Chapter Twenty-Two #3
“But you said it nonetheless, which is appropriate, given what I am,” she said bitterly. “It’s what I shall always be—a woman with no understanding of love, who is only capable of selling her body then using the proceeds to purchase herself a titled husband.”
He caught her hand. “Please…it wasn’t my intention to treat you like a doxy.”
“Nevertheless, you just did.”
“James!” a voice called from within, and he frowned.
“Go inside,” Cordelia said. “Your sister and your guests are waiting.”
“Our guests.”
She shook her head. “No, James. They’re the guests of Viscount and Viscountess Bedford. And at present, I feel as if I’m anything but a viscountess.”
He hesitated.
“Go,” Cordelia said. “For the sake of propriety.”
“James!” Georgiana called again.
“I’ll speak to you later,” James said, patting Cordelia’s hand. “Go and join the ladies in the drawing room.”
“As you wish.”
He nodded, then followed the party inside.
Cordelia waited until his footsteps had faded. Then she glanced around the garden. If only she could remain outside, away from these people. James was ashamed of her, Georgiana loathed her, and the rest of the party—even the countess—would despise her if they knew what she was.
You may have a few more obstacles to overcome, but that’s half the enjoyment—overcoming them together. And overcome them you will, my dear.
Recalling the countess’s words, Cordelia dabbed her eyes, then slipped inside the building, making her way to the drawing room. She turned a corner in the hallway and collided with a solid object.
“Oh!” she cried out as a pair of hands grasped her upper arms. Then she glanced up into a familiar pair of pale-blue eyes.
“You ought to watch where you’re going, m’dear.”
“Yes, th-thank you, Sir Iain.”
“No trouble at all, Viscountess Bedford,” he said, grinning, and Cordelia’s stomach churned at the stench of cologne. “Or should I call you Dahlia?”
“I-I don’t know what you—”
“Come, come, my sweet little flower,” he said, pulling her close. “I’d recognize those tits anywhere, even if they’re not bared to me.”
“You shouldn’t speak in such a manner, Sir Iain,” Cordelia said. “It’s most unseemly for…”
“For what, m’dear? For a man to refer to a whore’s tits, or for a whore to masquerade as a viscountess?”
She tried to step back, but he tightened his grip.
“Let me go,” she said. “Someone might see.”
“We wouldn’t want that, would we? I can’t imagine what the revelation of your true identity would do to the good people here. Or are they as well informed as I? Are you on your way to service Sir George Marlow in your bedchamber? Or Earl Stiles up against the drawing room wall?”
“And what about you?” Cordelia snarled. “What are you doing with Georgiana?”
“I’m in love,” he said.
“You have no notion of love.”
“That’s very amusing, coming from a tart who spreads her legs for a shilling.”
“Leave Georgiana alone,” Cordelia said.
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll tell her what kind of man you are—a man who takes delight in causing pain such that no whore in London will touch him, not even for a thousand pounds. A man who takes women unwilling.”
“Whom do you think the fair Georgiana will believe? The baronet she’s in love with or the slut she despises?
And even if she does believe you, m’dear, what do you think the illustrious guests here today will say when they discover that their hostess was a two-penny whore who fucked her way through half the men of London?
What do you think that will do to Georgiana’s reputation—or that of your beloved James?
Or poor little Margaret? It would destroy them, of that you can be certain. ”
“Leave them alone,” she said. “Do what you like to me, but leave them alone. They’ve done nothing wrong.”
“What a pretty proposition!” he said, his lips lifting into a leer. “Do what you like to me… Is that not what you said to the men you fucked?”
Then he let out a sigh.
“Oh, forgive me, m’dear. I was only jesting. Of course, I love my dear Georgiana too much to risk her reputation. I shall, of course, say nothing.”
“Y-you promise?”
He grinned. “Of course. Now, a kiss…as a token of my faith.”
“N-no, I—”
“Now, m’dear, you’re not going to be an ungracious hostess, are you?” He pulled her against him. “Just one kiss, then I’ll promise that your secret is safe—for the sake of those you pretend to care for.”
She winced as he thrust his face close. Then he covered her mouth with his. His tongue probed at the seam of her lips, and she fought the nausea rising in her gut. When he released her, she stepped back, wiping her mouth.
“A little unsatisfactory, but it must suffice,” he said. “I’d ask for a quick fuck against this wall, but I’ve no cash on me at present and you’ll want paying, will you not? Perhaps another time, ma chère Dahlia.”
He placed his hand over his heart, then he bowed and disappeared.
Cordelia stepped back, struggling to draw a breath, blinking back tears. Once she’d composed herself, she wiped her eyes, then looked up and froze.
Standing at the other end of the corridor, his gaze fixed on her, was Earl Stiles.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the earl inclined his head in her direction, then turned and disappeared.