Eloisa James - Kiss Me Annabel

‘Don’t you dare pity me!’ she hissed. ‘The Earl of Mayne will do just fine. He’s not a limp Scotsman. I can guess why you travelled to London to find a bride! It’s because all my countrywomen knew that you had problems in the bedchamber, didn’t they? I’ve heard that sort of news travels fast.’

‘Thankfully, no,’ he said. But a sense of alarm was growing in his chest, and he grabbed her hand. ‘You can’t turn to Mayne; I met him last night.’

‘He wants me,’ she said, struggling to free herself. ‘He wants me, and you don’t, and that’s all there is to it.’

‘He’s too old for you.’

Her lip curled. ‘Mayne is in his early thirties. Since he was engaged to my own sister, I know all about him. And believe me, in all the pertinent facts, he’s in prime working order!’

‘He’s not old in years, in other things,’ Ewan said, knowing the truth about Mayne without hesitation. It was written on his face…a man didn’t reach thirty and above without leaving his scandals in his eyes. ‘Mayne’s a rakehell, a man who’s slept with far too many women. He’s tired.’

‘Ha!’ she said. ‘ Tired may be how you’d excuse yourself, but I assure you that Mayne has never disappointed a woman.’

‘And there’ve been so many of them.’

‘Which means it will be all the more pleasurable for me,’ she said defiantly. ‘If you don’t let go of me, I’m going to scream.’

‘In that case, you’ll have to marry me,’ he said, and finally the words were easy enough. This poor girl needed rescuing more than any waterlogged kitten he’d ever pulled from the millpond. She was in a desperate way. ‘Marry me, Imogen. Marry me.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll never marry again, so would you please let go of my hand?’

‘Not until you promise to consider marrying me.’

‘Absolutely not. Release me, if you please.’

‘I’ll release you if you come to my chambers at eleven o’clock tonight,’ he said.

Her eyebrows rose. ‘Have you changed your mind, then?’

‘A woman with such spirit is always worth a second thought,’ he said, hoping she would fall for that nonsense. Which she did. A more naive scrap of a girl he’d never met. Now the only question was whether he could keep her from doing herself some sort of injury to her soul from which she’d never recover.

‘I’ll come to your chambers, but I’ll never marry you,’ she said clearly.

He let go of her wrist. ‘I’m staying at Grillon’s Hotel. Is this your first tryst, Imogen?’ As if he didn’t know the answer to that.

She raised her chin. ‘Yes, it is.’

So he was as crude as he could be, to shock her into thinking about what she was doing. ‘ Affaires aren’t like marriages, you know. You needn’t bring a nightgown, because we’ll sleep naked, of course. And I do hope that your husband taught you how to pleasure a man.’

Colour crept into her white cheeks, but he was remorseless.

‘I’m fond of the coney’s kiss, if you catch my meaning, lass. Of course, a woman of the world, such as you are, won’t need any instruction in such matters.’

But she had more courage than he gave her credit for. ‘I don’t know everything about pleasuring a man, or perhaps I know nothing,’ she said.

He could have cried at the look in her eyes.

‘I’m willing to learn.’

‘Then say it: coney’s kiss.’ He bent toward her, knowing how large he was, deliberately looming over her. ‘Say it, why don’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Do you know what a coney is ?’

‘No!’

‘Then why won’t you say it? Go on: coney’s kiss. Say it.’ He shaded his voice with a dark erotic desire, giving her a liquorish smile, the kind the villain in a melodrama always gives to the poor serving maid. ‘ Coney’s kiss.’

She stared at him, all anger, confusion, and revulsion.

‘If you’re embarking on a life of ill repute, you’ll have to learn many such a phrase.’

She jumped away and flew up the slope, so fast that her slippers hardly touched the ground.

Had that worked or not? And if not, what the devil was he to do at eleven o’clock? A stupider idea he had never had.

What the devil was he to do?

The Herb Garden

Common wisdom had it that there were few things more disagreeable than coming face to face with a woman whom one has jilted.

But the Earl of Mayne had never felt that reluctance when it came to Tess Essex, now a happy Mrs Felton. In fact, he considered himself quite the injured party, given that he had traded in the shreds of his reputation after Felton told him to get out so he could marry Tess himself. Now everyone thought him a despicable rake, who had left a woman at the altar, whereas Felton was hailed as the knight who stepped in to save a lady’s reputation and future.

And considering that the Feltons were nauseatingly happy, he rather thought he should take credit for the match. In fact, it was amazing how he seemed to leave a trail of happily married women in his wake. First there was Countess Godwin – and he counted it quite a success that he could think of her without wincing, a full year later – and now there was Tess. Both of them were, by all accounts, blissfully happy, and never mind the fact that he was turning into a permanent bachelor.

Since the countess had rejected him, he hadn’t had even a simple intrigue. Nor a mistress. People didn’t quite realise it; sometimes he couldn’t believe it himself. At this point, he hadn’t been in a woman’s bed in a year, and given the apathetic state of his interest in the female sex, it was likely to be years more.

Tess smiled at him as he kissed the tips of her fingers, and that made him think about how well they would have got along as a married couple, if only his best friend hadn’t decided to take her away.

‘Feeling sorry for yourself again?’ she suggested sweetly.

‘I could have been a happy man,’ he grumbled.

She smiled at that and walked on, her fingers light on his arm. ‘I need to ask a favour.’

In his experience, when a married woman asks you for a favour, it’s often something that leads to pistols at dawn. Still…‘Has Felton been misbehaving?’ he asked with some surprise. It was positively unnerving to sit about with his old friend, the way that smile kept creeping onto his face.

‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘No, it’s about Imogen.’

‘I met her Scottish beau last night. Rafe was doing his best to persuade the man to marry elsewhere, but I gather Imogen has her own plans. What’s the matter, don’t you care for him?’

‘It’s not him that I’m worried about,’ Tess said. ‘She would do better with you.’

Mayne blinked. ‘With me ?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you talking about marriage or something other?’

‘Other,’ she said, just as calmly as if she were discussing raspberry syllabub.

He cleared his throat. ‘I’m not quite sure how you missed this pertinent fact, m’dear, but I’m not exactly a proper matron’s first choice. And, more to the point, your sister hasn’t chosen me for that honour.’

‘Yes, but you’re quite experienced in all that…’ She indicated that with a wave of her hand. ‘And Imogen –’

‘Does your husband have any idea you’re speaking to me on this matter?’

‘Of course not,’ she said tranquilly. ‘Lucius is much occupied with affairs of business.’

‘I think he would still be interested to know that you’re – you’re –’ But he couldn’t think of a polite way to phrase exactly what she was suggesting.

‘Let me be more clear,’ she said. ‘You haven’t had a mistress since the Countess Godwin returned to her husband, am I right?’