“And if I do, he’ll bring his wife.” Lord Ruthcot shot her a concerned look. “They will be married before Yuletide. I can’t see that if Griffith extends an invitation to Deveril you will benefit.”
Jemima had already considered the complications. “I have learned that cunning is sometimes required when one wishes for something a great deal. Just humor me in this matter, and you will find out later how I might achieve my objective.” She left him pondering this. It was true; she didn’t know exactly how it would be done, but she certainly intended gaining entry to Griffith House before another Christmas had passed.
Lord Ruthcot was true to his word. Jemima hoped he didn’t imagine she would reward him, yet at the same time was dismayed that she felt more than a little excited at the prospect of seeing the man who’d so disappointed her.
Nothing could come of that, though, for while Deveril would be married by then, her lover’s interest didn’t appear to be waning, even upon the eve of his nuptials.
To highlight the point, he insisted on taking her, only two nights before the wedding, to see The Merry Wives of Windsor at Drury Lane. Jemima realized it wasn’t simply another night at the theater. He wanted to prove that he could remain as attentive to his mistress, even with a new wife.
“What of Lady Elizabeth?” Jemima demanded when he told her. “She’ll be distraught if she learns you’ve taken your mistress to the theater two nights before you make her your wife. It’s cruel.”
Deveril, reclining upon the bed without a stitch of clothing, idly toyed with Jemima’s hair following an energetic lovemaking session. “Lady Elizabeth doesn’t even know women like you exist.” He chuckled. “Nevertheless, she has chosen to remain in the country until the wedding. She’s a sweet little thing. Innocent. Pliable.” He tugged at the sheet Jemima had pulled up beneath her chin and reached for her breast, tenderly stroking the small nipple. “Like you were when I met you.”
Jemima didn’t answer. She stared with loathing at her long, lean flanks, exposed now and tangled up with his. “If we were married this wouldn’t be a sin,” she whispered.
“You don’t imagine I’ll change my mind and marry you at the last minute, I hope, my sweeting.” He trailed his hand along her throat and chucked her under the chin. His smile was fond and lazy. “I solemnly swear you’ll have much more fun in the bedroom than my Liz, and no shortage of finery and baubles to flaunt whenever you choose to do so. Believe me; you are far more to be envied than she.”
No less aggrieved, Jemima slipped her ankle out from where it was pinioned by his leg. Now she felt out of sorts at the new direction he’d taken the conversation. “Why should your wife be denied pleasure in the bedroom? If you’re making the point that the main difference between us is that I was already ruined when you met me, and unmarriageable, why can’t you initiate her into those same sensual pleasures as you did me?”
“Good lord, are you really asking me to ensure I pleasure my wife as thoroughly as I pleasure you? This isn’t a conversation I’d have thought to have with my sweet innocent Jemima. Or any mistress of mine.”
“I feel sorry for your wife.” Jemima edged away from his roaming hand and covered herself with the sheet as best she could. “I wish you weren’t taking a wife, and I wish I weren’t your mistress.”
“You wish you were my wife, of course you do, but you will have a great deal more fun and, quite possibly, the better arrangement. As I have told you, if not inferred, so many times; I have chosen you on the basis of my desire for you, and I have chosen Lady Elizabeth on her suitability to bear my children and run my home. You represent the pleasure in my life, and she represents duty. A man like me values his pleasures, as you know.”
“You would put duty ahead of pleasure if y
ou had to.”
“But I wouldn’t forget you and your dependence upon me. I wouldn’t discard you as other men discard their mistresses.”
Jemima gave a suitably grateful smile and decided it was wise to change the subject, for an edge of impatience had crept into Deveril’s tone.
“And so you are to be a guest of Lord Griffith over Yuletide?” she prompted, allowing him greater access to her breast as she shifted on the bed.
“My, but word travels. That is correct, my sweet.” He contoured her shoulders with a little more energy than she’d expected, and she drew back as he showed signs of being ready for another round.
“You will take Lady Elizabeth with you, of course.”
“Naturally, she will be my wife then.”
“And me?”
He looked regretful. “Of course I can’t take you if I take my wife, poppet.”
Jemima curled around so that her head was resting on his shoulder, and he now had access to her flanks. She had only this to trade on, after all—her nakedness and his insatiable desire for her. “Why not test your claim that your marriage won’t be an impediment to our ability to be together when and wherever we choose?” She made her voice low and husky, and gently placed his hand on her breast. The need to gain entry to Griffith House was too important to let scruples or disinclination get in the way.
“I don’t see how it will be possible.”
Jemima gave a little sigh that suggested a thousand possibilities, then whispered, “I thought you loved a challenge, Deveril.”
He chuckled, his hand sliding from her hips to her inner thighs. “You know me too well, my angel.”
And indeed she did. For she had planted the seed in his mind, and had every reason to believe that he’d need not much more prompting before he made plans for how it might be done. Jemima would have been all too ready to come up with her own ideas, but that might make him suspicious. No, let him come up with a plan, and she’d amend it as necessary.
But now it was time to prepare for the theater, and her heart was heavy. In two days, Deveril would be a married man. She hated the fact he wanted to flaunt his mistress at this sensitive time, but Deveril was rarely swayed.
So, as Jemima’s lavish dress and striking looks cut her a swathe through the throng of theatergoers, she hoped her smile was confident enough to satisfy her protector. Increasingly, he was finding fault with her demeanor, irritated when she tried to be less conspicuous.