Lady Lovett's Little Dilemma

“I came well prepared.” Her voice was a hurried whisper as she rolled over and reached for her reticule, retrieving from it a second French letter. “Now…” She rose to her feet and gripped the edge of the billiard table, turning her back to him and planting her legs wide apart. “I have the desire to feel your approach from quite a different angle, my darling. I believe it is possible, though had not thought so before.”

She felt his breath, hot and inflammatory on her neck, as he whispered, “Another of your fantasies you’ve not divulged to me until this moment?” His hands shimmied up her thighs as he raised her skirts for unfettered access and she gasped, as if experiencing it for the first time.

“I kept a tight rein on my fantasies, darling, when I thought of the consequences.” With a shudder she closed her eyes as she felt his hands cup her sex then the trickle of her own moisture slide between her legs as his fingers massaged the slick nub of her desire. Instantly, her anticipation was on a par with his. She sucked in a quick breath and managed to grind out, “Your old friend has tutored me in what every mother should tutor their daughter, if she wishes happiness for her… Oh, God,” she whispered urgently as he slid inside her, entering her from the rear before withdrawing in a series of even, regular strokes.

Until, at last, with a gasp of rapture, Cressida’s desire reached its pinnacle, her world blacked to a haze and her body convulsed in a series of uncontrollable shudders.

Justin held her tightly as his orgasm came on the crest of hers and together they crumpled to the floor, tight in each other’s embrace.

* * * *

They awoke with a start as they heard the first stirrings of the servants in the basement kitchen.

“Quickly!” Justin pulled Cressida to her feet, buttoning himself into his breeches, smoothing her tangled hair with his fingers. They ran up the back stairs to Cressida’s chamber where Cressida collapsed, laughing, onto the bed.

“Fugitives in our own home,” said Justin, sliding in beside her at her invitation, still fully clad, and cradling her in his arms. His smile was wry when she saw him gazing down at her.

Cressida closed her eyes and exhaled on a sigh, thinking of her long, emotional, eventful night. Justin was here by her side, where she needed him to be. She had his love and support and always would, now.

But there were others not as lucky as she. Others who’d helped her achieve such fulfilment. Madame Zirelli. Cressida owed her friend and Justin’s past mistress a huge debt of gratitude, and Cressida’s sense of justice was keen. She could not shirk her responsibility. Not when the means were so within her power.

At noon, when they’d both slept off the excesses of the previous night, Cressida raised herself on one elbow and smiled down at her husband as he stirred into wakefulness.

“Cressy.” He reached up his hand and stroked her cheek with his forefinger. Her heart hitched as she saw the softening of his expression and thrilled to his deeply sincere admission. “I must be the luckiest man alive.”

She thought she might cry. “A loving marriage is the greatest gift a woman can hope for in this life, Justin.” She tried to think of any other woman who was as happy as she, but could not. “I have you, and I realise how lucky I am in a world where so many women suffer such great unhappiness through husbands that neither love, want, nor appreciate them.”

He drew her down beside him and, stroking her face, whispered, “I’ve always wanted you, Cressy. From the moment I saw you, it was love at first sight. You were so beautiful, but it was more than that. I saw such sweetness in your expression. Such kindness. I wanted to make you mine and to look after you…so that you’d be safe and protected from the world. I had no idea that such careful protection would lead to such unhappiness.” His expression was so sincere, and his silent pleading for forgiveness so poignant she felt her heart shift a little.

“You are the best of husbands. You mustn’t blame yourself for what I could not and did not know. But now I have Madame Zirelli to thank for making it clear to me.”

He was silent, waiting for her to elaborate, and she went on, “Madame Zirelli explained so much that I needed to know, but her own sad story is a reminder that we women are completely at the mercy of forces beyond our control. Justin, what do you know of Mr Richard Pendleton?”

“Richard Pendleton?” Though his brow was creased as if he had no idea where such a question had sprung from, he continued to stroke her face, his answer careful and considered. “A diligent, if retiring, young man. May I ask why you wish to know?”

“Didn’t you once say you thought he was marked out for great things? He’s very clever, isn’t he?”

Justin rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling, frowning, as if he had not the slightest idea where Cressida’s questioning was leading, though he continued his gentle stroking as Cressida went on, “I believe you have influence in the direction of his career? If he’s so clever, why’s he working in some no-doubt dark and musty corner, living on a hundred a year, or something similar? Surely you’ve guessed why I’m asking you? It’s because Mr Pendleton is the man to whom Madeleine Hardwicke has lost her heart.”

A look of dawning realisation crossed his face but his answer was disappointing. “Connections count for more than talent, though of course talent will generally be recognised, particularly if a young man is forceful and persistent enough.”

Cressida rolled over on to her stomach and raised herself on one elbow. Idly, she stroked Justin’s chest. “Which clearly means Mr Pendleton is not. Justin, Miss Madeleine Hardwicke is, as you know, Madame Zirelli’s daughter, and she is to be married to Lord Slitherton next week.”

“A fine catch for a girl with such a meagre dowry.” Justin’s tone was cautious. He spoke only the truth.

“Her mother…that is, the woman who took on the role of mother…is dying and needs the comfort of seeing her daughter settled, for it is true that Miss Hardwicke cannot marry for love if there is no money to support them. But, Justin, Miss Hardwicke loves Mr Pendleton. I saw them together last year when she was presented and so was shocked when Catherine told me she was to marry a man nearly three times her age—” She felt indignation rise—“because he can support her and Mr Pendleton can’t. Don’t you see, Justin? You have the power to change that? You can pull strings, see that Mr Pendleton receives the recognition he deserves and consequently is assured of an expectation that will enable him to offer for Miss Hardwicke.”

The patience in Justin’s smile as he fiddled with a lock of Cressida’s hair did not have the ameliorating effect for which he obviously strove when he objected, “My dear, Miss Hardwicke is to marry in three days’ time. For all your good intentions, three days is not nearly long enough to effect the necessary steps to achieve your undoubtedly well-intentioned plan. Besides which, the girl can’t possibly renege at this late stage. Think of the scandal.”

Cressida understood her husband’s sentiment. She, herself, had at first not considered that Miss Hardwicke had an option when it was her family’s decision to see her marriage to Lord Slitherton, with all its obvious benefits, go ahead. Now she understood the importance of making a stand for the sake of happiness.

The tone of her objection, however, was mild. “Would you condemn this poor young woman to a life of disappointment when a judicious word in someone’s ear could see her as happy as…well, us?”

Justin sent her a look she’d never seen before—lust and calculation laced with a good dose of humour. With deliberate movements he raised himself, carefully straddled her and then, when he’d caged Cressida with his body and she could feel his hot, heavy erection pushing into her stomach, he lowered his head and whispered hotly into her neck, “After last night, Cressy, you might confidently say that I’d be willing to put myself out a great deal to advance Miss Hardwicke’s happiness, and the collective happiness of your entire sex.”

Chapter Ten

Some days later after a great deal of legwork—both in the bedroom and in the course of the duties that Justin had undertaken on Cressida’s behalf—Cressida stretched luxuriously, and regretfully, as she heard the chime of the late hour, and sighed. “I wish we could stay in bed all day but we have a wedding to attend.”