Wicked Deeds on a Winter Night

She beamed in approval. His mother had wanted him to find a wife and fill the nursery ever since he reached his majority. Over the last few years, she had been encouraging him to make his choice, more like a thorn in his side than a loving matron. He’d made her the happiest mother in society when he had announced his intention to settle down.

There was a rustle, and he glanced around in time to see her lady’s companion chewing furiously to get rid of whatever edible she had consumed. The lady quickly washed down the remains with a few healthy swallows of her tea. After setting the cup back in its saucer, she launched to her feet.

“My lord,” she said a bit breathlessly, dipping into an elegant curtsy.

The dark blue muslin dress she wore seemed a bit tight, and her breasts strained delightfully at the top. He snapped his eyes upward, appalled at the direction his thoughts had taken. This was the second time he’d had an inappropriate thought about his mother’s companion. The first had been a month ago, when he had come upon her on her knees in this very room, trying to reach for a button under the chaise. Her rounded ass had been temptation itself, and a visceral image of sinking his cock into her while she was in that very delectable position had blasted through his mind.

He had blamed his reaction on the fact he had been without a woman for several months. Oliver had suppressed the chaotic urges in his body and had departed without a

word. He had never been the type of man to seduce servants or dependents in his own household. No, that had been his father, who had tupped every chambermaid he could get his hands on, humiliating Oliver’s mother without regard for her honor and sensibilities.

“Mrs. Layton,” he said, a bit too icily, for in her widened eyes he spied confusion at his terseness. Directing his attention back to his mother, he asked, “Have you compiled the list of eligible ladies?”

“Oh, Oliver, I am so pleased you are taking such interest. Mrs. Layton and I were just discussing the best candidates,” she said, plucking a sheaf of paper from the small table and handing it to him.

More likely his mother had been chatting constantly, and Mrs. Layton had politely listened with that fascinating expression she wore of genuine interest and sympathy. He was glad his mother had hired her. She had been somewhat melancholy of late and had seemed to be sinking further away. He had encouraged her to be out more in society and hadn’t protested when she informed him the late Vicar Layton’s widow would take up residence at Belgrave Manor. Mrs. Layton had been an unexpected surprise. She seemed to be witty and charming and, to his mother’s delight, engaged her quite artfully on various topics. The last discussion he had overheard was on the mating habits of rabbits.

His lips twitched at the recollection. “I will leave you ladies to your needlework and peruse this list at leisure in the library.”

“Wonderful,” his mother said with a wide smile. “Dinner will be at eight. I will arrange for Lady Victoria to

be seated beside you. The earl’s daughter is quite a delight and a very accomplished painter. I thought that would give you something to talk about, given your common interest.”

He dipped his head in farewell then spun on his heel. As he neared the door he faltered, an awareness teasing his consciousness. He glanced back at Mrs. Layton, who had been watching him depart. She flushed but curiously did not look away.

“You are out of mourning, Mrs. Layton.” He was used to her in widow’s weeds. Black or dark gray had been her choice for the six months she had been within his household.

“I... Yes, it has been two years.”

Inexplicably, he lingered over her features. There was something else different about her. Ah...her hair. No longer did she wear the odious white cap that normally hid her hair. He’d seen wisps peeking from beneath the cap, but never could Oliver have imagined the glorious beauty she had suppressed.

She had the darkest, wine-colored red hair he had ever seen. God’s blood.

She graced him with a tentative smile. He stared at her mouth, unable to take his eyes off her sensual lips. By some thoroughly irritating twist of fate, his mother had hired the one woman he found himself unwillingly attracted to. A dependent in his home. And the undoubtedly prudish widow of a vicar. The lady would possibly descend into hysterics and quit his mother’s service had she any notion of the thoughts she inspired.

Biting back a savage curse, he gritted his teeth and left the drawing room before he said something foolish. Oliver made his way to the library and went over to the side mantel,

where he poured a generous splash of brandy into a glass. He took several swallows then sat in the chair closest to the fire. There were fifteen names on his mother’s list of eligible young ladies he could consider for courtship. A few he was familiar with from last season.

A name leaped from the page. Lady Penelope Dodge. Oliver had once spied her in a compromising situation with one of his closest friends, the Earl of Bainbridge. It had been a masquerade ball last season. Oliver had concealed

himself in the library when Bainbridge had entered with the young lady. He had been caught in a quandary, for to reveal himself would have caused the young lady great embarrassment and possibly started a scandal. So, he’d sat in the dark and listened as his friend coaxed Lady Penelope to her knees to suck his cock. From the dim light of the fireplace, Oliver had watched her innocent hunger as she’d taken the earl in her mouth and had felt that jerk in his gut for a similar pleasure.

Bainbridge had taken her that night on the carpeted floor, and Oliver had watched her deflowering, sipping his brandy. He knew his friend had made an offer for Lady Penelope’s hand a few days later, but he was rejected by the lady herself when society became aware of the precarious state of his finances. Many doors had been closed to the earl once it was discovered he did not have money even that of obtaining a wife. It seemed her loss of virtue had been inconsequential, for a husband without wealth wasn’t to be tolerated.

Oliver mentally struck her from the list. Not because she was no longer pure, but because he had no interest in a marriage that at the foundation was only a business

transaction—and, not inconsequentially, because Bainbridge was still in love with her. Oliver assessed the list, appreciating the selections his mother made. The rest of the ladies were all from fine families, with suitable dowries, impeccable bloodlines, and without any stain or scandal attached to their names. It was a great pity there was no indication of the young ladies’ characters. He wanted the opposite of what his parents had—there should be no cold silence at his dinner table, no stilted dances at balls, no weeping when he visited his wife’s bedchambers.

In fact, there would be no appointments to bed his marchioness, as many lords arranged. He wanted passion, the more spontaneous, the better, and they would be sharing a bedchamber. With his wife, they would have rousing debates and engage in inconsequential discourse. They would be playful and attentive with their children. He would make love with her, but he would also take her raw when his mood demanded it, and she would be with him every step of the way.

He closed his eyes with a sigh of defeat. He was setting himself up for profound disappointment. Could such a woman truly exist?

Perhaps not, but he would start his search with the authoress of the diary.

Tonight, he would step into the secret passages to encounter disappointment...or temptation.