Ripe for Pleasure

CHAPTER 29   



Their return to Dyrham was a ludicrous affair that nearly made her wish she’d chosen to remain in town: four easy stages, in the best-sprung coach she’d ever experienced, the seats folded out into a sumptuous bed where she and Pen could curl up and nap the miles away.

Leo handled her as though she were fragile as fine wine, not to be shaken or unduly disturbed. His servants treated her likewise. Only Pen could be trusted to cram her way in, pushing and shoving and demanding attention in her domineering and irresistible way.

The lime avenue alerted her that they’d reached the outskirts of the estate. Pen turned in a restless circle and began to pant. The familiar arch of limbs and leaves stirred an ache of longing behind her sternum. Ridiculous to have become so attached to a house in such a short time.

The coach rolled to a stop, and Pen raised her head, ears pricked, tail churning with excitement. The coach swayed ever so slightly as the footmen jumped down. The door opened, and Pen scrambled out, happy to be home.

Viola’s breath caught. Dyrham wasn’t home, whether her dog realized that or not. Leo had been right when he’d asserted that London was no place for her to recuperate. Too many chances for someone to see her, for rumors to start, for someone to ask questions. But all the same, she suddenly wished she’d answered differently and had gone instead to stay with Lady Ligonier.

She wanted this to an extent that frightened her. Wanted Leo, too, despite his many betrayals. What might she be willing to give up to have it? To have him? And would it be worth it in the end?

She’d broken so many of her rules with him, for him.

Her poached egg arrived with its usual desultory promptness. A week of sleeping in, wandering about her room, and being kept on nursery rations had her ready to rip the paper from the walls.

The entire household tiptoed around as though she were at death’s door. Everything was hushed, well-oiled, fully functional, but deadly dull. The letter announcing that Lord Leonidas’s cousin would live had only seemed to makes things worse.

She dumped the egg into the saucer of her teacup and fed it to Pen. The dog swallowed it whole and turned to wipe her face across Viola’s dressing gown. Viola stared down at the bits of drool and egg liberally smeared across her knee. At least this one was linen and easily laundered. Silk was going to have to be banished from her wardrobe entirely unless her income from the second installment of her memoir filled her coffers to unknown heights.

Or perhaps she could start a new fashion: watered silk, à la chien. She rubbed the egg off with a towel from her dressing table. Was there any point in getting dressed today? She turned the idea over in her head.

If she didn’t leave this room soon, she was going to go mad. So yes, there was a very good reason to get dressed, even if Leo might not approve. He’d been free to come and go, while she’d been caged like some animal in the Duke of Richmond’s menagerie.

A chemise gown worn over her jumps would be decent enough for the close gardens. She wouldn’t even venture so far as the folly. She just needed fresh air in her lungs and sunlight on her skin, to look at something other than these four walls and the distant, teasing canopy of trees and the sparkling twist of water.

An hour later, Viola was seated under a bower of laburnum, Pen lying at her feet, watching the butterflies and bees with hawklike interest. It had taken resolution to bully her way past her maid and Leo’s butler, but she’d done it.

Off to one side, she could see the duchess’s tower. Occasionally, a groom would appear past the corner of the stable block, exercising one of the horses. She saw Oleander, and Quiz, and a flash of blood bay that could only be Meteor. At one point, Nance and Sampson wandered by in the distance.

Nance had been more than eager to return to Dyrham, and it seemed that her feelings were returned in full by Leo’s footman. Would Leo mind if Viola stole his footman? She’d need one of her own if she left Leo, and Sampson was the obvious choice.

Nance had rushed to the kitchen upon their return and rescued the Midsummer-men from the rafters. She’d found both pairs sweetly entwined, and she’d put great stock in them. Viola had wrapped her own in paper and tucked it into a drawer, feeling foolish in the extreme as she did so.

Two dried twigs, tied together and bent in until the flowering heads were united. Nothing but a country superstition, but she couldn’t bring herself to toss hers out any more than Nance could.

A bee tumbled slowly from flower to flower, its soft hum providing a lazy contrast to its activity. Viola breathed deeply and concentrated on the feeling of the sun working its way through the layers of her clothing… She woke to Lord Leonidas’s chuckle and the sound of Pen’s feet churning the gravel walk as she greeted him.

“Not as recovered as you thought, eh?” His long-fingered hand caressed the dog’s ear, pulling it softly while Pen leaned into him with all her might.

Viola covered her answering yawn with her hand. “I needed air.” Her body hummed in tune with the bees at the sight of him. The sun turned his hair into a dark halo and caught the slight burr of his beard, shadowing his jaw. Shallowness was a sin she’d have to lay claim to, covetousness, too.

“Walls starting to close in on you?”

She nodded. It would all be so much easier if only he weren’t so beautiful. It caught one off guard. His green eye was merry again, something it hadn’t been even before her abduction. When was the last time she’d seen that particular glint? For the life of her, she simply couldn’t remember. Her traitorous heart set her pulse fluttering.

Damn it all, she didn’t want to want him.

A smile tugged at her mouth, and she gave in, even though the motion pulled at her still-healing lower lip. He was a scoundrel, and he’d nearly got her killed, but that teasing green eye was impossible to resist.

Weak, wanton, and a fool. That’s what she’d become. What she’d been reduced to. And she was likely to remain so for as long as the world allowed her. Outside Dyrham, she might come to her senses, but while here, never. Had he known that when he’d swept her out of town? His wicked green eye implied he had.

Leo took Viola’s answering smile as an invitation to linger. Since her abduction, she’d been haughty, reticent, angry, dismissive; anything other than welcoming and soft. And he couldn’t blame her, though he wanted the lady with the knowing smile back far more than it was safe for a man to want something.

What was it his grandmother always said about provoking the gods? Something about hubris being a man’s downfall? He couldn’t quite remember, but it amounted to not setting one’s heart on something too hard. The swelling around her eye had entirely disappeared, leaving just a purple-black ring. The bruise on her cheek had faded, too, nothing but a sallowness edged in grayish lavender to show where it had been.

Leo tamped down the rising flood of guilt. She didn’t want his apologies, and they wouldn’t do his cousin a damn bit of good. He’d been given a choice worthy of Solomon, and he’d made it.

He flicked back the skirt of his coat and sat, straddling the bench where she’d been dozing. She sighed and leaned into him, much as her dog had done moments before. Her head settled on his shoulder, and one hand gripped his waistcoat, fingers curling inside. He could remember his nephews in just such a pose, sleepy and content as he carried them to the nursery.


He wrapped both arms around her and rested his head atop hers. He’d been planning on chasing his invalid back into the house, but this was infinitely preferable. Her hair smelled faintly of citrus, lemons or orange blossom. He buried his nose in her hair, content to wonder, content to wallow in the thrill of simply being allowed to do so.

After several minutes, Viola turned her head slightly and kissed him, lips firm, almost demanding. A tremor ran through her. Leo groaned and kissed her back. It had been forever since he’d touched her, and he’d not been sure he’d ever be allowed to again.

“Come up to the bathhouse.” She slid off his lap and tugged him up. A shadow of her coquettish smile slid across her mouth. God, how he wanted that smile back. He’d give just about anything to see it in all its glory.

Fingers twined, they wandered slowly through the garden and up to the path that led from the house to the bathhouse. Once inside, she kissed him again, kept kissing him, lips, tongue, and teeth all brought to bear, even as he fumbled with the series of ties at the back of her chemise gown. The gown fell to the floor in a pool of white linen. She backed away, smiling, eyes never leaving his.

Whatever had happened to her, between them, she was still quite powerfully herself. Still Viola. Wicked charm still infused her eyes. Her naughty dimples appeared for the scantest of moments, flashing like a distant light at sea.

He stepped toward her, and she shook her head, curls swinging about her shoulders as she ripped the ribbon from her hair. For a moment, she was a Greuze painting—a servant girl in dishabille—then quick fingers tugged loose the ties of her jumps, and they, too, were discarded where they fell. Her shift was off in one quick motion, and she went from Greuze to Fragonard.

She tossed her shift at him, a heavy cloud in the steam. Leo snatched it out of the air and brought it to his face, inhaling deeply. If he were as rich as his father, she’d have a new shift every day, and he’d sleep each night with her used one as a pillowcase, resting his head enveloped in her scent. That was reason enough to find the prince’s damn treasure.

She’d reached the edge of the pool and was busy removing garters and stockings: sturdy cotton ones, not one whit less enticing than their silk brethren as they rolled down her calf. Desire whipped through him. Battered and bruised, she was still enchanting enough to steal his wits. His pulse pushed down into his groin. His cock throbbed and stiffened.

Viola slipped into the water like an otter escaping a hunt, not bothering with the steps. Leo ripped his own clothes from his body, scattering them as he went, a trail leading back to sanity. She watched him from the far end of the pool, his own personal siren waiting in the mist.

The water verged on too hot, scalding his skin as though he’d walked into the bonfire on Guy Fawkes night. He surfaced beside Viola, rising into her embrace: arms and legs twining about him, hair tangled around them both like a net, mouth meeting his in a kiss hotter than the water would ever be. Her arm slid between them, her hand grasped his engorged cock, and her fingertips teased the folds of his foreskin near the base.

Leo lifted her away from him, pushed her out of the water, and set her on the lip of the pool. Lord knew his cock was more than willing to take the shortest route to fulfillment, but what had been haunting his dreams was her taste. He wanted her panting and sobbing his name as he filled her.

He pushed between her thighs, gripped her hips, and slid her forward until she was perched on the very edge. It was easy to sink down, to thrust his arms under her thighs, encircle her hips, and tilt her up. Viola rocked back, supporting herself with her arms, knees wide, one foot on his shoulder, one trailing down his back.

Sweet flesh on his tongue, Leo opened his mouth wide and sucked hard on her inner thigh. She gasped and squirmed, knees falling just a tad wider. He bit down lightly on the straining tendon that led from thigh to groin, then slid over to delve into her folds, parting her with his tongue. He fastened his mouth over the sensitive peak at the top of her cleft, pressing his chin hard against the opening of her body.

She strained, breath hitching, the foot on his shoulder beginning to tremble. Leo slid his tongue inside her, lapped slowly all the way up her cleft, then renewed his assault on her swollen *oris.

Her hand smoothed over his head, locked in his hair. Leo smiled to himself, refusing to be dislodged. She was mumbling, brokenly, words interspersed with gasps. “Vaughn… my lord, oh God… Leo! Leo!”

At last. His name on her lips was as sweet as the taste of her on his. Triumph rippled through him as her whole body trembled. He pulled her back into the water, filled her with one hard thrust, and held her there while the last ripples of her release pulsed around him.

Viola clung to him, spine arching, hips circling in a tight little spiral. He trapped her between his body and the wall of the pool. Waves slid over his shoulders, spilled over the lip of the pool, burst between them like a small geyser. His world spiraled down to the joining of their bodies, the pulsing embrace, the surging thrusts, the incoherent gasps and cries.

As he came, he lost his footing, dragging her beneath the water as he fell. Her mouth found his, and her hair swirled out around them. He found the bottom with his feet and stood, arms locked about her.

Heart pounding in his ears, pulsing in his cock, Leo dragged her to the steps and sat down. She propped herself on her knees and slid back just enough that his cock slipped free. His pulse was slowly returning to his chest where it belonged. She kissed his neck, just below his ear, with the slightest hint of teeth. “In another week or two, I think I could safely return to town.”

Leo let his breath out through his teeth. I, not we. He should have been expecting this; she’d run for the safety and anonymity of London the last time, too. His hands slid up her thighs, gripped her hips lightly, thumbs resting on her hip bones. “Or you could stay here.”

She pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, her hand pressed over his heart, weight bearing down on it. Her perfect brows pinched sharply over her nose.

“Think of it as trying it on for size.” His index fingers circled on her naked skin.

Viola shook her head almost imperceptibly. Her lips parted. Then she caught them between her teeth as though she couldn’t quite find the words she wanted, or was holding them back. “It’s no use trying on something one can’t afford.” Her head dropped so that her hair swung between them like a curtain. “In fact, it’s madness to do so. Leave well enough alone. Though perhaps, being a duke’s son, you don’t know much about wanting what you can’t have, about settling for what you can.”

She tensed, as though for flight. Leo tightened his grip, holding her firmly in place. “If I don’t know by now, by God, you’re teaching me. This isn’t enough. Not for me. I don’t want a mistress, never have. I don’t want a nursery full of bastards. I want a wife, Vi.” Her head came up, eyes boring into him. “But you don’t want a husband, do you?”

“The son of a duke—”

“A younger son—”

“—to marry his whore?”

“—with a brother and three nephews between him and the title. I can’t offer you strawberry leaves—”

“What on earth would I want—” She cut herself off as the meaning dawned on her, eyes widening with indignation. “If you think I’d marry you if you had a title—”

“There’s very little chance of one, just to be clear.” He relaxed his grip, slid one hand around, fingers brushing her cleft. He spread the other across her lower back. She caught her breath, but didn’t move away. “But we could make Dyrham our own little Strawberry Hill. Fox and Mrs. Armistead seem happy enough.”

“But not married. Can you imagine the scandal if they did? The great-grandson of Charles II married to a—”

“Stranger things have happened.” Leo slid one finger into her, followed it with a second, and found the still-swollen peak of her *oris with his thumb. “Their royal bastardy being established by the king’s penchant for his own French whore, I see very little for the Foxes and Lennoxes to cavil at when it comes to Mrs. Armistead.”

Her look of outrage gave way to the flush of desire. He curled his fingers, twisted his hand so that his thumb was replaced by the heel of his hand.

“Cry pax and be done with it, sweetheart. It was a clumsy proposal—I’m a fool to have said anything at all just now—and I beg you to forget it.”

“It’s not the sort of thing one forgets.” Viola angled her hips toward him, holding on to his shoulders for balance.

“Especially if it becomes a recurring theme.” Leo smiled, and her eyes widened, her expression showing a mercurial flash of outrage before her head dropped back and her thighs began to tremble.

She might not have said yes, but he’d set the idea running through her brain, as unstoppable as a horse without bit or bridle. Leo slid a third finger in and leaned forward to capture a nipple with his teeth. Viola rose up, back arched, knees gripping his hips, voice intermingling his name and God’s.

“I know a bribe when I see one.” Viola eyed Leo with distrust.


The flashy chestnut gelding he’d presented to her knocked its hoof against the stall door, demanding attention, much as Leo did himself. Arrogant beasts, both of them. Beautiful, too, and likely to be just as temperamental, just as difficult to master.

Their tryst in the bathhouse had opened the floodgates. He was once more in her bed, the penitent at the temple, the lover enshrined, the wooing, would-be husband rampant… and she could sense her defenses crumbling day by day, disappearing with every kiss, every touch, every look.

Leo smiled, refusing to spar with her. For once, his blue eye looked as mischievous as the green one. He’d not a shadow of a doubt how his gift would be received. And he was right. The horse was everything she could have hoped for. Viola turned her back on a still-grinning Leo. The gelding blew out his nose, much as Pen did, and pricked up his ears.

“Yes, that’s my pretty boy.” She found herself crooning nonsense like a moonling. His nose was impossibly soft against her cupped hands. He lipped her fingers, looking for treats. She heard Leo chuckle as he handed her a lump of sugar. The gelding ate it greedily, lips searching for more.

Viola reached up to scratch behind his ear, and the horse arched his neck and bent lower, pushing back and waggling his head in ecstasy. “You’re impossible, my lord.”

Leo’s answering laugh made her roll her eyes.

“Well,” he began with a hint of offense, “the offer of my own noble hand was declined. Laying Dyrham at your feet doesn’t seem to have done the trick, not even the bathhouse, which you must admit is a strong inducement indeed. I’m simply stacking the deck a tad more in my favor.”

Viola rested her forehead against the horse’s neck and shut her eyes, letting the scent of horse and hay and dust build a wall around her. Bit by tiny bit, Leo was tying her to Dyrham. And she was letting him. She wanted to be convinced, wanted the warning that screamed in her bones silenced once and for all.

She’d ignored it once, and doing so had led to short-lived and nearly unbearable happiness, followed by unimaginable pain and disillusionment. Opening herself up to such a fate a second time was foolhardy in the extreme.

If she married Lord Leonidas Vaughn, he’d be as trapped as she in the end. Did he have any idea what that meant? If his friends cut him, if his family disowned him, was he prepared for that?

She certainly hadn’t been.