Page 7 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
“Did you want the slightly sheer peignoir, my lady,” Jeanie, her paid companion, asked from the doorwayto her private parlor, “or the completely transparent night rail?”
Beatrice paused, quill in hand, and giddily pondered this. Orgies likely required flimsy clothing and undergarments, things that could be easily taken off if not ripped outright.
What a delightful prospect.
“Tell Lucy to include both,” she said finally. “It can’t hurt to be prepared. Oh, and make sure she packs old ones that will tear easily.”
“She’ll likely guess why,” Jeanie replied.
“Let her guess.” Beatrice chuckled. “I haven’t precisely been a model of decorum these past ten months.”
There had been a handful of rascals—men of theton—who had tried their best to drag her down to their level. Soon after she’d emerged from mourning, a wager had been made to see who would be the first to bed her. Fortunately, a friend had stepped in and kept those blackguards at bay.
Beatrice had vowed then that no one besides herself would ever have power over her body. Which was another reason why she couldn’t wait to attend Lord Gibb’s house party.Shewould be the only one deciding who she’d fuck.
Jeanie nodded before ducking out of the parlor and into the adjoining bedchamber where her maid supervised packing for the journey and the orgiastic house party at the conclusion of that journey.
Beatrice allowed herself a small laugh—a giggle,really—before attempting to marshal her exhilaration so she could finish writing her letter to Anthony. She had to inform him that she would be on holiday for the next fortnight. Of course, she’d never tell him where, precisely, she was going. Some things a son did not need to know about his mother, especially the fact that she was about to participate in a week of utter, filthy debauchery.
Once the letter was finished, Beatrice sanded it and summoned a footman, who took the folded paper and bore it away.
Jeanie returned to the parlor, smoothing a hand over her wheat-colored hair. “Lucy packed your thinnest shifts. She had a fair idea as to why you requested them. I think she’s going to run to her confessor the moment we depart.”
“Poor lamb.” Chuckling, Beatrice perused her bookshelf. She had a library downstairs, but this bookcase contained several of her more racy volumes, including the latest from the Lady of Dubious Quality. It was always a good idea to keep such reading near to one’s bed. “Which book should I take?The Highwayman’s SeductionorTo Seduce a Rake?”
Jeanie raised a brow. “Do you think you’ll have much time for reading?”
“Doubtful, but just in case I find myself lacking inspiration, I can always consult its pages.” Given how many times she’d readThe Highwayman’s Seduction, she was already well familiar with its contents andcould reenact scenes from it based purely on memory.To Seduce a Rakeit was, then.
She set the book into her smaller traveling case, beside the velvet-lined box containing no fewer than a dozen sea sponges and a bottle of vinegar. The proprietress of the Orchid Club had strongly recommended them as relatively effective contraception, and at the age of forty-six, Beatrice had no desire to carry or raise more children. Two adult sons and an adult daughter were more than enough. Even if her body could withstand the ordeal of pregnancy, her mind and emotional fortitude could not.
“My placement agency would die of apoplexy if they knew I was accompanying you to Lord Gibb’s week-long bacchanal.” Jeanie smiled.
“Join the festivities,” Beatrice said brightly. It wasn’t common practice to include one’s hired companion in a multiday orgy, but then, that was a topic seldom covered in etiquette manuals.
This was truly going to happen, and best of all, she was making it happen for herself. She didn’t have to ask for permission or wait for approval or anything other than gratify herowndesires.
“Appreciated,” Jeanie said with a wave of her hand, “but I’ve never been much inclined to that sort of activity. I’d rather stay in my room with a cup of tea and a book—notone by the Lady of Dubious Quality.”
“Aren’t you shocked by my decision to attend LordGibb’s saturnalia? Shouldn’t I be tatting lace or doing something else appropriate for a respectable widow?”
“Given what you’ve said to me about your married life,” Jeanie said, her hands on her hips, “I’m cheering you on. You got yourself into the investment Bazaar, and that took backbone, but that was business, and this’ll be pleasure.”
“Quite a lot of pleasure.” Beatrice bounced on her feet. “Oh, Jeanie, I cannot wait. Besides, I haven’t the patience for learning how to tat lace.”
Chasing cock, on the other hand, was definitely worth the effort. Especially as she hadn’t known anyone’s cock other than Edward’s, and even that had made itself a stranger for the last few years of their marriage.
“And then you get to visit with your sister.” Satisfied with its contents, Beatrice closed her traveling case.
“It’s been an age,” Jeanie said. “And I’m to retrieve you from Lord Gibb’s after a week, which is more than enough time for Mary Ann and me to realize why we don’t share a roof.” She clapped her hands together. “Sisterly annoyance notwithstanding, I do predict that this little excursion will be quite delightful. We’ll have fun, you and I.”
“Perhaps not as much fun as we were hoping,” Beatrice said, recalling the prior day’s meeting at the Duke of Rotherby’s home. “As of yesterday.”
“Why ever not?” Jeanie asked. “What happened?”
“I did,” Major McCameron said, appearing in the doorway. He was neatly, if plainly, dressed and had a pack slung over one wide shoulder.
There was nothing wrong with Major McCameron’s appearance. He was actually quite, quite arresting. His features were slightly craggy, but that gave him a rugged, masculine air, and his reddish-brown hair was worn in short waves that appeared to have been ruthlessly tamed by a comb. When she’d stood close to him the day before, she noted he wasn’t much taller than her. His eyes were a shade of vivid blue she’d seen nowhere on earth, piercing in their intensity.
