Wicked Beauty (Brazen Bluestockings #3)

Chapter 8: Control and Consequences

Two weeks later, Adam stood in the window of his study in his Mayfair townhouse, brandy in hand. He was drinking far too much lately, but given the circumstances, he felt rather justified in the indulgence.

His parents' reaction to his news still rang in his ears. His mother's horror at learning her eldest son was rushing into marriage with a mere squire's daughter had been entirely predictable.

The Duchess of Hoyton had spent years subtly introducing him to the daughters of earls and marquesses, proper young ladies with impeccable lineage and substantial dowries. Miss Alice Burton, with her country squire father and modest fortune, had never featured in her plans for the future Duchess of Hoyton.

His father's response had been more disturbing—a knowing look that suggested he understood all too well why Adam might have been caught in a compromising position.

The current duke had his own history of indiscretions, after all, though he had at least had the good sense to keep them separate from his marriage after his initial misstep.

Adam knew the ugly truth of his parents' relationship. Early in their marriage, his father had attempted to introduce his new bride to his particular desires—needs that proper society would deem unnatural, especially in the marital bed. The duchess had been horrified and disgusted.

What followed was a cold, formal arrangement: she would perform her duties as duchess and provide heirs, while he would seek his gratification elsewhere.

It wasn't knowledge he wanted of his parents relationship, but something his mother had told him after discovering that he shared his father's... tastes. The memory of it still gave him the chills. She had walked in on him with a maid in the most unfortunate moment, her horrified gasp haunting him to this day.

What followed had been worse than any punishment he could have imagined.

"You're just like him," she had whispered, her voice thick with revulsion. "The same unnatural appetites."

Since then, he had followed her directives to the letter—keeping his darker desires rigidly separate from his proper life. He visited certain establishments in London or attended private house parties where discretion was assured. He chose his partners carefully—widows or actresses who welcomed his particular requirements and expected nothing more than generous compensation.

Never once had he crossed the boundary between those worlds. Never once had he risked bringing that shame home, or worse, inflicting his desires on an innocent lady.

Until now. His mother's words from when she'd pulled him aside after his announcement about marrying Alice rang in his ears.

"Miss Burton may be beneath our station," she had said, her voice low and urgent, "but she is still a gently bred lady. You must not subject her to your... particular requirements." Her fingers had dug into his sleeve. "Promise me, Richmond. Promise me you won't disgrace her as your father tried to disgrace me."

He had given his word, as he had a decade earlier. And he intended to keep it—which was precisely why Alice needed to go to Bramley Hall. Because twice now, he had nearly broken that promise. Twice, he had found his control slipping in her presence.

Taking another swallow of brandy, the liquid burned a path down his throat. What would his father say if he knew the truth? That Adam hadn't compromised Alice at all, but rather she had mistakenly targeted him in her scheme to trap Montgomery. Would he laugh? Be disappointed in his son's inability to properly seduce a woman?

Not that it mattered now. The wedding was in a week, and nothing could change that.

One week until Alice Burton became his wife. One week until he could send her to Bramley Hall and try to forget the way she had felt pressed against the library bookshelf, the scent of violets in her hair, the softness of her bottom lip beneath his thumb.