Tempting A Marquess (A Steamy Regency Romance Book 4) Read online

  "Pardon me, monsieur," she gasped when she saw a couple in amorous embrace upon the bed. They were, unsurprisingly, startled to see her.

  "I, er, lost my way," Mildred explained as she made for the chamber doors.

  “You are more than welcome to watch," the man said.

  Mildred felt her face burn. “A gracious invitation, sir, but I must return to the assembly room."

  She hustled out of the room and down the hall. She could not recall a more embarrassing scene, though discovering her cousin during dinner was more upsetting. What an insufferable man he was. He had never before shown any interest in her. Why did he choose now to meddle? And how was she going to rid herself of his intrusion?

  Hoping that she would not cross his path, she hurried back to the assembly room. She would not be surprised if Lord Devon had forsaken her and chosen another, but she had to find out. She opened the doors to the assembly room, only to find it empty. The pairings must have been completed. Perhaps Lord Devon had gone off with Miss Hollingsworth.

  Disappointment welled in her bosom. She had truly thought Lord Devon might choose her for the night. If he had, the château would've surpassed all expectation. She would not have been surprised if she had gone unselected. Thus, the fact that she was alone was something she had been prepared for, but it was not as easy to bear once her hopes had been raised. Now all hope was dashed, thanks to her cousin.

  Or perhaps he was right that no one would have chosen her. Perhaps Lord Devon was merely being nice to her. When presented with the chance to be with the likes of Miss Hollingsworth, what man of sense would choose Mildred Abbott?

  With a sigh, she sat down on the settee and wondered what she should do with herself. Should she return to the room she had left a moment ago and accept the man's invitation to watch? Could she be so bold? Why not?

  But what if Alastair objected? Well, it was not his place to dictate what she could or could not do. He might think it because he was providing her dowry. Nevertheless, it was not her place to be ungrateful.

  Regardless, she had not come to the château to twiddle her thumbs. She rose to her feet and looked about. If Alastair found her, he would lock her in her chambers once more, and she had no wish to go to bed just yet. Leaving the assembly room, she made her way down the corridor, away from the stairs that led to her chambers.

  She gasped when she passed by a set of double doors that opened to an expansive room full of art. From the threshold, she marveled at the volume of paintings, ceramics, tapestries, castings, sculptures and lithograph. All with themes and subjects were intended to titillate. Entering further, Mildred first examined the more benign oi paintings of a woman naked but for a sheet draped over her legs, another of a woman bathing in a pond, and the third of a naked man stretched across the grass in a pastoral setting. Mildred moved onto the tapestries on the next wall. The tapestries did not show the human form in as realistic detail as the oil paintings, but the nature of the subjects were much more naughty as they depicted various men and women, some with clothing, some without, in obvious congress. Turning about, she beheld a collection of Greek pottery. Here the wantonness deepened. One plate appeared to show two women caressing one another. The vase beside the plate showed two men in similar passions.

  "Oh, my," Mildred said when her gaze went beyond the pottery to a sculpture of a naked man, his form as chiseled as that of Michelangelo's David, with one notable difference: the male appendage stood straight and tall. Approaching the sculpture, she examined the erection. The stableboy she had tumbled had not possessed a member half the size of the one upon the statue Was the latter an exaggeration or could a man possibly have an erection of such thickness and length?

  A warmth had begun stirring in the lower parts of her body, and the heat and wonder only grew as she observed more wickedness in a set of lithographs. In one, the couple was dressed in the garments of the previous century, but the voluminous skirts did not hamper the woman's ability to display her most private parts. The man, in full dress, also displayed his wares; it pointed at moss loss of hair between her thighs. In the second lithograph, the man stood. The woman was upon her knees and appeared to be in the act of taking his member into her mouth. Mildred felt her mind reeling. For what purpose would a woman and man engage in such an act? The stableboy had asked her to kiss his “sword,” as he had called it. She had done so—quickly—for it had seemed unnatural, uncouth, bawdy… and lascivious.

  Unsettled by the conflicting emotions that the art had elicited within her, Mildred took a step back. She bumped into the table behind her. It teetered, and the bronze figurines upon it fell to the rug below. Thankfully, nothing was broken. She picked up the figure of a prone and naked man and the figure of a prone and naked woman. She supposed they must have been lying in congress. She put the male figure upon the table and the woman atop it, but they did not appear to fit properly. She placed the woman below and the man on top. Still the positioning looked awkward. She tried adjusting the figures.

  "You have replaced them incorrectly."

  Startled, she dropped one of the figures.

  Alastair stood at the threshold, his arms crossed, his lips in a frown.

  She bent down and struck the back of her head on the underside of the table in her attempt to retrieve the figure. She tried placing the female figure atop the male figure again.

  Alastair shook his head.

  Squaring her shoulders, she met her cousin’s gaze and waited in silence until he strode over, took the female figure, rotated the body and placed it atop the male figure. Now the figures sat atop the table securely and the limbs of both figures did not appear at incongruous angles.

  But surely this could not be how th artist intended the figures to fit? For the woman’s crotch was upon the man’s head, and her face was buried upon his…

  Heat colored her cheeks. At that, Alastair said, “We should return to your chambers.”

  “There is no need for you to make me a prisoner, sir. I have lost what chance I might have had with Lord Devon, slim though my prospects might have been. You need no longer worry that I might fall into the wrong hands.”

  She made no mention of the invitation from the couple she had stumbled across.

  Alastair took her by the elbow. “I cannot trust you to your own devices. Climbing balconies in the dark—while inebriated—is hardly prudent activity.”

  She yanked her arm from him. “If you had not put me in so desperate a situation, I never would have considered it.”

  “All this is my doing?”

  “I certainly did not ask to be so rudely handled by you. Perhaps if you had granted my request of the dowry, neither one of us would be in such an unsatisfactory situation.”

  She spoke unfairly, but she was too cross at him to mind.

  “You may satisfy yourself that, after tonight, I shall never concern myself with you again.”

  “Thank God!”

  He stared at her, and she wondered at the wisdom of her boldness when she saw a vein at this temple throb.

  “Stop behaving like a child, Millie.”

  He reached once more for her, but she avoided him.

  “I am merely exploring the château. What objection could you have to that?”

  “I object to what you will encounter. There are sights here that are not for the delicate—”

  “Sights such as this?” She gestured to the room. “They do not frighten me. They intrigue me.”

  “Because you have little experience with any of this.”

  “And that is precisely why I have come to Chateau Follet!”

  A muscle rippled along his jaw.

  “My constitution is not as slight as you would presume.”

  “Nevertheless.” He started dragging her toward the doors. "There is far more depravity here than you could ever imagine."

  "You know not what I have imagined."

  He paused to look at her but then continued to pull her toward the exit.

  "I p
rotest!" she cried. "If I were Miss Hollingsworth, you would not treat me in such a brutish manner."

  "Indeed, and you are not Miss Hollingsworth, as you say."

  She resisted his tugging. “You think me a simpleton, naïve and innocent. You insist on this characterization of me, but it is not the truth. I have engaged far more than you know, than I have divulged."

  "I doubt that what you have done compares to what occurs here at the château. What you fancy might be curious goings-on here are far more daunting when experienced in the flesh."

  She attempted to free her arm from his tight grasp. "But I wish to experience it! All of it!"

  “All?”

  She looked to the bronze figures upon the table. “Yes, all.”

  " You wish to take a man’s member into your mouth?"

  "I have tasted of it before."

  He stopped. "I don't believe you."

  "I most certainly have. You see, there is a side of me you do not know. No one knows save Lady Katherine. She came upon me once with the stablehand. She saw my prurience. Thankfully, she did not condemn me for it. Everyone else sees me as this plain, boring spinster-in-the-making. But there is more to me than meets the eye. It is not a part of me I exalt. Till Lady Katherine had come upon me, I was much ashamed of these wayward desires, but they have strength unto themselves. And this is my last chance to explore them, to better understand them. You know not how relieved I was to think that perhaps I am not such the rare deviant. And now that I am to wed Haversham, I shall never be able to satiate this fiery thirst! This was my last and only chance."

  Her bottom lip trembled, and tears seemed to come from nowhere, threatening to spill profusely from her eyes. She looked away, not wanting Alastair to see the glisten in her eyes. It was enough that she had bared her soul to him. Merciful heavens. She had said a great many things to him just now. What precisely had she said?

  Silence permeated the air between them as she attempted to contain the trembling that had taken hold of her.

  “Then let us proceed with this wish of yours.”

  She looked at him, perplexed. “Pardon?”

  “This last chance of yours. Let us make the most of it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  TO HIS CONSTERNATION, his heart was not as black and impenetrable as Alastair would have preferred, and Millie’s words had struck an oddly tender part. He had not discovered the darker side of his desires in the same manner as she. He had begun to find congress with the regular strumpet or opera dancer a trifle uninspiring. After Katherine had introduced him to Château Follet, a new realm of indulgence had opened to him.

  He knew not what he would have thought of himself if he had harbored such inclinations before his introduction to Château Follet. He doubted he would have been as critical of himself as Millie was of herself, but hers was a superior character. He had sensed it, and though this new part of her was a shock to him, he still stood by his initial assessment of her qualities.

  He would never have suspected her capable of a bold prurience, but her response to this discovery of herself was quite what he would have expected. Here was an upstanding young woman who attempted to live up to the expectation of family and society. These lustful and naughty proclivities must have come as quite the horror to her, and were he a man better skilled with words, he would have assured her there was naught to be ashamed of. But finer speech did not come readily to him.

  So he kissed her.

  Her lips were soft beneath his. He held the side of her head as he moved over her mouth. At first, perhaps too startled, she did not move. She put a hand to his wrist but did not pull him away. He brushed his lips over hers several times before lifting his head to view her.

  Her eyes, glistening with tears and the remnants of the port, were wide. He had never before taken note of the soft brown coloring in her eyes. It was quite a lovely hue. And though the flush across her nose was perhaps not so complimentary, the redness would dissipate when she was done weeping.

  He groaned to himself. He was going to regret this. Greatly. But for him to retreat now would deal an unnecessary blow. The night had been difficult enough for her.

  “What—what do you mean?” she asked, quivering. Her eyes possessed the same glassy brightness that most of her sex had after a kiss.

  “You’ve a wish to indulge in the offerings of Château Follet, do you not?”

  “Y-Yes.”

  “We are both of us without partners.”

  She continued to stare at him rather stupidly.

  He sighed. “As I do not trust anyone with your honor, I will assume your introduction to Château Follet myself.”

  She was silent.

  “Of course, if you would rather not…” He half hoped she would balk and force him to rescind his offer, but she did not, and remained in thought.

  “As we are cousins,” he added.

  “Not by blood,” she said, lowering her eyes, her hand still upon his wrist.

  Hell and damnation. He could not recall a more absurd attempt than what he had just engaged. But Millie might yet come to her senses. The port would wear off…

  She looked up at him. “It is a strange offer, but you are both gracious and kind, Alastair.”

  Her countenance had brightened, and he was pleased to see it. He returned a wry smile. The adjectives of “gracious and kind” had not been applied to him before—not by the intelligent and reasonable. Relief waved over him. She had come to her senses.

  “I am sorry your evening was not what you had wished,” he said.

  “But, thanks to you, it may be salvaged in part.”

  He blinked.

  “Did I mistake your offer?” she asked when he said nothing.

  “I thought you meant to decline it.”

  “No! I meant to accept it. Unless…you did not mean what you said?”

  “Not at all,” he replied gruffly. “I merely thought you had perhaps found it too awkward a proposition.”

  “It seems you find it awkward, my lord.” She withdrew her hand from him. “You need not worry, Alastair. I will not compel you. I know I am not the most comely of maids.”

  A stronger oath went through him. He grabbed her and crushed her to him. She emitted half a yelp before his mouth descended upon hers, his lips harshly roving over hers. His hand went into her coiffure, yanking her head back by the hair.

  “If we are to proceed, I will have none of your impudence,” he growled. “You will abide by all that I say. Fail me and the evening shall be at an end.”

  She nodded.

  He shook his head. A goddamn stablehand.

  Still hoping that time would fade her intoxication, and hence her fearlessness, he said, “First, let us first finish your survey of the art.”

  They came to a set of engravings under the title De omnibus Veneris Schematibus.

  "What are these?" she asked.

  He translated the Latin for her. "The Sixteen Pleasures. These are recreations. The original edition was destroyed by the Catholic Church."

  "Who was the creator of the original?"

  “Marcantonio Raimondi, who supposedly based his images upon the paintings of Giuilio Romano.”

  "And here I thought you had little affinity for anything beyond cards and horseflesh."

  "When I was at Oxford, a number of fellows attempted a printing of the engravings along with Aretino's sonnets. Both made quite the round amongst the students till the dean discovered them and threatened expulsion of anyone caught with the scandalous material."

  Mildred studied the first engraving, Paris et Oenone, depicting the Grecian couple in carnal embrace beneath a tree. Lying with her back against the tree, Oenone had one leg between the legs of Paris and her other wrapped about his hip. The second engraving, Angelique et Medor, drew even closer study from Mildred. Set against a woodland background, Medor, naked, lay upon the ground, while Angelique, also naked, attempted to sit atop him, her hand between her legs holding his member to guide it int
o her.

  “Are they from Greek mythology?” Mildred asked, her voice husky.

  “They are characters from the Italian epic Orlando Furioso by Ludovico Ariosto,” Andre answered.

  "I do not know it."

  “Angelica was an Asian princess at the court of Charlemagne. She fell in love with the Saracen knight Medoro, and eloped with him to China.”

  "Is this position of theirs comfortable?"

  Andre supposed the port lent her courage or she would not possess such ease in asking such a bold question of him.

  "You would have to ask them," he deflected. This was not the sort of conversation he had ever imagined having with his cousin.

  She wrinkled her nose at his response. "Have you ever performed this position?"

  He started and began to think twice about evading her questions, lest she make him pay with more audacious queries.

  “Have you?” she prompted.

  He stared at her. He saw that she intended no impudence for curiosity sparkled in her eyes. He answered, “Yes.”

  “And was it uncomfortable?”

  “Not for me.”

  “And what of the woman?”

  He tugged at his cravat for it grew warm about his neck. “I have heard no complaints before.”

  She turned to look once more at the engraving, and he was glad to have her probing eyes off him.

  “Is it enjoyable?”

  Perhaps, if she intended to have a great many questions of this nature, it was not wise to continue their survey of the art.

  “Yes,” he replied, hoping she would not require elaboration.

  “For both parties?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you be certain of hers?”

  “I am.”

  “But how?”

  He rubbed his temples. “From her cries of pleasure. In fact, it is quite a desirable position for the woman if her legs possess the stamina.”