Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

“George Bramley!” She gasped the name, fury rising within her like trapped steam about to explode.

Lord Slyther gave a grunt of satisfaction. “I’m glad his name immediately came to mind, for I’d like to think there were no others competing for the role of rejected suitor. Ah, but, Miss Brightwell, your misfortune is that you have miscalculated, and my fortune is that it gives me all the bargaining power in the world.”

Her already great horror was compounded as she felt his hand upon her neck, gently caressing her skin. Frozen, unable to move as she accepted the truth of his assessment, she trembled as she tried to assimilate his words. Until last night, she had conducted herself with all the decorum required by a chaste innocent, hopeful of contracting a suitable marriage. True, she wasn’t decorous by nature, but only the gleam in her eye when a handsome gentleman showed interest would give her away, surely? Not her actions. Her mother had spent her lifetime trying to subdue that reckless, adventurous streak Fanny had inherited from her ill-fated father and, until last night, Fanny could not have been accused of anything that would compromise her reputation.

“It is true, my lord, that I accompanied Lord Alverley to Vauxhall, alone, in masquerade,” she whispered, “but my virtue is unblemished.”

“Surely the boy tried to kiss you.” In the firelight she saw Lord Slyther’s stained teeth bared with prurient interest before he burst out laughing. “You didn’t enjoy it, eh? Well, that’s good, because as your future husband it’s my job to show you how to kiss. Now stand up, Miss Brightwell, if you please, and face me.”

Fanny rose, silent while her mind whirled at this new and dreadful situation. Her mother was in the next room with Antoinette. When Fanny emerged with Lord Slyther to announce the news of their engagement, Lady Brightwell would clasp Fanny tenderly to her bosom in perhaps the only gesture of genuine pleasure she’d ever extend towards her eldest daughter—the daughter upon whom she was pinning all her hopes. All the family’s hopes, Fanny amended silently. Lady Brightwell had made this brutally clear only last night. If neither Fanny nor Antoinette married well by the end of the season the Brightwell family would slide into worse than simply genteel poverty.

If Fanny was not prepared to sacrifice herself to this horror, there would be no more rubbing shoulders with the haut ton. No, she’d be rubbing the chilblains of some crotchety old woman to whom she’d be paid companion, while Antoinette tried to teach infants how to count when she could barely count to a hundred herself and their mother lived out her days beholden to her detested cousin, having never forgiven Fanny for failing in her duty.

“Show me your ankles.”

Fanny swallowed down her surprised outrage, only raising the skirts of her cerulean blue lutestring gown when he repeated the command in a less cajoling tone.

He relaxed deeper into his chair with a sigh. “Such prettily turned little ankles, Miss Brightwell.” He patted his heart. “Indeed, you are going to bring me much pleasure in my dotage. Now let me feel your ankle, if you please. Raise your leg upon the footstool so I may bend forward and caress your pretty little limb.”

Fanny shook her head while trying not to cry. Never had she been so demeaned in all her life. “With all due respect, my Lord, I committed no sin greater than conversing alone with Lord Alverley.”

“And kissing him.”

“One kiss—”

“Your reputation is besmirched, Miss Brightwell, and only I will be prepared to overlook it once it becomes public knowledge. Now, if you please, my dear, raise your little ankle over the arm of my chair so I may stroke it for you while we discuss the terms of this marriage you’re in no position to refuse.”

This was too much. Pushing back her shoulders, Fanny stared him in the eye and breathed out on a hiss, “I will not.”

He laughed, then raised his fat, bejewelled fingers and waggled them at her. “Well, you can play the coy maiden with me now but once we are married…”

It was true. Once they were married he could do whatever he wished to her. She’d be his property.

Dear Lord, what could she do to save herself? Lord Slyther’s loathsome touch put him in the league of some wart-ridden toad, crawling, fat and oily to the touch.

“You go too far, sir,” she said, her voice shaking. “I wish to leave, now.”

Lord Slyther gripped her arm to stop her as she turned and, as if reading her thoughts, said between laboured breaths, “If you call your mother there will be no wedding and your peccadilloes, Miss Brightwell, will be all over town.” He pulled her onto his lap. “Now, let me press a kiss to that adorable point just behind your elbow. Yes, you’ll have to move closer so I can reach it better. Such sweet flesh.” He breathed in after the kiss, Fanny having failed to wriggle away in time.

She was surprised at the surprising strength of his grip. “So you’ve already determined the terms of our marriage with my mother?” She shut her eyes as Lord Slyther moved his face forward, bracing for the wetness of his lips against her own then relaxing with a sigh of relief when instead he responded with a satisfied chuckle before answering her question. “At great length, Miss Brightwell. Indeed, she was most forthcoming, offering me first your younger sister, Antoinette, whom she described as much more manageable.” He began to stroke her arm. “Less likely to cause me problems. I told her I had eyes only for you. Now raise your chin so I can see your face. That’s right, yes…and just what I’d hoped to see. Fear. Innocent creature though you are now, I intend to keep you true to your adoring and—as long as you play your cards right—indulgent husband.”

Fanny was determined not to him see her cry. She was helpless. Her mother would not come at her screams, she knew that, for her mother had all but sold her to this loathsome creature.

“I also relish the idea of keeping such a bold and beautiful creature as you in check, my dearest Miss Brightwell. Now, raise your skirts a little. I want to satisfy myself that your lovely limbs and wondrous bosom are as soft and well-formed as in my fevered imaginings. No, do not be afraid, Miss Brightwell. I plan to keep some surprises on hold. No doubt you wish to build up your anticipation for our wedding night as much as I do. For now, I wish merely to caress those magnificent mounds of creamy flesh while we discuss some of my stipulations as regards our happy union.”

“No, my lord.” Fanny scrambled to get away but he snatched at her hand and jerked her back to him so that she landed with a thud across his thighs.

Breathing heavily, her mind screamed out at her lack of options. Escape was not possible. Even for one as bold and clever as she, there was nowhere to turn. Her mother would cast her out, meaning that, without protection, Fanny would have to resort to selling her body for a few shillings—though the whole business of what that was all about was still clouded in obscurity. However, much as she abhorred the idea, common sense told her she was still better off selling herself—for a better price—to Lord Slyther.

“If you please, my Lord, I would request that you keep your hands to yourself until we are married.”

With a grunt of laughter, he obediently dropped his hands and made no move to detain her as she rose. “Your final request is granted, Miss Brightwell. Like a good little debutante you know how to behave, but when you are my wife you will know who is master. When we are married, I shall enjoy coaxing from you a little of the fire and passion I know lurks just below the surface. I saw it in your knowing eyes the first time we met, my dear

, and so was disappointed you saw fit to take such a gamble and cast a lure at that milksop Alverley when you could have had me three months ago.”

“Please, I would like to return to my mother, now.” She sounded as defeated as she felt.

“Would you now? Well, not before you rub my poor swollen legs. Your mother assured me you were an excellent nurse.” Encased in gold pantaloons, both his legs rested on the footstool she’d earlier vacated. “Kneel down,” he ordered.