Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin 1)

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Luncheon was an interesting affair. They ate ‘round a table already laid for them in the center of the circular rotunda, its elevated position affording them a glorious view of the lake and far distant fields surrounding the Grange, with the boathouse and beech forest a short distance across the glittering water.

After lunch, they rowed back to the jetty, which extended in front of the boathouse, and while the others amused themselves Sybil relaxed in a cane chair Stephen had positioned near the shore. As she watched the servants tidy away their recent meal, transporting the empty plates into the second boat still moored at the base of the rotunda, she could hear every word of the young people, who pretended to fish from the jetty. Edgar considered himself an expert on the sport and he graciously assisted Hetty and Araminta with their lines.

Even from a distance he looked ridiculous as he officiously demonstrated the most rudimentary process, taking every opportunity to get close to Araminta. Once, Sybil caught a glimpse of Araminta’s face as his arm brushed the length of hers. A spasm of the utmost distaste marred her pretty features as she turned away so he could not see. Clearly her aversion ran deep, which Sybil could well understand. The more she observed her nephew the more she disliked him.

I mustn’t think so badly of him, she thought. Nor, she thought, of Araminta, whose behavior hardly reflected well on her. Perhaps in her own naïve way, she too was acting for the greater good of the estate. Perhaps it wasn’t all motivated by self-interest.

She heard Edgar remonstrate with his youngest cousin. “No, no, Hetty, you mustn’t jiggle it around so much. You’ll scare the fish. You need to entice them.” He slid his eyes across to Araminta and his hand brushed across hers as he took Hetty’s stick in demonstration. “You must learn the art of subtlety, Hetty. Araminta is the queen of subtlety, eh, coz?”

Araminta looked a little startled at this before her smile took on the usual cloying cheerfulness, entirely forced, which she reserved for Edgar’s inane remarks.

“Araminta knows exactly what she wants and what’s good for her but does she show it? Oh no. Ladies who can demonstrate subtlety will get further in life. You wear your heart on your sleeve, Hetty, but you must learn the art of subtlety. None of this jiggling about trying to get instant results. It don’t work, you know, old girl.”

By now Sybil’s maternal instincts were on full alert. She bent forward, poised between giving Edgar a well-targeted setdown but also wanting to know how her girls responded.

Araminta’s cool, “Edgar’s right, dear,” was not what she wanted to hear though it was sadly predictable. Hetty’s trembling lip and blanching of color was, however, like a red rag to a bull.

Stephen, just returning from a solitary ramble in the woods, heard the end of this exchange. He put out an arm to stop Sybil from launching forward to intervene.

“Allow me, Lady Partington.” He arched an eyebrow. “Edgar has just stymied my grand opportunities for the station in life to which I’d aspired but he lacks the charm I have with the ladies, I think you’ll agree.”

“You think highly of yourself, Stephen, my love,” she murmured. “However I give you leave to turn on the charm for my daughters. I trust you provided I can see you.”

He’d already taken a step forward. At this he swung round, his eyes dark. “Do you really think I might abuse my position should my charm win over hearts?” He lowered his head, gripping both arms of the chair for support as he put his face close to hers. “Do you really think me so careless of the feelings of others that as long as I am pleasured and gratified they don’t matter?”

His words found their mark. She felt her chest caving in as her breath left her in a whoosh. She opened her mouth to speak but had to try several times before the words came. “I’m sorry, Stephen.” She cupped his face in an entreaty for forgiveness. “I spoke carelessly. I did not mean to insinuate I don’t trust you. For I do. It’s just—”

“Just what?” He straightened, clearly not prepared to let it go.

Desperation warred within her. She struggled to answer. “You’re a handsome young man with youth and virility in your favor and natural urges for beautiful women to love and admire you.” Sybil shrugged, palms outward as she appealed to him for understanding. “You have an old woman to admire you. One with two fresh young daughters, the eldest of whom is clearly in love with you and who turns every head whenever she walks into a room.”

“Hetty is sweet but as you know completely no threat to you, Lady Partington, and Araminta, while she is one of the most exquisite creatures I’ll admit I’ve ever met, is also the most designing debutante I’ve ever come across and I consider myself to have had a lucky escape. You, on the other hand, Lady Partington, are in a completely different league. You’re a grown woman with nothing missing. You have wisdom and beauty and kindness, a potent combination.” He leaned over her and for a moment Sybil thought he was going to risk the unthinkable: a kiss when they were not ten yards from the other young people. Though whether this was as unthinkable as what they’d just engaged in was a moot point.

Then he rose to his full height, his indignation not fully erased. “I might be a young man aware of his attraction and equally attracted to attractive women but please credit me with integrity.”

Turning on his heel, he marched down the river bank, clearing his voice so that the girls raised their faces in welcome. Edgar was not so forthcoming.

“Hetty, if fishing is not as exciting as Edgar and Araminta clearly find it, perhaps you’d like to walk with me along the riverbank?” He enjoyed the pink rush to her cheeks and the way she held her hands together to stop them trembling. Yes, he did have a way with the ladies, even when he had no prospects with which to entice them. At least he could be assured he was desired for his natural assets rather than his pocketbook, however the thought of what he was going to do when the week was over was depressing at best.

And although he managed to appear lighthearted he was still wounded by Lady Partington’s words. He was not the base Johnny-take-all she had suggested though he had enough understanding to accept that a woman unsure of herself was far more likely to strike out like that.

With exaggerated gallantry he offered Hetty his arm. “Let us t

iptoe through the daffodils—or find some equally pleasurable equivalent,” he said, causing her to titter and, he was rather pleased to notice, Araminta to twist her neck around with a look of unmistakable envy.

Edgar grumbled that she must pay attention and Lady Partington smiled with such genuine pleasure that Stephen felt ridiculously gratified.

Chapter Nine

The next two days passed in a rapturous blur of lust and rutting. Lady Partington had risen to the challenge in seeking out novelty and he’d risen to the challenge with her. In the butler’s pantry while ostensibly seeking a particular vintage when the servants were at church, Stephen had taken her from behind. In the tower room, while the young people were playing croquet, Sybil had waved to them while Stephen, lying on the floor, had wickedly pleasured her before pulling her down and impaling her upon his never-flagging member.

She was as insatiable as he and he gloried in her abandonment and in her sweet, moist, pliant body. Her face haunted his dreams, taking precedence over all the women he’d ever known, including of course that jade Lady Julia, with whom he’d fancied himself passionately in love for five minutes. He wasn’t sure how he’d regard her when she and her husband attended Lord and Lady Partington’s house party at the Grange in a few days’ time.

No, Lady Partington was the most sensuous, beguiling, intriguing piece of womanhood he’d met in his twenty-four years and he didn’t want to think about when it ended. His life beyond the following Sunday was a lonely void.

“My Sybil.” In the beech wood he whispered her name, dropping her title only now when he found himself alone.