together. The places she put her mouth, the way she had used her tongue. He would visit her again, he decided, as he came into the ugly woman beneath him.
This time she slept.
The man rose and donned his shirt and breeches, quietly slipping out of the bedchamber. He walked cautiously toward the ground floor study, making sure to avoid the household servants.
"What meeting have you gone to today, admiral?" the man wondered aloud, knowing no rumors of invasion had been bandied about Whitehall.
His powerful legs strode toward a large oak desk on the far side of the room. The desktop was immaculate. No letters or calendars to reveal the subject of the admiral’s meeting.
The man shuffled the items on top of the desk when a beautifully carved sterling silver letter opener caught his eye. He grabbed it, shoving it in his pocket as payment for teaching the homely chit how to please a man.
His attention turned to the desk drawers, but he only found references to supply ships’ schedules and ship cargo capacity.
"Damn," he said through clenched teeth, knowing he would be paid, but not well, for such information.
He needed to provide troop movements and locations if he wanted to become a rich man. The admiral had proved most disappointing as a source of information.
He poured himself an expensive scotch and contemplated how to end his association with the Admiral’s wife without having the cow blubbering about their relationship to all of her foppish friends.
Thus far, he had simply threatened not to meet with her if she whispered a word about him to anyone. The girl had been so eager to have him in her bed that she dare not even look at him if they were attending the same functions. However, if he were to end their dalliance she would undoubtedly seek him out, perhaps in public.
That he could not allow.
He really had but two options. Invent an excuse for the end of the affair that the girl would except or…kill the stupid bitch.
Chapter Eight
"You’re not having another one?" the Duchess of Glenbroke asked, appalled.
"I bloody well am," Lady Juliet Pervill nodded, raising her hand to order her second lemon icy at Gunter’s.
"Juliet, I wish you would stop using such language," Lady Felicity Appleton admonished. "And if you don’t stopping eating like this, you will become as big as a house and never secure an offer."
"Another lemon icy please," Juliet asked the waiter, completely ignoring her cousin. When the man had left, she turned to Felicity, saying, "You know I can eat anything and not gain an ounce, and as for a husband. . ." Juliet snorted. "No man has ever looked at me so perhaps becoming as large as a house will gain me some attention?"
"Juliet, you are quite attractive, as well you know," the duchess said.
Lady Pervill rolled her eyes. "I am, at best, average, Sarah, and when I stand next to Felicity I become absolutely drab. You need not sugar coat the situation. So, unless small busted, freckled faced, mathematicians have become all the rage with the ton…I shall count myself lucky that I am rich."
"Oh, Juliet," Lady Appleton said, defeated.
"Some men adore freckles."
"Yes, Sarah, but more men prefer beautiful blondes with spectacular figures and soulful brown eyes." They turned in unison to look at Felicity. "Any offers this week, cousin? Or was that Greek God the last."
Lady Appleton blushed, embarrassed. "You know Lord Summers was the last man to honor me, Juliet. Might we forego the browbeating and discuss something else."
"Delighted." Juliet injected more sarcasm in the one word than most men used in a lifetime. She turned toward Sarah. "I heard that the Earl of Wessex is back in town. I can only assume that Aidan is recovered? You must be relieved."
Sarah’s eyes narrowed and the ever-sensitive Felicity saw it. "You’re still worried about him." It was a statement. "Why? I thought the physician said he would recover."
"He has, physically. It’s just…"
"What?" Juliet
This time she slept.
The man rose and donned his shirt and breeches, quietly slipping out of the bedchamber. He walked cautiously toward the ground floor study, making sure to avoid the household servants.
"What meeting have you gone to today, admiral?" the man wondered aloud, knowing no rumors of invasion had been bandied about Whitehall.
His powerful legs strode toward a large oak desk on the far side of the room. The desktop was immaculate. No letters or calendars to reveal the subject of the admiral’s meeting.
The man shuffled the items on top of the desk when a beautifully carved sterling silver letter opener caught his eye. He grabbed it, shoving it in his pocket as payment for teaching the homely chit how to please a man.
His attention turned to the desk drawers, but he only found references to supply ships’ schedules and ship cargo capacity.
"Damn," he said through clenched teeth, knowing he would be paid, but not well, for such information.
He needed to provide troop movements and locations if he wanted to become a rich man. The admiral had proved most disappointing as a source of information.
He poured himself an expensive scotch and contemplated how to end his association with the Admiral’s wife without having the cow blubbering about their relationship to all of her foppish friends.
Thus far, he had simply threatened not to meet with her if she whispered a word about him to anyone. The girl had been so eager to have him in her bed that she dare not even look at him if they were attending the same functions. However, if he were to end their dalliance she would undoubtedly seek him out, perhaps in public.
That he could not allow.
He really had but two options. Invent an excuse for the end of the affair that the girl would except or…kill the stupid bitch.
Chapter Eight
"You’re not having another one?" the Duchess of Glenbroke asked, appalled.
"I bloody well am," Lady Juliet Pervill nodded, raising her hand to order her second lemon icy at Gunter’s.
"Juliet, I wish you would stop using such language," Lady Felicity Appleton admonished. "And if you don’t stopping eating like this, you will become as big as a house and never secure an offer."
"Another lemon icy please," Juliet asked the waiter, completely ignoring her cousin. When the man had left, she turned to Felicity, saying, "You know I can eat anything and not gain an ounce, and as for a husband. . ." Juliet snorted. "No man has ever looked at me so perhaps becoming as large as a house will gain me some attention?"
"Juliet, you are quite attractive, as well you know," the duchess said.
Lady Pervill rolled her eyes. "I am, at best, average, Sarah, and when I stand next to Felicity I become absolutely drab. You need not sugar coat the situation. So, unless small busted, freckled faced, mathematicians have become all the rage with the ton…I shall count myself lucky that I am rich."
"Oh, Juliet," Lady Appleton said, defeated.
"Some men adore freckles."
"Yes, Sarah, but more men prefer beautiful blondes with spectacular figures and soulful brown eyes." They turned in unison to look at Felicity. "Any offers this week, cousin? Or was that Greek God the last."
Lady Appleton blushed, embarrassed. "You know Lord Summers was the last man to honor me, Juliet. Might we forego the browbeating and discuss something else."
"Delighted." Juliet injected more sarcasm in the one word than most men used in a lifetime. She turned toward Sarah. "I heard that the Earl of Wessex is back in town. I can only assume that Aidan is recovered? You must be relieved."
Sarah’s eyes narrowed and the ever-sensitive Felicity saw it. "You’re still worried about him." It was a statement. "Why? I thought the physician said he would recover."
"He has, physically. It’s just…"
"What?" Juliet
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