The Wanton Widow (The Scandalous Sisters #3)

Prologue

Lady Phoebe,

I am aroused beyond measure honoured by your faith in me. Please trust in my conviction to serve you well with my cock and know that I would never cause any damage upon your reputation, nor would I allow another to impugn your character.

I have obtained the literature you requested and memorized every single page without incident.

Lord Astley was extremely curious, however, not as much as I as to which one of my clients requested it.

Fortunately, I was able to assure him he was not familiar with the young delectable widow married nobleman I represented, if he was, I would plant a facer on his lordship.

My response seemed to satisfy him and he was more than happy to assist another gentleman to obtain, as he stated, “Unparalleled bliss.” In my case, abject torture.

He would, however, like the book returned to him once the lady of my every desire gentleman has achieved his goals.

Since receiving your letter, I have found myself harder than the nude marble statue in the great hall of Caerlaverock Castle in a most uncomfortable state on a nightly basis.

I hope that you can forgive my debauchery forwardness, but I feel we have come to a place in our relationship that my question must finally be asked, if not in person, because I do not trust myself not to bury my face under your skirts the moment you whisper, “Yes,” then in written correspondence: Why have you not asked for my guidance?

I would gladly introduce you to “unparalleled bliss.”

I beg of you to end this miseryYour servant in every request,

Joshua Forrester, Esquire

—A very inappropriate letter drafted by Joshua Forrester, Esquire to his employer Lady Phoebe Drake. He rewrote the letter before sending the entirely scandalous final version. February 1811

Lady Phoebe Drake had teased him in his dreams for as long as he could remember.

And as she stood across the ballroom of Drake Manor staring in his direction with those gorgeous eyes, her tongue swiped her lower lip.

To every other man in the room, it was the act of a practiced coquette.

Her man of affairs, Joshua Forrester, however, knew the opposite to be true.

She was nervous beyond compare. A barely-there-tic in her right cheek displayed how much her act of seduction was costing her. Phoebe’s gaze suddenly went beyond her target and fell upon him, and for a moment she froze, despite still moving in his direction.

Then her luminescent green eyes refocused on the other man.

The man whom she planned to seduce. Taller and broader than himself, the Duke of Ross was her mark for this evening and Joshua couldn’t stop the growl from rising in his throat as he watched Phoebe’s demeanor soften.

Yet despite the flirtation in her eyes, he recognized the manner in which she bolstered her armor.

She’d been putting on this show for years.

She was genuinely nervous. This game they played involved high stakes, which seemed to heighten the sense of adventure in her eyes.

She had a purpose she was determined to see through to the end, despite the danger.

Joshua watched from outside the ballroom doors as the sway of her hips mesmerized every man who laid eyes upon her.

The way her gown hugged her luscious curves was like an invitation he wanted to answer “God, yes, please and thank you.” Instead, he kept to the shadows and watched as she lured the Duke of Ross to his downfall.

When she arrived at the duke’s side, Phoebe held herself with the decorum of a queen as Ross bowed, reached for her gloved hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

Ross’s gaze traveled up her body and held on her breasts longer than acceptable.

It made Joshua want to blacken his eyes, make them to swell closed and temporarily blind the man.

He pushed open the doors to the ballroom just a crack in order to hear their conversation.

“Lady Drake, you look absolutely delectable in that gown,” Ross said.

Phoebe blushed, genuine embarrassment filling her cheeks as color traveled down her neck and to her breasts, which Ross continued to openly admire.

Yet despite her embarrassment, Phoebe pushed through her nervous state and leaned in closer, requiring Ross to bend over for her to whisper into his ear.

“I have found that I very much like to be a man’s dessert. ”

Bloody hell. He wanted dessert. Whose blasted idea was this?

Her gaze flickered in his direction, as if guilt lay behind the flirtatious smile she delivered to the duke, and Joshua had to remind himself that it was just a ruse. The duke would not be bedding Phoebe. Ross just needed to believe it would be Phoebe in his bed, instead of her cousin.

He had no idea why Phoebe thought this would work.

Beyond sharing the same hair and eye color, her cousin looked nothing like her.

Phoebe was all dips and curves, and more curves he wanted to run his tongue over.

His cock twitched at the thought of taking the soft round globes of her arse in his hands.

He wanted her legs wrapped around his waist when he lifted her and drove his cock into her sweet cunny.

Her cousin brought none of that to mind.

Phoebe had a passionate nature she held in check.

She knew how to flirt, of that there was no doubt, but none of these men had unleashed the hellcat within.

They witnessed the image she portrayed to the ton.

Her wanton way was in her walk, and in the manner in which she carried herself with a born assurance of her allure, something her cousin lacked.

Maturity gave Phoebe the ability to command any room as if she were the lady of the castle.

Her home was luxurious, but it did not come close to the opulence of her cousin’s estate, yet anyone who saw the two women together would believe Phoebe held the higher station in the ton, not the other way around.

Dressed in an elegant navy blue silk confection that hugged her in all the right places, she was the perfect image of femininity.

As her skirts swished, every man in the room stared at her arse as if they too wanted to run their tongue over her perfect lily-white bottom.

And if her arse didn’t grab their attention, her cleavage made other fantasies come to mind.

Like the dream he’d suffered through the previous night as he’d pushed the length of his cock in between her ample breasts to her lips.

Blast. He needed to stop thinking of every position he wanted to take her. Even the cold February night did nothing to stop his arousal from straining the front of his trousers. He pushed his erection down and concentrated on what was occurring inside the ballroom.

The back of the duke’s hand grazed down Phoebe’s arm, his shameless display causing her to flinch and a couple of the ladies to gasp. He may as well have branded her a whore.

Joshua’s lip curled into a sneer. He’d kill the man, duke or no duke.

No one had the right to openly brand a woman in such a manner.

He reached for the door just as Phoebe stepped back and pushed it closed as she smacked the duke’s hand with her fan.

“You grow too bold, Your Grace,” she stated with a resounding finality that carried through the door, and he knew her warning also applied him.

She winked at the duke and licked her lips in a practice as old as time before she whispered the message she was meant to deliver.

Joshua knew she would invite Ross to meet her in the garden in thirty minutes.

That was the plan, and it was up to Phoebe to deliver the invitation and then extract herself from the duke before he could change the location.

The temperatures didn’t make it an ideal location for a seduction, but it was the only place guaranteed not to have light.

It was imperative the duke believe he was making love to Phoebe, and not another woman altogether.

With her invitation delivered, Phoebe glided across the room to a group of ladies standing by the fire.

The ladies turned in unison to gaze in the duke’s direction.

Their expressions an array of scorn, disdain, ridicule…

and interest. He would never understand the ladies of the ton who regarded women with censure while being thoroughly engrossed in the scandal of it all.

Ross raised his glass to toast the ladies before downing his brandy, and Joshua knew that was his signal to leave.

He made his way across the balcony and into the library, each step bringing him closer to the woman he wanted more than any other.

Phoebe would not be the duke’s partner tonight.

She would be his once and for all. He was done playing the cordial man of affairs she could keep at arm’s length.

They were meant to be together. He was too old to play these games of cat and mouse.

She needed to let go of her fears, and he planned to help her choose him over anyone else.

It was time for unparalleled bliss.

Lady Phoebe Drake was going to be sick. She hurried down the hallway, the plush carpet masking her quick retreat as she pushed open the library door and slipped inside, quietly shutting the door behind her.

She leaned back against the door as she inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her lips.

“Just breathe, Phoebe. Breathe,” she whispered.

Every house party she’d ever thrown had ended with her casting up her accounts.

Acting like a whore was not in her nature, yet she had no one else to blame but herself.

She had started this masquerade to get back at a man, believing it would get easier with each passing year. Clearly, she’d been wrong.