The Mistress Wager: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 4)
Sahara Kelly
Prologue
“They’re twins, you know. Miss Kitty Ridlington and Mr. Richard Ridlington.”
“I’ve heard.”
The two gentlemen exchanging these comments were sprawled in large leather chairs, enjoying the heat from a blazing fire. Brandy glasses sat at each man’s side, and the scent of cigar smoke added a rich layer of fragrance in the room, complementing wood smoke and the aroma of money.
For these gentlemen were rich—rich to the point of absurdity. They could buy whatever they wanted on a whim, take what they could not purchase with little or no repercussion, and generally live the kind of life to which ninety-nine percent of the world aspired.
They were, however, very different in many ways. Their acquaintance had begun several years before, but mostly they travelled in different circles; certainly neither would call the other a close friend.
“I shall have her, you know.”
“Kitty?”
“Oh no. Too town bronzed for my tastes.”
In other words, she’d see through your pretenses. Max Seton-Mowbray kept his face expressionless as his companion took a lazy sip of his brandy and grinned into the flames.
“I want the other one. Hecate. She likes to pretend such calm sophistication, but her eyes give her away.”
“Really?” The drawled question was part boredom and part curiosity. “I’ve often wondered about that turn of phrase. Do they have some warning written across them? Some declaration of prevarication on the part of their owner?”
“Don’t be an arse, Max. Of course not.”
“Then how, pray tell, do they give her away?”
“I have yet to grasp the details,” he replied vaguely. “But I can assure you they do.”
Max contemplated the light shining through the brandy in his glass. “There’s no money there, Dancey. As I understand it, the Ridlington estate was rolled up, foot and guns, by the time the present Baron inherited.”
Dancey Miller-James snorted. “Ain’t going to marry the gel.”
“Ah.”
“M’mother has someone in mind. Got to increase the family coffers with marriage. And get an heir with excellent breeding.” He shrugged. “I have no idea who, nor do I care, particularly. Men like us must marry for the right reasons. Lust…” he grinned, “ain’t one of ‘em.”
“But you lust for Hecate Ridlington?”
“I do indeed. That white skin—that gold hair. Imagine what her pussy looks like. Pink, gold, ivory…” he fidgeted. “Demme, m’prick’s hard just thinking about it.”
“I must confess,” said Max, choosing his words carefully, “I cannot see Hecate readily falling into your bed as your mistress. Which is the path I presume you have chosen to follow?”
Dancey’s handsome face creased into a smile, tinged with something else that made the back of Max’s neck itch a little. “Oh she won’t know a damned thing about it, Max old boy. She’s stupidly naive and she’ll believe I intend marriage.”
“That’s hardly the thing, Dancey. You could face a lot of repercussions from such a stratagem.”
Dancey laughed aloud, then finished his brandy. “Not me. I’ll be free and clear, once I’ve made sure everyone knows she willingly went with me. Spent the night with me.” He rose from his chair. “Not even sure I’ll take her as a mistress. Once I’ve stripped her naked, had that precious virginity of hers…well, do I want to spend the next few months instructing an innocent in how to best pleasure me?” He considered the matter as he attempted to straighten his shirt and cravat. “Probably not. Easier to stay with an experienced cunt who already knows. I have one of them already.”
Max swallowed down the distaste that had formed a lump in his throat. “I see.”
And indeed he did. The true nature of Dancey Miller-James had just revealed itself; it was dark, unpleasant and not something Max approved of in any way, shape or form. At that moment, he determined this would be the last time they met.
“I’ll be off then.” Dancey managed his cravat as best he could. “There are women waiting out there for me.”
“Would Hecate Ridlington amongst them?” He glanced at the clock. “At this hour?”
“God no. Good little virgins are sound asleep.” He snickered as he shrugged into his jacket. “I’m talking about other kinds of women. Ones who know what I like.”
Max refused to rise to the bait and ask what that was. He didn’t want to hear the answer. “I shall say goodnight then.”
“Going down to Mortimer’s tomorrow?”
“No.” Max shook his head.
“Too bad. You’ll miss an interesting evening.”
“Other plans.”
“So be it.”
And with that, Dancey Miller-James walked from the warm room, leaving Max staring at the fire and wondering why he felt so cold.
It wasn’t that he harbored any particular emotions for Hecate Ridlington. He’d met her, of course, and found her as passable as most of the debutantes. Which, for him, meant that she’d received his bow, a polite word or two and nothing more. She did have unusually beautiful eyes, but not sufficiently unusual to attract more than a cursory glance, and her fairness set her apart from the rest of the Ridlington family. He’d not spared her a moment’s consideration after their brief introduction.
He had barely enough room in his life for his sister. He wasn’t about to squeeze in a simple country girl with nothing more than a pair of fine eyes to recommend her.
He wondered how someone like Miller-James had wormed his way into such high social favor. His uncle, Bishop Augustus Miller-James, might have had something to do with it, of course. Not to mention the Miller-James fortune, which would have made the Prince Regent solvent had the family decided to gift it to the crown.
Money, to the Ton, was God. If you possessed enough of it, you were fêted, fawned upon and favored by all who managed to work their sycophantic way to your side. Your sins were pardoned or excused as forgivable excesses, and your conversation treasured as the most delightful collection of bon mots.
He’d endured it for a few months after his arrival in London. It had grown increasingly irritating, and finally he had decided it was time for him to assume the persona of a distant and elusive gentleman; one who spoke little, and offered even less in the way of social interactions. He’d become known as Max Secret-Mowbray for a time, which was quite all right with him. Given his distinct private preferences, he was happy to keep whatever secrets he had to himself.
However, he couldn’t, in all conscience, listen to Dancey’s plans to seduce and likely abandon Miss Hecate Ridlington, thus ruining her for life. It was deplorable, and all too common amongst the men who imagined themselves to be above recrimination.