My Honourable Viscount - Lords of Reluctance Book 2

Chapter Eight

Then, the following Season her long-awaited wish came true. Beyond her wildest dreams, Peter had transported her into the realms of ecstasy, igniting a raging fire and intense need that even she did not realise she possessed. Over time, he had become a drug that she needed in constant supply. He was her snuff, her opium that was so addictive; her withdrawals would become painful physical manifestations if too much time elapsed between doses. She would not, she could not, let him go.

Smoothing her low-cut royal blue morning gown over her rounded hip as she walked, she briefly wondered at the doubtful wisdom of attending her lovers wedding. Obsession and curiosity, she knew, had drawn her out of her bed at such an ungodly hour, at a time when she was still usually preparing herself for the day. Beauty such as she possessed did not just happen naturally, especially now that she was aging at a rapid rate. Her skin was not as taut as it once was; her breasts had begun to head south, and her thighs and buttocks looked remarkably like orange peel. She had to work constantly at her looks to compete with the inevitable diamond of the first water that usually emerged at the beginning of each Season. She held a growing fear that one just might catch the viscount’s eye, but now, because of a turn of the cards, a little country mouse had caught him instead.

Jealousy had reigned while she witnessed Lord Markham exchanging vows with the little upstart, Miss Fulham. Beth was the one who should have been standing next to Peter, with her hands clasped in his, vowing to love, honour, and obey him until death did them part. It was her right; she had earned it. She was the one who loved him with all of her heart. Or at least as much heart as someone as selfish as she was could possibly muster.

Her first proper glimpse of the new Lady Markham startled her somewhat. She appeared older than she had thought. Perhaps four-and-twenty or five-and-twenty, certainly not in the first blush of youth, her plain brown hair and blue eyes were quite common in their appearance, and her ivory gown, whilst obviously made by an expert seamstress, she grudgingly conceded, did not even begin to compare with her own modish attire. Overall, Beth considered her quite plain and dowdy and not at all like the Incomparable that she feared.

Perhaps it would not be such a difficult matter for her to retain his loyalty after all, she thought. She may have lost her chance of wearing his ring, but with the proper incentive, she could persuade him to remain in her bed. Her overweening vanity refused to allow her to believe bedding an inexperienced wife favourably compared to making love to his mistress. However, there was still the trifling matter of his wretched code of honour to consider.

Sidling up to him where he stood half hidden behind a pillar, she placed a gentle hand on the sleeve of his coat. “Peter,” she said in a sultry voice.

Lord Markham swung around at the sound of her voice, his eyes greedily drinking in the seductive pose Lady Darnley had employed just for him. Unprepared for her appearance, he could not contain his own body’s reaction to her. His eyes darkened with desire and his groin tightened painfully within the confines of his tight, black pantaloons. “Lady Darnley,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. It would not do to lust after ones mistress at ones wedding breakfast. “You are in fine looks this morning.”

“Thank you, my love,” she purred, stepping closer to him so that no one else would overhear her words. She offered her hand, and he could not resist raising it his lips.

The movement presented an unobstructed view down her low-cut gown. He bit back a groan as the image of her naked, writhing body during their last encounter assailed him. What was it about the woman that merely being in her presence made the blood rush from his head and pool in a completely unrelated part of his anatomy?

Beth smiled. “This colour does become me, as you have so often pointed out. I rarely wear any other, particularly those hues generally worn by debutantes. I suppose there is one good thing to come out of becoming a matron; one can avoid wearing white and those insipid pastel shades. They can wash out the wearer, do you not agree?”