Training Lady Townsend Read online

  “Please.” Perhaps now she would swoon. Her trembling had progressed to shudders. Hunter heard voices on the walk, his mother calling out.

  “I’m sorry to force this on you,” he said. “But I’m a desperate man, and you could do worse, my pretty dove. I’m the Marquess of Townsend. One day I’ll be a duke and you’ll be a duchess. I’m not as handsome or dashing as Warren, but I’m still quite a catch.”

  He tilted her face to his. She looked concerned. Confused.

  “Kiss me, would you?” he said. “Let’s make it convincing.” He drew her close, right against his body. How luscious and feminine she was. His hand rested on the curve of her waist, the other pressed to her back. He could feel her heart galloping against his chest. He touched his lips to hers and her mouth tightened as if she’d never been kissed before. He found the thought arousing.

  “I say, there they are.” Good old Arlington. His voice was deep and ducal, and appropriately concerned. Yes, there’s the scoundrel and the poor miss in his clutches. Hunter had just enough time to turn from his lady in blue and look guilty as the crowd drew along the moonlight path. His mother pushed through, the massive emerald on her turban blinking in the dim night.

  “Thank goodness,” she said, letting out a breath. “Townsend has found her. She’s here.”

  His mother, that regal society maven, made her way to them. She took in his exultant expression and the way he still grasped his young victim’s waist. The poor thing shied away from him before all these people, but he grabbed at her elbow, pulling her back. “You’ve caught us,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We were swept away by passion. I shall make things right.”

  Amused chuckles rippled through the assembly. Arlington grinned. Warren choked back a laugh.

  His mother shook her head, clearly exasperated. “Make things right, indeed. We might have announced the engagement at the ball, with a toast and speeches as is proper, but you will do things your own way. Bring Lady Aurelia back to the hall so we can fete this joyous occasion with everyone in attendance. Really, Townsend,” she chided in a softer voice. “Mauling her in the dark to begin the official engagement? Her father looks furious.”

  Hunter stared at his mother. Over her shoulder, he saw Lansing’s scowling visage fixed on him and the woman in his arms...Lady Aurelia. Her cheeks had flushed flame red. Now, he thought. Now she will faint. But she didn’t. She backed away from him, picked up her skirts and trudged over to her father. The Duke of Lansing took her arm none too gently and guided her back toward the house.

  As for Hunter, he glowered at his friends, now red-faced with barely restrained laughter. He communicated without words all the vulgar, hateful, abominable curses he wanted to heap upon their traitorous heads.

  *** *** ***

  Aurelia wished the servants had not lit so many candles in the library. She wanted to creep behind the high-backed sofa in the corner and hide. She wanted to kneel before her father and mother and beg for forgiveness, but instead she kept her seat across from the fuming Marquess of Townsend.

  He hated her. His words, his glances made that perfectly clear. He lounged back, enduring her father’s wrath.

  “You shamed my daughter, drawing her off and pawing her in that manner. What did you mean by it? What has she ever done to you?”

  “Nothing,” Lord Townsend replied tightly. “I don’t know her at all.” He fixed her with a baleful gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

  “I thought you knew who I was. I knew who you were.”

  “Did you know this was to be our betrothal ball?”

  “We sent letters to Somerton,” his father interjected. “They went unanswered.”

  “I was busy at Somerton,” Lord Townsend said through his teeth.

  “Yes, everyone knows you were busy,” said her father in a scathing tone. “And then you returned here to treat my daughter in the same uncouth and lecherous manner with which you conduct your...your personal life.” He turned to the Duke of Lockridge, the marquess’s father. “I don’t know if I can do it, by God, Neville. I don’t know if I can entrust my only daughter to this...this...”

  He didn’t finish the statement. Aurelia wondered what he was going to say.

  “I swear to you, henceforth my son will conduct himself with honor.” As Lockridge said it, he smacked Lord Townsend upon the ear with his cane. The son didn’t make a sound, only seethed with even greater intensity.

  As for Aurelia, she stared down at her lap, hot, ashamed, remembering things she didn’t want to. The warmth of his lips, the unfamiliar hardness of his body pressing against hers. She’d been so afraid when he lowered his face to hers. She’d thought Lord Townsend’s kiss would feel horrible, damaging, and dangerous because of his poor reputation, but it hadn’t felt horrible at all.

  Not that she knew what kisses were supposed to feel like. She was a lady, a scion of propriety, always faultless in behavior. While she’d understood for many years that she was supposed to marry the profligate son of her father’s friend, she’d imagined when it came down to it, everyone would realize he was too much of a rogue.

  She’d assumed the betrothal would be broken, allowing her to marry the man she knew in her heart was her perfect companion—the smiling, polite Earl of Warren. Oh, she’d heard gossip about him also, but it was vile, ridiculous stuff, too outrageous to be believed. When she looked at Lord Warren, she could see he was a kindhearted soul, the type of man she could respect and feel secure with. A man like her father. Her father’s admirers called him Laudable Lansing because of his exceptional godliness and rectitude. Some types called him Laughable Lansing, but that was because they lacked moral fiber.

  Aurelia’s shoulders slumped. She lacked moral fiber because she hadn’t been able to resign herself to marrying the man her father had chosen for her. She’d fallen in love with another man. She’d tried to run away from her betrothal ball, for all the good it had done her.

  Her father paced back and forth in front of Lord Townsend while his parents frowned from across the room. “You shall wed my daughter as soon as it can be managed,” he said, “and then you’ll settle down into a model husband. More than a model husband. The most solicitous, respectable pinnacle of a husband that any fellow ever met.”

  “I’ll try my best,” Lord Townsend replied in an acerbic tone.

  Her father’s gaze hardened, his mouth thinned in a line. “Indeed you will, or I may see fit to interfere. My daughter has been very sheltered. Very gently bred. You cannot continue to act as if you have no responsibilities.”

  “I manage my responsibilities,” said the marquess. “I have increased the profitability of my holdings by seventy percent in the last five years, maintained two residences, and contributed to social programs and charities. I manage all the responsibilities that I find important. Forgive me if marriage isn’t one of them.”

  “You will not be so mannerless, Townsend,” his father hissed. “You’ll not show such disrespect to Lady Aurelia.”

  She stared between the three angry men. In her agitated state, she was finding it difficult to follow the conversation.

  “I’m sorry,” she asked, “but are we still going to marry?”

  “I might have reconsidered,” her father said, “but after this evening’s display, there’s no other option. Your fiancé has made free with you in front of half the ton.”

  Some part of her understood that she was ruined, the Lord Townsend had caused their marriage to become a necessary thing, but some part of her couldn’t grasp the finality of it. “Can I not...” Her voice caught in the tangle of her emotions. “Can I not marry for love?”

  Her father’s brows rose nearly to his hairline. “Are you in love?”

  Her eyes flicked to Lord Townsend’s. His eyes darkened with something like pity, or disgust. “Lord Warren?” he said, tracing a finger over the arm of the chair. “Unfortunately, he is not up to snuff. Ducal dynasties are at stake, and he’s a mere earl.” />
  Aurelia didn’t care if Lord Warren was only an earl. He was still titled, still an aristocrat. She turned pleading eyes on her father but he pretended not to see. He frightened her terribly, he always had. She didn’t want to disappoint him. She’d always been her parents’ perfect, obedient child, though she’d languished, always, in her older brother’s shadow. He was the heir, the next duke. She was the daughter, only good for building alliances.

  “Perhaps I don’t have to marry. Perhaps...” Her voice thinned to a desperate squeak. “If only I had been a son, like Severin. Then there wouldn’t be this business of...of marrying me off.”

  At that, her mother made a soft, mournful sound and hurried from the room. Aurelia’s vision blurred. Through her tears, she saw the marquess watching, his features taut, his hair a blur of black waves over his fathomless dark eyes. To her horror, tears overflowed and coursed down her cheeks. She covered her face, so her fine silk gloves had darker spots where she wiped away the wetness.

  “Have done with this unpleasant business,” said Lord Townsend’s mother, fluttering closer to Aurelia and offering her handkerchief. “The poor child is beside herself. She ought to be home in bed.”

  “She’s not a child anymore.” Lord Townsend’s eyes raked her, from her plunging bodice to her slippered toes. His voice was rough, hinting of licentious things. It made Aurelia cry harder.

  The duchess rapped her son on the shoulder with her fan. “Comfort her, would you? Apologize to her. This is all your fault.”

  “Don’t go near her,” Lansing barked before Lord Townsend could comply. “You’re not to touch my daughter again, not until you’re putting a ring on her finger in the church.”

  “No courtship then?” Lord Townsend arched a brow. “But why should there be? It’s been so businesslike to this point.”

  Her father bristled. “Oh, you’re going to court my daughter. You’re going to make amends for the mess you’ve made of her reputation. You’re going to behave like the most charming, well-mannered, and attentive suitor of all time.”

  “Without touching her?”

  “Yes.” He nodded and rapped his cane against the floor. “I don’t care how you manage it, but you’ll convince the entire ton that you’re enamored of her. However you handle it, I expect her wed by the end of June.”

  “The end of June?” The marquess sat straighter in his chair. “It’s April now.”

  “You’ve enough time to put your affairs in order. Do you comprehend my meaning?”

  A look passed between the three men that she didn’t understand. The marquess turned away first, toward her. His eyes narrowed. He despised her. The kiss, the feel of his body against hers, none of it could overcome the dread seeping into her bones. She was to marry him? This man who hated her?

  He stood so abruptly that she shrank back.

  “Since I cannot touch you, dear Lady Aurelia,” he said in a falsely solicitous tone, “I fear an official betrothal dance is out of the question. Therefore, I’ll excuse myself from this ball and let the remainder of this farce play out without me.”

  He made a crisp bow and left. Aurelia watched him go, chewing her lip until his broad shoulders cleared the door frame and disappeared into the outer hall.

  Chapter Two: Lovely

  The Duke of Arlington’s garden rustled with swishing coat tails and embellished and ruched silk gowns. The season’s most eligible young ladies clustered in pastel groups with frowning chaperones and hawk-eyed mothers, while toplofty gentlemen sized up the possibilities for consolidating families and power. Fans fluttered and come-hither glances flew, most of them toward the garden party’s towering blond host.

  “They want you, Arlington,” Hunter drawled from his position near the east balustrade. “You’d better pick one of them soon, before things come to a head.” He gestured toward young Lady Eleanor, who exchanged viciously polite glances with her rivals on all sides. She looked like a puffball, all white and soft around the edges, although marital ambition sharpened her smile. “Shelbourne’s chit thinks she has you in the bag.”

  “For God’s sake, she’s the Marquess of Shelbourne’s daughter, not ‘Shelbourne’s chit.’ Could you attempt to be even a little polite and sociable? I threw this blasted party for your sake, and for your soon-to-be wife.”

  Both men turned to where Aurelia sat in her protective social circle. The young ladies perched around a tea tray but none of them touched a thing.

  “She looks like she’s having fun,” said Arlington.

  “She looks like she’d like to jump off a cliff, but you’ve none on your vast property. You call yourself a duke of the realm?”

  “I’ll have to look into acquiring some cliffs.”

  At nearly thirty, Arlington was the oldest of their mad little group, as well as the most respectable, having been forced into duty and responsibility at a very young age. Outwardly respectable, anyway. The duke was possessed of long, golden hair he sometimes pulled back in a queue, and pale blue-gray eyes capable of freezing those who risked his displeasure.

  “These betrothals are a dull business,” the duke said, frowning. “People who aren’t suited for one another are forced together to breed so society can proceed in the same lockstep manner.”

  “It’s ghastly,” Hunter agreed.

  “You’ll have a pretty wife anyway.” Arlington nodded in Aurelia’s direction.

  Hunter studied her, her spine stiff and her head tilted just so to her companion. “Pretty dull, you mean.”

  “You didn’t find her dull when we pointed her out at your parents’ ball.” His friend’s mouth twitched with amusement.

  “I’ll get all of you back for that one day,” Hunter huffed. “Mark my words.”

  “We look forward to your glorious transformation once you’ve been dragged, kicking and screaming, into the state of matrimony.” His hilarity died away, replaced by a gloom of concern. “Really, Towns, we wish you the best. If there’s anything we can do...”

  “There is something you can do. Especially you, Your Grace. Go to Lansing and make an offer for her hand.”

  “No point in that. She’s yours now. You’ve seen to it, for better or worse.”

  Lady Aurelia turned to speak to the simpering young woman at her side. Minette, Warren’s amiable younger sister. So prim. So proper, all of them. “You’re a duke,” Hunter said. “Lansing would at least consider you.”

  “She’s always been promised to you.” His friend’s voice took on a strange tone. “Funny, if not for the adjoining property, I might have had her.”

  “Would you have wanted her?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. You’ve known for years this was coming, so buck up and be a man about it.” He pursed his lips, staring across the garden. “Your Lady Dormouse does have a magnificent set of breasts. No wonder Lansing kept her hidden away.”

  Out of principle, Hunter refused to moon at his fiancée in public, although he’d had similar thoughts about her breasts, her hips, her pleasingly round derrière. She was womanly, lush. Ripe, one might say, which made her prim mousiness that much harder to bear.

  “She’s in love with Warren.” The words burst out, apropos of nothing. Arlington looked over in surprise. Hunter stared back, trying to act as if it didn’t prick him.

  “Ah well,” said Arlington. “All the ladies love Warren. He puts on a good show with that fancy hair and that devilish tailor of his. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

  “I don’t take it personally,” Hunter scoffed with a bit too much conviction. “I don’t give a whit if she lusts after every man in Christendom. I’m no pillar of fidelity. I expect I’ll continue in my old habits after we’re wed.”

  “Then stumble home to your wife looking—and smelling—as if you just rolled out of whore’s bed?”

  “Not a whore, my friend. A specialized lady of a fine erotic house.”

  “I know the ‘erotic houses’ you frequent,” Arlington mused. “I know the names
of every one of your ‘specialized ladies,’ and I tell you, you’ll need to be discreet. Laudable Lansing won’t tolerate a philandering son-in-law.”

  Hunter didn’t much care what the Duke of Lansing would tolerate. He’d spent a decade training a coterie of women to cater to his sexual tastes, and he wasn’t going to throw them all away because of a forced marriage to an uptight prude.

  Bounteous bosom or no, he doubted the virginal Lady Aurelia would submit to erotic punishment, or sodomy, or oral copulation. He wouldn’t give up these pleasures, for he found them essential to his life’s happiness. He’d only have to be more careful in seeking them out. He’d pay a little extra for his partners’ silence if he had to, to reduce the gossip after he was married. Once his new wife learned what he was into, she’d probably pay the courtesans herself to keep him out of her bed.

  And if she complained about his extramarital activities, he’d explain that it was the way of the ton, and that she had no power to control him. He’d be a decent husband, as far as he could, but he had no intention of living like a monk only to protect her sensibilities.

  “We ought to arrange a decadent orgy the night before the wedding,” said Arlington. He paused, considering. “Two nights before the wedding, perhaps.”

  “Don’t arrange anything of the sort. I’m planning to remain celibate that entire week, so I can muster up enough lust to deflower my bride.”

  “A week? You’ll never manage that.”

  “I can survive a week with no women. It’s the least I can do for Lady Aurelia, to show some stiffening in my affections on our wedding night. How about an orgy the following week? I’ll be desperate for pleasure after I take a few trips between those ice-cold thighs.”

  Arlington grimaced. “We’ll have to be awfully careful about such things. Maybe the orgy’s not a good idea. Lansing is a stickler for proprieties and he could make your life—and your father’s life—a bloody hell if you rub him the wrong way.”

  “I’ve already rubbed him the wrong way.” Hunter stared morosely at his future bride. “Which is why I have to be here playing the lovelorn fiancé like a damned milksop.”