A little wicked scene from Book 7 of my next Wicked Affairs book - unnamed at this point! And a little throwback, too. Tell me what you think.
They say
bad things happened in threes and London was rife with talk of the newest bad
things to have happened.
The most
tragic, of course, had been the shocking death of Louis Ederline, the old and
perverted marquess, who owned more primitive erotic art than ought to have ever
been made in the first place. He left behind an innocent young wife some
speculated had never been deflowered by her ancient husband or at least
deflowered in the traditional sense.
The second
bad thing had befallen the favorite horse, Maid of Cadiz, in a race at
Newmarket. Not only had the thoroughbred lost, she had lost spectacularly. And
to an upstart at that. The winning horse was owned by the Earl of Archer,
Charles Standifer, running a horse he had owned less than six months and with
eighteen to one odds. His wife, Alizabet, had thrown herself into her husband’s
arms after, to the shock of all.
The third
bad thing was bound to happen sooner or later. Lady Lindley bore her bad luck
stoically. Her long-time lover, Trenton James, the current Earl of Dahlingford,
had ended their one-year arrangement amid rampant speculation and accusations.
For over a week, the Tattler had been full of on dits regarding lying, cheating and certain other insinuations
one could hardly countenance. Though if it was to be believed, Dahlingford was
the man to do it.
Unless one
lived in London during the Season. Then anything was possible.
Rather
than believe her grand fete would be ruined by death, debt and debaucheries,
the Duchess of Pelham thought it might be a rather spectacular evening.
She saw
her husband Randall VanLandingham across the room and shot him her best smile.
As he always did, he smiled back, one brow cocked and one hand braced against
his hip. Other things happened in threes also.
As she
made her way across the ballroom, trying to get to her husband, she
congratulated herself. This was her first crush at the renovated Grosvenor
Square mansion. Wall-to-wall aristocrats, titillating scandal and the best of
everything.
“You look
happy,” Randall said, sliding his hand about her waist and ignoring the friends
beside him.
She stood
to her toes and whispered, “Do you remember that naughty suggestion you had
some months ago about a third person with whom to share our bed?”
“Yes?” His
brow hitched a bit higher.
“I’ve
found the perfect person for us.”
“Does this
willing woman have a name?” He was cautious with his question.
“Jet
black, wavy hair. Startlingly blue eyes. Sound familiar?”
“If she is
in this room, I see three or four possibilities.”
“He is.”
“He!”
Randall’s forehead creased.
“Trenton
James. I think he would be perfect. Don’t you agree?”
“My
darling wife, I will need to be as dead as Ederline before I allow that to happen.”
She leaned
against him, pressing her breast to his arm. “Oh, are you sure? He could tempt
the most virtuous woman to sin. Why not me?”
Randall
laughed. “Because you have me. And I am enough man to overcome any of my wife’s
wicked temptations.”
