wealth and reputation from ruin?

“Lost your way, Miss Partington?”

The voice struck real fear into her and she gasped, snapping to attention and opening her eyes to see Lord Debenham looming.

“I’m not feeling too well,” she responded weakly.

“Too weak to return to the ball? Why, that’s not like you. Perhaps you should come along with me. You definitely look like you need to rest. I’ve never seen you look so wan, when you’re such a vibrant beauty on any other day.”

Araminta put her hand against the wall to steady herself. “I really should go back. Roderick will be wondering what’s happened to me.”

Lord Debenham continued to stand before her in a disconcerting, slightly menacing way. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

“Roderick. Yes.” He drew the words out consideringly. “That
was
a surprise.”

Araminta shrugged. “I don’t know why. You were the one to cite his many qualities, I seem to remember.”

“When I was rejecting your overtures, Miss Partington.” He sighed. “My, how I’ve lived to rue the day.”

She blinked her eyes wide in surprise. “You made your lack of interest quite plain, sir. And now Roderick is to be my husband, and you and I shall be cousins in marriage.” She smiled, feeling more confident now she could speak like that.

“But what if that isn’t enough for me?” He put out his hand and touched her cheek.

Araminta flinched, though a frisson of excitement made the contact far more exhilarating than when Roderick had pawed her.

“I don’t understand you, My Lord,” she whispered, repulsed yet irresistibly drawn to the danger he exuded. “I am about to be married.”

“Don’t play the innocent with me. You know exactly what I mean.” He’d drawn closer now. He was playing with her, stroking her cheek, her neck, her décolletage with the tips of his fingers, his voice a soothing murmur as he led her along the passage. “If you are so weary, I can take you to a room where you’ll be comfortable. I’m a regular guest of this house, in fact. Hoskings and I have enjoyed many a cribbage evening together and I’m not always in a position to return to my own bed. Let me take you somewhere you can lie down.”

Despite every instinct screaming caution, Araminta’s breasts tingled and she felt again that increasingly familiar throbbing desire between her legs. She’d thought she’d never feel it again except in Teddy’s presence, but he’d left her, meaning pimply, groping Roderick was her only means of salvation.

“Here we are, my dear.”

Self-preservation kicked in when he pushed open the door to one of the many guest chambers along the passage. She stopped, turning back toward the ballroom. “I must return to Roderick,” she said, drawing on every reserve she had to make it sound as if that was what she truly wished.

Lord Debenham stood very close to her in the doorway. “Do you desire my nephew, Miss Partington...like you desire me?”

The suggestiveness in his tone was more thrilling than terrifying. In the light of the candle resting in a sconce just above them, his eyes glittered like a satyr’s.

“And like I desire
you
?” He grasped her hand and placed it on the front of his bulging black pantaloons.

Araminta swallowed, her body in a state of the wildest excitement. But she did not take her hand away. She closed her eyes and shuddered slightly. “My Lord, I am saving myself for Roderick,” she whispered.

“That little sapskull? Why, you’re too ripe and ready for half, aren’t you, my tempting armful, but I don’t think my nephew’s the answer.”

Araminta swayed as she felt his arms go about her. Giddy with desire, she was, this time, determined to cling to the safest course. That is, until he slipped his hand into her bodice, beneath her stays and chemise, and gently pinched her nipple.

This man was terrifying, but surely one taste of him would make no difference after what she’d already done? No, she’d not marry him if he were the last man on earth. He was far too dangerous to have as a husband—foolish, naïve girl that she’d once been to believe she’d have the necessary control over him that she required.

Heat engulfed her, her skin prickled and her breath came in short, desperate bursts.

One wild, wanton, wicked taste of this sinfully villainous blackguard while her pimply, boring, ghastly husband-to-be waited in the ballroom would be utterly and deliciously thrilling.

“You do flatter yourself, Lord Debenham,” she whispered, as she pressed closer against him, angling her body to ease the way for his exploring hands. “Why would I give my virtue to you when I owe everything to Roderick for making me such a gallant and enticing offer before the end of the season?”

“An offer of marriage, maybe, but my offer is much more exciting, don’t you think?”

His touch seared her skin as he kneaded her right nipple. Suddenly he pulled her against him and thrust his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, sagging against him, squeaking with delighted surprise when his hand went up her skirts and he cupped her heated mound.

“My, you
are
wet,” he growled. “Wet and willing.” Lightly at first, then with a little more pressure, he began to massage the swollen nub between her legs.

Araminta thought she would die from pleasure. “So this is what it feels like?” she gasped, shifting slightly to give him greater access. Seducing Sir Aubrey had been nothing like this. Though she’d been damp with desire, she’d merely plunged onto him and he, thinking she was...someone else—she shuddered as she reflected that that someone was her sister, though Hetty was welcome to Sir Aubrey—had then furiously berated her.

What a terrible man Sir Aubrey was to have led her on to believe he wished to marry her and now—she gave a little sob—she had no choice but to marry Mr. Woking. At least, though, Mr. Woking would be infinitely more pliable than this dangerous devil whose ministrations were nearly driving her insane.

She liked his roughness, and moaned again as he dipped a finger inside her before resuming his pleasuring, returning pressure to the outer lips of her secret, sensitive parts.

“Oh my, you are on fire,” he muttered as he swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedchamber, where a single candle guttered on a chest of drawers by the large mahogany tester bed.

Without ceremony, he tossed her onto the crimson counterpane. Quickly, he unbuttoned the flap of his breeches, which he then kicked off, together with his shoes. Shrugging out of his tailcoat and waistcoat, he then threw himself—naked but for his shirt—on top of her.

Araminta managed to wriggle out from under him, gasping, “Not so fast, Lord Debenham. If I am going to gift you what by rights I should be gifting Roderick, I want more of what you were doing before.”

Oh, she wasn’t stupid. She knew how to get what she wanted at the same time as reassuring him that she was unspoiled. This was going to be even more important in a few months’ time when the baby came a little earlier than it ought.

“More of this?” His satyr-like eyes bored into hers, only an inch away, but obligingly he supported himself on one elbow, his lean, hairy flanks fascinating her before she gasped in delight as once more he slipped a finger inside her entrance, then out, slowly massaging the ever-swelling nub of her desire.