The Stanhope Challenge - Regency Quartet - Four Regency Romances Page 3

  If this story were true, Adam supposed he could not blame Felice for such an action. But still, bad form to put it about in a scandal sheet.

  “I’d confront her,” he told his brother, Jack, one morning as they rode home together from a late night card game at White’s. “But I cannot find her!”

  “I heard last night at the gaming tables that Wingate and his wife give a ball in two weeks. Your wife has accepted the invitation. Go yourself, and have it out with her.”

  “I will.” He scowled. “I must know what the hell she’s up to.”

  Jack chuckled. “She’s doing exactly what you’d expect. She’s making a life for herself without you.”

  “She’s inspiring this simpleton Miss Proper to make a mockery of me.”

  As Jack’s coachman drew the horses to a stop in front of Adam’s townhouse, he gazed at Adam with pained mirth. “Sending you the bills, too.”

  Adam drew his frockcoat about him and grabbed his top hat. “I cannot let her continue.”

  “Why not? Actually, Fee has not done anything scandalous.”

  “Not yet.” He climbed out of the carriage and faced his brother. “I married her to create the impression of stability and peace. Instead, she appears to be preparing herself to navigate society alone and on my money, as well.”

  “What will you do about it then? Stop paying her bills?” Jack pursed his lips, rueful. “You‘ve set that precedent. And she does not appear to need an allowance. Her earnings from her book of poems suffice.”

  “I’ll find a way.” Adam checked the expression of his oldest brother. “I made my bed.” And it’s cold. Empty. “I’d rather lie in it with her under my own roof than have her gallivanting about alone.”

  “My dear brother, she’s not known to be biddable. And you’re not known to be flexible.”

  “But I’m a good negotiator. I’ll use all my skills and do the thing that is most politic.”

  “What might that be?” Jack snorted. “Haul her home in chains?”

  “Seduce her.”

  ****

  Adam loathed balls. They were lavish things meant to force a man to chat and dance with any brainless chit or matronly drone he could not avoid.

  For two hours now, he’d grown weary of holding up the walls. If Felice was indeed here, it would not do for him to take the floor with anyone but her. But damnation, if he could find her in this throng.

  Grumbling, he shot his cuffs, stiffened his spine and headed for the punch bowl. Dinner had not yet been called, and his stomach was growling. He should have eaten something as his valet had suggested, but he’d been too eager to get here and look for his wife.

  “Where the hell are you?” he muttered to himself, wondering if Clarence Wingate and his wife were mistaken about Felice’s acceptance of their invitation. He took a drought of his wine and frowned. What if Felice had taken ill? A headache? The vapors? Ba! Not Felice. Too ferociously healthy. He sipped more of his wine and recalled the way she’d looked at him that night in the inn. Her golden eyes had swum with desire as he put his hands on her delectable body and tasted her nipples. Her plush lips had parted in need as he stroked every inch of her luscious flesh. The memory of how wet and warm she’d been had him tossing back the rest of his wine.

  Stifling a groan, he backed up against a column and his gaze drifted. He lifted his chin to acknowledge his Great Aunt Amaryllis across the room. She spoke with some tall, lush thing in diaphanous red. The woman, her back to him, had hair of purest black that curled at her nape. She wore it short, the fashion in France now and the rage in London among the truly daring. The elegant creature turned in profile to him and he noted she wore the Empire style which cupped her magnificent breasts to tempting advantage. He had the roguish impulse to circle round the two women to see if he might view her full on and enjoy other comely views of her figure. But she was animated in her conversation, smiling, gesturing, enjoying the hell out of herself. Responding to his aunt, she turned to their other companion, Adam’s vociferous opponent on matters of funding the army in the Peninsula, Drayton Howell.

  Adam thought to save the ladies from the odious man when his aunt beckoned him with small, surreptitious gestures. He strode over, gave the ladies a small bow and froze.

  “Good evening, Adam,” his aunt bid him as she offered her wrinkled cheek for him to kiss. “How are you, dearest? Adam?”

  He could not move. This woman with his aunt…this apparition in delectable cherry was his wife?

  “Kiss her, dearest. Both cheeks,” his aunt instructed him, scarcely above a whisper. “There. That’s a darling man. How are you?”

  “How am I?” I’m apoplectic! “I hardly know what to say! My heavens, Fee, you were lovely before, but now…”

  Her ripe red mouth slowly widened in a smile of welcome. Her golden gaze danced over his features. “I’m honored, Adam. I believe you know Lord Howell.”

  Adam bid the man good evening, wondering why this lout was chatting with his wife and his aunt. He wanted the creature nowhere near Felice.

  “Have not seen your wife in a while, eh, Stanhope?” the man asked with immense satisfaction.

  “She took the waters at Bath,” Adam bit off, trying for a nonchalant explanation.

  Damn this man.

  “She went with me, Lord Howell,” Aunt Amaryllis announced with her righteous brand of hauteur.

  Adam forced back his shock at this revelation. Fee has taken refuge with my aunt?

  “Did she?” Howell asked, his brows arching in interest.

  Felice’s smile for Howell was strained. “Forgive us, my lord, but—”

  “Miss Proper should report that in her stories,” Howell ventured.

  Fee tossed her head in a dismissal of Howell. “I think not, Lord Howell. Excuse us, will you? You look distressed, Adam. I assure you that—”

  He took her arm and turned from Howell’s departing figure. “What the hell are you doing talking to him?”

  “Adam,” cautioned his Aunt, fluttering her fan, “not so loud, my boy.”

  Felice frowned. “Howell approached us.”

  “How do you know him?” he persisted.

  “He bought my father’s office ten years ago.”

  “Where he now publishes that rag?”

  “The TellTale. Yes. He bought out my father, printers, typeset racks, staff and all. Oh, my. Smile, Adam,” his wife demanded in a stern tone. “Sir Henry Ulmsly approaches.”

  “Sir Hen—“ His brain hardly worked. What the deuce was she rambling on about the purchase of the paper? “Ah. Good evening, Sir Henry,” Adam bowed in deference to the baronet who was second in seniority in his political party. “How wonderful to see you out.”

  “Thank you, Stanhope. Ladies,” the older gentleman greeted Amaryllis and Felice. “Nice party, say what? The orchestra is fine, too. Tried it yet, Stanhope?” The man glared at him, the stare through his monocle emphasizing his suggestion that Adam take Fee out to dance.

  “No, sir.” I’ve only just found my errant wife.

  “Should show her off and stay away from Howell. I must say, Mrs. Stanhope, you are looking lovely. Charming gown, don’t you think, Stanhope?”

  Adam grit his teeth but managed to sound polite. “Stunning.”

  “Thank you, Sir Henry,” his wife replied to the compliment with radiant joy. “I chose it especially for this evening.”

  Did you now? Adam was going to extract her from this assembly and show her just what he had chosen for this evening. A good spanking. A chance to lock her up and throw away the key, that’s what!

  “Well done, Mrs. Stanhope.” The old man made a gesture to dismiss himself. “I want your opinion on the funding for the Spanish Campaign. Your husband,” Ulmsly addressed Felice with a solicitous voice, “is becoming the foremost expert on the Army’s preparedness.”

  “Indeed, Sir Henry,” she replied to Adam’s surprise. “His calculations on regularity of transport of foodstuffs and ammunition are on
es you should take heed of.”

  Ulmsly laughed. “Know them, do you?”

  She nodded. “My business is to understand my husband’s positions.”

  “I think you are right, madam! And so we shall heed them, too. See you next Wednesday, Adam. Mrs. Stanhope. Pray, excuse me. Wonderful to talk with you.”

  He was no sooner gone than Adam stared into Felice’s golden eyes and demanded an explanation. “How do you know about my views of supply?”

  She lifted one elegant, creamy and nearly bare shoulder. “I read the papers.”

  He was gratified she cared about such things. “Come with me to the garden.”

  “And if I do not wish to come?”

  “I shall throw you over my shoulder and carry you there.”

  “You would not dare!”

  He made a move to pick her up, and she yelped.

  “I’m coming,” she told him between tight lips. “Take my arm.”

  Chapter Four

  Her perfume swirled around him. Lilacs? Lilies? Who the hell knew? Whatever it was, he inhaled it and understood his sanity had not survived the assault. As they traversed the terrace and navigated the maze of boxwoods, his temper rose.

  With the moonlight brilliant and the breeze bustling through the evergreens, he drew Felice through the lanes of the complex maze and found a stone bench.

  “Please sit down, Fee.” He was going to try to be more than civil. After all, he had rehearsed this so many times, he knew the speech by heart. But the way Fee looked, the way she had changed her appearance unnerved him. Her hair made him wonder about the texture as her curls ruffled in the wind. Her smile made him question if he had truly tasted those lips on their wedding day. Her gown made him ponder what it would be like to take it off her, measure those marvelous breasts in his hands and suck her huge silken nipples again. And if he once more did that, would not he want to insert his very hard and heavy cock inside that wet warm chat of hers?

  He cleared his throat.

  “I am fortunate to have found you,” he declared, “and only by chance. You’ve done a good job of sequestering yourself. Why the hell have you been with my aunt Amaryllis?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “She invited me.”

  “How? When?”

  “The day after I returned from Dover,” she said in a voice he could barely hear. “A friend of hers saw me engage a room in a small lodging house in Jermyn Street and told her. She came to call on me and insisted I be her guest.”

  “I am grateful to her,” he declared. “She kept you safe and secure.”

  “And was discreet about it, too.”

  “Damnably so! I could not find you!”

  “You looked?” she asked, her luminous eyes wide and quite stunned.

  “Of course, I did. I worried.”

  “Sweet of you. But there was no need. Aunt was kind.”

  “For that, too, I owe her great thanks. Did she inspire you to buy the new wardrobe?”

  “To change my hair, as well. Do you like it?” Fee patted the curls at her cheeks.

  “I do,” he admitted. “I suppose she also told you to send me your bills?”

  She threw him a merry smile. “That she did.”

  “I do not begrudge you paper or books or even a new wardrobe. You are my wife. But to come out in public now, with Miss Proper mocking me—”

  She bristled and turned her face up to his. “I will not be a prisoner of your decisions or your curse. You pushed me aside, Adam.”

  “I did it for your own happiness.”

  “And your own freedom.” She lifted her chin, valor suffusing her expression even though tears swam in her eyes.

  “Fee! You think I have mistresses?” He was shocked she thought that of him.

  “Don’t you?”

  “No! I’ve not had one since last winter. I gave her up long before I saw you again at the Brimwells’. The damnable Miss Proper should write that instead of the drivel she pens!”

  Fee blew a gust of air up to ruffle her bangs. “Ending an arrangement with another woman is too bland a story to sell papers,” she grumbled then rolled a shoulder. “It’s cold out here. Say what you want and be done.”

  He removed his coat and whirled it around her shoulders. But he could not dare to let her go. He sat beside her and drew her against him by the lapels. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, Fee.”

  “Felice,” she corrected him, but when he shook his head, she affirmed, “My name is Felice.”

  “Very well.” He swallowed, chastised. “I do not wish to hurt you…Felice.”

  Her bosom heaved. Her scent rose up to his nostrils and made him tremble with want and shame. The look in her eyes castigated him for his behavior. “Darling, I don’t mind paying your bills. Hell, I’ll buy a hundred gowns. If they are all as gorgeous as this one, I won’t pinch a penny.”

  She snorted. “Now you are being ridiculous.”

  “No, I’m not.” With one hand, he combed her hair back from her cheeks. Her curls twined about his fingers like strands of Sian silk. Her voluptuous lips pursed, tormenting him. Did he suddenly want the one woman he should not have? Who could not make him happy? “This is madness.”

  “What is?” She searched his gaze. “To live apart?”

  “No. Yes!” Her lips were distracting him, befuddling his logic. And he did have logic for this, didn’t he?

  “Adam, it should be clear to you now that I have more pride than to accept a marriage in name only.” She shot to her feet.

  “I made a mistake.” He rose and hauled her around, close in his arms. The lightning shock of her body against his brought back memories of their embrace in the inn in Dover. “I am so sorry and I wish I could undo all this. But the curse is working and—”

  “Ever the curse.” She pushed him away. “I will hear no more of it. Foolishness like that is for idiots.”

  He grabbed her, pressing her nearer. The warmth of her, the way her curves fit his so snugly made him suppress a moan. “Tell me you are happy as you are.”

  She stuck her nose in the air even as fresh tears landed on her lower lashes. But she glared at him. “Tell me you are happy as you are!”

  “Hell, no!” he seethed. “I worry about you. Where you are. How you are. I scoured the town for you. Bath, too. Then I find you here, out in the world, looking ravishing and too damn appealing. ” He wanted to have her, plunge inside her. Her body set his so aflame. “Holding you does horrible things to me.”

  She struggled to step backwards. “So don’t.”

  He wouldn’t let her go.

  “If the curse is working,” she said on a wisp of sound, “why are you compelled to embrace me?”

  He threaded his fingers through her short curls. “Part of the damned thing is an unavoidable urgency to take the other.”

  “To bed?” she asked, bewildered.

  “Yes, yes,” he replied, her mouth too close to ignore. “Conflicting but true.”

  Her mouth fell open. Grinning, she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her breasts brushed his chest. “What happens if the couple fights the urge?”

  His lips descended to hers. Damn, they were plush as eiderdown.

  “Adam?” she asked between meetings of their lips. “What happens if you…”

  He took her mouth, held her head securely as he ravished her completely, lips and tongue and teeth. God, she felt divine.

  “Oh. That’s what happens,” she sighed, her eyes shining in the moonlight. “Stunning. May we do that again?”

  “Christ, yes,” he growled and pulled her backward so that they both sat on the bench once more. He draped her backward over his arm as he sampled her willing lips. “This, too.” He sent kisses down her chin, to her elegant throat and along her ample cleavage. “You smell of roses.” His fingers found a nipple beneath the delicate fabric of her gown and dragged the fabric aside. “Your breasts look like dark, rich flowers.” He laved her areola and sucked it into his mouth. “Did you know?”<
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  She cried out, a sound of joy and desire that fired his soul. “Never.”

  “And this.” Giving in to his savage instincts, he gathered up her skirts. Though he told himself that if he rushed her he might lose her with his ardor, he was possessed. “I have to feel how you want me here.”

  He found her nether hair, light and frothy, traced her seam and drove one long finger up into her sopping wet channel. He cursed, kissed her on the lips and knew the utter lunacy he’d sampled in the inn in Dover.

  “Yes, have me and damn the curse!” She wiggled up against his caressing hand, her body flowing in rich warm cream for his touch.

  The night, the music from the ballroom and her perfume blended into a craving he did not understand. He swirled her to the bench, undid his flies, went to his knees and lifted her hem to expose her legs. Pretty, pink, beribboned garters held up her stockings. Lovely the way they framed her taut thighs. Stunning that she wore no drawers and did not blanch as he stared at the dark feathering of her pussy. He growled. This is what he needed. Her, all of her, as his own. He put his mouth to her chat, his tongue intruding for a sample of her heavy musk.

  She bucked and he stroked her inner thighs with gentle thumbs.

  “There, there, you shall have more.” And so shall I. He reached inside his breeches, his cock springing free of the confines. He stroked it once. She quivered. Smiling, he could not resist another taste of her cream. He spread her labia wide and in the moonlight, saw how her body glistened in want. Starving, he sent his tongue inside her channel.

  She mewled and begged for more.

  He gave it, his strong tongue laving her thick juices as his fingers sought her tender button.

  Opening her thighs wide for him, she trembled. “Adam, please.”

  “I know, my darling,” he crooned, pressed her back to gain better access to her sweet core. Then he bent to suck her swollen bud into his mouth. As she ground her teeth, he rose to watch her face transformed by ecstasy. “You like my mouth on you. And I?” He pinched her nub. “I love to eat you. You are so giving.”

  “Oh!” She grabbed his shoulders. “What is this feeling overcoming me? A coiling, a storm.”