What should she do?
He saw her indecision and continued his taunting. “Your little act of rashness put the ball back in my court, didn’t it, Miss Brightwell? I’m sure you don’t want your mother to hear of it. Now, kneel down.” He tugged at her wrist and forced her to her knees. “Ah, so you see there’s more to me than meets the eye. I hope you’re impressed.”
The reason for his sudden satisfaction was no doubt the horror on Fanny’s face as her gaze moved up his thighs to the tent-like structure growing at the juncture of his legs.
“Meet my Magnificent Member, Miss Brightwell.” His eyes gleamed. He seemed suddenly far from infirm. “As you can see, my Magnificent Member is in far better health than the rest of me. You and he are going to enjoy great sport together.”
Fanny tried to rise but he gripped her wrist tightly, ensuring she remained on her knees.
“In my coat pocket I have the special licence that will see us married tomorrow, my pretty.” He closed his eyes as if in rapture then raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Only one more night to wait, Miss Brightwell, and then you’ll be all mine.”
“Tomorrow? Please, Lord Slyther, that is too soon. I…have no wedding dress. I need to prepare.”
“The day after that, then—and that’s as long as I’m prepared to wait. The anticipation I feel…” He glanced down at his still bulging trousers and amended this to: “that we both feel, is almost too much to bear.”
Fanny was almost sick upon the spot.
“Tears, Miss Brighwell?” he enquired as he smoothed the silk over his crotch. “No time to get too carried away when there are appearances to be maintained, eh?” After an initial pained look while he straightened his breeches, his sigh was one of immense satisfaction as he regarded Fanny’s slumped shoulders. She covered her face with her hands to hide her distress and tried to stop her body from shaking.
“I am a kind master, Miss Brightwell,” he said, his tone fatherly as he patted her shoulder, “who shall govern you appropriately, as will be my duty as your new husband. Provided no whisper regarding unseemly conduct on your part ever comes to my ear, and no suspicions as regards your straying interest lodge in my brain, you shall have all the pretty clothes and indulgences you could wish for. Your mother will have a comfortable abode for the rest of her life and, in view of her willingness to please me as regards the terms of this marriage, her own carriage. I shall also bail out your wastrel brother, Bertram, for we can’t have him following in his father’s footsteps, can we? Your father owed a lot of money when he died, and it was just as well, some would say, that he chose the time and method of his death—else there were others prepared to help him along.”
She tried to block her ears to Lord Slyther’s chuckle but could not. It would haunt her. There was no way out. She was doomed and he spoke nothing but the truth when he insinuated there were no other contenders prepared to overlook the collective Brightwell failings.
He cupped her chin and forced her to look at him.
“So, Miss Brightwell, the day after tomorrow will be the happy day, eh? You can think of nothing to stand in the way of our happiness, I trust, after this very satisfying little discussion? No? Good. Then call your mother through, so we may impart the happy news.”
Wearily, unsmiling, she rose, but he stopped her as she had her hand upon the doorknob.
“Appearances, Miss Brightwell”—his voice was warning, his expression evil—“are everything. You will be my joyful bride and my constant wife.”
A green log in the fire hissed. Fanny forced her lips into the required smile, wondering how far it was possible to pretend joy when her soul was all but dead.
“Tomorrow you shall wear my ring—the Slyther ring—to Lord Quamby’s ball, where you shall have eyes only for me and my comfort. The morning following that, we shall be married.”
Fanny curtsied. “Yes, my Lord.”
“One other thing, Miss Brightwell…”
“Yes?”
“If I hear a word to suggest that your behaviour is anything but beyond reproach, and your heart and body are not wholly dedicated to me, then I shall cut off your mother’s pension and refuse all assistance to your siblings. You will discover I am not the kind and indulgent husband you thought you’d married. Is that understood?”
Fanny nodded as she felt the boldness of a lifetime drain from her. Lord Slyther held all the cards. She was powerless to resist. All she could hope for was that salvation would come before she was a dried-up prune of a creature with all her joy in life sucked from her.
Once more she curtsied, before she offered Lord Slyther the response required of a dispirited, subjugated bride-to-be.
Through constricted airways, she forced her words past the threatening tears, “Yes, my Lord.”
Chapter 3
Felix Linley, Lord Fenton, cast his roving eye over the gathering. Now that he was in the market for a wife, after a decade of idle dalliances, he’d never been more spoilt for choice.
And he’d never been more dissatisfied with what was on offer.
His companion, the undiscerning libertine George Bramley, was doing his best to acquaint Fenton with the dazzling debutantes new to society since Fenton’s return to England after two years abroad. The truth was that Fenton was too busy reliving his nocturnal adventure at Vauxhall Gardens to pay attention. He far preferred amorous intrigue to a roomful of eligible maidens parading their wares. Scowling at a Titian-haired miss whose smile faltered as she scuttled away, he realised he was comparing them all against a new standard—the exquisite ingénue he’d scooped up from under Alverley’s nose. As he watched the redhead’s return to the safety of her mama, his resolve hardened. Once he’d paid his respects to Lord Quamby this evening, he’d return to Vauxhall and see if the mysterious creature of the night was parading her far more delectable wares in one of the garden’s serpentine walks.
He was certain she was very new to the trade—though her lines had been very polished. “I am destined to marry a man I do not love.” Ha! What sort of credulous fool did she take him for? Nevertheless, he had been a fool not to have snared her when he had the chance. He might be in the market for a wife but enjoying the pleasures offered by an enthusiastic and diverting mistress was a far more enticing prospect.