“Hetty? Is that you, my darling? Come to me.”
Araminta froze, not believing what she was hearing, for amusement and anticipation colored his tone as he started to rise, though Araminta was quick to indicate he should remain where he was. She had a performance to put on.
Her shock turned to surprise as he seemed to think it a splendid idea—as if her sister were capable of the kind of entertainment Araminta was about to perform.
Slowly she swayed to the music but then, realizing Sir Aubrey would be far from delighted to discover her real identity, Araminta decided to cut short her overtures. Much more important than courting his admiration was swift action on her behalf to make sure he was in her power.
“Good Lord, but you are full of surprises.” His voice was a low, needy growl that sent anger pulsing through Araminta. How dare he speak like that, believing she was plain, dull Hetty? The glazed rapture of his expression only added to Araminta’s determination to continue this…clinical seduction, as it now appeared it would have to be.
To the bitter end, in fact.
If he really did believe she was Hetty, then she was succeeding in whipping up his desire much too quickly, Araminta thought, as she sashayed toward him. Right now she might appear a mysterious figure full of allure and promise in the dim lamplight but once she was done with him, he’d realized which sister offered him the future he wanted.
His breathing was labored and the effect of her calculated progress as he lay back upon the cushions was clear, even from a distance. His tight satin breeches bulged with his enormous erection. Had Araminta not been so fueled by spite and anger, she’d be anticipating this as much as he clearly was. Yet he thought she was Hetty…
All her delicate sensibilities recoiled at the travesty.
“Oh, my darling, you are torturing me. Come to me now.”
Shocked, Araminta saw that his hand had gone to the button flap of his breeches. How could he imagine Hetty would ever—?
Good Lord, she’d never have believed such a thing possible if it weren’t happening before her eyes. Her sister? Plump, undesirable Hetty, who was surely beneath Sir Aubrey’s notice? Every indication now pointed to Hetty having been very free and easy with her affections, while keeping a decidedly low profile. Araminta, on the other hand, would never be so bold without the promise of a ring.
Or at least the knowledge that her actions would secure her a ring very shortly.
But desperate times called for desperate measures. This was the only way forward. Her father was clearly about to ruin them all and if she did not contract a good marriage by the end of the season, there was a real chance she was not going to at all.
If Sir Aubrey was going to marry, then it was going to be a Partington—and certainly not the younger one!
Holding the gauze more tightly about her with one hand, Araminta trailed the other over her breasts in an overt display of self-admiration before gripping the hem of her skirt and raising it above her knees.
“My God, woman, but you are a minx. Come here now!”
His arms were outstretched and she heard the need in his voice. Araminta nearly wept at the injustice but it was the impetus she needed. Launching forward even as she shed her revealing gauze curtain, she landed upon his chest, hitching up her skirts to find him already released from his breeches.
Her breath left her in a cry more of satisfaction than rapture as she impaled herself upon his pulsing member.
She was hungry for him—or rather, hungry for vengeance—her passage well lubricated by the anticipation whipped up by anticipation. Clearly Lord Aubrey had also reached the pinnacle of his desire, for no sooner had she plunged herself upon him and begun to writhe in ecstasy than he gave a harsh cry.
Her satisfaction was short-lived. In fact, it did not go beyond the moan he’d uttered as he’d convulsed inside her. For almost immediately he withdrew and, with a shout she’d almost say was anger, shoved her off his lap and leapt to his feet.
He was now staring down at her as if she were…well, certainly not a woman he desired.
She was not prepared for this. She’d expected him to be surprised, but she’d not expected to see his lip twitching with the same disgust mirrored in his cold stare.
“For the love of God, woman, what have you done?” he rasped, fumbling to button his breeches. “I thought you were—”
Anger bubbled up inside Araminta as she pushed down her skirts and sat up. “You thought I was…?”
Ignoring her as he made for the door, he swung around to demand, “Miss Partington, what the devil possessed you? Surely you can’t have known—”
He seemed unable to complete a sentence, so great was his agitation.
“You seemed to enjoy it,” she muttered. “You didn’t stop. It’s more than possible I’m carrying your child, Sir Aubrey.”
Not that she’d had much pleasure from it. A great ache of need still pulsed between her legs but that was nothing compared to the humiliation of being rejected. He should be reaching for her by now. Begging for her forgiveness and promising a wedding ring for having taken her virtue. Well, for seducing her, at any rate. Pushing out her chin, she said proudly, “It’s what you indicated you were after, Sir Aubrey, let’s not tiptoe around the truth.”
His face was black with anger as he strode toward her and gripped her shoulders. “I had no idea it was you, nor was I in a position to stop after you hurled yourself upon me and…no, I did not indicate that was what I was after!”