Chapter One
1812
Pembington House, Wiltshire
“Oh, Rich, how naughty you are,” the Viscountess Benchley said with a breathless laugh.
Lord Richard George Maitland tugged her into his lap, his fingers moving with deft skill as they slipped under the skirts of her gown and inched their way up to her thighs. He moved with slow, sensual intent, allowing her to understand what he wanted and that he was about to take her. Despite the teasing way he licked at her lips and circled her inner thighs, when he tumbled her he wanted it quick and hard.
“Open your legs.”
Arousal darkened her gaze, and she dropped her forehead to his. “Here? You mean…for us to make love here, in Lady Gladstone’s gardens?”
A smile tipped the corner of his lips. “Fucking. That is what I offer you, Maria.”
She quivered, panting at his crudeness.
“Do you object?”
“No… I… Yes—my husband.”
He stilled. “Then return inside.”
“Visit me tonight,” Maria said, wetting her lips. “My husband will be at his club and I—”
“No.”
Suddenly he was bored—of her, the house party, and even with his damned charmed life. He gently pushed her from his lap, picked up his glass of champagne, and stood. Distress glittered in her gaze as if she instinctively recognized he was ending a liaison that had not even gotten the chance to be established. They had been dancing around each other for weeks, and he had been a tad bit reluctant, for he had never taken a married woman to his bed before. The idea had held enormous appeal an hour ago, but now a bitter flavor of distaste coated his tongue. How fickle women were with their love and favors. Only a few months ago, society had declared the viscountess’s marriage a love match.
God’s blood, it was laughable.
“Go inside to your husband, Maria. You made your choice when you married your viscount; do your duty to him. The damn fool reveres the very ground upon which you walk. Try to find in your inconstant heart some affection and respect for the man.”
Her face reddened and a hand fluttered to her throat. “Please, Richard.”
She stretched up on her toes and pressed a wet kiss against his lips. Not very well done at all. No doubt she meant to entice him with her passion, instead she slobbered over his chin like an eager pup. He gently eased her from him. “Return inside. Dance with your husband and reserve your passions for him. I was very foolish to even contemplate a dalliance with you.”
He ignored her gasp of hurt and turned away only to falter. Lady Aurelia, Countess Trenear, stood frozen, her eyes flitting between Richard and Maria. The countess was the epitome of beauty, sheathed in an icy blue gown that clung to her willowy frame. Her dark auburn hair curled becomingly against her cheek, and her light blue eyes glowed with wariness. Those arms had once held him close as they strained together toward ecstasy. Deep inside, he had dreaded his reaction to seeing her again, but he was now curiously indifferent.