Chapter One
Lydia
London, England
Miss Lydia Cary, only daughter of Viscount Cary, pressed herself against the brick wall at the corner of Berkeley Square, her pulse racing frantically.
The late afternoon sun hung low in the gray London sky, casting long shadows between the elegant townhouses and providing perfect cover for what she had planned.
I am quite mad, she decided. A well-bred young lady simply did not sneak from her family’s townhouse to visit a gentleman unchaperoned. But then again, a well-bred young lady probably didn’t burn with the same restless curiosity that had plagued Lydia for days.
It was Clint’s fault, really. Her cheeks heated at the use of his given name, even if it wasn’t the most scandalous impropriety she’d experienced with the man.
He’d been so charming during their quiet courtship, so different from the other stuffy gentlemen who’d paid court to her.
But he’d always been a charmer. His family’s estate was located near hers, so their families had known each other for as long as she could remember.
He’d always been flirtatious toward her, but then everything had changed when she’d become of marrying age.
Lydia appreciated how he didn’t make a big show of courting her, instead doting his charms on her, whispering intimate words of desire and longing.
It stirred things in her that were wanton to say the least.
She had every intention of marrying the man, and he was hardly a stranger, so surely she could be forgiven for allowing his hands between her thighs.
And that she had also learned what lay in wait between his.
Clint had tempted and teased her, introducing her to an intense pleasure that she’d never known was possible.
He told her it was only a taste of what awaited them.
After that encounter, where she could no longer claim that her hands were innocent, she informed her father that she would only marry Clint.
And regardless of what kind of wanton it made her, all she could think about was the pleasure that Clint had given her.
She longed to explore the sensations further, to understand what it meant to desire and experience her future husband so completely.
And with their betrothal announcement approaching soon, surely it hardly mattered if she waited until their wedding night to be with him in that way.
At least, that’s what she’d told herself when she’d slipped from her family’s townhouse three streets away, claiming a sudden headache that required her to rest in her chamber.
Her maid, Tilly, was visiting her sister for the afternoon, and her parents were receiving callers in the front parlor—she could hear the Duchess of Marlborough’s distinctive laugh echoing through the halls. The timing was perfect.
Lydia straightened her bonnet and smoothed her skirts, though her hands were unsteady.
Clint’s townhouse loomed just across the square, its imposing facade both welcoming and intimidating.
She had never visited his London home, as that would be entirely improper.
But she would surprise him and show him how much she wanted the things that he promised.
Drawing a breath that did little to calm her nerves, she crossed the square with quick, determined steps, resolved in what she’d set out to do.
Rather than approach the front entrance where she would surely be seen and announced, Lydia made her way to the side of the house, and located the servants’ entrance. Her heart hammered in her chest as she tested the door handle, finding it unlocked, just as she expected.
She slipped inside what appeared to be a narrow corridor leading from the kitchen quarters.
The scent of roasting meat and fresh bread reached her and made her regret that she’d skipped luncheon.
Her stomach had been in knots as she’d worked out her plans, and she couldn’t get herself to sit still long enough to eat a single bite.
Moving as quietly as she could, Lydia made her way through the servants’ passages, hoping to find stairs that would lead to where Clint’s study would likely be located. It couldn’t be too difficult to find, since most townhouses followed a similar layout.
Then she realized that she hadn’t considered what she would do if he weren’t home.
Wait for him? She supposed that was all she could do.
It would be devastating to have come so far only to leave feeling silly and unsatisfied.
But she would press on and decide what to do if she must. With any luck, he’d be where she hoped to find him, and that would be that.
After what felt like an eternity of navigating the corridors, she found a narrow staircase and climbed carefully, listening for any sounds that might indicate approaching servants. At the top, she discovered a door that opened into what was clearly the main part of the house.
The house felt oddly quiet, almost hushed.
Despite Lydia’s attempts at stealth, her footsteps echoed more loudly than usual.
She moved down the corridor, checking each room she passed until she found what could only be Clint’s study.
There was a heavy oak door and masculine furnishings visible through the gap.
As she approached, she could hear voices from within—his familiar baritone and what sounded like a female voice, though she couldn’t make out the words through the heavy oak door that stood slightly ajar. Perhaps his housekeeper was attending to some matter. She would wait until the woman departed.
But as she drew closer, the voices became clearer, and what she heard made her blood turn to ice.
“That’s it,” Clint’s voice, thick and breathless in a way she’d never heard before, though there was something familiar about the tone that made her stomach clench. “Just like that. You know exactly what I like.”
A woman’s voice responded with what could only be described as a moan of pleasure, followed by wet, rhythmic sounds that Lydia’s innocent mind struggled to identify even as her traitorous body somehow understood their meaning.
Her heart froze in her chest and tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Surely she was mistaken. Surely the man she’d known for years who had told her how much he wished to marry her, and to be with her forever, he would never—
“Much better than that inexperienced little mouse I’m to marry,” Clint continued, his voice rough with pleasure. “You know how to use that mouth for its proper purpose.”
The words hit Lydia like a physical blow. Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle her gasp, but she couldn’t leave without facing him. Her shaking fingers pressed against the door, pushing it open just enough for her to see inside.
What she witnessed would burn itself into her mind for years to come. Clint stood behind his desk, his breeches unfastened and pushed down, his head thrown back in obvious pleasure. Before him, on her knees on the expensive Persian carpet, was a pretty young blonde maid.
The girl’s head moved rhythmically, and the sounds they were making left no doubt as to what was occurring. Lydia’s limited understanding of such matters suddenly became horrifyingly clear.
“But don’t worry, kitten. I may need the innocent chit’s dowry, but I’ll still put this mouth of yours—and more—to work regularly.”
Clint’s words destroyed Lydia’s heart completely. She released a small cry, unable to stop herself.
At that moment, the maid’s eyes opened, seeing Lydia through the crack in the door. Terror filled the young woman’s gaze, and she tried to pull away, but Clint’s hands tightened in her hair.
“Don’t you dare stop!” he snarled, and then his gaze followed the maid’s to the door. When his eyes met Lydia’s, instead of showing shame or surprise, a slow, cruel smile spread across his face.
“Well, well,” he purred, never loosening his grip on the maid as he rocked himself into her mouth. “Look who’s decided to pay an improper visit. How delightfully scandalous of you, my dear. Perhaps you will prove to be a bit more lively than I thought.”
Lydia’s vision blurred as tears of rage and humiliation filled her eyes. She stumbled backward from the door, her whole body shaking as her supposed betrothed continued to take his pleasure from another woman right in front of her.
“Don’t run away now, sweet Lydia. This is your education.
Best you learn what men require.” His breathing grew more labored, speaking in short bursts as his hips increased in speed.
“And accept that I’ll always need more than you.
I shall employ women in our home who please me, so you might as well become friendly with them.
Because warming your bed shall never keep me satisfied. ”
Lydia should have punched him square in the nose, or clawed at his lying face. She should have told him what a vile bastard he was. But instead, her body had a mind of its own and she turned and ran away from the scene.
Her feet carried her through the corridors without conscious thought, back through the maze of passages until she found the servants’ entrance.
She burst through the door and into the street, running until her stays cut into her ribs and her lungs burned, finally stopping several blocks away to press herself against a lamppost as great, heaving sobs wracked her body.
How could she have been so foolish? How could she have believed his pretty words, his tender touches, meant anything beyond his desire to secure her dowry? That’s all she was to him—a sum in a ledger book.
And one of many women’s bodies to use. How many others had there been? How many would there be once Lydia became his wife?
The memory of his satisfied smile as he watched her discover his true nature made her stomach turn. He had taken pleasure in her shock and pain, and demonstrated exactly how little he thought of her.