My Three Lords Read online

  Chapter Four

  The crack of a billiards cue against a ball shattered the heavy quiet. Balls tumbled into pockets like mice running from a hungry cat.

  The Earl of Dorchester found the Marquis de Beaumont hunched over the green baize-covered table. A fire crackled companionably in the hearth and the pleasant scent of a cheroot perfumed the billiards room.

  The Marquis straightened up and set his billiards cue on the floor as if it were a wizard’s staff. “There you are, my boy. I trust I find you well?”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “And your bride?”

  “Sleeping like an angel.” A soft smile spread across his face. “And you need not ask for your thanks. I am in your debt. I believe no man has ever had such a satisfactory wedding night. I napped for a short while, then woke up and took my wife again, much to her expressed delight, rested once more, then had another go. Her eagerness for the act seems fathomless.”

  With hooded eyes, the Marquis chalked his cue tip. “I promised you a warm and willing wife.”

  “That you did. I have never known you to welch on a promise. I already said I’m in your debt.”

  “Interesting,” murmured the Marquis. He racked the balls. “And how do you intend to repay this debt?”

  The Earl screwed his face into a frown. “Would one of my new fillies do the job?”

  “I’m afraid not. First stroke?”

  The Earl absently took the cue. “Perhaps the name of my tailor?”

  “Non-starter, my boy. My tailor would laugh yours off Bond Street if he ever set foot there.”

  The Earl lined up his shot. “Then I don’t know how to please you, my lord. You must name your price.”

  “The answer is as plain as the nose on your face. I want little Lady Alicia.”

  A sharp “thwack” split the room as the Earl misjudged the path of the cue and nearly tore a rip into the fabric of the table. “Why?”

  The Marquis ran his hand over the green baize. “My dear boy, no emotion is worth damaging my billiards table.”

  “Sorry. Now tell me what you want with my wife.”

  “Well, if you must know, for many years now I’ve lost the, shall we say, joie de vivre I possessed before my own leg-shackling.”

  Dorchester’s open face grew dark, as it did whenever the Marquise was mentioned.

  “I find our little Countess ignites a spark I’ve been sorely lacking.”

  The Earl fingered the billiards cue, then shook his head firmly. “She’s my wife.”

  “So? Did I not touch every part of her body earlier this evening? Did I not bring her to such a state of arousal that you were able to march in with no preparation for the deed?”

  “Yes, that is true, but now she’s been properly broken in. Your work is done. You may exit,” he flourished the cue, “stage right.”

  “You delude yourself, my boy. If you approach your wife in your usual blunt manner, you will get a very different result, especially now that I have introduced her to the more subtle joys of lovemaking.”

  “To damnation with subtle. A strong cock, that’s all she needs.”

  The Marquis thrust out his arm for the cue, which the Earl shoved into his grasp. “Are you so certain?”

  “I will stake my happiness on it. You should have seen her the second time I had her. Her eyes nearly rolled up inside her head.”

  “I believe Lady Alicia needs more than your simple-minded fucking. She needs a lover who can divine her deepest desires, who can vary his lovemaking in an unpredictable manner. You, mon ami, are a one-note song. I have many tricks up my sleeve.” As if to prove it, he dropped four balls with a single stroke.

  “I’d stake a strong prick against a sleeve of tricks any day of the week.” The Earl claimed the cue.

  “Then we have a wager?”

  The Earl nodded eagerly, gambling being one of his favorite vices. “But what stakes? A wager is no entertainment at all without stakes.”

  “So true, my boy, so true. And yet, it might be considered unseemly to wager material objects on the emotions of a woman, though it’s happened many a time at White’s, no doubt.”

  “True.” The Earl stroked his hand along the cue with a puzzled frown. “But what could we wager that has no material value?”

  “Hmmm…” The Marquis appeared to ponder. “I’ve got it. If you and your strong prick can convince your wife she has no need of the finer arts of lovemaking, I promise to leave you newlyweds alone from now on.”

  The Earl gave him an uneasy, bright blue glance. “Alone? With my wife?”

  “A terrifying prospect, no doubt,” said the Marquis dryly.

  “Well, and what if she feels the other way, that a strong prick, in some circumstances, is assisted or benefited, shall we say, by other kinds of activity?”

  “Ah, then we agree to do whatever makes her most happy and satisfied. It’s difficult to argue with that, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Yes, I should think you’re right.” The Earl bent over the table to take his shot, then straightened up in dismay. “But there’s a hitch. I intend to get my wife with child. My child. A boy. I already have his first pony selected for him.”

  The Marquis chuckled. “You need have no fears on that count, my boy. I will promise not to penetrate your wife in that manner. In my hands, she will achieve full satisfaction, prick or no.”

  The Earl delivered the cue along with a skeptical glance. “You’ll be able to restrain yourself from that sweet cunt?”

  “I will enjoy that sweet cunt, and all other parts, with any and all parts of my body save for my shaft. I will leave that task to you.”

  “Very generous of you,” grumbled the Earl. “We’d better keep this part of our arrangement from Warrington. I don’t believe he would grant his approval.”

  “Must His Grace be apprised of your every move?”

  “Of course not, but I find his opinion valuable. He can unearth hidden motives I would never have suspected.” The Earl watched the Marquis sink the last ball so the billiards table was clear. “In fact, I wish he were here at this moment to detect your true motivations.”

  The Marquis gave a light laugh as he replaced the cue in the rack mounted on the wall. “As you said earlier, it’s no doubt best Warrington is not here and has no knowledge of our activities, those completed and those planned. He has, as they say, no dog in this hunt.” He wandered to the fireplace mantel, where his cheroot smoldered in a crystal dish.

  “True enough,” said the Earl, but still his face betrayed a youthful worry that he’d been outmaneuvered. The Marquis drew on his cigar. Through a wreath of smoke, he granted the younger man a guileless smile.

  * * * * *

  When I awoke, I was naked in bed, alone but for the cheerful chirping of birds outside the window. Soft sheets the color of pearls embraced me in a lovely cocoon. I stretched luxuriously, noticing pleasant new aches such as one experiences after the first hunt of the season. I leaned my head to the side and saw that someone had opened the casement to allow the fresh air and sunshine inside. Someone had also cleared the chamber of all my discarded clothing and had laid out a fresh, white-dotted muslin morning gown for me.

  Was it Annie? As the question entered my mind, memories from the previous night flooded my thoughts. Annie had seen me enter that state of divine arousal at the hands of the Marquis. She’d had her hands on my body while I trembled with delight. What would she think of me now? I scolded myself for my concern. She was only a servant doing her master’s bidding.

  As was I, in a manner of speaking. I was the wife of the Earl of Dorchester, and I had done as he bade me.

  I rose from the bed and, naked and barefoot, stepped to the casement. The sun was high in the sky, nearing its midday height. Merry sunshine smiled down on the profusion of roses, which seemed to sparkle back at their generous benefactor. I shared their mood. The world seemed a glorious place.

  A rough barking drew my attention to the lawn that slop
ed down toward a grove of ash trees. A gun dog, an Irish Setter from the looks of him, raced across the grass in pursuit of a stick. He jumped on it, snarling and snapping, then dashed back to deliver the stick to his owner. I saw the vigorous figure of my husband bend down to tussle the stick away from the beast’s jaws. Again he tossed it, laughing, and again the dog leaped after it. A boy and a dog. How suited they were to each other, I thought. Simple creatures enjoying a simple game.

  But would simple games satisfy me? The question made me turn in dismay from the window and my restless thoughts to take up the muslin laid out for me.

  I slipped into my chemise, then rang the bell to summon assistance with the rest of my toilette. Annie appeared so quickly, I thought perhaps she’d been waiting outside my door.

  “Good morning, Annie.”

  “Good morning, my lady.” Her matter-of-fact manner immediately eased my mind. No doubt many stranger things had occurred at the lair of the Marquis de Beaumont. She helped me into my stays. Her quick, efficient touch gave me comfort.

  “You aren’t married, are you, Annie?”

  “No, my lady. My sweetheart and I plan to marry as soon as he has saved enough to lease a small cottage.”

  “How lovely. Does he work for the Marquis?”

  “Aye, he works in the stables. He’s always had a way with horses, even as a child.” With my stays secured, she settled my petticoat over my head.

  “You were childhood sweethearts then?” I asked through the fine cotton covering my face.

  “Aye, my lady. All our lives.”

  When my head emerged from my petticoat, a frown shadowed my face. “You must love him very much.”

  She shrugged and straightened my petticoat so it hung properly. “I suppose so. I do na think on it much. Dickon is Dickon. One day we will be married.”

  “And you will be a good wife.”

  “Oh sure. As are ye, my lady.”

  My head snapped around to meet her kind blue eyes. She was such a country girl with her freckles and ginger hair. No shadows on her open face. She already knew my secrets. I could trust her.

  “Do you think so, really?”

  “I do, mum.”

  “But surely a good wife would…that is, would not—”

  “A good wife does what her husband asks,” said Annie firmly. She held out the white muslin so I could step into it. Then she moved behind me to fasten my dress. I saw it had an unusually low neckline, and it pushed my breasts together so they sat plump in the dotted muslin. The girl reappeared in front of me and reached out her hands to smooth the worry lines from my forehead. “My dear mother always taught me that true joy is to be found in the submission of a wife to her husband.”

  “As did my mother.”

  “Then ye need have no worries. Do exactly as your husband asks and ye will be happy as a lark.” She gave me a cheerful smile.

  “And the Marquis?”

  She laughed. “Let that be between your husband and the Marquis.”

  “You’re most wise, are you not, Annie?”

  “I do na know that, my lady. I’m a simple maidservant.” She tweaked the skirt of my gown so all the wrinkles shook out. “Should I do your hair now?”

  I nodded my assent and went to the dressing table. As she ran a silver-backed brush through my hair, I pondered her words.

  As a woman, my purpose in life was not in question. I was born to marry and give birth to children. As a gentleman’s daughter, I was meant to marry another of my class and continue our shared bloodline. My aim was to be a good wife. My mother, before she died, had instructed me strictly in the requirements of being a good wife. Even though I was but eight years of age, I had diligently repeated her directions many times. The desires of a wife are subservient to those of her husband. A wife smooths the way of a husband, keeps his household running, bears his children, brings him ease and comfort, and submits to him in every particular.

  Although that fate never sounded at all appealing, it was certainly superior to the alternative, which would be to remain a childless ape leader for the rest of my days. I myself would not have minded such a fate, but I couldn’t bear to disappoint my father. It was for his sake I’d traveled to London to submit myself to the dizzying whirl of a London season.

  Now I was married and thus far I had done everything my husband desired. I’d been a perfect wife and my conscience could be clear.

  Do as your husband asks. But what if he asked that I spend the remainder of my days as his bed partner, and his alone?

  Despite my worries, I went downstairs to break my fast with a hearty appetite. As I passed through the halls of Notre Plaisir, I admired the sparkling clarity of the windows, the graceful sweep of the staircase, and the lovely trompe l’oeil wallpaper. I knew that notre plaisir meant “our pleasure”, a name that seemed imbued with naughty meaning after last night. The pleasure referred to apparently applied to all senses. The light fragrance of freshly cut roses and daisies floated through the house. Everywhere one looked, a pretty knickknack or graceful bit of drapery caught one’s eye. The only sound competing with the birdsong was the industrious sound of pots and pans emanating from the kitchen.

  My stomach joined in the noisemaking with a clamorous growl. I remembered that I had never eaten my supper last night, having been surprised by the appearance of the Marquis. Other needs, apparently, had taken precedence. I followed the scent of fresh baked bread to a pleasant, sun-drenched room, where silver chafing dishes sat upon a sideboard. The sunny room afforded a delightful view of the rose gardens.

  Ravenous, I poured myself a cup of chocolate and helped myself to muffins, toast, fresh churned butter and plum jam. I do not believe I have ever been so happy as the moment I brought my plate to my table and sat down to fill my stomach. But I had only eaten a few bites when footsteps behind me interrupted my feasting.

  “Hungry this morning, ma chérie?” The Marquis’ teasing voice sent a shiver up my spine.

  “She’s eating you out of house and home,” said the Earl with a laugh.

  The two men strode into the room, apparently in the best of moods, the Earl’s arm slung over the Marquis’ shoulder. The Marquis was impeccably dressed, as always, a spotless cravat frothing at his neck. My husband looked more disheveled, as was his wont. They brought with them a whiff of outdoor air and a vibrant sense of adventure.

  “Good morning, my dear husband. Good morning, my lord,” I greeted them, after quickly swallowing a mouthful of toast and jam.

  “You look lovely this morning. Nocturnal activity agrees with you,” said the Marquis genially.

  I managed a smile, though I wanted to kick him in the shins. Must he deliberately embarrass me? The Earl, on the other hand, seemed to find that sally vastly entertaining. The force of his laughter nearly knocked him off his feet.

  “Do sit down,” I told him with a frown, “before you knock my breakfast onto the floor.”

  “’Twould indeed be a disaster.” Gravely, the Marquis pulled out a chair for my husband, who collapsed into it, legs askew. “Our dear Countess must regain her strength.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. He had some new plot up his sleeve, I felt sure. “You are so very cheerful this morning. Has Bonaparte finally surrendered? May you return to your homeland?”

  “Is that what you wish?”

  I made a little face at him, marveling as I did so on what comfortable, intimate terms I now felt with the Marquis.

  “I’m afraid I must disappoint you. L’Empereur is still rampaging across Europe, and I am still as much an exile as ever. Quite a relief, really, when you consider that as an émigré, I am free to moan and complain and devote myself to my own pursuits with no regrets.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Regrets? Are you quite sure you’re capable of the emotion?”

  He looked thoughtful. “I do not know. I find I am capable of quite a few emotions I thought out of reach.” His pointed look confused me, as I knew not to what he referred, save that it
involved me in some mysterious way.

  “Enough of your nonsense, Beaumont. Now, you said you would talk to your stable master about a mount for my bride, eh?” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that was clearly meant to be insinuating, but wound up comical instead.

  “I depart at your command, mon ami. Enjoy your breakfast.” Before he left the room, the Marquis bent down to whisper in my ear. “And may you enjoy the remainder of your day.”

  I shivered as his lips brushed against my ear. The tone in his voice evoked naughty images. Under my muslin gown, my nipples hardened. I wondered if the two men would notice.

  If the Marquis did, he gave no sign, merely leaving the room with an elegant saunter. The Earl stared at my bosom. Silence fell as I begged my unruly nipples to lay flat. But the more I thought about them, the more I felt them brush against my clothing like determined little chicks pecking their way out of their shells. I tried to eat another mouthful of buttered muffin, but my appetite had vanished. My throat closed with hunger of another kind. I met my husband’s eyes and saw the same lust there.

  “Take down your dress,” he said in a thick voice. “That top part, so I can see your bosom.”

  Slowly, fingers shaking, I drew down the edge of my bodice to expose my breasts. As the air stirred them, a deep quiver fluttered in my belly. “What if…the servants…” I breathed, covering my nipples with my hands.

  “Stuff the servants. Take your hands away.”

  I snatched my hands away from my bosom and lowered my head. If a servant saw me, I’d have to pretend, oh, I didn’t know. I’d have to cling to the wish that we would never see anyone at Notre Plaisir again. But the Earl, sensing my distress, jumped up from the table and put a chair against the door. I breathed a sigh of relief, then glanced at the windows that looked out over the garden. Should anyone chance to walk among the flowers, they would catch sight of much more than roses.

  “You have the most delicious nipples,” said the Earl, coming to my side. “They make me…you make me…mad with desire.” He reached one hand inside my bodice to bounce my breasts and rub his thumb across one nipple. My head fell backward, heavy with the rush of heat his fondling aroused. “You are such a darling,” he breathed. “I need your mouth on my prick. Undo my breeches, wife.”