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Authors: Arabella Sheraton
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mind. It only served to worsen his attitude toward the fairer sex.
He shook his head, as if the action would straighten out his jumbled thoughts into orderly rows.
Women . All they want is money. All of them …even Penelope. But not … her ? That woman, why does it always come back to her? Why can’t I stop thinking about her ?
He replayed the electrifying moment when he had gazed down at Fenella, lying vulnerable, helpless, but willing on the sofa. The image was burned into his mind. Her eyes glowing with passion, her mouth soft and trembling, inviting his kiss and he could wager she had been damp with womanly dew for him.
Yes , willing! She would have let me take her. Even she must have her price.
He threw down his cards in anger. His gaming companions looked up at him, surprised. It was clear, even to their befuddled brains, that the usually imperturbable Duke was not himself.
He had drunk to excess that evening. By the looks of things, so had many others who frequented the Cygnet Club. Several scantily clad young women scampered past, giggling.
I suppose those are the Cygnets .
A few eager men drunkenly pursued them, threading a clumsy path through the tables after their prize. The Cygnets wore very little clothing, which seemed to be comprised mostly of transparent gauze and several discreetly placed clutches of feathers. One golden-haired Cygnet turned back and stared coquettishly at Devlin. She licked her red lips with a small pink tongue and lifted one eyebrow teasingly. She flaunted her sexuality with brazen confidence, showing her willingness to test the sexual mettle of a man such as the Duke. Devlin thought with distaste how easy it would be to enjoy the carnal pleasures so openly on display. However, the ladies of the demi-monde were not to his taste or style. He smiled in gracious acknowledgement of her beauty, but shook his head to indicate refusal. The Cygnet pouted and looked disappointed. A large hand suddenly appeared to fondle her pert, rounded buttocks. With a dainty shriek, she leaped out of his grasp, her admirer in hot pursuit.
His companions at the card table were looking gloomy, since Devlin had won a considerable amount already. His mind was not even on the game and yet he won almost without effort.
It was late, very late, and he had promised to meet Lady Penelope. He had seen her, sparkling, brilliant, seductive and alluring at Lady Winterton’s soirée. She was wearing a splendid dress of silvery material. As the fabric shifted with her sinuous, languorous movements, the material moulded itself blatantly to her form, caressing her body like the hands of a lover, leaving nothing to the imagination.
It was strange how distanced he had felt from her. Her exquisite eyes had glittered with desire as they bowed to each other, chatting nonchalantly as if they were nothing but acquaintances. Curious, when the entire world knew they were lovers. He told himself he should feel excited, eager to consume her desiring and desirable flesh. For the first time, Devlin felt a strange reluctance, a nagging feeling of unwillingness, and yet he had to go to her. It was almost an obligation. After all, he thought, there was no reason not to make his way to the house of his mistress and make passionate love to her.
Next to him, the Honourable Frederick Perivale, Devlin’s closest friend, looked anguished. He peered at his cards, his myopic brown eyes clouded with anxiety. His luck and skill with cards was as appalling as Devlin’s was legendary. He stifled a groan of despair.
“I’m in too deep, Dev,” he muttered.
Devlin flung back the last of his brandy and slammed the glass down on the table. “Then give over, Freddie. You never know when to stop. You’ll end up floating down River Tick if you’re not careful.”
“You’ve got the luck of the devil,” Freddie grumbled. His face was doleful as he surveyed his cards.
“Stop trying to win, that’s how it’s done.” The Duke’s voice
He shook his head, as if the action would straighten out his jumbled thoughts into orderly rows.
Women . All they want is money. All of them …even Penelope. But not … her ? That woman, why does it always come back to her? Why can’t I stop thinking about her ?
He replayed the electrifying moment when he had gazed down at Fenella, lying vulnerable, helpless, but willing on the sofa. The image was burned into his mind. Her eyes glowing with passion, her mouth soft and trembling, inviting his kiss and he could wager she had been damp with womanly dew for him.
Yes , willing! She would have let me take her. Even she must have her price.
He threw down his cards in anger. His gaming companions looked up at him, surprised. It was clear, even to their befuddled brains, that the usually imperturbable Duke was not himself.
He had drunk to excess that evening. By the looks of things, so had many others who frequented the Cygnet Club. Several scantily clad young women scampered past, giggling.
I suppose those are the Cygnets .
A few eager men drunkenly pursued them, threading a clumsy path through the tables after their prize. The Cygnets wore very little clothing, which seemed to be comprised mostly of transparent gauze and several discreetly placed clutches of feathers. One golden-haired Cygnet turned back and stared coquettishly at Devlin. She licked her red lips with a small pink tongue and lifted one eyebrow teasingly. She flaunted her sexuality with brazen confidence, showing her willingness to test the sexual mettle of a man such as the Duke. Devlin thought with distaste how easy it would be to enjoy the carnal pleasures so openly on display. However, the ladies of the demi-monde were not to his taste or style. He smiled in gracious acknowledgement of her beauty, but shook his head to indicate refusal. The Cygnet pouted and looked disappointed. A large hand suddenly appeared to fondle her pert, rounded buttocks. With a dainty shriek, she leaped out of his grasp, her admirer in hot pursuit.
His companions at the card table were looking gloomy, since Devlin had won a considerable amount already. His mind was not even on the game and yet he won almost without effort.
It was late, very late, and he had promised to meet Lady Penelope. He had seen her, sparkling, brilliant, seductive and alluring at Lady Winterton’s soirée. She was wearing a splendid dress of silvery material. As the fabric shifted with her sinuous, languorous movements, the material moulded itself blatantly to her form, caressing her body like the hands of a lover, leaving nothing to the imagination.
It was strange how distanced he had felt from her. Her exquisite eyes had glittered with desire as they bowed to each other, chatting nonchalantly as if they were nothing but acquaintances. Curious, when the entire world knew they were lovers. He told himself he should feel excited, eager to consume her desiring and desirable flesh. For the first time, Devlin felt a strange reluctance, a nagging feeling of unwillingness, and yet he had to go to her. It was almost an obligation. After all, he thought, there was no reason not to make his way to the house of his mistress and make passionate love to her.
Next to him, the Honourable Frederick Perivale, Devlin’s closest friend, looked anguished. He peered at his cards, his myopic brown eyes clouded with anxiety. His luck and skill with cards was as appalling as Devlin’s was legendary. He stifled a groan of despair.
“I’m in too deep, Dev,” he muttered.
Devlin flung back the last of his brandy and slammed the glass down on the table. “Then give over, Freddie. You never know when to stop. You’ll end up floating down River Tick if you’re not careful.”
“You’ve got the luck of the devil,” Freddie grumbled. His face was doleful as he surveyed his cards.
“Stop trying to win, that’s how it’s done.” The Duke’s voice
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