Page 11 of The Inconvenient Compromise
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Lucian watched her face,noting every slight change in her expression. Every gasp, every moan, every cry, but especially those moments when she was so taken by the pleasure that she could not utter a sound—seeing the full flower of her passion was unlike anything else. And making love to her was also a wholly unique experience. There was a gravitas to it, a significance. Because she was a virgin or because she washis? That was a question he couldn’t answer, that he was afraid to answer, honestly.
Struggling to keep his control, to do everything he could to make it perfect for her, he was hovering on the brink himself. The first flutter of her release had him gritting his teeth. Sweat broke out on his skin. When she arched her hips against him, a soft cry parting her lips and her body shuddering beneath him, he was lost. Swept away by his own release, he could only hold her close, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair as they clung together.
He’d been right. Fiona was nothing but trouble. The worst sort of trouble.
NINE
Monday—morning…
Charlotte Farraday, Lady Bruxton, entered her home in Mayfair. Removing her pelisse, she simply let it fall, safe in the assumption that a servant would catch it before it ever touched the floor. The return journey to London had been fast and ferocious. Fiona Trimble had ruined everything in Charlotte’s mind. Now her only course of action was to ruin Fiona Trimble.
Rather than go upstairs to her room, she strolled into the morning room, discarding her bonnet and gloves along the way. “Bring me my writing box,” she instructed a maid, who immediately scurried away to do her bidding.
Depositing herself on a Heppelwhite chair, she drummed her fingers on the intricately carved arm as she waited. The ormolu clock on the mantle ticked off the minutes. The girl had no more than two, or she’d be sacked for her dawdling.
Two and a half minutes later, the girl entered the room, box in hand. Her face was flushed, and a trickle of sweat at her temples had escaped the cap she wore. Charlotte smirked. “Dunworth, have the other maids pack her belongings and escort this lazy baggage from the premises. I’ve no use for servants who have no appreciation for my generosity.”
“Yes, madam,” the butler replied. He gave a curt nod, and two footmen stepped forward to take the girl by the arms. She was weeping as they removed her from the room.
That small bit of cruelty eased the tension in her. Until she could exact her vengeance on those who had truly incurred her wrath, other targets would simply have to do.
The butler placed the writing box on the table before her. “Shall I send for tea, madam?”
“Not tea. Something stronger, Dunworth. And clear the room. I cannot think with everyone hovering about me,” she said. Dunworth would be safe from her wrath because he was completely loyal to her and never questioned her command. He was also incredibly useful. No one was a better spy than the stiff and incredibly elitist servant.
“Yes, my lady,” he bowed formally as he murmured his obsequious response. When he rose to his full but still diminutive height, he clapped his hands together, and everyone scurried.
Alone, Charlotte picked up the writing box and placed it on her lap. Retrieving quill, ink, and a bit of her stationery from inside. She weighed and measured every word that she penned, carefully crafting the missive to one of London’s most notorious gossips. If she wished to see Fiona Trimble embroiled in scandal, there was no one better suited to the task of spreading the tale than Lady Habersham.
With the note complete, Charlotte melted a bit of wax and sealed it, stamping it with her personal seal. Afterward, she laid it aside. She would see it delivered soon enough, but for the moment, she wanted to simply bask in her plots and schemes. Envisioning the look of dismay on Fiona’s pale and wan features was terribly satisfying. The cow had ruined everything with her carelessness, after all. It was only right that she be made to pay for it.
Dunworth knocked upon the door and then entered the morning room. “The girl has been dismissed, madame. I gave her no letter of recommendation. I do hope that was not presumptuous of me.”
Charlotte smiled. “You know me too well, Dunworth. Indeed, she should not have any letter of recommendation, and should any future employer deign to contact you about her, you will inform them that she was lazy, careless, and possibly dishonest.”
“Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else I might do for you now?”
Charlotte picked up the letter she had written. “Have that delivered to Lady Habersham. I’ll be needing the carriage readied at four o’clock so that I may call on her personally.”
“I will see to everything.”
Charlotte nodded and then waved him away. Dutifully, he exited the room, and she was alone once more. There were details to attend to. The story that she laid out for Lady Habersham would have to be sensational enough to be worth spreading, but it would also have to be believable. Naturally, her role in any scandalous behavior that Fiona indulged in would be minimized or omitted altogether.
* * *
Fiona had fallen asleep.Of course, given what had transpired that morning between herself and her new husband, was it any wonder that she had needed rest? In all her wildest imaginings, nothing could have prepared her for the reality of the marriage bed. How was she to maintain any sort of separation from him when such intimacies would be irresistible to her?When HE would be irresistible to her.
But she’d awakened in their shared bed alone, and, at least for the moment, that was a relief. Why she felt a slight pang at his absence that warred with her need to not have to face him at that moment was a mystery for another time. For the moment, she had the opportunity to extricate herself from the bed without parading naked before him. He’d certainly seen enough of her in that state already.
After washing and dressing hurriedly in the same traveling gown she’d worn for days on end, Fiona reflected that she would have done almost anything for an actual change of clothes. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a knock sounded at the door. With barely a hesitation for her to call out that they should enter, the door swung inward, and her husband strode in, followed by a maid carrying several dresses.
“What is all this?” she asked.
“Borrowed for the moment,” Lucian stated. “I sent a note round to Lady Ralston and asked if she might be amenable to providing some items for you until your own can be reclaimed from your parents’ house.”
“Oh, well, how very generous of her!”
