Virginia Henley (25 page)

Though Dottie would have preferred to dispatch Annabelle Harding to the devil, she curbed her evil impulses and allowed Lady Harding and Olivia to accompany Alexandra and herself to the Parisian dressmaker, since Madame Martine also was doing the wedding gown.

“I’ve always wanted my bridesmaids to wear pink.” It was Olivia’s favorite shade, as it flattered her dark coloring.

“You are not having bridesmaids, dearest, only a maid of honor, but I am sure Alexandra will be amenable to pink.”

“Actually, I’m not,” Alex replied. “I have screamy-colored hair that clashes with pink.”

“Then what about puce?” Annabelle suggested.

“Puce is not only pink, it is
offensive pink,
” Dottie declared. “I think
you
would look good in goose-turd green, Annabelle.”

Olivia giggled. “Baby blue wouldn’t clash with your hair, Alexandra,” she said, wistfully abandoning all hope of pink.

Alex tried valiantly not to grimace. “Forget-me-not blue would be more striking, don’t you think, and carries such an appropriate sentiment for a wedding?”

The color agreed upon, they moved on to style. “I simply love the French Empire style, don’t you, Alexandra?”

“I must confess that I do,” Alex said, smiling at Olivia.

“Did you know that Josephine Bonaparte made the Empire style fashionable in order to conceal the fact that she was
enceinte
?” Dottie had no patience for subtlety.

Olivia turned pale, while Annabelle flushed, confirming Dottie’s suspicions. Alex said quickly, “Madame does the French style exquisitely. My last gown was Empire, and I had many compliments.”

So Rupert is the scapegoat!
Dottie thought.
Now that Annabelle knows that I know, I shall squeeze a consolation prize from the harpy.
“Olivia, my dear, have you given any thought to a town house of your own? Surely a viscountess won’t want to live with Mamma and Pappa?” Dottie saw the speculative look that Olivia bent upon her mother.

“Actually, Mother, there is an empty town house in Clarges Street, not too far away from ours. Perhaps Daddy would give it to us for a wedding present?” Since Daddy had given her everything she ever wanted from the age of two, Olivia considered it her due.

Dottie threw Annabelle a look of triumph. Annabelle smiled resignedly; she knew she was getting a bargain by saving her daughter from disgrace.

Alex was aware of the bi-play, and worse, she understood it.
Olivia is with child and Dottie knows about it! Does Rupert know? He flatly denied the innuendo, yet he has agreed to a hurried wedding, so he must know!
Alex firmly stopped her inquisitive mind from digging deeper; she feared uncovering something worse.

When she returned from the dressmaker, Alex was careful not to allude to anything remotely connected to Rupert and Olivia’s secret. Thoughts were one thing, but words, once uttered, changed everything and moreover could inflict painful wounds. She gave her brother an especially affectionate smile. “By the way, Rupert, did you write to tell Nick that you were getting married?”

Rupert stiffened. His blue eyes turned to ice. “I have no intention of writing to the coward.”

“Whatever do you mean?” She held her breath, terrified of his reply.

Rupert hesitated for a long moment, then said, “The
ton
ostracized him when he accidentally shot his father, and instead of facing them down, he bolted with his tail between his legs.”

Alex knew his eyes had not turned to ice over anything to do with the shooting accident. Only something devastatingly personal could do that. She turned on her heel and fled up the stairs. In her chamber she picked up a book and flung it at the wall. It didn’t nearly relieve her of the emotion building inside of her. She snatched up an inkpot and hurled it after the book. The hideous mess it made of the primrose wallpaper gave her a moment of satisfaction, but it was not until she threw herself on the bed and sobbed for an hour that she began to purge herself of Nick Hatton.

 

Rupert allowed his curiosity to mix with a little excitement when he received Olivia’s note telling him she had a surprise for him. It would not be the first surprise she had given him. When they had been left alone in the Harding’s parlor and he had formally proposed to her, she had flung herself into his arms with great abandon. Olivia had a lovely rounded figure, and when she pressed her soft curves into his long, lean length, it had heated his blood with lust. His kisses were tentative, but her answering kisses had been so hungry he began to think that perhaps a wife and marriage were things to be desired rather than dreaded. If her parents had not been lurking in the house, Rupert was certain that he could have seduced Olivia and persuaded her to a giving mood.

He decided that when he called in Clarges Street, he would take her a present. Flowers was his first idea, but he quickly decided on chocolate bonbons instead. With the ribbon-wrapped box beneath his arm, he ran up the steps of the town house and lifted the brass knocker. Though it was the butler who opened the door, he immediately saw Olivia descending the stairs to the entrance hall and knew she had been waiting for him. She wore a pink morning dress but was carrying a bonnet and her reticule, which told him they were going out.

“Rupert”—she lifted her cheek for his chaste kiss—“how lovely of you to bring me chocolates! I shall take them with me. I have the most wonderful surprise for you.”

He smiled down at her. “What is it, dearest?”

“Ah, I want to
show
you, not
tell
you about it, Rupert.” She had decided that the advantages of showing him far outweighed those of merely telling him. She took his hand and led him from the house and along the pavement of Clarges Street with a conspiratorial air. She took him past three houses, then turned in at the fourth and pulled him up the steps.

Rupert’s excitement withered as he assumed they were going visiting. Her idea of a wonderful surprise obviously differed from his. When Olivia went in without knocking, he thought that she must know these friends extremely well, and he felt reluctant to follow. He stopped in the black-and-white tiled entrance hall, glanced up at the chandelier, then let his curious gaze roam about the well-appointed home. “Whose house is this?” he murmured.

Olivia’s eyes shone with suppressed excitement. “It is
ours,
Rupert! Daddy has bought it as a wedding present.”

Rupert was stunned. Pleasantly so. He had dreaded the thought of living with the Hardings. “Well, that’s most generous of your father, I must say, Olivia.”

“Come on.” She again took his hand and, clutching the box of chocolates to her breast, urged him up the stairs. She led him into a richly furnished bedchamber, set the beribboned box down on a bedside table, opened her reticule, and withdrew an iron key. “Lock the door.”

It took Rupert a moment to comprehend that this was a planned rendezvous, but in the very next moment, his body responded. Vigorously. He quickly did as Olivia bade him, then returned and handed the key back to her. He removed her bonnet and opened his arms wide.

When she stepped close and lifted her lips in eager invitation, Rupert knew instantly that he would not be able to control his desires. Alone, in a locked room, with a bed inviting dalliance, his resolve to be patient until their wedding night went up in smoke. His lips sought hers, but before his mouth even began to make demands, she opened her lips for him, luring him inside. When her tongue began to duel with his, he gave an inward sigh and enjoyed to the full the provocative little thrusts she initiated.

Her soft curves brushed against his hard leanness, tempting his hand to explore them. Olivia’s breasts were full, the nipples already taut as his fingers closed over one lush globe. She gasped with pleasure, and her own fingers unfastened the bodice of her morning gown, giving him full access to what swelled beneath. When his hand closed over naked skin to caress and knead, Olivia’s hands began undressing him with great urgency.

For one moment he fought to stop her, but he had no willpower to deny himself, not when his body burned for her touch. Instead, he began to remove his garments, leaving her hands free to roam over his hard, heated flesh. In seconds he was naked, and rampant. His impluse was to shield her from such male sexuality, but before he could collect his thoughts, Olivia took possession of his cock, wrapping proprietary fingers about it so tightly he almost came out of his skin.

He knew if he did not remove her lovely dress, he would ruin it. With gentle, shaking hands, he raised the skirt and lifted the gown over her head. Olivia’s own hands tore off her pretty undergarments quickly, and Rupert knew he had never before reduced a female to a state of nakedness this rapidly. Before her chemise joined her other garments on the carpet, she stood on tiptoe, wound her arms about his neck, and lifted herself onto his jutting arousal. Olivia was frantic for the joining.

With his hands beneath her buttocks, he managed to get them both to the bed, where they collapsed in a tangle of limbs. Olivia scrambled quickly to the dominant position, molding her breasts to his chest and her plump thighs to his groin. She rose above him, breathlessly, and sank down with a heartfelt moan.

Rupert gazed up at Olivia; she was panting and moving up and down on him voraciously. Over and over, she lifted herself high, then plunged down, greedily swallowing him whole, urging him to do his part as she rode him relentlessly. Soon, she was begging him to go faster, harder, and though he did his level best, he knew he could not satisfy her hunger unless he was on top and in control. Before he could roll her beneath him, she thrust so vigorously that she brought herself to her own rapture, and in doing so, made him spend. He melted into her as she milked him of his seed, then she collapsed onto her back beside him. He closed his eyes and was drifting in a warm sea of surfeit, when he felt her rub her body against his side and heard his name upon her lips. “Rupert?”

He lifted his head from the pillow and watched her pop a chocolate bonbon into her mouth whole. Then she took another, bit into it with sharp little teeth, and dipped her tongue into its soft pink center, licking the cream filling with relish. She swirled her tongue over her lips and cast him a sensual look that left no doubt in his mind.
Again? She wants to fuck again?
Rupert thought he had died and gone to heaven.

A few days before the wedding, Alexandra volunteered to help Rupert pack his personal belongings and his clothes so they could be sent around to the house in Clarges Street. She enlisted the help of Sara, and the conspirators sorted through Rupert’s wardrobe, culling garments that Alex deemed too shabby for a newlywed viscount. When they were finished, Alex ended up with a pile of male shirts, neckcloths, trousers, and jackets, numerous and varied enough to garb herself for any occasion.

Rupert gave his trunks a cursory check. “Where is my black formal attire? Perhaps you took it to be pressed?” he asked Sara.

Since Alex knew Sara had an aversion to lying, she quickly cut in, “You left it at Longford Manor, I imagine, along with copious amounts of other fashionable garments that you didn’t bother bringing to London.”

“A couple of wigs also seem to be missing,” he said, puzzled.

“That’s something I’ve been meaning to mention, Rupert. Wigs are going out of fashion. It is becoming
de rigueur
to wear your own hair.”

“Not that I noticed at Almack’s recently,” he said dryly. “Are you sure you haven’t pinched them, Alex?”

“Whatever would I want with a man’s wig?”

“There is no end to the things my mind conjures. Oh, well, I shall have to take a run into the country. Kit has a brand-new phaeton and matched pair of chestnuts we’re avid to try out.”

“Ah, anxious to take the reins into your own hands, are you?”

Rupert laughed with good nature. “Tweaking me about marriage, Mistress Sly Boots. One day soon it will be your turn.”

When Alex and Sara were alone, Alex began to change clothes and posed a question to the maid. “I’ve heard talk of places called ‘flash houses’ where scores of young boys are trained to be thieves. Have you heard of them?”

“Certainly I have. Girls are trained too, but the danger of being put in prison and flogged for thievery pushes girls into prostitution as soon as they are old enough.”

“And when are they considered old enough?”

“Twelve or thirteen, if you want the truth, miss.”

“I do want the truth, Sara, though it’s heart-scalding. These flash houses are purported to be in an area called the Rookery of St. Giles. Where is that exactly?”

“It’s up north of Soho somewhere, around High Street.” Sara gestured vaguely with her hand.

“Isn’t that where you used to live?”

Sara flushed and pressed her lips together.

Alex pounced. “You don’t want me to see where you used to live, do you, Sara?”

“No, miss. My mother was so relieved to see me escape from that terrible place and the wretched life that most of the people who live there endure. When I was lucky enough to secure a position as maid in the wealthy part of town, she made me promise not to go back more than two or three times a year.”

“I insist upon seeing it; we’ll go there today.”

“It’s not a fit place for a lady.”

“Then I shall wear men’s clothes, and you must call me Alex.”

“Better not wear anything fancy, or you’ll be set upon and robbed the minute you set foot in St. Giles.”

Alex, garbed in her brother’s oldest clothes, and Sara, wrapped in a shabby shawl, made their way up Charing Cross Road. The farther north they walked, the more the streets deteriorated. The buildings they passed were successively more dilapidated, then decayed. The area was filled with foul alleys and tumbledown houses. Raggedy, barefoot children mingled with emaciated dogs, rummaging among the offal of the rat-infested streets for scraps. Men slept, huddled in doorways, and girls on the streets were falling-down drunk. It seemed that every woman they passed had a baby suckling a pendulous breast, while swollen-bellied with another child.