Chapter Ten
The illustration showed a woman with her skirts around her hips and her legs spread.
Head thrown back, intense pleasure drew her features, her fingers speared through the hair of the gentlemen perched before her while he held her thighs wide, his fingers digging into the soft flesh and his face buried between them.
Eleanor shut the book with a thump. Heart racing, she glanced around Lady Burfield’s vast drawing room.
Only a few members lingered, the rest having made their way to the refreshments laid out in the adjoining room.
None looked her way, and none had noticed she held a book the salon was not reading.
And none had noticed how her breath had quickened or the flush on her cheeks.
So assured, she cautiously opened the book once more.
The women’s heavy-lidded eyes were filled with pleasure, her lush bottom lip caught between her white teeth.
Her gaze slid to the gentleman between her legs.
She and Benedict had not done this, but what they had done yesterday…
She knew exactly the ecstasy the lady in the picture embodied.
Remembered pleasure shuddered through her.
She’d had no notion her body could feel such, or that she could give another the same.
The passion that had exploded between them had shocked her, as had his boldness and his direction, his intensity and his dominance.
Her friend—her best friend—had been dominant and commanding and she had loved it.
If Benedict could make her experience such bliss, then what could the man she actually wanted do?
Her shoulders hunched. Somehow, she could not picture doing that with Lord Malvern or enjoying it near as much as she had with Benedict.
She could not imagine the earl’s blue eyes would burn as Benedict’s had, or his voice hoarse with need praising her and telling her how lovely she was.
When she’d concocted her plan, she’d read of the intimacy between women and men, and seen the engravings and prints, but she’d had no practical knowledge, had no notion of how it would feel to have another person touch her and caress her and bring her to release.
In truth, she could not imagine trusting anyone enough to let them… none but Benedict.
The only thing that had marred the experience had been Benedict’s leave-taking. He had practically fled the room, his manner harsh. That part she had tried not to think on overmuch, and even now she did her best to ignore the ache in her chest at its memory.
To distract herself, she flicked through the open book’s pages.
Sophia was one of the books the salon had studied, the erotic tale also containing illustrations peppered through its pages depicting the titular character in her numerous erotic adventures.
Mr C. Doyle-Hampton’s third book had always been her favourite, and his depiction of Sophia’s journey had inspired her own.
She would not be quite as bold as Sophia, taking numerous lovers—some even at the same time—before she ended up with her ragged lord, but more and more she craved the touch of another.
She paused on another illustration, this one of Sophia straddling her lord, his naked body bowed under her clothed form as she rode him.
“Would you take one of these?”
Cheeks burning, she slammed the book shut. Victoria had returned from the refreshment table, with a plate filled with sandwiches in one hand and two glasses of lemonade in the other.
Victoria handed her a glass. “I sought refreshments for both of us but as you would not make a decision on what you preferred, I have chosen for you and if you do not like it, it is no fault of mine.” She glanced curiously at the book in Eleanor’s lap.
“Is that Sophia? Are we not reading At The Earl’s Pleasure this month? ”
Eleanor shuffled the book under the fold of her skirt. “Were you not to tell me something before you went for refreshments?”
The slight smile on Victoria’s face disappeared. Lowering herself into the chaise beside Eleanor, she arranged her plate deliberately in her lap. “I have had a letter from Lord Dunseith. He requests my presence.”
“This request is not welcome?” Victoria had not spoken often of her marriage, but neither had she disparaged it. Eleanor’s impression had always been Victoria and her husband were distant but friendly, though her friend resided most of the year in London while Lord Dunseith remained in Scotland.
Victoria kept her gaze downcast. “In truth, we are as strangers. I do not see how my presence would bring him any comfort. However, perhaps it is I should not refuse my husband, especially as his health is not what it ought to be. I should not refuse, should I?”
Eleanor did not know how to answer. Victoria rarely displayed emotion, and never vulnerability. “I—Perhaps?”
Victoria’s gaze flew to hers. Eleanor sucked in her breath at the look in her eyes. “Victoria, is it distressful for you to return to Scotland?”
Eyes troubled, Victoria worked her jaw.
Alarm befell Eleanor. What was so disquieting Victoria could not speak of it? Before she could ask, the other ladies filed back into the room, chattering and laughing. A veil fell over Victoria’s expression and, to those who entered, there was no evidence she had ever been anything but serene.
Brow creased, Eleanor regarded Victoria worriedly but her friend ignored her, a half-smile on her lips as she watched the other ladies take their seats.
The last to sweep into the room was Lady Burfield.
A small woman, at least half a head shorter than Eleanor, yet she commanded a room, her manner both intimidating and compelling, her chestnut brown hair pinned in neat curls and her fashionable dress impeccably crafted.
Ladies,” she said in a crisp, clear voice.
“I trust the refreshments were to your satisfaction.”:
Murmurs of ascent sounded, though Eleanor doubted few would disagree.
“Now we are again gathered together, I have an announcement,” she continued. “I have decided Mr Doyle-Hampton will speak at our salon.”
Eleanor exhaled sharply, stunned. Victoria seemed just as astounded, as did the other ladies.
Mrs Hastings was the first to recover her voice. “Lady Burfield, Mr Doyle-Hampton is famously recluse. It is a mystery to all where he resides or indeed even what he looks like.”
The viscountess lifted her chin. “Be that as it may, Mrs Hastings, I will find Mr Doyle Hampton and he will speak at our salon.”
From the corner of her mouth, Victoria murmured, “Lady Burfield is rather forceful, is she not?”
Eleanor hummed her agreement, Mr Doyle-Hampton’s book digging into her thigh. If anyone could find the author, it would be Lady Burfield. In her life, she’d never met another person so resolute.
Lady Burfield continued, outlining her plan to coax the reclusive author to her salon.
Eleanor allowed her mind to wander. Perhaps she could show Sophia to Benedict and they could discuss the merits of each illustration.
Perhaps even she could suggest a demonstration, and he’d smile that slow, wicked smile, the one that turned her insides to liquid, and then his big hand would cup the back of her head and—
“Lord Malvern was at the ball last evening, however I did not see you.”
Jolted from her thoughts, Eleanor found Victoria regarding her. Lady Burfield had ceased speaking, and the salon attendees now conversed with each other. “Was he?”
“Yes.” Victoria frowned. “Are you no longer interested in Lord Malvern?”
Heat rose on her cheeks. “Yes, of course I—” She took a breath. “I did not attend last night’s ball, is all.”
Her friend’s brows drew further. “That is unusual.”
“I was out of sorts. My presence would not have enhanced any gathering, most especially one such as a ball, and so I removed myself so as not to disturb anyone else’s enjoyment.
I sent my apologies to the host.” She was not untrue in how she had felt.
After Benedict had left, she had been out of sorts and unable to regain her composure, but now all she could think on was him.
His hands upon her. His fingers digging into her thighs. The way he had felt in her hand.
Victoria cocked her head. “Why do you look so?”
“I do not look like anything,” she denied, even as her cheeks burn.
“You do. You are… flushed.”
“Perhaps it is hot in here. Are you not hot?”
“Not particularly. You are acting most peculiar.
“I am not,” she snapped.
Her friend’s brows shot up.
Contrition immediately suffused here. What was she doing, snapping at Victoria? “I apologise,” she said. “That was badly done of me.”
Victoria studied her. “What makes you ill, Eleanor?” she finally asked.
“I… I am out of sorts still, I suppose.” She found herself reluctant to discuss with Victoria what had happened with Benedict had shared.
Even though it had been a lesson only, and she was still to embark on an affair with the Earl of Malvern, she still wished to keep what they had shared between them and them alone.
It was not even concern for her reputation should any discover the things she and Benedict had done—though she had no concern Victoria would tell a soul—but she just… did not wish to tell her.
Before she could think on it further, the Burfield butler appeared at Victoria’s side to deliver a whispered message.
Victoria paled and immediately stood. “I must offer my apologies and depart immediately. Do you wish to leave now, as you came in my carriage, or should you wish to stay? If it is the later, I can send my carriage for you.”
“I will leave with you. Victoria, what has distressed you so?”
“The choice has been taken from me. I must depart for Dunseith immediately.”
Her heart sank. “Lord Dunseith?”
Victoria nodded sharply once.
Taking her friend’s hand, Eleanor squeezed it gently. “I will inform Lady Burfield of our departure.”
“I can—”
“No. I will do it.”
Victoria nodded again. Looking down at their entwined hands, she swallowed, the faintest of cracks breaking her expression.
Heart in her throat, Eleanor gave her friend’s hand a final squeeze and then rose. It took no time to inform Lady Burfield of their departure, and less to help Victoria from the room.
The Kiloughlan carriage had already arrived when they walked through the Burfield’s door, Victoria’s footman already holding the carriage door open.
Tall and muscular, he was an unusual sort for a footman, though he was never anything less than solicitous of Victoria.
He was built too big for a footman, his shoulders and chest too wide even though his uniform was tailored to disguise the breadth of him.
He was also unpretty, but then Eleanor herself did not choose her footmen for their handsomeness.
However, for all his height and build, he was able to blend into the background when required, and when it was not…
Well, he was an intimidating presence, that was for certain.
With a face like granite, he helped Victoria into the carriage, his forearm strong under her clutching grip. She swayed and he steadied her hand immediately, his hand gentle at the base of her back. She glanced at him, and for a moment, her mask cracked.
The granite softened. “All will be well, my lady.”
Victoria drew in a breath, nodded, and settled into the carriage.
Eleanor followed, giving the footman a small smile, to which he returned an unsmiling nod. Perched on the cushion, she took Victoria’s hand between her own as the carriage started down the cobblestoned street. “What news?”
Victoria startled, her blinking gaze finding Eleanor as if surprised to see her.
She shook herself, her lips turned downward.
“I do not know for sure. The news states only he has taken a turn for the worse and requires my immediate presence.” Her eyes flew to Eleanor’s.
“The Downeys’; ball tomorrow. We were to attend. I was to help. Eleanor, I am sorry, I—”
Eleanor already shook her head. “Do not hold concern for that at all. You must to Scotland. Of course you must.”
“But you quest for Lord Malvern—”
“You are not to think on that. I am grateful for your help thus far but you are needed elsewhere. All is well with me, Victoria. You must focus on yourself, Lord Dunseith and your people.”
Her friend nodded wordlessly and her attention turned inward again.
Eleanor leant back into the plush squab, her gaze remaining on Victoria. Her own attempts to take the Earl of Malvern as a lover paled in comparison to what her friend had to face. Eleanor could well handle that on her own, and if she required assistance, Benedict had offered his.
The thought made her blanch. There was something wrong about Benedict helping her, especially after what had passed between them. Taking the earl as her lover might be a quest she took on her own though, with her complicated feelings toward Benedict, she was beginning to question if she ever would.