Two hours later Francis Rohan lay naked and stretched across his current lover’s equally naked body. Juliette had always been inventive, and he’d found himself particularly inspired tonight. It was a great shame that he was imagining Elinor Harriman’s body naked beneath, above, in front of his, but Juliette wouldn’t mind as long as he gave her the mind-numbing pleasure she demanded. Indeed, even dear Juliette was worn out this evening, taken to her limit and beyond, until she had to beg him to stop.
It was troublesome, this fascination with his reluctant houseguest. A great deal too bad that it was bordering on obsession. His friends, if he could call them that, would be astonished.
He knew his reasons were simple. He was denying himself, when he usually took what he wanted like the rakehell he was. Normally Miss Harriman would be seduced and forgotten by now. But something had st
ayed his hand. Perhaps it was her calm, pragmatic air, or the curiously vulnerable streak that broke forth occasionally. There was no denying that he was enjoying himself, enjoying the wanting, enjoying spending that need on others while the ultimate prize awaited. Unless he came to his senses before he actually managed to bed her.
He had no idea whether that was going to happen or not. He’d never gone through anything like this, so he had nothing to compare it with. All he knew was he hadn’t felt more alive in years, perhaps decades. He couldn’t remember.
He slipped out of bed, away from Juliette, and frowned for a moment. He was totally unacquainted with guilt or regret—they were the emotions of fools. Nevertheless, as pleasantly exhausted as he was, there was the oddest sense that he’d done something wrong.
Nonsense. Do what thou wilt. He’d wanted a female, quite badly, and Juliette was more than available. Life was too short to stint on pleasures, and if Elinor Harriman started interfering then he’d simply have to ship her back to England where she belonged. He wasn’t about to let anyone or anything interfere with who and what he was.
Juliette stirred, whimpering slightly as she moved, and she could thank him for that. Would he really consider making Elinor submit to the deliciously perverse things he sometimes fancied? Perhaps he wanted to make love to her chastely, like a careful bridegroom.
He was nobody’s bridegroom. He’d have her on her knees in front of him, taking him in her mouth. He’d have her every way he could, and then think of new ways to try it. The Heavenly Host was keeping a chapbook of positions and variations, often named after the lady first willing to attempt them. Perhaps ten years from now he’d open the book and be reminded of the Harriman.
There was something displeasing about that, though he wasn’t going to brood about it. There were no rules in the Host, but the generous sharing of partners was expected. He rather thought he’d skip that with the enchanting Miss Harriman.
Author: Anne Stuart
When he was done with her he’d probably send her back to England, along with her sister. He knew very little about her cousin, but there would be some way to pass along a comfortable stipend without anyone knowing and becoming offended. There was something rather delectable about a starched-up creature like Elinor actually being a kept woman.
Juliette moved again, and her eyes flew open. She looked at him in the candlelight, and she smiled slowly, holding out her hand.
He moved back to the bed.
18
“I don’t understand,” Lydia said, staring at her sister in dismay. “Why in the world should I go into the country while you stay here?”
Elinor looked uncharacteristically nervous. Lydia’s darling older sister held the fond belief that Lydia couldn’t tell when she was prevaricating, as she was now. “I told you, dearest, I’m helping his lordship with his library. Actually he’s been very kind,” she said, and Lydia said nothing. “He needs someone with a knowledge of Latin who can write a good hand, and that’s one thing I can do. He’s been given a score of very valuable old texts, some more than a hundred years old, and he needs someone to ascertain what they’re about and make a record of them. ”
“He doesn’t know Latin?” Every young man of quality had endless years of Latin drummed into him, and despite Lord Rohan’s dissipated character, he still struck Lydia as someone conversant with the classics.
“Of course he does,” Elinor replied. “He simply doesn’t have time to do the work. He has a very busy social calendar…”
“Indeed,” Lydia said with an unbecoming snort. “Everyone in Paris knows about his social calendar. ”
“You know how people gossip, Lydia,” Elinor said, trying to sound reasonable and failing. “I doubt his parties are any worse than what goes on at Versailles. People love to make up stories and spread rumors, the more vile the better. ”
“I thought you arrived in the midst of one of his notorious parties,” she pointed out. Why in heaven’s name was her sister suddenly changing her severe disapproval of the man? Was it possible that she was beginning to see what her baby sister had known all along? That her sister, her practical, unromantic older sister, was drawn to the beautiful and dangerous Viscount Rohan?
“I did,” Eleanor said stoutly. “And I didn’t see anything untoward. Surely you don’t still think that Lord Rohan has any feelings for me? He can have any female in Paris, up to and possibly including the queen. He finds me entertaining, nothing more. ”
Lydia surveyed her sister. She was wearing a gray gown that fit her slender figure beautifully, exposing more of her chest than Elinor usually allowed. She’d tucked a fichu around her shoulders in an effort to hide herself, but it was a failure. With her rich dark hair flowing down her back, her brown eyes nervous, her lips red, color in her cheeks, she looked absolutely lovely, and Lord Rohan was connoisseur enough to recognize it. “You are naive,” Lydia said severely. “For all that you’re older than I am, in many ways you’re much more innocent. I don’t want any man taking advantage of you. ”
Elinor’s smile was forced. “I think that’s unlikely to happen. I swear to you that he has no interest in me apart from my mind,” she said flatly, and her words had the ring of truth.
Lydia recognized it. Or at least that Elinor believed it. “Then he’s a blind fool. ”
Elinor laughed. “Darling, you’re more than a bit partial. Look at it this way, it’s to my advantage to be plain. It enables me to work for his lordship without running the danger of any importune advances. I never thought I would come to bless the Harriman Nose. ”
“Blast the Harriman Nose,” Lydia said crossly. “You’re not plain and you never have been. Just look at yourself in the mirror. ”
“You’re a true sister,” Elinor said, clearly not believing a word. “You’ll love Mrs. Clarke—she’s kind and welcoming. And after Easter I’ll come and get you and we’ll go home to England. We’ll find a nice, small cottage. It might be on Father’s land, perhaps in a village, perhaps just outside of one. We’ll have a garden and we’ll grow peas and lettuce, and we’ll raise chickens. And maybe ducks. ”
It was a fairy tale, Lydia thought, but she wasn’t going to point that out to her sister. “I love ducks. ”