Em Brown

Force My Hand

A Ravenous Romance™ Once Upon a Time™ Original Publication

A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication
www.ravenousromance.com

Force My Hand

Copyright © 2009 by Em Brown

Ravenous Romance™
100 Cummings Center
Suite 125G
Beverly, MA 01915

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

ISBN-13: 978–1–60777–089–3

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

No one noticed the gentleman sitting in a dark corner of Mrs. Tillinghast’s modest card room. If anyone had, he or she would have immediately discerned he was a man of distinction, possibly a member of the ton. His attire was simple and elegant, his cravat sharply tied, his black leather boots polished to perfection. On his right hand, he wore a signet bearing the seal of his title, the Baron Broadmoor.

Upon closer inspection, one might discover the edition of The Times Radcliff Barrington held before him and pretended to read was two days old. Why he read the paper instead of participating in the revelry at the card tables was its own mystery. No one came to Mrs. Tillinghast’s gaming house to read. They came for three distinct reasons: friendly tables, surprisingly good Burgundy, and a young woman named Miss Darcy Sherwood.

That wicked harlot.

Somewhere in the room a clock chimed the midnight hour. The wine, which had flowed freely for hours, deafened the revelers to everything but the merriment surrounding them. From the free manner in which the men and women interacted—one woman seemed to have her ass permanently affixed to the lap of her beau, while another boasted a décolletage so low her nipples peered above its lace trim—the Baron wondered that the gaming house might not be better deemed a brothel.

Radcliff Barrington—or Broadmoor, as he was known by his peers—did not often escape notice. He had an imposing appearance, partly due to impeccable posture which led people to believe he was taller than he was. His dark hair waved slightly above an impressive brow and softened the hardened look he wore whenever he clenched his square jaw. Though he had 36 years to his name, his eyes had the distant look of one much older. Broadmoor had assumed the leadership of his family at the tender age of 22 when his father, the third Baron Broadmoor, passed away.

The only person to eventually take notice of Radcliff was a flaxen-haired beauty; but after providing a curt answer to her greeting without so much as setting down his paper, he was rewarded with an indignant snort and returned to his solitude. He rubbed his temple while recalling the morning that led him to cancel his hunting trip and seek out this uninspired gaming Hell.

“We are undone—undone, I tell you—by that wicked harlot,” blustered Katherine Barrington when she burst in upon him yesterday at the town home of his mistress, Lady Penelope Robbins. It was a most unexpected visit, for Katherine was not wont to call upon her nephew in his own residence in Grosvenor Square, let alone that of his mistress. Katherine found Broadmoor cold, heartless and arrogant.

It was an especially unwelcome visit, Broadmoor remembered, as Penelope had been in the middle of settling herself upon his cock.

“But my poor Edward was tricked! Tricked by that malicious darkie,” Katherine insisted when, after listening to her tale of woe, Broadmoor flatly told her that her son was an imbecile.

A lyrical laughter transcending the steady murmur of conversation and merrymaking broke into Broadmoor’s reverie. The sound was followed by a cacophony of men exclaiming “Miss Sherwood! Miss Sherwood!” and begging of said personage to grace their gaming tables of faro or piquet. Peering over his paper, Broadmoor paused. For a moment, he could not reconcile the woman he beheld to the devil incarnate his aunt described.

Miss Darcy Sherwood had a distinct loveliness born of her mixed heritage. The gown of fashion, with its empire waist and diaphanous skirt, accentuated her curves. The pale yellow dress, which Broadmoor noted was thin with wear, would have looked unexceptional on most Englishwomen. But against Miss Sherwood’s caramel skin, it radiated like sunshine.

Her hair lacked shine and vibrant color, but the abundance of tight full curls framed her countenance with softness and an alluring unruliness. Her bright brown eyes, fringed with long curved lashes and a luminous smile, struck Broadmoor the most.

He felt an odd desire to whisk her away from the cads and hounds that descended upon her like vultures about a kill. But this protective instinct was short-lived when he saw her choice of companions was one James Newcastle.

Miss Sherwood could not have been much more than 25 years of age. Newcastle was nearly twice that, and it was all but common knowledge that he fucked his female servants; most of who were slaves before the British court finally banned the practice from the Isles. But the man was worth a hefty sum, having benefited tremendously from his business in the American slave trade.

“A song, Miss Sherwood!” cried Mr. Rutgers. “I offer twenty quid for the chance to win a song.”

“Offer fifty and I shall make it a private performance,” responded Miss Sherwood gaily as she settled at the card table.

She is no better than a common trollop, Broadmoor decided, trading her favors for money. He felt his blood race to think that the fate of his family rested in the hands of such a hussy. He could tell from the swiftness with which she shuffled, cut and dealt the cards that she spent many hours at the tables. Her hands plied the cards like those of an expert pianist over the ivories. He was surprised her hands could retain such deftness after the woman had consumed two glasses of wine within the hour and welcomed a third. He shook his head.

Shameless.

Broadmoor felt he had seen enough of her unrefined behavior, but he was compelled to stay. Miss Sherwood, who had begun slurring her words and laughing loudly as the night wore on, seemed to enjoy the attentions. But despite her obvious inebriation, her laughter sounded forced. There were instances when Broadmoor thought he saw sadness in her eyes.

It was foolhardy for a woman to let down her guard in such company. She would require more than the assistance of the aging butler and scrawny page he had noticed earlier to keep these hounds at bay. Is it a sense of chivalry obliging me to stay? he wondered, even though a woman of her sort deserves the fate she recklessly invites?

“My word, but Lady Luck has favored you tonight!” Rutgers exclaimed to Miss Sherwood, who won her fourth hand in a row.

“Miss Sherwood has been in her company the whole week,” remarked Mr. Wempole, a local banker, “since winning the deed to Brayten. I daresay you may soon pay off your debt to me.”

Broadmoor ground his teeth at the mention of his late uncle’s estate, barely noticing the flush that crept up Miss Sherwood’s face.

“It was quite unexpected,” Miss Sherwood responded. “I rather think that I might—”

“That were no luck, but pure skill!” declared Viscount Wyndham, the future Earl of Brent.

“Alas, I have lost my final pound tonight and have no hope of winning a song from Miss Sherwood,” lamented Rutgers.

“I would play one final round,” said Miss Sherwood as she shuffled the deck, the cards falling from her slender fingers with a contented sigh, “but brag is best played with at least a fourth.”

“Permit me,” said Broadmoor, emerging from the shadows.

She raised an eyebrow before appraising him with a gaze that swept from the top of his head to the bottom of his gleaming Hessians. “We welcome all manner of strangers,” she said, “especially those with ample purses.”

Brazen jade, Broadmoor thought as he took a seat opposite her and pulled out his money.

“Buggers,” the schoolboy groused after the cards were dealt. He reached for a bottle of Burgundy to refill his glass.

Glancing up from the three cards he held, Broadmoor found Miss Sherwood staring at him. The corners of her mouth turned upward as her head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Looking at her sensuously full lips, Broadmoor could easily see how she had all the men here in the palm of her hand. He wondered, briefly, how those lips would feel under his.

“Our cards are known to be friendly to newcomers,” she informed him. “I hope they do not disappoint.”

He gave only a small smile. She thinks me a naïve novice if she expects me to reveal anything of the hand I hold.

Darcy turned her watchful eye to Newcastle, whose brow was knitted in deep concentration. She leaned toward him—her breasts nearly grazing the top of the table—and playfully tapped him on the forearm. “Lady Luck can pass you by no longer, for surely your patience will warrant her good graces.”

Radcliff tried not to notice the two orbs pertly pushed and separated above her bodice. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Despite his inclination to find himself at odds with anything Katherine said, he was beginning to believe his aunt. Miss Sherwood possessed a beauty and aura like the call of Sirens, luring men to their doom. His own cock, with what seemed a mind of its own, stirred.

His slight movement seemed to catch her eye instantly, but she responded only by reaching for her glass of wine. After a long drink, she slammed the glass on the table. “Shall we make our last round of the evening the most dramatic, my dears? I shall offer a song and a kiss—”

A murmur of excitement floated through the room.

“—worth a hundred quid,” she finished.

“Buggers,” the schoolboy grumbled again after opening his purse to find he did not have the requisite amount. He threw his cards on the table with disgust and grabbed the Burgundy for consolation.

Newcastle pulled at his cravat and looked at his cards several times before finally shaking his head sadly. Miss Sherwood fixed her gaze on Radcliff. He returned her stare and fancied that she seemed unsettled for the briefest of moments.

Almond brown. Her eyes were almond brown. Despite their piercing gaze, they seemed to be filled with warmth—like the comforting flame of a hearth in winter. Broadmoor decided it must be the wine lending such an effect to her eyes. How ironic she should possess such loveliness to cover such a black soul.

“Shall we put an end to the game?” Miss Sherwood asked.

“As you please,” Broadmoor replied without emotion. Her Siren’s call would not work on him. “I will see your cards.”

He pulled out two additional hundreds, placing the money on the table with a solemn deliberation that belied his eagerness.

Smiling triumphantly, Miss Sherwood displayed an ace of hearts, king of diamonds, and queen of diamonds.

“Though I would have welcomed a win, the joy was in the game,” Newcastle said. “I could not derive more pleasure than in losing to you, Miss Sherwood.”

Miss Sherwood smiled. “Nor could I ask for a more gallant opponent.”

She reached for the money in the middle of the table, but Broadmoor caught her hand.

“It is as you say, Miss Sherwood,” he said, and revealed a running flush of spades. “Your cards are indeed friendly to newcomers.”

For the first time that evening, Broadmoor saw her frown. She recovered quickly. “Then I presume you will no longer be a stranger to our tables?”

Broadmoor was quiet as he collected the money.

“Beginner’s luck,” the schoolboy muttered.

Newcastle turned his attention to Broadmoor for the first time. “Good sir, I congratulate you on a most remarkable win. I am James Newcastle of Newcastle and Holmes Trading. Our offices are in Liverpool, but you may have heard of the company nonetheless. I should very much like to increase your winnings for the evening by offering you fifty pounds in exchange for Miss Sherwood’s song and, er, kiss.”

“I believe the song went for fifty and the kiss a hundred,” Broadmoor responded.

“Er—yes. A hundred. That would make it a, er, hundred and fifty.”

“I am quite content with what I have won. Indeed, I should like to delay no longer my claim to the first of my winnings.”

“Very well,” said Miss Sherwood cheerfully as she rose. “I but hope you will not regret that you declined the generous offer by Mr. Newcastle.”

She headed toward the pianoforte in the corner of the room.

“In private, Miss Sherwood,” Broadmoor ordered.

She seemed to hesitate before flashing him one of her most brilliant smiles. “Of course. But would you not care for a supper first? Or a glass of port in our dining room?”

“No.”

“Very well then. Jeremy will escort you to our parlor, and I shall be in attendance shortly.”

Broadmoor rose from his chair to follow the page. From the corner of his eye, he saw Newcastle looking after them with longing and consternation. As Broadmoor passed out of the gaming room, he heard Rutgers mutter, “Lucky fucking bastard.”

For a moment Broadmoor felt pleased with having won the game and imagined his mouth claiming hers. What will her body feel like pressed to mine? Those hips and breasts of hers were made to be grabbed.

But hers is a well-traversed territory, he reminded himself. From several inquiries Broadmoor had learned Miss Sherwood changed lovers as frequently as French fashions; and that her skills at the card table were matched only by her skills in the bedchamber. Men spoke in wistful, tortured tones of the latter, often with an odd flush in the cheeks Broadmoor found curious. But Broadmoor, had a single objective: to wrest from the wicked harlot what rightfully belonged to his family. He meant to do so at any cost.

Chapter Two

“Now who do you suppose that tasty morsel of a stranger is?” Mathilda Tillinghast—dubbed Madame T by her gaming hall patrons—wondered aloud as she observed Darcy staring absentmindedly into the vanity mirror. Once a beauty who summoned a dozen men to her with a simple drop of her nosegay, Mathilda was now content to use Darcy as the main attraction of the gaming hall. “I find the air of mystery about him quite alluring.”

“I thought for certain I had correctly apprised his position,” Darcy said, still wondering how she had lost that hand of brag. She had begun working at the gaming hall ever since her father, Jonathan Sherwood, passed away and left the family a sizable debt. She rarely misjudged an opponent. What is it about that stranger who sends my thoughts scattering like those of a schoolgirl?

She was so unsettled by him that, instead of taking to the dining room where she would be subjected to taunts regarding her latest bet, she sought refuge in Mathilda’s boudoir. “How could I have lost?”

Mathilda snorted. “You sound as if you were in mourning. ‘Tisn’t as if you lost any money. Wouldn’t mind taking your place, in fact. Would that I was your age again. Give you a run for your money I would, ‘cept for Newcastle maybe—you can have him.”

Darcy shuddered. “If he had not boasted of how well his former slaves were treated—‘better than courtesans,’ were his words—and then said the women ought to be grateful for his ‘kindness,’ I might have developed a conscience towards him. But knowing his wealth comes from that horrible trade that would be outlawed if only Parliament would listen to Sir Wilberforce, I have no remorse over relieving him of some of that money.”

“He can afford it. They deserve what they get if they are fools enough to fall for a pretty face.”

“Who deserves it?” asked Henry Wyndham, entering the room unannounced and throwing himself on the rickety bed. Despite his slender build, the mattress sank beneath his weight. His golden brown locks fell across a pair of eyes that sparkled with merriment.

“Men,” Mathilda answered.

“Nonetheless,” said Darcy as she tucked an unruly curl behind her ear, “I should be relieved to give up the charade and restore what little dignity is left to me. Never to have to counterfeit another interested smile, or to feign enjoyment at being fondled by any Tom and Jack. To be free…”

“You have the means to end the charade this instant. You have the deed to Brayten!” Henry said.

“Which I mean to return. I feel as if I have fleeced a babe.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “What a ninny you are. Edward Barrington is no innocent, as evidenced by what he did to your sister.”

Darcy pressed her lips into a firm line. It had been five years, but the wound flared as strong as ever. She adored her sister Priscilla, her junior by four years, whom she always sought to protect. Edward had wronged Priscilla; and in so doing, he wronged Nathan, an innocent boy born without a father.

“How you can have the slightest sympathy for that brut confounds me,” Matilda agreed.

“I will never forgive the Barringtons for their mistreatment of Priscilla,” Darcy acknowledged. “But I could not send a man and his family to ruin in such a fashion.”

“That folly was his creation. It was not your idea to offer up his estate for a wager.”

“If I offer to return Brayten in exchange for the money Edward lost to me, I could pay off our debts to Mr. Wempole and have enough to live comfortably for many years. Eighty thousand pounds is no paltry sum.”

Henry threw his legs off the bed and sat up to face Darcy. “I am your oldest and dearest friend, and I must say that if you dare return Brayten to that Barrington fellow, I will never speak to you again. At the very least, wait a night before making your mind.”

“Make the rascal squirm a might,” agreed Mathilda. “Now, off you go to that delectable stranger.”

Darcy blushed at the thought, turning away.

“Do my eyes deceive?” Henry teased. “Are you interested in this fellow?”

“He is different,” Darcy admitted, recalling the most intense pair of eyes she had seen.

“Simply because a man refrains from ogling you or pawing you does not make him different from the others, Darling. Oldest trick in the book.”

“Am I not old enough to know all manner of tricks?” Darcy replied. “It amuses me how often men overestimate the appeal of their sex.”

“They serve their purpose,” Mathilda said wistfully, “but like a banquet, one must sample a variety. Our Darcy will not be turned by one man alone, no matter how appetizing he appears.”

“The only use I have of men, save you, dear Harry, is their pocketbooks,” Darcy said firmly before taking her leave.

Despite her parting words, Darcy stopped at a mirror in the hallway to consider her appearance. She found herself concerned with how the stranger might perceive her. An entirely silly feeling, more appropriate to a chit out of the schoolroom than an experienced woman such as herself. Nonetheless, she confirmed that the sleeves of her gown were even and her hair fell more or less in place.

“Never thought to find you here, Broadmoor.”

It was the voice of Richard Caville, a notorious rake known among women for his seductive grin, and among men for his many female conquests.

Broadmoor, Darcy repeated to herself. The name was vaguely familiar.

“And your presence here surprises me none at all,” was the uninterested response.

Not put off, Richard replied, “Yes, I find White’s and Blake’s rather dull in comparison to Madame T’s. Care for a round of hazard?”

“I came not for cards but to see Miss Sherwood.”

“Ah, of course, Miss Sherwood.”

Darcy was familiar with the suggestive smile Richard was no doubt casting at the stranger. She held herself against the wall but inched closer to the open parlor doors.

“Quite pleasurable to the eye, is she not?” Richard drawled.

“She is tolerable.”

“Tolerable? My friend, you are either blind in an eye or have odd standards of beauty.”

“While I find her appearance does no offense, it cannot hide the vulgarity of her nature.”

Darcy bit her bottom lip. I supposed I played the flirt quite heavily tonight, but had I been that offensive?

“Vulgarity of nature?” Richard echoed. “I agree Miss Sherwood is no candidate for Almack’s, but that’s playing it up strong. Or is it her vulgarity what draws you? I must say, I never saw that side of you, Broadmoor. I own that I thought you rather a bore. Now you intrigue me!”

“It is clear to me that you know little of me, Caville,” Broadmoor responded with irritation, “and perhaps less of Miss Sherwood, or even you would not be so ready to consort in her company. I know your standards to be pliant, but I did not think they would extend to the lowest forms of humankind. Indeed, I would barely put Miss Sherwood above the snail or any other creature that crawls with its belly to the earth. For beauty or not, I would rather be seen with a carnival animal than in her company. It is with the greatest displeasure that circumstances have compelled—nay, forced—me to call upon her. I would that I had nothing to do with her, her family, or any of her ilk.”

“Then what extraordinary occasion would bring my lordship from his Olympus to consort with us lower mortals?” Darcy asked as she walked into the parlor, relieved her voice did not quiver as much as she had feared. It was difficult to contain the anger flaring in her.

The Baron seemed taken aback, but quickly collected himself. His bow to her was exceedingly low, but the ice in his tone would have sent shivers down the spine of the most stalwart man. “Miss Sherwood, I have matters to dispense that I trust will not require much of your time or mine.”

He turned to Richard and added, “In private.”

Darcy could tell from his eager expression that her former lover desired very much to stay, but she had no interest in his presence, either.

“My invitation to hazard remains open, should you decide to stay,” Richard told Broadmoor as he picked up his hat and gloves, winking at Darcy before departing.

With Richard gone, Darcy placed the full weight of her gaze on the Baron. She lifted her chin, as thought it gave her height enough to match his.

“I think you know why I have come to call,” Broadmoor said without a wasted second.

“You overestimate my ability to read minds.” She hoped her flippant tone covered how much his earlier words stung her.

“Do not play your games with me, my child.”

Games? What is he getting at? “Then what game do you wish to play, sir, brag apparently not being sufficient for you?”

Her response seemed to ignite flames in Broadmoor’s eyes. He took a menacing step toward her, his lips pressed into a thin line. “It would be unwise of you to incur my wrath.”

“And you mine,” she responded. He is not going to browbeat me.

He looked surprised, then amused to the point of laughter. She took that moment to move toward the sideboard. Despite her desire to challenge him word for word and gaze for gaze, his nearness was beginning to intimidate her.

“I am prepared to offer a great sum for the return of the deed to Brayten,” he announced. “I am told that the circumstances of the wager between you and my cousin were fair. For that reason alone, I offer recompense.”

It was then that Darcy recognized the eyes: the same color of coal as Edward Barrington, who sported much lighter hair and whose lanky form did not match his cousin’s imposing physique. Her mind sank into the recesses of her mind to connect the name Broadmoor with one Radcliff Barrington.

Darcy had heard only that Broadmoor’s manner tended toward aloof. She should not be surprised that, like his cousin, he tended toward arrogant as well, but nothing had quite prepared her for the condescension which overflowed with his each deliberate word.

“Pray, what great sum are you offering?” she asked with nonchalance, pouring herself a glass of Burgundy.

“The proposal of a monetary recompense interests you, I see,” he noted.

She wished to turn the lout into stone with her glare. Instead, she feigned a sweet smile and said, “Yes, we lower creatures of the earth prefer petty and base interests.”

“I am prepared to offer one hundred thousand pounds, Miss Sherwood.”

Darcy choked on the wine. One hundred thousand pounds. She straightened herself.

The money would be enough to discharge her debts and provide a decent living for Darcy’s sister, nephew and stepmother. By returning Brayten, her intention from the start, she could be done with the gaming house. She was tempted to take Broadmoor’s offer without a second thought; but his words rang in her head. He called me a child.

“Your cousin was in debt to me for eighty thousand pounds before he lost Brayten,” she said, stalling. “One could say you are offering me only twenty thousand pounds for Brayten. I think the estate to be worth far more than that, surely?”

His eyes were flint. Darcy’s heart beat faster as she tried to ignore his stare.

“What sum would you find more appropriate?”

The question stumped Darcy. She had no impression of what Brayten could actually be worth.

“Two hundred thousand pounds?” she guessed.

This time it was Broadmoor’s turn to choke and turn color. “You are refreshingly forthright with your greed. I have known many self-indulgent people in the course of my life, but you, Miss Sherwood, are the epitome of cupidity!”

“And you, sir, are the epitome of insolence!”

Sensing the gloves were off, Broadmoor sneered. “I am relieved to discard our pretenses of civility. My courtesy is wasted on a wanton jade.”

“If you think your impertinence will aid your efforts to reclaim Brayten at a lower sum, you are a poor negotiator!”

“My offer stems from my generosity. I could easily consult my barristers and find another means of retrieving what is mine.”

“Then speak to your barristers and do not misuse my time!”

The words flew from Darcy’s mouth before she considered them. She wondered for a moment if she were being unwise.

In his displeasure Broadmoor clenched his jaw, causing a muscle in his face to ripple. “You may find my cousin easy prey, but I assure you that I am no fool.”

“How comforting.”

“Impudent trollop! I have a mind to drag you into the street for a public whipping!”

Unable to fend off her anger, Darcy glared at Broadmoor. “You have persuaded me that to part with Brayten for anything less than three hundred thousand pounds would be folly.”

“Jezebel! Are there no limits to your wickedness?”

Darcy shrugged and looked away. Her heart pounded madly.

“I see plainly what is afoot,” Broadmoor observed. “You mean to punish me for taking Edward from your sister.”

She glanced sharply at him. “You! You took Edward?”

“A most wise decision on my part, for I would rather see him in Hell than attached to a family such as yours!”

Darcy’s heart grew heavy as she remembered Priscilla’s pain. She thought of the life that would have been afforded to Nathan had Edward done right by them.

And it was apparently the doing of Edward’s arrogant cousin!

“I would not return Brayten to you for the world!” Darcy cried. “If I were a man, I would throw you from the house. You are a lout and mucker!”

Broadmoor took a furious step towards her. “You ought consider yourself fortunate, Miss Sherwood, that you are not a man; else I would not hesitate to box your ears in. You do not deserve the decency afforded to a trull.”

A trull am I? A Jezebel? A jade? She had heard worse, but the words were fuel to a fire coming from him. What else was it he had said? ‘For beauty or not, I would rather be seen with a carnival animal than in her company…’

“I will consider your exchange under one condition,” Darcy said. “You will submit to being my suitor—an ardent suitor—–for six months. You will tend to my every wish and command. Only then, upon your satisfactory and unconditional submission, will I relinquish the deed to Brayten.”

Broadmoor stared at her in disbelief before smirking. “You suffer delusions of grandeur. I am not in the habit of courting sluts.”

“Then I suggest you begin practicing,” Darcy replied, feeling triumphant to see the veins in his neck pulse rapidly. “You will appear no later than ten o’clock each evening and await my directions. You will speak not a word of this arrangement to anyone or I am sure to find Brayten beautiful this time of year.”

Broadmoor was beyond livid. He grabbed her with both his hands. “Damnable doxy! I shall see you thrown in gaol for your treachery and have no remorse if you perished there.”

He was holding her so close that Darcy could feel his angry breath upon her cheek. She tried to ignore the rapid beating of her heart and the painful manner in which her arms were locked in his vice. He looked as if he desired to snap her in twain—and could no doubt accomplish it rather easily in his current state of wrath. It took all her courage to force out words.

“Unhand me, Baron, lest you wish to pay for the privilege of your touch.”

He drew her closer. Darcy held her breath. Broadmoor threw her from him in disgust, as if she possessed a contagion. Grabbing his gloves and cane, he strode out of the room. Darcy watched his anger with pleasure, but a small voice inside warned her that she had just woken a sleeping tiger.

Chapter Three

Darcy stared out the window as her 5-year-old nephew spoke.

“Aunt Darcy, I came across Mrs. Weaver, who is not of any lineage that signifies, but you would never know it from the airs she gives herself…the largest dog I ever saw…with the most audacious headdress…

“Aunt Darcy!”

Darcy snapped to attention and looked across the breakfast table into the bright eyes Nathan. She had not slept well the night before, unable to rid herself of Baron Broadmoor’s dark unnerving eyes. When she waked, her first thoughts had been of his rugged countenance. She was committed to turning his handsome scorn into a frown of despair; and his blistering words into speechless surrender.

“Aunt Darcy, did you hear my story?”

“Let Darcy eat in peace,” admonished Priscilla, Darcy’s 22-year-old sister.

“Worry not, Priscilla. I enjoy my breakfast with a story,” Darcy assured her. She turned to Nathan. “Will you tell it to me again?”

Nathan smiled. “Glad to!”

“I take it you heard not a word I said, either?” asked Mrs. Sherwood with a self-pitying sniff.

“Mama, you ought not to have bought a new bonnet,” Priscilla replied, “no matter what Mrs. Weaver said. You yourself said she gives herself airs. Even were she any authority on the fashion of bonnets, we haven’t the money for such expenditures.”

“Does this mean we can’t have a dog, either?” asked Nathan.

“I fear it does.”

The crestfallen look on the boy’s face pained Darcy. It was not the first time he had been denied, and for the most part he bore reality like a little soldier. He never complained that his meals were plain, his clothes worn, or his playthings nearly nonexistent. But a dog was something he had set his heart on.

“No matter how good I am?” Nathan persisted.

Darcy caught her sister’s helpless look. “Some day, Nathan. It may be longer than you wish, but some day, you shall have a dog.”

“Then I shall be especially good, shall I? So that day may come!” exclaimed Nathan happily. “Mama, shall I wash the dishes?”

“How in the world are we to afford a dog when we can barely feed four mouths, let alone an animal that could easily eat the equivalent of two?” Priscilla asked Darcy after Nathan left the table.

“We can afford a dog and new bonnets. Darcy holds the deed to Brayten!” declared Mrs. Sherwood triumphantly. “That gambling Hell you frequent is despicable, but Providence has at last seen fit to pity our situation.”

Priscilla glanced at Darcy in surprise. “I thought you meant to return the deed?”

Darcy took a bite of her stale toast and chewed it vehemently, as the image of the Baron Broadmoor flashed before her eyes. “In due time.”

“Return it?” gasped Mrs. Sherwood. “Why should we wish to return such a prize? What folly! Indeed, no price could compensate us for the wrong they’ve done to our family!”

“Mama, I am content that the past remain in the past.”

“We have a right. Your son Nathan has a right to that land!”

“But it is Darcy who has won it.” Priscilla turned to her half-sister with eyes of regret. “You have borne the burden of my mistake. It was my fault—“

“No,” Darcy stopped her sister. “Edward had the opportunity to do right by you and Nathan, and he chose not to because of that dreadful cousin of his.”

“His cousin Radcliff? How do you mean?”

“I only just—the man himself admitted as much to me.”

“He came to see you? Oh, Darcy, do be careful! I have only heard stern things said of him.”

“Did he try to take Brayten from us?” Mrs. Sherwood asked apprehensively.

“He does not frighten me,” Darcy answered, “nor shall he reclaim the deed so easily.”

“What do you mean?” Priscilla asked.

Avoiding her sister’s worried question, Darcy said, “Do not fret, Priscilla. You imagine yourself and Nathan as burdens, when you are blessings in our lives. In truth, it is the debt of our dear Papa that weighs us. You may think the gaming hall a terrible place, but I quite enjoy it, I assure you. As for Radcliff Barrington, he is of no consequence.”

She spoke with greater confidence than she felt where the Baron Broadmoor was concerned. Darcy had no intention of sharing her plans with her stepmother or Priscilla. She admired her sister’s ability to forgive, but Darcy desired only to avenge her family upon Radcliff Barrington. He would regret ever crossing swords with Darcy Sherwood.

* * * *

“Do you suppose that Jonathan Banks will allow me the pleasure of his ass this evening?” Henry Wyndham wondered aloud to Darcy.

Darcy looked across the card room at the young gentleman in question flirting with one of the female patrons. “Are you sure he can be persuaded?”

“He has yet to discover his true nature, but he can be persuaded. Most assuredly.” Henry turned to see who had just entered the room. “That one, I have a distinct feeling, can not be.”

Glancing up from the checks she collected from the last round of faro, Darcy saw the tall form of Baron Broadmoor. Her heart quickened. She half-expected him not to come, thinking he would laugh off or simply refuse her ultimatum. From the frown on his face, it was clear he was unhappy to be here. Good, she thought to herself. He will soon be unhappier still.

“Another round, Miss Sherwood! The night is young!” cried one of the bettors.

“Soon enough,” Darcy answered, meeting the Baron’s gaze. “First I mean to take a respite in the dining hall.”

A number of men quickly offered to escort her, but Darcy kept her eyes on Broadmoor. He met her challenging look and presented his arm. His stare could easily have been mistaken for determination, but Darcy knew better. She accepted his arm with a satisfied smile.

“Gentleman, actions speak quicker than words,” she explained before allowing Broadmoor to lead her towards the dining hall.

“How many poor fools have you led to ruin at your faro table?” Broadmoor asked.

“Is that your best attempt at polite conversation?” Darcy retorted. Broadmoor pulled out a chair for her at one of the more private dining tables. No doubt he desires to be seen by as few people as possible.

“My impression is that polite conversation is the least of your interests here.”

“Ah, yes, we do our share of gambling here as well.”

“Is that all it is?” he replied with a cocked eyebrow.

Darcy glared. Broadmoor sat opposite her with his arms crossed, casually leaning against the back of his chair. His posture struck her as arrogant. But even with his mouth curled in a derisive smirk, he was disconcertingly attractive. It is unjust for such a horrible ogre to possess such devilishly handsome features.

“What are you implying, Baron?”

“The men, the women…”

“We are not a priggish establishment. Men and women are free to enjoy each other’s company, but we are not a brothel.”

“Indeed?”

He poured a glass of wine for her from the bottle at their table. Darcy observed how his fingers curled about the neck of the bottle and was reminded of how strong felt when he grabbed her the day before. She wondered if those hands were capable of a different kind of touch—if they could stroke as well as grasp—but her thoughts were soon shattered by his next question.

“Is what you do so different from the work of a harlot?”

Darcy stared at him in disbelief. The gall of this man! She managed to smile in fake amusement.

“A whore lies with a man for money,” she explained, leaning in and continuing in a conspiratorial tone, “I lie with men for the enjoyment of it.” Satisfied to see Broadmoor speechless, Darcy settled back in her chair with satisfaction. “I lie only with men who please me. No man manages to please me for long. I prefer my freedom to choose as I please. I am, and will never be, any man’s mistress.”

“As such, you do very well for Madame Tillinghast,” Broadmoor responded, “though it helps when the dealing boxes are gaffed.”

His words dispelled Darcy’s complacency. She bit her tongue. “Our tables are honest, sir,” she said between clenched teeth.

“And the dealers?”

Darcy could not resist jumping to her feet. His raised eyebrows suggested he was playing her; nonetheless, Broadmoor had uttered words that could not be taken lightly in a gaming house.

“More honest than some of our patrons,” Darcy said, quivering with anger. “Though in some cases, cheating would be quite unnecessary on our part. Your cousin, for example, could not win a hand were the game rigged in his favor!”

“Did you not wish to partake in any refreshments?” he called as she turned to leave. Even that simple question ignited her indignation. What is it about this man that grates my nerves like no other? she wondered as she stormed out of the dining hall.

“My dear!” Henry exclaimed when she collided with him in the hallway. “You look as if you’re ready to kill something.”

“I am!” Darcy admitted. “Would you believe what that pompous Baron Broadmoor dared accuse me of? Oh, it should not matter. Nothing a Barrington says should matter to me.”

“I take it this Barrington is even worse than his cousin, for I have never seen you this livid. It is not a becoming color on you, my dear.”

“Harry, he is far worse than Edward! He is easily the most detestable man I have met!”

Darcy refused to engage with the Baron for the rest of the evening. She tried to avoid eye contact, but could not refrain from glancing at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. As much as she wanted to embarrass him further, her infuriation had melted her plans for the Baron for the time being.

You may have won this round, Darcy silently told the man, but tomorrow will see my reprisal two-fold.

Thinking of ways to humiliate Broadmoor improved Darcy’s outlook. Still, she took an early leave of the evening. Darcy retired to a bedroom Mathilda set up for her long ago, so Darcy would not have to travel London’s streets at night.

Back in her room, Darcy rang for the abigail she shared with Mathilda and began to unpin her hair, trying not to think of the Baron Broadmoor. The intensity of his stare when first she saw him had intrigued her, and it had been a while since any man had caught her attention. She fancied he had not been immune to her charms. How wrong she had been!

After ringing for the abigail for the third time, Darcy realized she was to have no help undressing for the evening. She removed her gown, and managed to disengage her corset. She stepped out of her chemise and into her nightgown. Her hair had already been released from its chignon and fell thickly over her shoulders. She climbed into bed, and was about to nestle underneath the covers when a voice jolted her upright.

“Tire of all the amusement already?”

Darcy looked into the semidarkness to see the Baron sitting in a corner chair. Has he been here this whole time? His cravat had been loosened and a small part of his chest could be seen above his shirt.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you in the habit of stealing into the rooms of ladies?”

He snorted. “Is there a lady present?”

“Get out,” Darcy seethed, trying not to think about how much of her undressing he might have witnessed.

He stood up and advanced toward the bed. “But how unkind of you to rebuff one who is but attempting to be, as you demand, an ardent suitor.”

“I expected a gentleman suitor.”

“Perhaps I am not gentleman where you are concerned. Nor do you deserve a gentleman.”

“Pray do not fancy that you can seduce me. I shall ring for the servants.”

“And will they come?”

Despite her anger, Darcy paled in the flickering candlelight. She had no doubt that the impudent abigail was simply ignoring her.

The Baron reached the bed. He scowled at Darcy. “What did you expect, bringing me here and into such company?”

Darcy turned from him and pretended to settle into her pillows. “Do as you will, but I will bid you good night.”

Broadmoor slid into bed next to her. “You asked me to play my role convincingly.”

“You disturb my sleep, Baron.” It sounded stupid, but it was all she could think to say.

Broadmoor slipped a hand down Darcy’s nightgown and reached for her breast. she stopped his hand.

“How dare you take such liberties?” she gasped, but her body had already begun to warm at his touch.

“From what I understand, others have taken far more liberty than this.”

“Only by those who can please me,” Darcy responded, shoving his hand back to him.

“And you think I could not?”

Darcy glared. He took her silence as a challenge and reached underneath the covers. His hand grazed her ankle. She started, overcome by curiosity and a desire to see what he would do next. His hand trailed lightly up her calf and underneath the hem of her gown. I should stop him before he goes beyond my calf, she thought, but could not find words when his fingers brushed the back of her knee. His hand continued lightly up the length of her thigh. When his fingers reached the nest of curls between her legs, she lost a breath.

Broadmoor looked at her. A throbbing in her lower body enveloped Darcy’s mind, yearning for him to continue. Broadmoor’s forefinger slipped underneath her curls to her clitoris, teasing it to life.

Perhaps she had had more wine than she intended. Or perhaps it was because it had been too long. Though she had not been above bringing herself to satisfaction, it differed from the touch of a man. Somehow the larger fingers, more imprecise, managed to flare greater sensations. And despite herself, those sensations were flamed with each stroke. Darcy released a soft, almost imperceptible moan, losing the will to resist the desires of her own body.

Broadmoor sensed her surrender. He dipped his fingers into her wetness and began a rhythmic stroking of her engorged bud. Darcy sank into the pillows and closed her eyes, allowing his caresses to draw her deeper and deeper into that familiar and ironic pleasure: a yearning that satisfied, a craving made more intense with each attempt to satiate. His fingers plied her clit with teasing tenderness, increasing in earnest as her climax built. This is madness, she knew, but all rational thought had been pushed aside. She cried out softly in her release.

Broadmoor’s fingers slowed but did not stop their caress. Darcy kept her eyes closed as she savored the satisfaction of a craving met. The Baron was no novice lover.

“I take it that pleased my lady?” Broadmoor asked.

“A little,” Darcy murmured.

“We must be sure, then.”

His strokes skimmed her quim. Darcy shuddered. I should put a stop to this. Is he not the man I loathe above all others?

But her body was to betray her once more as the desire between her legs flared anew. Broadmoor slipped a finger inside her even while he kept his thumb circling against her clit. For a moment Darcy tensed as her mind struggled to gain dominance. It lasted briefly. When he intensified his touch, she found herself heading to a climax higher than the one before. Her entire body shook. She lay with her eyes closed, soaking in the afterglow. And before she could rouse herself from her state of relief and bliss, she fell asleep.

When she waked half an hour later, she was alone with no trace of Broadmoor, save for the lingering wetness between her legs. She imagined the smug satisfaction he surely had at having seduced her. If he means to play the game that way, she smiled, I have my own cards in store for the proud Baron.

Chapter Four

Radcliff threw cold water on his face and took a ragged breath as it dripped from his hair back into the basin. It failed to wash away the memory of her: The feel of her; the scent of her; the sound of her. Those soft lilting moans echoed in his ears, rousing his cock. Broadmoor was surprised it still had life, given that he already masturbated twice since arriving home late the night before.

He felt a mixture of shame and triumph. Never in his life would he have thought it possible to enter a woman’s bedchamber without her knowledge and then refuse to leave. But there was no denying something about Miss Sherwood ignited a brazenness he never knew existed. That something had nothing to do with her reputation as a harlot of sorts, but everything to do with the way she looked at him.

Broadmoor didn’t intend to catch her undressing. Surprised that his customarily high sense of decency had not compelled him to excuse himself the moment she began untying her ribbons, he sat in the dark corner of her room unable to avert his eyes. He watched the dress fall down her shoulders and past her rounded hips. He glimpsed her bare stomach and naked breasts. He was treated to the curvature of her ass before her nightdress descended from overhead.

His only thought at first had been to make Darcy as uncomfortable as she made him. If she desired Broadmoor to act her suitor, so be it. He was determined to play the part to her great unease. That he should force his company upon her was of her own doing. And, he thought with satisfaction, it was clear she does not completely revile my presence.

Darcy seemed perturbed, but no overly furious or frightened by his presence. He expected her to scream or ring for the servants. Her nonchalance left Broadmoor unable to resist her. He had to touch her, please her, and teach her a lesson.

Her reactions intoxicated him. He could easily have spent the entire night bringing her to ecstasy time and time again, had she not fallen asleep. But Broadmoor was grateful she had: He was beginning to doubt his ability to curb desires welling in him.

Radcliff threw another handful of water at himself and reached for a towel. Perhaps this unexpected attraction to Miss Sherwood is the result of my growing boredom with Lady Robbins. Broadmoor knew for some time he was not his mistress’ only male companion. He should have cared—they courted for 12 months—but didn’t.

Shaved and in a change of clothes, Radcliff went downstairs for his breakfast. “Any word from Wempole?” he asked his secretary as he ate ham, toast, eggs and beans ravenously.

“No, my lord,” the gentleman answered, “but I am told he will back in London in a few days.”

* * * *

Radcliff decided after breakfast to pay another visit to his cousin, who was reportedly back in town after taking leave of London due to an embarrassing loss to Miss Sherwood.

“Wake him,” Radcliff instructed the butler who opened the door and explained his master was still asleep.

Broadmoor waited five minutes, and then took himself into Edward’s bedchamber.

“For the love of…” grumbled the young man, peering at Radcliff through half-closed eyes. “It’s not even noon yet.”

Radcliff tossed open the curtains. The room flooded with light. “I came to inform you,” Broadmoor began as he sat in a chair opposite his cousin’s bed, “that I am placing your accounts—including Brayten—in a trust until you are deemed responsible enough to assume their command.”

Edward sat up. “I say! That is most unnecessary, Radcliff!”

“You shall have an allowance of three thousand a year.”

“Three?! That is hardly enough to sustain a man.”

“Provided you refrain from stepping foot into Mrs. T’s or any other gaming hell.”

“And since when do you serve as my guardian?” Edward sniffed indignantly.

“Since you lost your estate to Miss Sherwood,” Radcliff answered, feeling partly to blame for not taking a more active role in Edward’s development since the last time he intervened in the matter of Priscilla Sherwood.

Reading his cousin’s mind, Edward ventured with some hesitation to say, “I had thought perhaps to speak with the sister of Miss Sherwood.”

Broadmoor raised an eyebrow.

“She held a tender for me once.”

“I thought you said she was madly in love with you.”

“Yes, well…”

“And that she meant to ‘even the score’ against you,” Radcliff continued. “It is clear to me the sentiments Miss Sherwood holds towards you. I can only imagine it worse with Miss Priscilla.”

“Oh, but Priscilla is quite different from Darcy.”

Radcliff crossed his arms. “Indeed?”

Edward looked away quickly. “I meant, well, they are both, er, indiscriminate in regard to their lovers—I am, by the way, quite grateful that you helped me realize my misplaced youthful fancy to Miss Priscilla—but I think Miss Sherwood is in part descended from savages.”

“Have you any idea who the father of the boy is?”

Edward colored and shook his head. “Haven’t the foggiest.”

Radcliff stood and surveyed his cousin with mixed emotions. “I suggest you leave any correspondence with the Sherwoods to me.”

“If you think it best. Will you attend the Lord and Lady Pinkerton’s ball tonight?”

“I have another engagement,” Radcliff replied. He left before Edward could ask what that engagement was. Naturally, it involved Miss Darcy Sherwood.

* * * *

When Broadmoor arrived at Mrs. T’s later that evening, he found Darcy laughing at something James Newcastle whispered in her ear. Radcliff felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Why should it bother me that she flirts with the buffoon? He could not repress a sudden desire to grab Newcastle by the collar and toss the man out on his head.

There were no empty seats near Miss Sherwood, so Radcliff entertained himself at another faro tables that allowed him to keep an eye on her. It was not easy. One of the decidedly tipsy women at Broadmoor’s table repeatedly leaned in toward him, soliciting his advice on which card to play. She was not as drunk or stupid as she pretended, and he had little tolerance for women who felt the need to behave inanely in the presence of men.

Broadmoor felt the woman’s hand on his thigh beneath the table and was about to say something offending when he saw the men around Miss Sherwood rise to their feet. Leaving his ante on his table, Radcliff strode over to Miss Sherwood, who had declared her intention to head to the dining room.

“Are you in need of an escort?” he asked.

She stared at him with a peculiar glint in her eyes. “If I grant you that privilege twice in two nights, people will think I play favorites. I never have favorites, Baron.”

She turned and took the arm of James Newcastle, who grinned idiotically from ear to ear.

“May I join your table, then?” Radcliff persisted, satisfied when Newcastle’s smile turned quickly into a frown.

“Perhaps another time.”

It was not the last of her rejections that evening. Broadmoor played the part of the attentive suitor, but she rebuffed his offer to get her a glass of wine as well as his request for a round of piquet. She kept him at bay all evening. He in turn watched her from afar. It was difficult to bear: She was succeeding in her efforts to humiliate him, something the Baron was not accustomed to; and images of the prior evening continually returned. Broadmoor realized he lusted after her like some predator who could smell but not taste its meat.

He decided at last he had done all he could as one of her supplicants, and turned his focus away from Miss Sherwood. Broadmoor had a glass of wine and played a few rounds of hazard. He occasionally glanced her way, and once or twice their eyes met across the dim and smoky room. She has something in store for me, he felt. Hours dragged on. Radcliff was half asleep in his favored armchair when the page handed him a note from Miss Sherwood.

The command was for him to come to her chambers.

Blood pounded in Broadmoor’s head. He saw that most of the patrons had retired for the evening. Only a few piquet players and a drunken couple who fell asleep against each other on the sofa remained. Folding the note, he quietly headed down the hall and up the stairs to her room.

“You have a terrible habit of entering without knocking,” Miss Sherwood informed him from where her vanity, without turning to look at him.

Seated before a mirror, Darcy brushed out her hair. The curls were tight and full, framing her head on all sides, save where a headband held them from falling into her face. She wore only some undergarments, stockings and shoes.

“Unlace my stays,” she said, coiling her hair to her neck with one hand, exposing her back. With more composure than he felt, Radcliff walked over and wordlessly did as Darcy bade. When he had loosened the ties, he stepped back and stared at the sensuous curve of her shoulder blades. How she would react if I pressed his mouth between them? he wondered. The light of the few candles in the otherwise dark room glowed enticingly upon her skin.

She stepped out of her stays and pulled up her wrinkled shift. Kicking off a shoe, she propped one foot upon a padded footstool before saying, “Undo my stockings.”

It was her gaze as much as the extended leg that almost had Broadmoor undone. He knelt down beside her without much expression and reached for her garter. He thought he heard Darcy inhale sharply when his fingers grazed her thigh. His hand was so close to her womanhood. He needed to bend only a little further to be able to look up her petticoats. He breathed in what he could of her.

With a simple release, he unhooked the stocking from the garter and gently slid the filmy fabric down her leg and past her toes. He noted they were unpainted. He had expected the toes of a harlot to be painted.

Darcy propped her other leg up before him. Broadmoor inched the stocking down and could not resist pressing his lips to her inner thigh. As he pulled the fabric down with one hand, he caressed the flesh made bare with the other. He heard her emit something similar to a soft purr; but once he had drawn the stocking off, she moved quickly from him.

Broadmoor stood to look at her. Darcy’s returned stare had the effect of rooting him to the spot while simultaneously emboldening him. He watched as she shed her petticoat and stood only in her shift: a flimsy material in need of repair in certain areas where Broadmoor could see the shadow of her body. He had an urge to rip the garment off her to see what he had only glimpsed for a few moments the night before.

Standing near the post at one corner of the bed, Darcy lifted her chin—an act that seemed to dare him to approach. Radcliff needed no encouragement. Shedding his coat, he strode toward her. His cock pressed against the inside of Broadmoor’s pants.

“You make it difficult for one to be a gentleman, Miss Sherwood,” he said, looking down at her, his face inches from hers.

“Are you a gentleman?” she challenged.

“In the presence of a proper lady, without question.”

“Are you suggesting I am not a proper lady?”

Radcliff raised an eyebrow. “How many proper ladies do you know who invite men to their boudoir and demand to be undressed?”

She smiled. “Would you prefer that I were a proper lady?”

Hell no, was Broadmoor’s initial thought as he dropped his gaze away from Darcy’s eyes and down to her lips, collarbone, and tops of her breasts.

“Surely the exalted Baron Broadmoor would not favor a tramp?” she continued. “Or a harlot? A lowly creature that crawls with its belly to the earth?”

A muscle rippled in his face. His lack of response made him frustrated. “Hang being a gentleman,” he said before cupping the base of her head and forcing her lips to his.

This was her aim, he knew. I succumbed, and she has won. Broadmoor could no longer stave off the painful tightness between his thighs. Every inch of his body cried out for Darcy as he greedily moved his mouth over hers. Her lips hung sweet and soft beneath his. He pushed his tongue into her mouth for a deeper taste.

With his free hand, Broadmoor grasped a breast through the chemise. The heavy orb felt made for his hand. He massaged it with his fingers and brushed a thumb across the nipple. The nub instantly hardened. He circled his thumb while his mouth continued to devour Darcy. He slid the hand away from her breast and down her side to the small of her back. Pulling her to him, he molded his body to hers.

When Broadmoor felt her kiss him back, his head swam. He was about to lose his last shred of propriety and ravish her in a most ungentlemanly manner when he heard her urging him to lie down. Unaccustomed to being told what to do—especially in the midst of lovemaking—Radcliff pulled away to verify he heard correctly.

“Lie down,” she repeated, gently pushing him onto the mattress.

He lay on his back and watched her crawl on top of him. His cock throbbed like never before. He grabbed both her breasts as she reached above his head and kissed them through her last article of clothing. He circled his tongue around one nipple. She jerked slightly at the touch. If she doesn’t remove her shift soon, he thought, I am going to rip it from her.

Broadmoor was about to pull the neckline of the shift down past one breast when Darcy grabbed his hand away and snapped something about his wrist. When he looked up to see what she had done, she pulled his other arm up and did the same.

Shackles! Darcy had shackled Radcliff to the posts on the bed. He pulled at the binds, which rattled but remained in place. By the time he looked back at her, she had already undone his cravat with a speed that would have astounded Beau Brummel’s valet.

“I believe one good turn deserves another,” she told him with a small mischievous smile as she began to slowly unbutton his shirt.

Radcliff was too stunned to respond. What does this woman intend? he wondered as he watched her lower her head over his chest. She blew lightly on a nipple before licking it. His cock sprang back to attention. Darcy swirled her tongue against the nipple and blew at it once more. The moisture cooled against her breath and hardened Broadmoor’s skin.

She ran her tongue back and forth against the nipple, pressed her mouth against it, and sucked. Radcliff groaned. His nipple had never received so much attention before. He closed his eyes but they flew open an instant later when he felt Darcy pull at his nipple with her teeth. His groan was of a different nature as she alternated between caressing the nipple with her tongue and biting it. He wanted her to stop—and didn’t. To his surprise, he found the flashes of pain arousing.

She managed to unbutton his trousers during this time; Radcliff felt a surge of desirous relief when she pulled out his cock. She fingered its length lightly before reaching down to squeeze his scrotum. Radcliff would have doubled over if he were not lying down. He pulled at the shackles to no avail.

Fear suddenly gripped him. With his cock at her mercy, he was vulnerable in a way he had never thought to be. What if I misjudged her character completely? He fretted. She could exact a most terrible revenge with me in such a defenseless position. What if she were mad enough to do it?

But his fear was quickly replaced by arousal when Darcy pressed her tongue against his shaft. His cock jerked against her touch. She slid her tongue a few more times up and down his cock before putting her lips at the bulging tip and swirling her tongue around head. He fought the urge to shove his cock into her mouth. She played around his cock, fingering his pubic hair and massaging the two orbs hanging beneath. At last, she encased his entire penis in her mouth.

It felt extraordinary to have her warm wet mouth on him. He could not resist lifting his hips to push his cock further into her mouth. She pulled away.

“Release me,” Radcliff said. He had never felt such a strong desire to fuck someone. “Release me. I shall make it worth your while.”

“There is nothing you can offer me worth my while,” she replied with an edge.

“If I recall, you were not averse to my touch last night.”

She pressed her lips together. “I give the commands here.” Darcy grabbed his balls harshly. Radcliff grunted. He looked at her, willing her to read his mind: when she was done, he was going to repay her in kind, and with interest.

“If this is how you treat all your lovers, I wonder that they remain such devoted admirers of yours,” Broadmoor said.

“They always return for more—as will you.”

The last he saw of her was her eyes—is that desire burning in them?—before his vision was taken from him by the cloth she wrapped his neck cloth over his eyes. He was dumbfounded: tied to a bed, and was now blindfolded with what his own cravat. His valet would be shocked wordless to know how it was being used.

Deprived of his sight, Radcliff felt every inch of his body come to life. He felt Darcy’s hand brush against his inner thigh. H nearly jumped out of his skin. The hand now wrapped itself around his cock. It did not take long for the ministrations to take effect. He had been close to spending a few minutes ago, and a climax once more quickly loomed for him.

And went.

The hand had ceased its motions. Radcliff could only wonder at what made her stop. He could hear her breathing, and feel the heat of her body near. Why did she change her mind? He had been so close to spending, and would have likely drenched his pants with his come and not cared. He desperately needed her to bring him to fulfillment.

Minutes dragged on like hours. Broadmoor began to think she planned to leave him bound and unfulfilled for the night. Then, suddenly, his cock again received her attentions. Darcy enveloped him with her mouth, taking him so deep he felt her throat. Expertly, she drew her mouth up and down his shaft, wrapping it with her tongue, bringing him again to the brink.

She pulled away again.

Radcliff groaned as he realized at last her designs for the evening. Repeatedly, she brought him close to his climax but never over the edge. She had an uncanny ability to sense that slim moment right before his fulfillment. On his fourth time down the dead-end path, he roared in frustration. The pressure was painful in his cock. Perspiration lined his forehead. His abdominal muscles were sore.

It was maddening for Broadmoor to be so tantalizingly close to an orgasm that was always out of his reach. He no longer dared hope. His body belonged to her. As he came to that conclusion, Darcy finally had mercy on him and pressed a finger to his perineum. Broadmoor’s cock exploded in a blinding orgasm that rocked him to the core. His body jerked so violently he nearly brought the posts of the bed to collapse upon him.

And though he could not see through his blindfold, he was sure her lips curled in a smile.

Chapter Five

The sliver between the curtains was just wide enough for the sun to slide through onto Broadmoor’s eyes. He waked to find he was not in his own bed. Having undergone a marathon of sweet torture, his cock felt sore. He slept as though recovering from back-breaking labor.

With the shackles removed, Radcliff was able to sit up. He was alone. A note next to the bed had simple instructions: Broadmoor was to return to the gaming hall that evening. Radcliff ran a hand through his hair, thinking it unlikely he would survive many nights like the one he just went through.

He wondered many times throughout the day whether to call Miss Sherwood’s bluff. She was no fool: Surely, Broadmoor surmised, she knew she would be better off with a cash settlement than the deed to Brayten. He considered renewing his initial offer of 100,000 pounds. If she accepted, they could put an end to this madness between them.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he found himself back at Mrs. T’s later that evening. He played the part of the dutiful admirer, and once more Miss Sherwood rejected his attentions. This time, however, her evening note was not an invitation upstairs but instructions for him to return tomorrow. He should have been relieved, but instead felt only disappointment.

The following evening was more of the same. Broadmoor grew frustrated watching Darcy flirt with all the other men. The more he saw of her, the more he wanted to be with her; even if it meant enduring another night like his first. But Miss Sherwood proved more elusive every successive night.

“Wooing her won’t get you Brayten,” one gentleman said as Radcliff attempted to distract himself with a game of whist. “Have you offered her money in exchange for your cousin’s property?”

What a novel idea, Radcliff thought sarcastically. “Who said I was attempting to retrieve Brayten?” he answered.

“Indeed,” acknowledged another player at the table. “Miss Sherwood needs no such adornment to entice, eh?”

Radcliff looked over at the faro table where Miss Sherwood stood with her usual throng of players and admirers. He clenched his jaw when one of the gamers attempted to place his hand about her waist. Miss Sherwood firmly pushed the hand away.

“I think Miss Sherwood may favor me with her attentions tonight,” said the man seated next to Radcliff at the whist table. The hairs on Radcliff’s neck stood up. He looked sharply at the man and found it hard to believe Miss Sherwood would want to be with such a dandy. “She told me yesterday I should have the honor of dining with her today,” the dandy continued, stroking the billowing white waterfalls that served as his cravat.

“Care to wager that privilege for fifty guineas?” Radcliff asked.

“Not at all. Guineas can be won any day; but a moment in Miss Sherwood’s company is not as easily had.”

Radcliff did not pursue the matter, and they continued their round of whist, betting only guineas. With each new round, however, Radcliff raised the ante. Whist was not a game he played often, but Lady Luck favored him. Soon the dandy was down to his final guinea, having lost 300 to Radcliff. After dabbing a lace handkerchief on his brow, he agreed to wager his dinner with Miss Sherwood.

As promised, Miss Sherwood later accepted the arm of the dandy to the dining hall. Radcliff watched them leave the gaming hall together and waited a few minutes before following. He found them seated at a table in a far corner of the room.

“These are the tassels recommended by Beau Brummel,” the dandy was explaining to Miss Sherwood.

Radcliff approached the table and bowed politely. “May I have the pleasure of dining at your table?”

“I fear there is only room enough for two,” Miss Sherwood answered with equal politeness.

“Then pray take my seat, sir,” offered the dandy. He rose to his feet. “Miss Sherwood, I beg your pardon and hope, if I may dare, that we renew our conversation. Perhaps tomorrow?”

Miss Sherwood frowned as she watched Radcliff take the place of her dining partner. “Tomorrow is spoken for.”

Sighing, the dandy left the two alone.

“Did you threaten him?” she asked, arching a brow.

“Not at all,” Radcliff replied. “He surrendered the privilege in a hand of whist.”

“I shall henceforth not make the mistake of promising anyone such a privilege in advance.”

“That will not be necessary. How long do you think you can keep up this charade, Miss Sherwood? Have you not made a sufficient fool of me?”

“I have only begun to repay the favor you did my family,” she answered grimly, before putting a fork and knife into the steak in front of her.

Radcliff felt a desire to pursue the matter, but decided discussing a clearly a painful history would only anger her further. No matter how justified Broadmoor felt in doing what he had with Priscilla and Edward, he wished somehow that it were less painful for Darcy.

“Your father was a good man,” he commented, wishing he had something more reassuring to say.

“He was,” Darcy defended. Radcliff thought he detected a mist in her eyes. “But how would someone like you know?”

“Sometimes you can glimpse a man’s soul through his smallest actions. I did not know your father, but saw him once, after a poor performance at the gaming tables, give his last shilling to a pauper in the streets.”

“Yes, Papa was always generous to a fault.”

The sadness in Darcy’s tone twisted like a knife in Broadmoor’s gut. He wanted to reach out and grasp her hand, but could only hope his words offered some comfort. “Such generosity does not go unrewarded. You were close to your father, I take it?”

“How do you know?”

“I noticed the other evening you wear a locket of his about your ankle; an uncommon place for such a bracelet.”

Darcy blushed. “I wear it there that I might resist the urge to wager it, should find myself in a desperate situation.”

“I wish I had had such a connection with my father. I knew little of him, but he was not the munificent sort. My father spent most of his time in London while my mother and the children stayed at the seat.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters, then?”

“I have one sister. She is married to a count and has two children. They prefer the country this time of year.”

“How old are the children?”

“The boy is five and the girl two.”

“Five? That is the same age as my nephew, Nathan.”

Darcy’s face brightened. Radcliff was content to let her speak, enjoying the affectionate and animated way with which she relayed Nathan’s escapades and attempts to be a good child.

“He is five, but seems much older in so many ways,” she sighed, finishing the last mouthful of steak.

Radcliff stared at the empty plate in some astonishment. She followed his gaze and grinned. “I am not the sort of delicate woman who eats only small birds and sweetmeats,” she explained. “I prefer a good cut of beef-steak any time.”

Radcliff returned her grin. “I must admit I have never found beef-steak quite so sensuous.”

“You should watch me eat an orange,” she returned playfully.

“Broadmoor, I say, never thought to find you here!”

Stemming an urge to glare at whoever interrupted this rare moment between him and Darcy, Radcliff looked up to find the cousin of his mistress approaching.

“Penelope was remarking to me yesterday how she has not had a visit from you in over a fortnight,” Alastair Robbins continued. “Says she is beginning to feel more like a wife than a mistress. Ah, Miss Sherwood, begging your pardon.”

Alastair’s surprise was poorly feigned. Radcliff knew the remarks were purposeful. It had once been rumored that Penelope and Alastair were lovers when Penelope’s husband was still alive. Despite her relationship with Broadmoor, Alastair never wavered in his loyalty to her.

“Not at all,” Miss Sherwood said as she rose. “We were finished. Gentlemen, I must return and preside over the faro table at this time. No need to escort me.”

“Has you on a short leash on account of Edward, eh?” Alastair asked as they both watched her leave. “Pity your fate lies in the hands of one such as her.”

Radcliff stood, towering over the shorter man, and fixed a cold stare on Alastair. “It is a leash no shorter than Penelope’s on you,” Radcliff said before taking his own leave.

The mention of Broadmoor’s mistress no doubt ruined any chance he had of receiving an invitation upstairs from Miss Sherwood. She did not glance in his direction for the rest of the night. That she seemed to only favor the company of her friend Henry Wyndham was no consolation, even though Radcliff had the suspicion that young Wyndham was more interested in men than the fairer sex.

After losing a few rounds at hazard, Radcliff went to collect his hat and gloves, thinking he should have gone home hours ago, when the page handed him a note. It was from Miss Sherwood.

When he refolded the note, he looked up to see the page grinning from ear to ear. The young man was clearly aware of what the contents of the note implied.

“If you please, you may follow me, m’lord,” the page said.

Radcliff followed the young man to Miss Sherwood’s room, though he knew full well its location after having bribed a serving maid that first night. He tipped the page, half wondering if the lad would return to pin an ear to the door.

Miss Sherwood entered 20 minutes later. She spared him only a wordless glance before turning her back to him.

“Unbutton my gown,” she directed.

He crossed over to her and did as told. Broadmoor slid the short sleeves over Darcy’s shoulders, caressing her smooth skin along the way. The gown fell to the floor.

He stared at one of the exposed shoulders with a desire to press his mouth there. “There is little between—”

Why he felt the need to explain his situation with his mistress was unclear to him, but Miss Sherwood spun around to place a finger to his mouth.

“Did I give you leave to speak?”

Broadmoor’s hunger for Darcy flared and he moved to grab her to him. She pushed against his chest.

“Undress me first,” she commanded.

Forced to delay his lust, Broadmoor untied her stays and removed her hosiery, noting once again the small golden locket about her ankle. This time he removed her shift to reveal her body. Broadmoor’s breath stopped as he gazed upon her naked form. There was much to feast his eyes upon: full and rounded breasts, the voluptuous swell of her hips, a curved and lofty ass, and thighs begging to be kissed.

Sensing his appreciation, Miss Sherwood turned to allow him a complete view. Once more he reached for her, but she stopped him again to relieve him of his own clothes. When she untied his cravat, Radcliff hoped she would not use it upon him again. It would be cruel to deprive me of my sight, now that I have her naked. It was hard enough watching her undress him without being able to touch her.

Darcy tossed Broadmoor’s coat, cravat and shirt to the floor, and pushed him into a chair to assist him with his boots. His cock sprang at her when she pulled down his trousers. Stepping away from him, Darcy reached over to retrieve a bottle from her chest of drawers. She knelt before him and licked the pre-come on his cock. He shivered, and watched her pour a clear liquid from the bottle onto her palms. She rubbed it into his cock gently and thoroughly. He almost shot his load into her hands.

When she was done, she climbed on top of him and loosened her hair. Placing her mouth an inch from his, she whispered, “Now you may ravage me.”

It was the moment Broadmoor had been waiting for. He grabbed her ribcage and brought her breasts to his mouth. He had never seen such tantalizingly large and dark areolas. He sucked a nipple and felt her back arch toward him. Darcy circled a hand to the back of Broadmoor’s head and pushed his face further into her bosom. Alternating between his tongue and lips, he drew long, lingering moans from her.

Her reactions flamed his desire. Radcliff wondered how long he could wait before shoving his cock into her. He slid his forefinger to her clit, rubbing until it swelled to twice its size. He could feel her dampness on his legs and moved the finger to her quim. The soft moist flesh enveloping his finger made his head swim. He watched her close her eyes and lean her head back as he fingered her.

Broadmoor moved both hands to her hips. He lifted her above his cock and pushed its head against her. She inhaled sharply when it pierced her opening. He longed to be inside her whole; but despite the aching of his arms, he held her and gradually eased her inch by inch onto his throbbing member.

The feel of her exceeded all expectations. This was where his cock was meant to be: buried in her wet warmth.

Darcy ground her hips against him, but the limited space of the chair did not allow for easy movement. Her legs were already pinned tightly between him and the sides of the chair. Radcliff assisted by holding her in mid-air while thrusting his own hips upward, first with lingering control, then faster as he saw her orgasm build. Her muscles clenched against his cock, and she bucked against him rapidly until a cry escaped her lips and her body shook from head to toe. She slumped against him to catch her breath.

Radcliff continued to push his cock into her, expecting his own release to follow. But he failed to spend.

She chanced to look up at him, and he thought her saw a mischievous gleam in her eyes. She climbed off him and led her to the bed. Radcliff did not want to wait and see if she would once again shackle him to the posts. He pushed her down and pinned her body to the bed with his own. He kissed her neck before claiming her mouth with his own. The softness of her lips, the taste of her palate, and the give of her tongue were almost as intoxicating as her quim against his cock. As he searched every inch of her mouth with his tongue, he felt her hips move again toward him. She was aroused once more.

This time he glided his entire cock into her in one motion. One hand went to caress the smoothness of the thigh wrapped around him; the other cupped the back of her head and held it in place for him to kiss. Their bodies ground against each other in strong motions that rocked the bed and made its springs cry out as loudly as Darcy. The spasming of her body told Radcliff she reached her climax.

But Broadmoor could not commit his body to spend, no matter how hard or fast he pushed himself into her. He wondered if he suffered from some form of impotence when he recalled the lubricant Darcy applied earlier. Propping himself on his elbows, he looked into her eyes and understood.

“You wicked harlot,” he said hoarsely, pulling out of her to examine his cock. It was still as hard as when he first began.

“If you are done…” she responded as she rolled onto her side as if to get out of bed.

“Hardly, Miss Sherwood.”

Broadmoor grabbed her ankle, turning her onto her stomach, and pulled her toward him until her ass hung over the edge of the bed. He speared his cock into her. She wiggled against him: in defiance or desire he could not tell; but he no longer cared. This experience was no longer about her, but about Broadmoor’s own selfish fulfillment. He thrust himself against her with a rage that made her body bounce off the bed. It was not long before she spent for the third time.

And still, Broadmoor could not reach his own climax. He was on a hill, always near the peak, but unable to mount it. Darcy attained a fourth and fifth orgasm before her body became limp.

Bathed in sweat, his limbs sore beyond belief, dawn peering in between the curtains, Radcliff at last spent himself in a climax nearly as painful as it was satisfying. No bout of pugilism compared with what he endured. Rolling onto his back, Broadmoor lay in bed and cursed the day he met Darcy Sherwood.

* * * *

Lady Katherine had barely set foot in Radcliff’s study when the words tumbled from her mouth. “Have you retrieved Brayten yet from that wicked harlot?”

The English setter resting at Radcliff’s feet rose to all fours and growled at the intrusion. Radcliff glanced at his butler, who came in behind the woman and looked on helplessly. Edward sauntered in and settled himself on the settee. Broadmoor dismissed his servant and walked to the sideboard and poured a glass of sherry. He wordlessly offered it to his aunt.

It seemed to fluster her more. “Well, have you?” she pressed. “I have not had a decent moment’s rest, I tell you. My nerves have been taxed beyond what any woman can bear. I fail to understand why it has taken this long.”

“I’ll take a glass,” Edward offered.

Giving the glass to his cousin, Radcliff made his way back to his chair at a maddeningly calm pace. He rarely had much patience for Katherine. The way she endlessly ran her long strand of pearls through her fingers grated on his nerves.

“You do not need to understand,” he told her. “Suffice it that I will obtain Brayten.”

“Is there no way to throw that wench in gaol? How satisfying it would be to see her rot in Fleet, though it were not a sufficient Hell for the likes of her.”

Radcliff stilled a desire to defend Miss Sherwood. “I cannot say when Brayten will be back safely in our hands, only that it will. And if that is all you came to inquire of, I bid you good day.”

Katherine stared helplessly at Radcliff. “Only take care, Radcliff, that she does not cast her spell upon you.” Pearls flying, she whirled on her heels and left the study. Edward drew up alongside Radcliff.

“She would have been far worse had she heard the rumors I have,” Edward said.

“And what have you heard?” Radcliff asked, returning his attention to the documents at his writing table.

“That you are consorting with Miss Sherwood.”

“Indeed?”

“Come, come, cousin! You may speak plain to me. I know the charms of Miss Sherwood. I heard tell that she is a better fuck than a whore. Perhaps I chose the wrong sister.”

“And how does Miss Priscilla compare in that regard?” Radcliff confronted.

Edward colored. “I can only conjecture. There are not the same rumors regarding Miss Priscilla. I had best tend to Mama.”

Radcliff watched Edward leave with misgiving. He rubbed between the ears of his dog when the butler entered again.

“What is it, Buxted?” Radcliff asked without looking up.

“My lord, a Mr. Wempole is here. He says you requested his presence.”

Radcliff stopped writing and nodded for Buxted to show the gentleman in. Mr. Wempole nervously fingered his hat as he entered. He was a portly fellow with a pleasant smile and spectacles that made him appear antiquated. Not exactly how I imagined a banker to look, Broadmoor mused. Nonetheless, Mr. Wempole was the man he had longed to see.

The tables were about to turn on Miss Darcy Sherwood.

Chapter Six

“Have you exchanged Brayten yet?” Priscilla asked Darcy. The sisters sat at the dining table reviewing a pile of bills.

“I mean to make the Barringtons suffer a little longer,” said Darcy.

“But we need the money now, do we not? One of our accounts actually sent a collector to our door. The man said if we did not make payment, he would have to take possession of our furniture.”

Darcy bit her bottom lip. “Perhaps I can apply to Mr. Wempole for another note. I do not think he would refuse, as we would be able to repay it as soon as we return the deed to Edward.”

Priscilla nodded. “If you think it best, Darcy. I only wish there was something I could do to assist the situation. I fear I only make it worse. I allowed Mama to convince me to buy new clothes for Nathan as he has grown yet again these past few months. Nathan would much rather wear his old clothes and have the money go toward buying a dog.”

“Of course.” Darcy smiled and put a hand on Priscilla. “How many times have I told you not to worry? We will be much better-situated soon.”

Though their debt continued to mount, Darcy was confident their financial woes would soon be end. She simply had to see through her plan with Radcliff; in a few months, she would have her revenge on the Barringtons, and an income from their family to boot.

And then there was the unexpected pleasure of fucking and dominating Radcliff Barrington. By the wonder she saw in his eyes, he was not one accustomed to submitting. The thought of it brought tingling sensations to Darcy’s toes and warmth to her groin. She could hardly wait to have him in her bed again that evening.

* * * *

“He hasn’t arrived yet,” Richard Caville drawled later that evening at Mrs. T’s.

“Whoever do you mean?” Darcy asked.

“Your latest lover.”

Darcy looked at Richard, whose soft golden locks fell across glittering blue eyes. He leaned in toward her, his mouth inches from her neck, and she was reminded of what attracted her to him before. But if there was one person who numbered as many conquests as she, it was Richard Caville. And lately, save for Radcliff Barrington, Darcy had had little interest in taking any man to her bed.

“Why not dispense with the Baron and reacquaint ourselves?” Richard purred.

“I doubt Miss Treadle would approve,” Darcy responded, referring to the woman Richard was most recently fucking.

“Does it matter?”

Darcy sighed. That was the difference between her and Richard now: She wanted it to matter. “I know you well, Richard. You prefer fresh meat. I would be a bore.”

She knew Richard could charm almost any woman into giving up her firstborn. Seducing women into his bed was a sport for him. His attention rarely endured beyond a few fortnights.

“I never complained, did I? If I recall, we enjoyed each other quite thoroughly.” He drew her hand to his lips and pressed his mouth to her wrist. Darcy longed for Radcliff Barrington.

“We did,” Darcy agreed, withdrawing her hand. “I hope you will cherish those memories as I do.”

“My dear, you devastate me.”

Rising to her feet, Darcy smiled. “You will not lack for women wishing to console you.”

Richard returned her smile. “If you have a change of heart, pray let me know.”

He did not take long to move on. Darcy saw him within minutes cornering one of the serving maids, whom Darcy suspected harbored feelings of jealousy toward her for having been one of Richard’s lovers.

When the hours passed long into the night with no sign of the Baron, Darcy gave up on his appearance and retreated to her chambers. She wondered if something had happened to him, then felt perturbed that he might have openly defied her command to attend to her every evening. He had been diligent in his duty till now. Perhaps his mistress had given him an ultimatum.

Darcy decided she did not want to dwell on his mistress, whom she had already learned was a beauty of the first order. A painful sense of jealousy reared when she wondered if Radcliff was as good in bed with Lady Robbins as he was with her.

“How long do you expect to continue playing James Newcastle for a fool?”

Whirling around, Darcy found Broadmoor sitting in the corner chair. Damn him, she thought to herself. When will he stop surprising me like this?

“As long as he desires it,” Darcy said, folding her arms. Her worry that something might have happened to him was replaced with irritation that he must have witnessed her latest flirtation with James Newcastle. “Not that it is any business of yours.”

“Do not mistake me. I have no sympathy for that man,” Radcliff said. “Only that it does not please me that he should be so free with his hands upon your body.”

“That is not your business either,” she said, inwardly pleased Broadmoor cared whose hands were on her. “You have failed your orders, Baron. Your punishment will not be light. You may begin by removing your clothes.”

Radcliff stood and stared down at her. “I think not.”

Darcy’s eyes widened. “I said you will remove your clothes,” she repeated.

“I have no desire to remove mine until you have removed yours.”

The insolence! Darcy thought. She returned his penetrating stare. “I give the commands, Broadmoor.”

“Not any more, Miss Sherwood. You will henceforth address me appropriately as ‘my lord.’”

Taken aback by this unexpected answer, Darcy threw back her head and laughed. She narrowed her eyes. “I will do no such thing.”

“You will, Miss Sherwood, and anything else I ask of you.”

Darcy watched Broadmoor withdraw a set of papers and toss it on a table. “I had a visit from Mr. Wempole, to whom you owed twenty-five thousand pounds. That debt belongs to me now.”

Trying to quell the panic lodged in her throat, Darcy said, “Mr. Wempole would not have sold you the promissory notes.”

“I fear his bank has made some rather poor investments of late, and he could not carry your debt on his books any longer.”

Darcy’s legs felt unsteady.

“So you see, my dear Miss Sherwood,” Radcliff continued without the slightest hint of leniency in his tone, “it is you who will have to remove your clothes.”

Darcy lifted her chin. “Well played, Baron…”

Radcliff raised his eyebrows at her first act of rebellion.

“…we can call an end to my conditions,” Darcy continued. “I will exchange the deed to Brayten for the sum of two hundred thousand pounds and the notes.”

He scoffed. “I have no interest in such an exchange.”

“Then I will sell the deed to the highest bidder.”

“Who would buy it? No one of circumstance would purchase a deed won by a woman in a game of whist.”

“Then my family will happily move into Brayten.”

“There would still be the payment of the notes, lest you wish to reside in Fleet.”

Her heart pounded at the mention of the debtor’s gaol. He wouldn’t, would he? She thought she had seen a kinder side of Radcliff Barrington; one responsive to her. Perhaps was mistaken. Perhaps he is as arrogant and ruthless as I first imagined him to be.

His expression was only one of determination. “I suggest you comply, or it will be your punishment that will not be light.”

With a difficult swallow, Darcy reached behind her dress and attempted to unbutton it.

“Do you require assistance, Miss Sherwood?”

“Yes,” said Darcy between her teeth.

“‘Yes, my lord’ would be the proper way to address a baron.”

Darcy’s anger overtook her fear. She glared at Broadmoor but managed to spit out the words: “Yes, my lord.”

He walked over to her and unbuttoned her, then stepped back and waited for Darcy to bring the gown down. She stood in her undergarments, feeling more naked than ever before.

“Continue,” Radcliff instructed.

“I require further assistance, my lord.”

Broadmoor untied her stays. Darcy allowed it to drop to the floor where her dress had already pooled.

“The shift,” Broadmoor said. “Rip it.”

“What?” Darcy exclaimed.

“I will buy you a new one, but this one you will rip from your body.”

Darcy hesitated.

“Now, Miss Sherwood.”

Biting back a retort, she grabbed the worn fabric and pulled. It failed to tear.

“Come here,” Radcliff ordered after her third failed attempt.

He grabbed the shift near Darcy’s midsection, twisted it in his fist, and tore it in one easy jerk. She felt the cool air hit her skin as if for the first time, and gasped.

Throwing the tattered shift on the floor, Radcliff stood back to survey her, obviously satisfied with what he saw.

“You have seen it all before, my lord,” Darcy said.

“You will speak when spoken to, Miss Sherwood.”

She glared at him again. “I protest being treated like a child.”

Broadmoor cupped her chin in his hand and bent his head to look deep into her eyes. “I take it you wish to be punished?”

Darcy’s heart pounded. The area between her legs throbbed at his nearness.

“Trust me,” he said, “I would take great pleasure in providing you the set-down you so graciously provided me.”

Broadmoor moved his hand from Darcy’s chin and ran his knuckles gently down her throat and past the curve of one breast. After brushing past her navel, he combed the curls at the base of her pelvis with his fingers.

“…and perhaps you will as well.”

Darcy shuddered. Her mind tried desperately to regain control of the situation, but her entire body had already become sensitized to his touch.

“Lie down on the bed,” Radcliff ordered.

This is not me, Darcy thought, obeying wordlessly. The Darcy Sherwood she knew never took commands from men, least of all a Barrington. But she did not struggle as Broadmoor stretched her arms overhead and clasped the shackles about her wrist.

“I have a score to settle with you, Miss Sherwood.”

Darcy watched anxiously to see what Broadmoor would do next. When he spread her legs apart, she groaned. Her body screamed for him to touch her in her most private places. He breathed in the scent of her, and she felt embarrassed that he surely noticed the moisture there. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that she enjoyed his command over her.

But Darcy’s body betrayed her; jerking wildly when Broadmoor ran his tongue along her clitoris. Darcy pulled at her chains. I have to do something. She could not allow him to accomplish his objective and achieve mastery over her in this manner.

“Stop!” she exclaimed, bringing her thighs together. “What is it you want?”

With a devilish smile and gleam in his eyes, he replied. “Payback, my wicked harlot.”

“I will make you regret this tenfold,” she threatened.

“My dear, you are in no position to do anything except enjoy what I do to you.”

Broadmoor untied his cravat and grabbed one of Darcy’s ankles. She resisted, knowing it was futile. He tied one leg to the bedpost and reached for her torn shift to tie the other leg to the other bedpost. She laid, each limb tied to a corner of the bed, splayed for the world to see.

With her immobilized, Radcliff returned to his task. Once again he ran his tongue against her. Darcy shivered. He teased her clitoris with his tongue, occasionally dipping into her slit to taste the thin honey there, sending waves of pleasure through her. Darcy pushed her groin closer into his face, but he pulled back. The loss of his touch was like the loss of air.

Darcy opened her eyes and looked at him. She supposed he would deny her in the same fashion she denied him.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Seven

“Well, well, what have we here?”

Darcy lifted her head to find Radcliff studying two items on her vanity: a pair of nipple clamps and a short riding crop. She watched helplessly as he picked up the riding crop and returned to where she remained strung to the bedposts. He ran the crop along her inner thigh, and then tapped it lightly to her quim.

Will he really use it on me? Darcy wondered. Anything would better than this indeterminate state he has me in.

Radcliff returned the crop to the vanity and picked up the nipple clamps. “And what is the purpose of this interesting mechanism?”

Darcy bit her bottom lip. This was not how the evening was supposed to progress.

“They are for the nipples,” she mumbled.

“Show me.”

“I am a little incapacitated at the moment.”

He walked around and released one of her arms. Darcy did not realize how sore they had become.

“Show me,” he repeated, and handed her the nipple clamps.

She put one of the clasps to her nipple and tried her best not to grimace at the pain that shot through her breast and made her pussy throb.

“Now the other,” Radcliff instructed.

Darcy ran her fingers down the chain link and found the other clasp. She pinned it to herself, barely suppressing a groan.

“Satisfied?” she asked, and reached a hand to undo the first clamp.

Broadmoor caught her wrist. “Leave them be.” He sat in a chair dragged to the foot of the bed. Darcy’s quim was in the middle of his line of sight.

“Touch yourself.”

Darcy was more than willing to comply. She dove her free hand between her legs to fondle her clitoris.

“Slowly.”

Taking in a breath, she stroked herself at what was a maddeningly languid pace. Her fingers itched to move faster; but every time she quickened the strokes, his voice halted her. Her climax built in spite of the slow tempo. Darcy strained against her bonds. The acute pressure on her nipples flared anew with every bounce of her breasts. When she heard Broadmoor command her to stop, she could not obey. Her release was too near.

“Please,” she whispered when he pulled her wrist away and returned it the shackle. “Please let me spend….”

When he only looked at her expectantly, she added, “…my lord.”

Broadmoor released the clasps on Darcy’s nipples. The blood rushing back to the tips was enough to send her over the plateau. She came with a new release of wetness, soaking the sheet beneath her. Darcy throbbed in every extremity of her body.

Radcliff unbuttoned his pants and knelt on top of the bed with his cock pointed straight at her quim. With her pussy as sodden as it was, his cock slid in easily. She wrapped her vaginal muscles around his hard member. They groaned in unison.

After only a few strokes, her desire built once more. Broadmoor lightly kissed and pulled at her sore nipples with his mouth, kneading a breast with his hand. Darcy returned his caress by pushing her hips to his. Her motions were limited by her bonds and weariness, but the need to spend again was strong.

Seeing her struggle against her bonds with renewed vigor, Broadmoor pushed himself deeper and harder into her. Their bodies bucked against each other until Darcy came with an intensity that nearly lifted her off the bed. Radcliff followed with his own orgasm, groaning and shuddering on top of her.

After a brief rest, he pulled his weight off her, untied all her bonds, and wrapped her in his arms. Darcy settled her face in the crook of his neck and released a contented sigh.

* * * *

“And Aunt Darcy, the kindly old gentleman Gibbonsis a friend of a Duke. Do you know I think I have never met a Duke before? He agreed to let me walk his dog every day. And I have been reading all about English setters in my new book. Did you know they are among the best bird hunters? And they have wonderful temperaments.”

Enjoying a rare sunny afternoon in their small parlor, Darcy turned to Priscilla. “Did you purchase these books along with his new clothes?”

Priscilla hung her head and nodded.

Darcy put a comforting hand on her sister. “Pray do not think that I disapprove. Only perhaps we should wait on any new expenditures until I have successfully exchanged the deed to Brayten.”

“I imagine that to be soon?”

It was Darcy’s turn to avoid her sister’s gaze. “There is…well, we must first pay off our debts. But I should think soon.”

Not wanting her sister to fret, the only person Darcy had confided in so far had been Henry.

“Radcliff is a reasonable person, is he not?” Priscilla asked.

Darcy Priscilla would mistake her sister’s blush for anger. “I am sure he believes that to be the case.”

“I cannot imagine him to be as disapproving as some have described.”

“Only time will tell,” Darcy replied, and went to sit by Nathan to avoid further questioning. She could tell by her sister’s piercing gaze that Priscilla knew something was afoot. Darcy always made an effort to separate her family from life at the gaming hall. Nothing was going to change that.

Least of all Radcliff Barrington.

* * * *

Darcy gazed down with anticipation and nervousness at shiny metal marbles lying in a small box. Radcliff had surprised her by arriving at Mrs. T’s earlier than usual.

“You will wear these tonight until I remove them,” he said, and instructed her to lie down on her bed.

She did as told for the second night in a row, allowing him to pull up her skirts. He inserted the two silver orbs into her vagina. Darcy shivered at the coolness of the metal against her hot flesh. When Broadmoor pulled her to her feet the balls struck each other. Little vibrations coursed through Darcy’s abdomen. Her legs nearly melted. Radcliff caught her and set her gently back on her feet.

“How long must I keep these in me?”

“As I said, until I remove them.”

“And how long will that be?”

“You are a stubborn, persistent woman,” Radcliff replied with a half-grin. “But if you keep asking, you will only prolong their stay. Enjoy them. They are referred to as pleasure balls, after all.”

With that, Broadmoor picked up his hat and left Darcy to glare daggers after him. She contemplated removing the balls herself. But if Radcliff should discover them missing, there was no telling what punishment he would mete out. Best to endure, she thought.

Unfortunately for Darcy, the evening at Mrs. T’s was already proving raucous; and Darcy’s every move through the crowded gaming room fell under the watchful eye of Radcliff Barrington. Each jostle and bump she came across sent waves through her body. The pleasure balls had sensitized every nerve.

Darcy found it difficult to concentrate and lost for the first time four rounds of faro in succession. Looking across the room at Broadmoor, she silently pleaded for him to end the ordeal. He gave no indication of relenting.

Darcy eventually grew accustomed to the balls, and the discomforting sensations soon transformed into ones of desire. She longed as the night wore on for the balls to be replaced with a stiff cock.

“You have a remarkable command over our friend the Baron,” Henry Wyndham noted. “Must admit I never thought he’d come through.”

Darcy smiled weakly. If he only knew the truth.

“Come to visit you almost every night, hasn’t he?” Henry continued. “Wish I were so fortunate. I take it his cock is more than adequate?”

“Quite adequate,” Darcy replied bluntly. She and Henry often spoke freely of their lovers, but she found herself unable to share such intimate discussions about Radcliff.

* * * *

Hours passed with agonizing slowness. She overheard one patron remark that he found her out-of-sorts tonight, but all she could think of was ridding herself of the pleasure balls and replacing them with Radcliff. She agonized with each massing moment.

After she had closed the house for the evening, Darcy rushed upstairs to her room. It was empty. If Radcliff does not appear soon to remove the balls, I will do it myself, no matter the circumstances. She pulled the hem of her dress up.

The sound of a door opening made her drop the dress and stand at attention.

“Be thankful I did not ask you out riding,” Radcliff said upon entering. “We will save that for another time.”

Darcy grabbed him by the shirt and pulled his mouth to hers. “Remove the balls and fuck me.”

Broadmoor submitted to her kiss and allowed Darcy to pull off his coat. Her hands were shaking and she could barely untie his cravat. She reached next for his breeches.

“Boots first,” Radcliff said.

Darcy obliged, and then went for his cock once more. Radcliff cupped her face in his hands and covered it with his eager mouth. Darcy unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, running her hands hungrily over his muscular chest and arms.

“I can wait no longer,” she moaned as he moved his mouth about her throat. “I must have you in me.”

“In due time, my dear,” Radcliff said into her neck.

“No. Now.”

He pulled away. “Who dictates the terms here, Miss Sherwood?”

I do, a small faint voice echoed in her head, but it was no longer the case. The terms belonged to Radcliff. And as maddening as that was, she found herself feeling safe in his hands.

“You, my lord,” Darcy responded.

“A very discerning woman. Now bend over the bed.”

She complied. Is he going to take me from behind? Darcy wondered with anticipation.

Radcliff elevated her ass by placing a few pillows underneath her. He spread her legs a little further to better his access to her quim. Then he lifted her dress and shift over her waist to bare her ass.

“No petticoats?” he noticed. “What a wanton harlot you are, Miss Sherwood.”

She had omitted that layer for his benefit. “Take them out now,” Darcy murmured. If he doesn’t touch me soon, I will go mad enough for Bedlam.

“I think not,” Radcliff said sternly. “There is the matter of punishment for removing the pleasure balls.”

“But I didn’t remove them,” Darcy objected.

“You were about to.” He palmed one ass cheek, kneading the firm solid flesh before pulling his hand back.

Whack!

Darcy started as much from the slap as the balls knocking against each other. The first slap was simply to put her on notice. It was followed by a harsher second. She dug her fingers into the sheets on the bed. She could hardly believe what was happening to her: allowing a man to spank her! She had never been on the receiving end before.

“I suggest you do as you’re told in the future,” Radcliff said before unleashing a torrent of smacks that left her buttocks red and smarting.

The balls clashed against each other with every strike. Just as Darcy thought she could not take any more, Broadmoor stopped. He gave her one last jolting spank before reaching into her to remove the balls. A gush of wetness poured out.

He pulled out his cock and buried it in her. She came almost instantly.

When at last she descended from her climax, Darcy could feel Broadmoor’s hardness still inside her. Her ass was firmly pressed against his groin, the cheeks so sore she wondered if she would be able to sit in the next few days.

Darcy’s desire built again in spite of her pain. When Radcliff pulled out of her, she felt empty without his cock. He flipped her onto her back without ceremony, threw her legs over his shoulders, and rammed himself into her. Darcy cried out.

The bed struck the wall with his every thrust. She was sure they would wake the servants below. She did not notice her hips becoming sore or how her breasts bounced uncomfortably as he speared her with his cock again and again.

If the sound of the bed against the wall did not wake everyone, her cries of ecstasy would.

It took Darcy a long moment after descending from her orgasm to realize Radcliff had spent as well, rolled off her, and wrapped her in his arms. She held onto him for dear life.

He planted a few light kisses on her brow and whispered in her ear. “My dear Darcy.” In that moment, they were the sweetest words she had ever heard.

* * * *

“You appear particularly radiant this evening, m’dear,” Henry complimented Darcy the following evening. “And yet I do not find our divine Baron has arrived yet?”

“He had to tend to an ailing friend,” Darcy answered as she prepared a table for faro.

“And you let him?”

“How could I not? I am no ogre. And I no longer hold the trump card.”

“Are you sure you wish to ‘hold the trump card’?”

Darcy lifted her brow. Henry leaned his chair back and threw his legs over the armrest of another chair. “Come, come, m’dear,” he said with a knowing smile, “I fancied beneath your fierce independence and defiance hid a part of you wishing for another to be in control.”

“Damn it, Harry,” Darcy said, “you know me too well.”

Henry smiled. “If I were in your shoes, I certainly would not mind taking a few orders from the Baron Broadmoor.”

“Miss Sherwood, I presume?”

Darcy and Henry looked up to see Alastair Robbins standing with a magnificent redhead.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the redhead said. “I am Lady Penelope Robbins.”

Chapter Eight

The beautiful woman with perfect alabaster skin, thin wide lips painted a vibrant hue, long lush lashes, and soft auburn curls took a seat at the gaming table. With her slender shoulders and narrow hips, dressed in an evening gown of fine muslin with the most delicate and intricate lace trimmings, she seemed to be everything Darcy wasn’t. Lady Robbins also adorned herself with long golden earrings, a stunning emerald brooch about her swan-like neck, and an emerald ring nearly as large as her necklace.

“A gift,” Penelope explained, seeing Darcy’s gaze, “from the Baron Broadmoor upon my birthday.”

Darcy stiffened her back and forced a smile. “It is most exquisite. My compliments to the Baron for his impeccable taste.”

“You must be the infamous Miss Sherwood.”

Darcy exchanged amused glances with Henry before answering, “I am indeed Miss Sherwood. As to being infamous, I did not think anyone outside these humble walls knew my name.”

“You underestimate yourself, Miss Sherwood.” Penelope flicked her slender, childlike wrist at her companion. “I think you know my cousin Alastair Robbins. He tells me the tables here are friendly. I enjoy a game of whist from time to time. Would you oblige?”

“Certainly, for the right price. Our bets start at ten quid.” Darcy handed the cards to Henry to shuffle. It was obvious why Lady Robbins had come, and it had nothing to do with cards.

“If you do not mind, I would like Alastair to be my partner. We are so used to playing together.”

Henry gave Darcy an exaggerated sidelong glance. The look did not escape the notice of Lady Robbins, who frowned at the attempted mockery of her relationship with her cousin.

“You had a sister, did you not, Miss Sherwood?” Penelope asked.

“My sister is alive and well,” Darcy answered.

Penelope raised her thin brows. “Indeed? That is a relief to hear. Quite often you find women who, well, are removed from society. They tend to fall into the deepest melancholy. I heard not but yesterday of a woman who, tragically, took her own life.”

“Our Burgundy here is quite a comfort if you should need to drown your sorrows,” Darcy said with what was meant to be a sympathetic smile. It required some effort to remain unaffected when she knew that Penelope’s questions were not innocent attempts at a tete-a-tete.

“How droll you are,” Penelope said. “You deal as if you spend a great deal of time at the card tables.” The cards had been dealt quickly but precisely. “I understand your father also spent a great deal of time at the card tables.”

Darcy looked at the woman sharply, but willed herself not to take the bait. “I was barely out of the cradle when my father taught me how to play.”

“How commendable. But I must urge you to spend more time in society. Surely a beautiful young woman such as you cannot hope to always hide in this gaming hall, charming as it is?”

“On the contrary, I prefer it.”

“But surely it has been years since your coming out? If you wait too long, you will be a confirmed spinster.”

Having won the first trick, Darcy focused on collecting the cards. She had the sense she and Penelope were two men fencing, using words as their offense and the fan of cards they held before their faces as foils.

“I have no need for marriage,” Darcy replied. “To be discreet about one’s lovers would be all too tiresome.”

“And have you many of them?”

“To have but one would be too boring, would it not?”

“Too true. The Baron Broadmoor and I pride ourselves on our unabashed frankness with one another. I was beginning to worry that he would not take interest in other women. You see, I am not eager for marriage either. And I am relieved he has found you.”

Darcy felt Henry’s gaze on her, but kept her own eyes on her cards. She did not want to acknowledge that Penelope, having lost the next trick, had nonetheless scored. They feigned politeness when they really meant to cast daggers at one another. Darcy found herself wanting to win the game of whist like never before.

“He speaks of you often to me. But I wonder that he has not taken himself to be seen with you in society?” Penelope continued her offensive. “Perhaps we will see you at the ball being given by Lord and Lady Pinkerton this Thursday? All persons of any importance will be there. I know Radcliff mentioned to me that he planned to attend and hoped I would as well. He and I had a wonderful time of it last season. I am sure you would have enjoyed it as well.”

Darcy played a card that allowed Henry to win the current trick. She focused her attentions on the game but was not impervious to what Penelope said. Darcy was, no doubt, a forbidden amour best hidden from public view. Lady Robbins was Broadmoor’s legitimate mistress.

“Ours is a simple association,” Darcy said, deciding the gloves had come off, “built upon satisfying but meaningless buggering.”

Alastair Robbins went blue in the face. Henry Windham choked on his breath. A small flush crept up the high-boned cheeks of Penelope. Her eyes flashed with ice.

“If I were to attend the Pinkerton ball,” Darcy resumed as she won her third trick, “it would certainly not be for the sake of being seen with Radcliff Barrington. I am sure that you and I, being ladies of experience, have had our share of men with greater wealth or rank?”

There was barely any need to tally the scores, Darcy and Henry having collectively won the vast majority of tricks.

“Well played, Miss Sherwood,” Penelope said between closed teeth. “You are not at all the vulgar creature I have heard people describe you to be. And while polite society may label you and your sister with that horrid word ‘tramp,’ ours is a kindred philosophy. It is a shame you will not be attending the Pinkerton ball; but I do hope that we may have the pleasure of each other’s company again.”

With one final smile, Lady Robbins took her leave on the arm of her cousin. When they walked out of view, Darcy turned to Henry. “Get me an invitation to the Pinkerton ball.”

“But the ball is less than a week away!”

“You are the Viscount Wyndham, future Earl of Brent. Surely you can devise a way to get me there.”

“Even if I could, why would you wish to attend? It will be a deadly dull affair. Don’t tell me that silly woman has perturbed you?”

“Perhaps if she had not referred to my sister as a tramp…”

“But, my dear, she fully intended to antagonize you and, apparently, succeeded.”

“Harry, you ought to know my temperament. I am not so stalwart as to be impervious to such slanders against my family,” Darcy responded with exasperation.

“No,” said Henry slowly, “what surprises me is that you seem jealous of Lady Robbins.”

Jealous? Darcy had never been jealous of a woman before; but she would have to be dense not to realize that she was, in fact, jealous of Penelope Robbins.

“I could be a little,” Darcy admitted, “and who would not? She is beautiful and has such obvious wealth at her disposal.”

Henry avoided Darcy’s gaze by aimlessly shuffling a deck of cards. “…but that would mean you actually cared for that Barrington fellow.”

“Not possible,” Darcy said weakly. She recalled how furious he made her, how she succumbed to his touch the following day, how the slightest phrase of his could anger her, how maddening the pleasure, and how safe she felt in his arms.

“It is merely part of my plan to provide him his set-down,” she said. “He may think he holds all the cards, but the odds always favor the house. Will you help me or not, Harry?”

“Of course, my dear,” Henry answered, sounding anything but convinced.

* * * *

“Thank you, Lady Worthley,” Darcy said to the regal woman sitting opposite her in the carriage.

“Not at all, my dear,” replied the older woman. “I have no affection for Katherine Barrington. She tried to deny my application to Almack’s years ago on account of a few soirees I had hosted in which the men and women were free to court whomever they wished. Nor could I deny a request from my grand-nephew.”

Henry, seated next to Darcy, smiled with appreciation at his aunt.

“I have not heard much of you, but your manners appear to me genteel.” Lady Worthley peered at Darcy through the eyepiece she held before her. “And you are ravishing, like Queen Nefertiti or Cleopatra. There is no need to be nervous, my child.”

“Is it that apparent?” Darcy asked with a wry smile, suddenly aware she had been twisting and pulling at the rings and bracelets she borrowed from Lady Worthley and was unaccustomed to wearing.

“You have already set tongues a waggin’. I daresay you are creating a stir to match the tales of Lord Byron and his sister!”

When the carriage pulled up in front of the home of Lord and Lady Pinkerton, Darcy took a deep breath to quell a desire to retreat back to the comfortable familiarity of her gaming hall. It had been years since she attended a ball of this magnitude. Is this the sort of anxiety young maidens felt upon having their first introduction at Almack’s? She felt a reassuring squeeze upon her hand from Henry.

“Remember,” he said, “you are the infamous Miss Sherwood!”

Darcy laughed and felt a little more emboldened. She was able to enter the vestibule with her head held high. She knew her appearance, at least, would not want for anything. Priscilla, more adept at the needle, had assisted her with her gown, spending hours for the past few days altering an old dress and sewing an overlay of gold filigree. At the last moment, Darcy opted for a spray of water that molded the gown to her body.

Mathilda had had her maid apply rollers to set Darcy’s hair in larger curls, which was then partially piled atop her head and accented with a simple gold headdress. The only thing that needed to be purchased was a pair of gloves and lavish gold sandals.

Darcy nearly faltered upon her entrance in the ballroom. The room had dozens of the largest chandeliers she had ever seen. Silk wallpaper could hardly be noticed behind the brightness of all the candelabra adorning the walls. Garlands of flowers were draped along the length of the room and decorated marble statues guarding the entry. She had never seen anything so magnificent.

What seemed like a collective gasp met Darcy’s ears. She reminded herself to breathe. Lady Worthley began explaining to her host and hostess that her niece was unable to attend; and as a result, she was pleased to introduce Miss Darcy Sherwood as her companion.

“A pleasure,” said Lord Pinkerton, a distinguished gentleman near 50 whose eyes sparkled like one much younger. His wife looked on with obvious displeasure.

After thanking the Pinkertons, Darcy moved into the ballroom behind Lady Worthley and Henry. She tried to ignore the whispers, but wondered if she had made a mistake in coming. Is it not childish to indulge my jealousy of Lady Robbins?

She saw Penelope first, and felt a sense of gratification upon seeing the woman’s widened eyes. For a moment, Darcy did not care how juvenile her motivation had been.

“Diana, what are you attempting?” a well-dressed woman pointedly asked Lady Worthley.

Lady Worthley lifted her eyepiece. “Where are your manners, Louisa? Left them at home alone with your son? I don’t suppose his bed rest had anything to do with the duel he supposedly was not involved in?”

“She is quite a marvelous woman,” Darcy whispered to Henry later while his aunt spoke with a friend.

“Yes,” Henry acknowledged, “in a duel between her tongue and the sharpest sword available, I would lay odds in her favor!”

While no one else dared address Lady Worthley as Louisa had, it was clear many avoided her.

Darcy felt the weight of stares upon her. Seeing the backs of people’s heads as they refused to make eye contact was no better. Even the men she recognized, who tripped over their feet to attend to her at the gaming hall, hesitated to greet her in the presence of their mothers, sisters and wives.

Sighing inwardly, Darcy again felt it had been a mistake to come and put the kindness of Lady Worthley to task. What had I hoped to accomplish? To make Penelope jealous? Darcy realized Lady Robbins was only part of the reason; her attendance had more to do with Broadmoor. But after all her efforts, the man was not even there.

“Darling Darcy, what a surprise!” Richard Caville exclaimed. “I thought you shunned social functions such as this.”

Darcy let out a relieved breath. She allowed him to raise her hand to his lips.

“You know each other?” Lady Worthley asked with lifted brow.

“Lady Worthley, it is an honor,” Richard returned, bowing. “I have heard the most wondrous things of you.”

“And I the most scandalous words of you. Now be off with you.”

“Only if Darcy promises the first dance to me.”

Darcy started, having forgotten about the inevitable dancing.

“Miss Sherwood has too many admirers to be promising anyone a dance,” Lady Worthley answered for Darcy.

“Then perhaps you, Lady Worthley, would do me the honor of taking a turn about the floor?” Richard asked with a disarming grin.

“Hrmph,” Lady Worthley responded, though it was clear she was not untouched by Richard’s charms. “It has been ages since I have danced. Make your mischief elsewhere.”

“I relent for now,” Richard said, “but you have not seen the last of me.”

He gave them a wicked wink before departing.

“That one is trouble,” Lady Worthley said to Darcy.

“I know it already,” Darcy replied.

Richard was the least of her worries. It was the dancing that concerned her. It had been ages since Darcy had danced in any capacity greater than a few twirls about Mrs. T’s with partners too tipsy for coordination.

Reading her mind, Henry said, “I make a poor dance partner.”

“You have no need to worry,” Darcy assured him, “I have no desire to seek a dance partner. Given the reception I have received this evening, I doubt anyone else will be seeking my hand for a dance.”

She hoped she was right.

* * * *

“Diana Worthley must be mad as Bedlam bringing that wicked harlot here!” Katherine Barrington exclaimed to her nephew.

She had dragged her daughter, Juliana, who had had her coming out the year before, the length of the ballroom to make her displeasure known to Radcliff.

Broadmoor had arrived late and missed the dinner; but quickly discovered the topic on everyone’s tongue was Miss Sherwood. Having just returned from Sussex but a few hours earlier, he had little desire to attend the ball. Only his friendship with Lord Pinkerton obligated him. He had contemplated making a brief stop at Mrs. T’s to see Darcy, never imagining she would be at the ball.

“I knew Diana to indulge that grand-nephew of hers,” Katherine went on. “You know what they say of him.”

“The Viscount Wyndham?” Juliana asked. “He is most flawlessly dressed!”

“Juliana! Never you mind. Future Earl or not, I would never choose to invite him.” Katherine turned to Radcliff. “What devilry do you think that hussy is about?”

Glancing toward the center of the ballroom where Miss Sherwood was being twirled about by Rutgers, Radcliff replied in a bored tone. “At the moment, dancing.”

“She means to insult us further!”

Following her uncle’s gaze, Juliana thought aloud. “She looks quite regal.”

Radcliff agreed. Darcy carried herself with a dignity he initially interpreted as aloofness but now saw as an aura of majesty. Only once or twice did he glimpse uncertainty in her eyes.

The first instance was when she faltered in the quadrille. Broadmoor noticed no one dared approach her for the first few dance sets and had been tempted to himself. But he wanted to observe her from afar and determine what her motivation might have been in coming. Is there truth to Katherine’s concerns? he wondered.

It was Lord Pinkerton who shocked his guests and paved the way by being the first to ask Darcy for a dance. She appeared content to simply watch, but clearly could not refuse the host. Many others followed.

She is not the best of dancers, Radcliff noticed. The waltz was the worst. She and her partner had to make their way to the outskirts of the masses flying by to collect their footing and regain their position in time to the music. Nonetheless, she remained throughout her movements, as Juliana noted, regal.

Regal and provocative. Radcliff did not doubt that half the cocks in the room stirred upon seeing her. Even from halfway across the floor, he could see the outline of her nipples through her dress’ clinging fabric. His first impulse was to approach Darcy and cover her with his coat, disturbed so much of her was on display.

“Well, Radcliff?” Katherine asked. “What do you mean to do with that hussy?”

Radcliff narrowed his eyes at his aunt’s imperial demand. “Ask her to dance,” he replied.

Chapter Nine

While Katherine attempted to digest whether his words were in jest, Radcliff bowed to his other cousin and strode over to Darcy. He’d had enough of watching other men with their hands on her.

“I should dearly like to give my feet a rest,” Darcy was saying to the assembly of men about her as she sat down next to Lady Worthley, who observed the spectacle while fanning herself. “And the waltz is clearly my weakest dance.”

“It depends on your partner,” Radcliff interjected.

She raised her eyebrows. He could not tell if she was pleased to see him.

She shook her head. “No one can make me appear to dance the waltz well.”

Ignoring the snickering, he held out his hand. “Prove me wrong.”

She hesitated.

“Miss Sherwood said she means to rest a while,” one of the young men informed. Radcliff kept his stare trained on her until she met his gaze. It was not a request he had put to her, but a command.

She rose to her feet reluctantly. “Very well. Care to make a wager of it, my lord?”

Her last two words wrenched his insides. He wanted no more than to sweep her off her feet and carry her someplace to fuck her brains out.

Brazen little tart, he thought to himself. Even as she submitted to him, she sought to have the upper hand.

“A hundred guineas,” Radcliff proposed. Knowing full well she could not afford such a price, he added, “in exchange for two dances.”

She smiled in triumph. “Done. You part with your money too easily, Baron.”

“Who will judge the winner?” one of the young men asked.

Radcliff stared hard at Darcy. “Anyone you please, Miss Sherwood.”

His confidence jolted her. She could easily have selected from the eager men who would have liked nothing more than to see Radcliff fail; but her sense of fair play compelled her to turn to Lady Worthley.

The woman’s gaze landed on Radcliff. He felt a strong sense of disapproval from her mature eyes. “Very well,” Lady Worthley assented. “You best be off, for the music has begun.”

Broadmoor led Darcy to the dance floor and encircled her waist without ceremony. She will see she belongs in my arms and mine alone.

She resisted when he pulled her body close enough to his that her nipples grazed his chest.

“Surely this is not an effective position?” she hissed.

“On the contrary, the closer you are to me, the less likely you will step on my feet as you did to the poor lad you danced the first waltz with,” he explained. “Step back on your right foot when we start.”

Before she had time to respond, he stepped toward her and swept her into the stream of dancers moving clockwise about the ballroom. The waltz was a difficult dance with women who turned into pudding in a man’s arms; but Darcy’s rigid frame allowed Broadmoor to maneuver her easily about the floor.

“Keep your eye on me and not your feet,” he instructed, wanting her to relax and relinquish control. “Trust me.”

To his surprise, she agreed. Her steps became more fluid and a small smile spread across her face as she began to enjoy the dance. Radcliff smiled in return. The music ended too soon for him. He did not want to release her from his arms.

“Well, my dears,” greeted Lady Worthley when Radcliff had escorted Darcy back to her seat, “this was no easy task you gave me, but I fear, Miss Sherwood, that you owe the Baron two dances.”

“Those dances will have to wait,” a voice said behind him. “He is promised to me for a few sets.”

Penelope. Broadmoor felt a possessive hand on his arm and he turned to his forgotten mistress.

“I beg your pardon for having eluded you the entire evening thus far,” Penelope said. “I simply had too many friends to visit with before I could contemplate dancing. Now that I have dispensed of my duties, I am quite at your disposal for the rest of the night.”

Radcliff bit back his retort and turned back to Miss Sherwood.

She was gone.

* * * *

“How charitable of you to ask her to dance,” Penelope said.

Radcliff barely heard her words as he scanned the crowd and spotted Darcy leaving the ballroom with Henry Wyndham. Why is she always in that man’s company?

“But I think it time you bestow some of your generosity elsewhere,” Penelope continued. “It has been weeks since I saw you last, when your aunt paid us a most unexpected visit. I recall we left some business unfinished?”

“Do you mean to tell me your other lover has not entertained you well enough?”

She furrowed her brow.

“I have known for some time, Penelope,” he revealed, glimpsing the panic in her eyes.

Penelope laughed nervously. “Well, we are peas in a pod, then? Only your tastes are a bit more peculiar. I could never be as free with my standards. Is it because she holds the deed to your cousin’s estate?”

“I see Richard Caville is headed our way,” Radcliff noted, disentangling her fingers from his arm. “I am sure he can satisfy your next dance set.”

Leaving her to her other lover, Radcliff headed in the direction Darcy and Henry walked. He always suspected theirs to be no mere friendship, despite rumors of Henry’s proclivities. There were certainly those who went with either sex.

The evening was warm. Many guests had taken themselves into the dimly lit but well-manicured garden. Lord Pinkerton had imported flora from all parts of the world and retained the garden maze that was all the rage in the last century. Well-behaved couples ambled near the steps in plain view of their chaperones. More mischievous couples ventured into the maze.

Radcliff followed the latter.

Lord Pinkerton once boasted it could take a novice days to find his or her way out of the intricate shrub-lined alleys; but delightful statues, fountains and benches greeted almost every turn and dead-end. Radcliff knew his way well, after having spent countless hours in the maze since childhood.

After encountering one couple giggling behind a bush and another in a quarrel, Radcliff rounded a secluded corner and found Darcy sitting by herself on a bench. She gazed up at the sky with her back to him. In this part of the maze, only the light of the moon and stars served as illumination. A small breeze moved tendrils of hair at the base of her neck. Broadmoor was almost reluctant to disturb her peace.

“I hope you did not think you could escape payment?” he asked quietly. “You owe me two dances.”

“I never welch on a debt, Baron,” she responded without turning around.

He approached her bench. “Where is the future Earl of Brent?”

She shrugged. “In the garden somewhere. What is your interest in him?”

Radcliff pressed his lips together. Her nonchalance maddened him.

“None at all,” he replied, “only that I find his manners wanting for leaving a young woman alone in a dark garden.”

“Henry and I have been friends since we were children,” she said, finally turning to look at him. “He knows that I can fend for myself. I am no helpless maiden.”

“Only friends?” Radcliff could not contain the jealousy that crept into his tone.

“Henry was one of the few at the ball who cared to be in my company.”

The warmth with which she clearly regarded the Viscount softened Radcliff’s feelings toward Henry while inflaming his jealousy. The young man’s companionship with Darcy was still far too cozy for comfort.

He sat down next to her on the marble bench, facing the opposite direction. Even with all the flowers in bloom, he could smell the light musk of her perfume. He would have preferred she wore no scent at all; for he favored her natural fragrance.

“Still, he should not have left you,” Radcliff maintained as he leaned toward her. “A man could easily come upon you with intents of mischief.”

Darcy looked at him with a playful smile. “But then I should scream so that all in the garden would hear me.”

Radcliff wrapped a hand about her neck, unable to resist the lure of her. “And by the time anyone could work their way through the maze to aid you, the crime would already have been committed and the assailant fled.” With his thumb, he angled her chin at him. Her eyes captured the stars and sparkled their light at Broadmoor through the darkness.

“What sort of man would have such wicked intentions?” she asked.

“The simplest of men. You look far too ravishing not to be noticed. Or fucked.”

Darcy’s eyes widened. Radcliff crushed his lips on top of hers and pulled her to him. In their days away, any idle moment was filled with thoughts of Darcy. He had masturbated five, six times a day. His desire for her seemed even greater in absence.

She sighed as Broadmoor devoured her. She gave a muffled protest at his vigor. He wanted to be gentle, but his hunger for Darcy was too great. She could not tease him with her sensuous attire or by dancing with all those other men and not expect him to claim her in any way his body dictated.

He leaned her back onto the cold marble of the bench and pushed the feeble fabric of her gown down to suckle her breast. The nipple hardened instantly for him. He groped the other breast with his hand and heard her moan. Broadmoor’s cock pressed against his pants, longing for her.

Broadmoor’s hand found the hem of her dress and he followed her leg up to her groin. She was deliciously wet.

After teasing her clitoris until her breath became an uneasy pant, Broadmoor pushed himself off her to remove his coat.

Darcy looked like a virginal sacrifice in a pagan ritual with her head hanging off the marble bench, back arched, and one knee pointed toward the sky. Broadmoor pressed his against her neck and then down into the crevice of her collarbone. He had already pulled his eager cock from his pants and positioned himself on top of her.

He plunged into her. The bliss that greeted Broadmoor was like the first taste of food for someone who fasted a fortnight. I was meant to be here, he thought, with her. In her softness, her wetness, her warmth.

The sound of voices startled Darcy. She raised her head with nervous eyes.

“We will be discovered here,” she whispered, attempting to push Broadmoor off her.

“Unlikely,” he responded without moving. “This is no easy part of the maze to reach. I wonder how you managed to discover it.”

“If I can find it, others may as well.” Again, she tried to free herself from under him.

“Let them.” He stroked his cock in and out of her.

Darcy glared. “That may be well for you, but I have no intention of insulting our hosts; especially given I did not formally received an invitation.”

“Then why did you come?” he asked in earnest.

She smiled wryly. “Your mistress advised me that it was an event not to be missed.”

Radcliff paused. So Penelope has been to see Darcy. He should not have been surprised. Perhaps he should have ended his relationship with Lady Robbins as he had thought to do many times before ever meeting Darcy.

“What else did she advise you?”

“I ought not betray a confidence shared in sisterhood.”

Broadmoor could not tell if she was being coy or truthful. He thought he detected a hurt tone, and her renewed struggles seemed almost angry.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“No.” He moved once more against her in a motion that enabled his cock to graze the bottom of her engorged clitoris. “I have been without you for days and have no intention of stopping now.”

Letting out a cry of frustration, Darcy hit him on the upper arm and strained against his chest. The wriggling of her body beneath his only served to arouse him more. Grabbing her wrists in one hand, he locked them underneath her head and thrust his cock further into her. He bucked his hips against hers until he could no longer tell if she writhed in protest or pleasure.

Darcy’s moaning signaled that her resistance had been replaced with desire. She cried out in ecstasy this time, her body shuddering against his. Only then did Radcliff give in to his own climactic end. Grunting low, he spilled his seed deep in her womb in what felt like a dozen waves.

Broadmoor felt like collapsing on top of Darcy, but knew her neck and arms must be sore from her precarious position. He gently pulled her to the ground on top of him and allowed her to rest her head upon his chest. Her eyes were closed and her breath had returned to a more moderate rhythm. The feel and sound of her breathing had a calming effect on him. Broadmoor felt a tremendous sense of peace. As he massaged the back of her neck and stared up into the night sky, he wondered if he could ever let her go.

* * * *

Radcliff helped Darcy fix her gown and hair so that only the most detailed scrutiny would betray she had been mussed. Knowing the woman always bore the greater vestige of coupling, Broadmoor even led her to a fountain and gently cleansed the fluids that dripped from her quim down her thighs. His cock stirred. He held back the urge to undo their efforts and fuck her again.

“You still owe me two dances,” he told Darcy after leading her out of the maze. Broadmoor marveled at how much more beautiful she looked after being ravished.

“You never said they had to be tonight,” she returned playfully.

“Was not your intention to see me humiliated?” The words had no sooner left his mouth before he wished he could retract them.

Darcy’s eyes were unreadable, but she removed her hand from his and said curtly, “Consider yourself granted a reprieve, Baron.”

She returned to the ballroom, leaving Radcliff to curse to himself. He had not meant what he said. True, it had been her purpose to provide him a set-down, but he could have chosen better words. Surely she could see that he could have avoided her the entire evening, but chose not only to speak to her, but to dance with her; knowing full well he would set tongues wagging and effectively invite upon himself the horrified lamentations of his Aunt Katherine.

“Quite an engaging creature, I must say,” Lord Pinkerton pronounced as he came up behind Radcliff. “Although I can’t say I agree with Lady Worthley’s contrivance, it is a shame Miss Sherwood should have been hiding from us all this time.”

“She inherited a sizeable debt from Jonathan Sherwood,” Radcliff explained, “and attempts to pay it off by working in a gaming hall.”

“Jonathan was endowed with a good heart but not much common sense.”

“The daughter is a much better gambler.”

“So I hear. Won the deed to Brayten from Edward, did she not?” Lord Pinkerton smiled in amusement. “Sorry to say that your cousin had it coming to him.”

Radcliff thought of Priscilla, though he was sure Lord Pinkerton was not specifically referring to Edward’s relationship with her.

“Brayten will be in our hands soon enough,” Radcliff assured.

“And do you mean to seduce the deed from Miss Sherwood?”

Radcliff grinned wryly. “Frankly, by any means necessary.”

“Miss Sherwood appears a clever girl. Why not simply offer her money in exchange for the deed?”

Pressing his lips into a firm line, Radcliff responded, “Because she means to provide me a set-down first.”

“Ah.” Lord Pinkerton clasped his hands behind his back and ambled back toward the ballroom. When he turned to look back at Radcliff, his eyes glimmered with merriment. “Dare say I wouldn’t mind receiving a set-down from that one.”

Radcliff raised his brows. He had never heard Lord Pinkerton, one of the more devoted husbands of their time, utter anything quite so scandalous.

“If you persist in seducing Miss Sherwood,” Lord Pinkerton said, mounting the steps that led back inside, “do try not to do it on my favorite marble bench.”

* * * *

The following day Radcliff received on perfumed floral stationery the directive from Lady Penelope Robbins that he need not visit her anymore. The letter made him want to rush out and see Miss Sherwood. Penelope had done some damage in her visit to Darcy, he was sure of it, though perhaps no more than he had done himself at the Pinkerton ball.

Miss Sherwood had left the ball early with Lady Worthley, to the relief of some and the consternation of others, and left Radcliff no opportunity to amend his earlier words. The ones he had used the day he met her had been particularly harsh, and he winced to recall them. He no longer cared what others thought of him if they saw him in her company.

Most of the guests were still confused by his actions. Katherine had been so befuddled that she did not even bother to approach him. It was fortunate that she did not, for he had had no patience for her that night. Edward had simply smirked. Those with cocks understood.

Radcliff could hardly wait till evening to see Darcy. He needed to take his mind off her, and decided riding his horses was just the thing. He grabbed his hat and gloves and was heading down the hall when he was met by one of his servants.

“Begging your pardon, my lord,” Gibbons said, “but young Master Sherwood has come to walk the dog.”

Chapter Ten

It pleased Radcliff that the boy wore the new clothes Radcliff paid for and insisted Priscilla give to her son. The clothes Nathan had worn the day they met were unacceptably too small.

Unbeknownst to Darcy, Radcliff had scouted the Sherwood residence one day and spotted Priscilla and Nathan emerging from the house for a walk. It had taken Radcliff an instant to recognize Edward in Nathan Sherwood. The young boy shared the same impetuous chin, the same streaks of brown amidst the blond hair, and the same charcoal eyes all Barrington men shared. There was relatively little of Priscilla in Nathan’s countenance, but, fortunately, all of her in his disposition.

After witnessing how excited the boy became at each dog that passed their way, Radcliff had decided to return the following day with Gibbons and his own dog in tow. While Gibbons and his setter entertained Nathan, Radcliff had approached Priscilla and introduced himself.

She was taken aback and instantly weary of him, to no surprise. Radcliff detected the same Sherwood defiance in Priscilla that Darcy possessed. But after assurances that he meant no harm, she had relaxed and was friendlier than Darcy had ever been.

“Why did you not come to me?” Radcliff had asked after Priscilla related her unsuccessful attempts to convince Edward to recognize his son.

“You disapproved of my relationship with Edward from the start,” she responded.

“True, but I would never have allowed Edward to shirk his responsibility.”

Priscilla protested that she was quite comfortable with her situation and would not seek Edward’s involvement now.

Radcliff had offered no comment, but was dissatisfied with how things were.

“Darcy and I have done well enough raising him,” Priscilla added with lifted chin.

“That you have,” Radcliff conceded. “You and your sister have proven to be remarkably capable women. Nathan is an upstanding young man. My compliments to you.”

“What do you intend with Darcy?”

The question caught him off guard, but he met her gaze. “As long as the deed to Brayten is returned to us, you may rest assured that no harm will come to your sister.”

The answer had not mollified Priscilla, but she did not pursue the matter further.

After leaving her with a sum of money to purchase some books for Nathan and an offer to provide anything else that Nathan might need, he had exacted from her a promise that she would not divulge to Darcy they had met.

“But how will I explain the new clothes and books?” Priscilla demanded.

“You are, no doubt, a clever woman and will surely think of a proper response.”

She is a charming and refined young woman, Radcliff reflected to himself. He could easily see how Edward had fallen for her, though Broadmoor had initially thought her rather simple and humdrum. She had matured elegantly despite her situation in life.

He, however, preferred the rough edges that the elder Sherwood sister possessed; even her temper came from a passion that could burn large and high. Darcy Sherwood was full of contrasting, alluring manners.

Radcliff urged his horses to a faster clip. His curricle was light and flew along the cobblestones, the wheels barely touching the road. In his younger days he often engaged in curricle racing, and still relished the wind that whipped by when his bays went into full gallop.

Darcy was unlikely to be at Mrs. T’s this early in the day, but Radcliff swung his curricle into the area of St. James’s nonetheless. As luck would have it, he saw her walking along the alley just south of Pall Mall. He drew abreast of her.

“Would you care for a lift, Miss Sherwood?” he asked.

She smiled up at him with a warmth he found gratifying and exhilarating. Darcy’s bonnet was a simple straw hat with a white ribbon; but he found it the most charming headdress.

“Are you offering me a choice, my lord?” she returned.

“It is best not to test my charity.”

“Very well, then I accept your offer.” Darcy allowed him to help her into the curricle.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Broadmoor asked as he led the horses into an easy canter.

She hesitated, but then revealed that she had been contemplating a tutor for Nathan. Priscilla had brought up the matter.

“I suppose he is of an age that he should have one,” Darcy said. “Nathan is quite the avid learner, and there are limits to what Priscilla and I can teach him. And Priscilla insists she has the means to hire a tutor, though I can’t imagine that she has the requisite income to pay for one. But we really have no knowledge of where to find a tutor.”

“Allow me,” Radcliff said, not wanting her to dwell on where Priscilla’s new source of funds came from or where Priscilla had gotten the idea of hiring a tutor, which he had insisted upon. “I have some experience in the matter, having helped secure one for my nephew years ago. I know my secretary could recommend a number of individuals of good moral character who would serve not only to provide the proper education for Nathan but also serve as a role model.”

“Would you?” she replied with such gratefulness in her eyes that Radcliff suddenly wanted to tell her he would secure the world for her. “We should be extremely obliged. “I suppose,” she continued with lowered lashes, “there is a price? The deed to Brayten?”

“As I said, do not test my charity, Miss Sherwood,” Radcliff said.

She looked up at him and seemed about to speak, but said nothing. Radcliff would have given no small sum to hear what she was about to say.

“This is not the route to Mrs. T’s,” she observed.

“I thought we could take a ride about Hyde Park, unless you have more pressing matters.”

“That is quite presumptuous of you, my lord.”

“I beg your pardon. Have you urgent matters with Mrs. T? Or a poor fool whose pockets you need to relieve?”

“Lady Luck happens to be with you today,” she admitted, “but you should not be so bold in the future to think that I have naught but to be at your beck and command.”

Radcliff grinned wryly. “Miss Sherwood, I remind you that you are at my beck and command. But fear not, for I am confident you will also want to be at my beck and command.”

“You are positively the most arrogant man I have ever met,” she pronounced, but this time there was no anger behind her voice.

The curricle pulled into the park. Darcy was soon distracted by the gazes and arched brows they drew from onlookers. Radcliff noticed that whereas other women would have delighted and reveled in being seen in his company, Miss Sherwood seemed ill at ease. She shifted awkwardly. Her thigh grazed his.

“Pay no heed to them,” he said sympathetically. “They are fond of exercising their brows.”

Darcy laughed. “Of course. I have lived most of my life not caring a fig for what such people think. I suppose you and I share that much in common.”

Broadmoor nodded. “It can be vastly entertaining to test how high one’s brows can arch.”

“Yours went fairly high the day you gave me your first set-down!”

“You mean when you gave me your set-down, Madam!”

She laughed again. Broadmoor marveled at how lovely the sound was.

“I had never had my back up in such a manner,” Darcy admitted.

“Nor I mine.”

She shook her head. “You were abominable.”

“And you a wretched jade.”

“Only you could make me take pride in such a label. What else had you called me? A Jezebel?”

“Wanton. Brazen.” Broadmoor felt his body temperature rise. He angled the horses toward a small cottage and garden exhibit closed for repair. He leaped off the curricle and assisted Darcy to the ground.

“I neglected to include ‘temptress,’” he said in a low voice near her ear. Broadmoor led her through an opening in the fence that led into the garden.

“Yes, many an innocent gentleman has succumbed to my arts,” she responded wryly.

“You know I have no desire to be a gentleman with you,” Broadmoor said, pulling her to him roughly once they were hidden from view behind the wisteria bushes.

“How fortunate for me,” she murmured. Darcy melted against him and succumbed to his forceful kisses.

He took her mouth in his with a desire to devour her. His veins seemed filled with fire. His erection pressed painfully against his pantaloons. Broadmoor hungered for Darcy from the depths of his soul.

She reached a hand between his legs and stroked his cock through the fabric. Broadmoor groaned. He pushed the sleeves of her gown down and pressed his hot lips to her neck, her collarbone, and her bare shoulders. The fabric clung tightly to her and almost ripped in his effort to access her breasts. She gestured that there were button closures at the back, which he quickly opened. The dress pooled at her feet.

Darcy’s corset lifted and separated her breasts, but Broadmoor mashed them together and tongued both nipples in quick succession. He heard her moan and felt her body arch towards his mouth. His penis throbbed and his balls felt ready to burst.

Laying Darcy on the ground, Broadmoor pushed away her petticoats and dove between her legs. He breathed in the sweet and savory essence of her womanhood and flicked a tongue at her clitoris. She shuddered. He put his lips to her clit and bit the nub of flesh before licking it, then sucking it. He ran his tongue along her quim before pushing it between her folds. Soon the rustling sound of the trees and what was probably an animal lurking in the bushes were drowned out by the sound of her labored breathing and cries of ecstasy.

He allowed her to relax from her climax as he unbuttoned his pantaloons and pulled out his cock. She looked at him with a dazed expression, but desire burned clearly in those eyes. Kneeling before her, he shoved his cock into her waiting wetness. Her warmth engulfed him and it took him a moment to prevent himself from spending that instant.

When he had regained control, Broadmoor pulled himself out and began a slow but steady motion. She lifted her hips to meet each thrust and entwined her fingers in his. Broadmoor pushed himself harder and faster into her, her breasts bouncing with each shove.

Looking up, he found himself staring into the eyes of a boy not much older than 18. So it was not been an animal I had heard earlier, Broadmoor thought. He was too far gone to warn Darcy that she lay half-naked before the boy. Ignoring the sinful grin on the lad’s face, he brought his attention back to Darcy. He thrust into her as if he meant to permanently impale her on his cock. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip as he drove deep into her. She came with a violent shudder and scream that could have drawn half the park’s visitors.

With a few more quick thrusts, Broadmoor came. His seed gushed out his balls and penis, embedding themselves deep within her womb. He collapsed on top of her and could feel the points of her nipples pressing hard into his chest. Lifting himself up onto his forearms, he kissed her lightly on her moist brow. He looked up to see the young man pull up his own pants and disappear behind the elm bushes.

* * * *

Darcy and Broadmoor strode through the park. They talked of family. Darcy was delighted that Radcliff took an interest in hearing more about Nathan. They talked of their childhoods, politics and the mundane.

Darcy walked with strides light as air. She had not known what to expect in appearing at the Pinkerton Ball the night before. She certainly would not have predicted, though she had hoped, Radcliff’s willingness to be seen in her company. Indeed, he had sought it by asking her to dance. And though they had not parted on the best of terms, he more than compensated for his words by taking her to the most public of parks.

Scorn and ridicule would undoubtedly be cast upon him, and Darcy regretted the position she put him in. His fall from society’s graces would be harder than hers had been; for his was a loftier position to begin with. And yet as she stole a glance at his handsome profile, he seemed unperturbed by those prospects. His confidence emboldened her, and her heart filled with a warmth suspiciously like affection.

Perhaps she did want to be at his beck and command.

When Radcliff assisted her down off the curricle after returning her to Mrs. T’s, Darcy felt another layer of caution melt away.

“I am to meet a friend at Brook’s for dinner tonight,” Radcliff informed her as he brought her hand to his lips, “but expect to see you tomorrow night.”

“Very well,” Darcy returned, “but do not expect me to leave my position and fall to my knees upon your arrival.”

Broadmoor pressed his lips together firmly, tightening his hold upon her hand.

“Be my mistress,” he told her.

Darcy blinked a few times. “How many mistresses do you need?”

“Only one. You.”

“Do you not have one already?” she asked archly.

“Lady Robbins and I severed our relationship.”

“Ah.”

“I would treat you well,” he pledged. “You would want for nothing. I can set up an apartment for you, provide you with clothing and servants.”

The image of a life of luxury danced before her; one that could surpass the comforts of her life when her father had fared well. But her thoughts quickly turned to Priscilla and Nathan.

“I am comfortable enough residing with Mrs. T,” Darcy said, her voice shaking.

“I could secure accommodations for your sister and nephew as well,” he disclosed.

Surprised at how well he knew her thoughts, she hesitated.

“You would be an outcast,” she demurred while a voice inside her scolded her for being a fool. What idiot would not take his offer?

“Other men have had far more controversial love affairs and survived.”

Darcy’s heart pounded in her head. A home for Priscilla and Nathan. My own living conditions secured. I would no longer have to work at the gaming hall. I could be with him.

And yet, she had never been anyone’s mistress before. Darcy had no idea what did a mistress did, or what the appropriate etiquette was. What would be my responsibilities? My freedoms?

Her words to him from what seemed ages ago echoed in her mind: I am no man’s mistress. She would be bound to him, dependent. Her independence would be gone. How long would it be before I went the way of Penelope Robbins? Until he found a wife?

“No,” Darcy said. Though she avoided his gaze, she could tell Broadmoor was surprised.

“That is hardly a rational answer,” he responded.

She looked him in the eyes, hoping he did not detect her uncertainty. “I am no man’s mistress.”

“And why is that?” he asked angrily. “Because you wish to entertain the attentions of more than one lover?”

“Because I do not wish to be at any man’s beck and command,” she said, though it was only partly true. “If you please, my lord, Mrs. T is waiting for me.”

“It pleases me not at all,” he retorted.

Darcy pretended she did not hear, and fled up the stairs to the gaming hall. Luck was with her and the steward opened the door almost immediately. Darcy almost knocked the man over in her haste to enter. She dared not look back.

Chapter Eleven

“Are you not having breakfast, Darcy? You look pale. Are you feeling ill?” Matilda inquired as she sipped hot chocolate.

Darcy’s lack of appetite could be attributed to the nausea she felt upon waking, but Darcy felt the culprit could equally lie in the restless night she had had. Despite her best attempts to clear her mind, he permeated her thoughts like water through a sponge.

Her body felt empty without Broadmoor’s touch. When she had thought of how forcefully he had taken her or how tender his kiss had been, her hand had crept to her mons. But even after bringing herself to spend, sleep persisted in eluding her.

“He asked me to be his mistress,” Darcy revealed, staring into her coffee.

“What? His money must make him daft. He suffers delusions if he thinks you would even entertain the notion for the slightest second. Even I would not lay with him and I am nearer his age than you. Only yesterday he had the effrontery to complain to me of his gout.”

“Not James Newcastle. The Baron Broadmoor.”

“Oh,” Matilda frowned. “And how did you answer?”

“That I am no man’s mistress.”

“A sensible answer.”

“Then why do I feel I spoke in error?” Darcy poked at the holes in her crumpet. “No doubt many other women would be delighted to be his mistress.”

“Yes, and no doubt they will have their turn,” Matilda stated as she spread more jam on her toast. “You know how men are. It is even worse when they take a wife.”

“But Radcliff is no Richard Caville.”

Matilda raised her eyebrows. “It’s ‘Radcliff’ now, is it? Well, I would agree he differs from a lot of the men here, but why should you give up your freedom and the attentions of many to be devoted to just one?”

Of course Matilda was biased. She had no interest in losing Darcy. Fear of losing freedom was only partly the answer. Darcy was more concerned with dignity. It was true she was a nobody in his world, and yet she could not help but long for more.

“I must say that the amount of time you spend with him has not been good for business,” Matilda added. “Word has spread that you and Broadmoor are lovers. You know servants can never keep their mouths shut if their lives depended upon it. Only fools like Newcastle remain oblivious. Nonetheless, I should hate to have to find a replacement.”

Matilda had never suggested she needed anyone but Darcy. In fact, Matilda had often remarked that Darcy aged so well that she could work in the gaming hall until she was 40 and still be able to attract men young and old. Darcy had noticed attendance at the gaming hall had dipped, but didn’t think it dramatic enough to concern Matilda.

“I have been distracted from my occupation,” Darcy acknowledged.

“Well, never you mind what has passed. It may be prudent, however, to sever your ties with the Baron.”

The mere thought pained Darcy, though she considered that route herself as she tossed in her bed the night before.

“After all,” Matilda said with a mouthful of toast and jam, “it isn’t as if you were in love with the fellow.”

No, it isn’t, Darcy thought to herself. Or is it?

The realization struck her with all the force of a battleship in full sail. She was in love with Radcliff.

This is absurd. Irrational. Foolish.

And true. Darcy concluded with a heavy heart that Matilda was correct. Unless she intended to be his mistress, there was no reason to continue their affair. It was a path that could only end in pain and misery. She knew already that she could not bear the thought of Radcliff with another woman.

Best to move on with our own lives.

Even Henry, more a romantic than she or Matilda, conceded that was the wise decision and offered his carriage when Darcy opted not to wait another.

“You can’t just walk up to his home willy nilly,” Henry explained. “If you mean to hand a man a rejection, do it bang-up with style.”

Radcliff Barrington’s residence in Grosvenor Square was a simple but stately Georgian townhouse. When Harry’s carriage pulled up before it, Darcy had to quell her desire to ask the coachman to turn around and bring her back to Mrs. T’s. She told the man to wait and mounted the front steps of the house with legs that felt as unsteady as those of a centurian.

A chary-eyed butler greeted Darcy at the door. The man gave no indication of surprise or disapproval when she gave her name and asked for the Baron. He invited her in and asked that she wait in the anteroom. He indicated a settee, but Darcy was too nervous to sit. She distracted herself by examining pastoral paintings on the walls.

Perhaps Radcliff is not in, she thought hopefully. The butler dispelled any reprieve when he returned to announce that his lordship would see her in the study.

Taking in a deep breath, Darcy followed the butler. The deed to Brayten was tucked in her sleeve, reminding her that she had a mission to see through. It would not be easy, but they would all be better for it upon completion.

Radcliff was standing behind his writing desk. In the comfort of his own home, dressed somewhat informally in a white shirt, satin vest, and beige pants, he seemed to Darcy particularly handsome. She had always liked his sense of fashion.

“Miss Sherwood, to what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked and gestured to a seat.

Darcy shook her head, wishing she could read his emotions. Is he glad I’ve come? Displeased? Surprised?

“You plan a short visit, I take it,” he noted. “Would you care for a glass of port nonetheless?”

“No, thank you,” she answered. “I came to offer the deed to Brayten in exchange for the promissory notes that you hold and a sum of fifty and five thousand pounds.”

The words tumbled from her mouth. Darcy feared if she did not speak quickly, the words would catch in her throat and never come out.

“Is that all?”

“It totals the amount that Edward initially owed.”

“Yes, I noticed the tidy sum.” He went to the sideboard and poured a glass of wine before turning back to face her. “What if I refuse?”

“Then I will have to turn your family out of Brayten,” Darcy responded with difficulty.

Broadmoor’s face clouded over. “I see.”

Watching him speak in such methodical even tones when she felt besieged by all manner of emotions, Darcy almost preferred that he were furious.

“I can offer you much more as my mistress,” he said.

“Yes, but I have no interest in being your mistress,” she uttered.

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Sherwood. What is it you want?”

To be yours and yours alone, and for you to be mine and mine alone.

“Would five thousand pounds a year for you and your family suffice?” he pressed.

“And how long would that last, my lord? Until you lost interest in us?” Darcy asked. She shook her head when she saw he meant to protest. “Even if you promised an eternity, I cannot be bought. There is no amount you can name that would induce me to relinquish my freedom.”

“You prefer to toil in that gaming hall?” he asked in disbelief.

“I prefer not to have to answer to one man.”

His gaze bore into her, and she saw his eyes flame. “Because you favor having more than one lover?”

Darcy wanted to disappear into the earth, but she forced some words from her mouth. “That is a consideration.”

He grabbed her suddenly by the arms with the same intensity he had done the day they met. “Do you mean to say that I am not man enough for you?”

Darcy had never heard such harshness. She would have expected him to want to tear off her head if not for the tortured undertones she could hear beneath the surface. She wanted to reassure him that no one made her feel the way he did. Even now, all she wanted to do was yield into his embrace. She was blinded by the desire to have his lips on hers, his cock buried deep inside of her.

She lowered her gaze, “Did you not once call me a harlot, Baron?” Darcy murmured. “I did not then nor now dispute—“

Broadmoor abruptly let her go and stepped away. There was pain in his eyes. At that moment, Darcy would have preferred a dagger in her chest than to see that emotion in him.

“I thought…” he said, his voice hoarse and hollow.

“That you were different? That I was different?” Darcy finished for him. She shook her head and drove the last nail in the coffin. “No, my Baron Broadmoor. Ours was an amusing romp. But my interest now lies in our trade. I believe my offer is more than fair.”

Darcy wanted to melt into the center of the earth and disappear. She wanted to assure Broadmoor that she did not refuse him lightly, but her pride would not allow her to admit it; or that she had been hurt by the fact she could not be more than a mistress to him.

“The fifty-five thousand pounds will have to be paid in installments,” he said, pulling the notes from his desk.

She had never heard his voice ring so hollow. “I understand.”

“I will work out the terms with my accountant and forward them to you for approval.”

“Thank you.”

She pulled out the deed to Brayten. Her stepmother had thought it such a blessing, but it had proved a bane. She held it out to Radcliff as she took the promissory notes. His eyes searched her face. They exchanged the parchments. Darcy felt no gain, only loss.

“Darcy—”

“I bid you good day, Baron,” Darcy said quickly over the lump that threatened to cave her throat in. She whirled on her heels and rushed out of Broadmoor House before he could hear the sound of her heart breaking.

* * * *

“Only fifty-five thousand pounds?” Mrs. Sherwood cried. “But Brayten is worth far more than that!”

“Yes, but in our hands it cannot command any sum,” Darcy explained as she looked out the kitchen window at the setting sun. She would have to hurry to make it to Mrs. T’s before nightfall.

“But I had settled on a new apartment for us in Berkeley Square.”

“Mother!” Priscilla chided as she rinsed the dishes from supper. “Fifty-five thousand pounds is an amount I would never have dared to dream, but we cannot afford such luxuries as living in Berkeley Square. You must rescind the agreement.”

“No,” said Darcy, siding with her stepmother for the first time. “It is time we sought a better neighborhood for Nathan and ourselves. Perhaps a small apartment—”

“But we still have other debts to discharge. I was able to hold off the collectors today who were prepared to take our furniture. I begged them on whatever kindness existed in them to spare us a few more days.”

“And I promised the mantua maker that I would pay her in a timely manner,” Mrs. Sherwood added.

“And I suppose there is the matter of the tutor as well,” Darcy said. “Nathan seems quite taken with him.”

“Yes,” Priscilla said. “Mr. Davis told me that Nathan has a mind starved for knowledge; for he drinks in whatever his tutor instructs.”

“Then we must keep this Mr. Davis. I know not what income you are able to bring in, Priscilla, but I cannot imagine it to be enough to cover the payment of the tutor.”

Darcy sat down at the kitchen table and tried to add up all the expenses. She felt weak and had not slept well since her visit to Broadmoor House.

“Are you feeling ill?” Priscilla asked. “You look pale.”

“Yester night was long,” Darcy answered dismissively.

“Will you have to return to Mrs. T’s tonight?”

“Nathan will require more than what Brayten has procured for us. I want the best for him. I wish to afford him any opportunity that life has to offer.”

“For now he only wishes for a dog.”

Darcy smiled. “He told me all about the Duke today and the man’s dog. I should like to meet this kindly gentleman someday. When do you expect to see him next?”

Priscilla dropped a dish. “I—his appearances at the park are haphazard. I would not venture to guess.”

“Can we at least afford more than the occasional maid?” Mrs. Sherwood bemoaned.

“Perhaps. Let us discuss the matter tomorrow. I had best be on my way.”

She kissed her sister and stepmother. The activities at the gaming hall might distract her mind from continually wandering back to Radcliff and how she might never again feel his touch. Darcy’s body ached, punishing her for depriving it of the greatest pleasure it had known.

Despite her hope, the hours at Mrs. T’s wore on without providing much comfort. The cards in front of Darcy were barely more than a blur.

“Damn good beef-steak tonight,” Henry said, licked juice off his fork. The clock in the dining hall chimed 11 times. “You’ve not touched yours,” Henry noted of the plate before Darcy. “Never thought to see you rebuff a delectable cut of beef.”

“I’ve not had much of an appetite these past few days,” Darcy said.

“A sure symptom of being in love,” Henry remarked softly.

“I would sooner have fallen in love with you, Harry, for all the good it does me.”

“Lose the bosom, grow a cock, and I will be at your feet in seconds.”

Darcy laughed. “I do love you, Harry.”

“And I you, my dear. You’ve no notion how many times I wish you were a man.”

“Life would be much simpler were that the case.”

“Only I would still be insanely jealous of all the cocks that went your way. Now eat your steak like a good boy.”

Darcy glanced at the meat and felt a pitching sensation in her stomach. She brought a hand to her mouth. “I think not.”

Harry frowned, reached for her plate, and set it down in his own place. “Can’t let it go to waste.”

“I miss him, Harry.”

“I know it,” Henry answered with a mouthful of steak. “You have been melancholy and pale. You move about rather listlessly, and you refrain from eating.”

“I had breakfast,” Darcy pointed out.

“Aye, and nearly heaved it back onto my shoes.”

“Yes, Priscilla did that once to me when she was a few months with Nathan.”

Henry stopped cutting into his steak and looked up abruptly at her. Darcy stared back with the widened eyes of a doe not knowing which way to turn.

“Dear God,” Henry breathed.

Chapter Twelve

Radcliff dreamed.

It was past two a.m. and all but a handful of men remained in the card room at Mrs. T’s. Not surprisingly, the remaining patrons sat at a table around Darcy. She laughed at their yarns and batted her lashes at their compliments. It was difficult to tell if she had partaken of a little too much wine.

One man brazenly circled his hand about her neck and pulled her mouth to his. Instead of recoiling, she returned his kiss. As she did so, another reached over and fondled her breast. She did not recoil from him either.

This was too much for the other three men. They each wanted a part of her. Soon all five hands were upon her, groping her through her thin dress. She broke off her kiss with the first patron but her mouth quickly found another. They ripped the dress and undergarments from her until her breasts, belly and legs were laid bare.

To better access her body, they lifted her onto the card table. Ten separate hands kneaded her breasts, pinched her nipples, caressed her thighs, squeezed her buttocks, and separated her legs. Darcy thrust herself into their ravenous grasps. She moaned in delight as one pair of hands separated her legs and reached toward her mons. A finger disappeared into her quim. She shuddered and begged for more. A second finger shoved into her. A third. A fourth.

One of the men took his cock out of his pants and aimed it at her mouth. She took it willingly down her throat. Two men attached their mouths to her nipples while their hands dove into their own pants. The fourth man climbed on top of the table, straddling Darcy, pushed her breasts around his cock and fucking the two lighter-colored orbs.

The man who had been fingering her removed his hand and replaced it with his cock. With each thrust of his, she was sent further into the pelvis of the man at her head. They battered her at both ends, each trying to push their cocks as deep into her orifices as they could. She grabbed the cocks of the two men standing at her side.

They were of varying lengths, shapes and widths, and her body took all five hungrily.

The first one to spend was the one fucking her breasts. His jism exploded on top of her, covering Darcy’s breasts and splattering her neck and chin. Her body shuddered with an orgasm. The man fucking her throat came second; and though she tried to swallow his come, some of it leaked from her mouth and trickled down her cheek. He was replaced by one of the men from her side. As the man between her legs hollered with his climax, she bucked against the table with her own.

After he left her, another came to shove his very large cock between her legs. Her eyes rolled upward at the feeling of the long, thick rod inside of her. Her orgasm was almost instantaneous. The two men currently pummeling her came in unison. By now one of the other men had returned and flipped her onto her stomach. He rammed himself into her from behind. She screamed for him to fuck her harder. Deeper. Harder.

She had her longest orgasm, yet seemed ready for more.

* * * *

Radcliff waked from the dream to find his sheets damp with sweat and his cock painfully stiff. He grabbed his cock with his hand and quickly brought himself to spend. But while it relieved the pressure, it failed to wash away the feelings of emptiness, pain, anger and jealousy—remnants of the dream and Darcy’s visit.

How could she refuse me? Broadmoor mulled that question over a 100 times. He wondered if he had done something wrong. Other times he blamed her for being what his aunt considered her all along. A leopard does not change its spots, Katherine might say. At least Darcy did not ask for nearly what she demanded the first time they met. Broadmoor would have given her more than she asked.

That is little consolation. Radcliff would have almost preferred not to have the deed to Brayten in his hands. What should have been a moment of triumph was the bitterest experience of his life. It took all his strength to hand over those promissory notes. He wanted to strangle her. He wanted to kiss her with maddening desperation. He wanted to hold her and never let go.

But she would not have him. Broadmoor had been a dalliance: one chapter in her catalog of lovers. The thought put him in a cross mood all day. He penned a message for Edward to see him and noticed that the servant was halfway out the door before the note even exchanged hands. As he waited for Edward to arrive, Broadmoor attempted to read the newspaper. He listened to his secretary give an account of the anticipated activities for the House of Lords. He met with his accountant regarding the trust for Edward.

But through it all he thought only of Darcy. The prospect of being his mistress could not possibly be entirely disagreeable for her. He knew she was not immune to his touch. In fact, he believed she desired him as much as he did her. There had to be a way to convince her to be his.

Not being able to claim her, Broadmoor felt an even greater desire to have her. He was in a constant state of agitation, his cock rising with every thought of her. He brought himself to spend twice more before afternoon tea, but his cock was not fooled.

His hand began to rub his crotch with increasing vigor when he heard a servant knocking at the door of his study.

“What is it?” he growled.

The servant he sent to retrieve Edward timidly opened the door.

“Where have you been?” Radcliff demanded, adjusting his pants beneath his writing desk. “One could have made it halfway to Gretna Green in the amount of time you have taken.”

“Y-yes, your lordship. You told me not to return without Mr. Edward Barrington.”

“And where is he?”

The servant began to quake in his boots. “Th-that be it, your lordship. I w-waited for him at his house. When he did–did not return for some time, I made some inquiries b–but to no avail. One of his servants thought, p-perhaps he had gone to Mrs. T’s.”

“What?” Radcliff thundered as he rose to his feet. “I gave him specific instructions!” The servant cowered closer to the door as if ready to make a hasty escape. “Have my horse ready and tell my valet to fetch my hat and gloves,” Radcliff ordered.

The servant was only too happy to be out of Radcliff’s presence. He scurried away like a mouse scared to be trampled by a galloping bull. In his haste out the door, Radcliff nearly knocked over one of his maidservants who had come to inform him that supper was ready.

“Give it to the parish orphans,” he said. His cook always prepared too much damn food.

With his horse saddled and his valet greeting him at the door with his accoutrements, Radcliff was ready to make his way to Mrs. T’s. His hands itched to grab Edward by the collar. Broadmoor would probably have never crossed paths with Darcy Sherwood if not for his cousin’s folly.

* * * *

The scene at the gaming hall was already boisterous when Radcliff arrived. He entered the card room, and though he had come for Edward, his eyes sought her.

Darcy sat at a round table surrounded by her usual admirers. Though a smile always played about her lips, her gaze seemed distant; much in the same way as the first day Broadmoor saw her there. The longing to sweep her away again swelled in his bosom.

She looked up and saw him. Darcy’s features tensed. Turning to the gentleman next to her, she began a heavy flirtation with him. Radcliff clenched his fists, and decided to look for Edward. If he watched much longer, he was likely to toss the man next to her from his seat or commit himself to a reckless duel.

Edward was not to be found. One man said he saw Edward but a few minutes before. Radcliff sat down at a card table to await Edward’s return, though in part he wanted to keep an eye on Darcy as well.

She certainly didn’t wait long before moving on to her next conquest, he thought, wondering if the man by Darcy’s side would receive a note inviting him to her bedchamber after festivities had waned. Will she tie him up as she did me? Will she play with him, torment him, or submit to the man’s sexual desires?

Broadmoor was making himself crazy. He looked down at his losing cards and tossed them back at the dealer. Where the goddamn hell is Edward?

“Perhaps your fortunes will change at the next hand,” said a lilting voice.

Radcliff looked up to see the golden-haired woman he offended the first day he came to Mrs. T’s. She sat down next to him and flashed a smile, not recognizing him.

“I can improve a man’s fortunes,” she purred, “sometimes in more ways than one.”

“I am not here to seek fortunes,” Radcliff responded, and glanced toward Darcy’s table. “I am merely waiting for someone.”

The woman followed his gaze. “You mean Sir William? The gentleman seated next to Miss Sherwood? Is he a friend of yours? I hear he has no need to seek fortunes either. Earned his fortune building ships for the war, I am told?” Radcliff ground his teeth. It should not surprise him she would seek out a rich bastard. “Did you come from Belgium with him? All friends of Sir William are welcome here.” She had placed on his thigh under the card table. Radcliff turned his attention to her.

“Are you not a bit young to be bandying about a gaming hall?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be back in the schoolroom?”

“Do you prefer your women older?” she inquired with a tilt of her head. Her hand moved closer to his crotch. “I assure you younger women are more spirited. It more than compensates for experience.”

“I can assure you it does not,” Radcliff replied. “Where is your family?”

She frowned. “They live in Cornwall.”

“Your mother and father are alive then? Have you brothers and sisters?”

“What silly questions you ask, sir,” she laughed nervously.

“Have you?”

She pouted and answered with exasperation. “I have six sisters and two brothers. Both younger, if you must know.”

From the corner of his eye, Radcliff saw Darcy leave the table and exit the card room.

“Here’s a hundred guineas. Go back to your family,” Radcliff advised gently before rising from his own table.

The young woman stared at the money in her hands.

“There is no need to waste time, girl,” he said. She looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and confusion, but did as he bade her. After seeing her out of the card room, Radcliff hurried back to the hall where Darcy headed. He saw her enter the drawing room with Edward.

Broadmoor paused, wondering if he should storm into the room and demand to learn what was afoot. Before he made a decision, Edward emerged from the room, cursing under his breath. A hand was pressed to his nose, as if a foul stench wafted all around him.

Radcliff turned toward the drawing room. He had barely crossed the threshold before colliding with Miss Sherwood.

“Kindly step from my path,” she demanded after he steadied from stumbling back.

“Not until you tell me what you and Edward were about in here,” he said, his hands still on her arms. God, how I wish to crush her to me and take possession of her mouth with mine.

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “I wish to never lay eyes on another Barrington as long as I live!” She attempted to walk past him, but Broadmoor held on. She seemed particularly angry and a little flustered.

“What did you want with Edward?” Broadmoor asked.

“What did I want? I would sooner he rot in Hell. It was he who wished to see me.”

“And what did he want?”

“To play one last hand for the deed to Brayten. I told him I had already returned it to you.”

“And?”

She looked down at his grip upon her. “Unhand me. One Barrington’s touch is enough.”

Radcliff’s stomach dropped. His anger turned to concern. “Did he dare lay a hand upon you? I swear to God I will box his ears in.”

A small smile came to her lips. “Well, his ears may be one thing. His nose has already suffered and will not likely breathe easily for a while. My father taught me a few things about pugilism.”

Relief washed over Radcliff. “Nonetheless, I’ll whip the boy within inch of his life when I see him.”

Her eyes narrowed once more. “Yes, when you see him, perhaps you should not encourage him.”

“What do you mean?”

She pushed his hands away. “I am flattered that you think me a better fuck than a whore—”

“I would never confide such a thing to Edward.”

She seemed to believe him, but her tone was still cold as she spoke. “Should you not return to Miss Dove? No doubt she is still waiting for you.”

“Miss Who? Oh, the country girl. I sent her back to her family.” Radcliff stiffened and eyed Darcy warily. “And you? You wish to return to Sir Williams, I take it?”

“I did promise him another hand of piquet.”

Radcliff grabbed her again. He felt he would go mad with jealousy.

“What else do you intend on promising him?”

“It is none of your affair if I wish to promise him anything!”

“At least he is an improvement over James Newcastle,” Radcliff sneered. “Where is Newcastle today? Was his wealth not enough for you?”

Darcy pressed her lips in a firm line of displeasure. “Pray find another gaming hall to hound and unhand me. I am not a possession of yours.”

“But you are. Mine and mine alone.”

“The arrogance of a Barrington is almost laughable.”

Broadmoor swung Darcy around and pinned her to the wall. “Do you deny the desires of your own body? It craves the mastery of my touch.” He glanced down her décolletage at the swell of her breasts. His hands itched to lift the hem of her skirts. Bringing his gaze to her eyes, he saw a flicker of doubt. He would show her that she was his,

“Part your lips for me,” he said, barely able to get the words out as he breathed in her scent. Broadmoor stepped closer to her until he could feel the tips of her bosom against his chest.

“You forget that I am no longer in debt to you,” she protested, a little too desperately.

“It matters not,” he responded. “You will do as I bid.”

He ran this thumb along her nipple and felt her body shudder.

“Not anymore, my lord.”

Radcliff smiled to himself. My lord. The words had come out naturally of their own accord. He drew his body up against hers so she could feel his hardened cock against her belly. He heard her inhale sharply. The heat of their breath warmed the room.

“I have patrons to attend to,” she said.

“They can wait.” He had her wrists locked in one hand above her head, and with the other he gathered up the skirts of her dress and petticoat.

She emitted an aggravated cry as she strained against him unsuccessfully. “Have you come to finish what your cousin intended?”

“Were you wet for him?” Radcliff returned simply. His hand slid along the smoothness of her thigh and found the flesh his cock had hungered for. He pushed a finger into her wetness. She whimpered.

“Part your lips,” Radcliff commanded once more.

Her bottom lip quivered, but they separated. He brought his finger wet with her sex to her mouth and swirled it on her tongue.

“That is the taste of your desire for me,” he told her. He stared hard at her. Does she honestly think she can deny the two of us?

She had a retort for him, but Broadmoor did not allow her the opportunity to voice it. His mouth seized hers roughly. He had no interest in being delicate.

Darcy muffled a protest, but as Broadmoor’s kiss deepened, his mouth devouring every breath, his tongue pushed so deep she nearly choked, he felt her body give in. Her breasts pressed against his chest; her hips against his hips. Nothing Broadmoor had done felt more satisfying than conquering Darcy through the pleasures of her own body.

There would be no loving crescendos to the top this time, no sweet tortures. Only Broadmoor’s raw need to bury himself in her.

Without ceremony, he flipped Darcy around and bent her over the arm of the settee. He threw the skirts up onto her back to reveal her buttocks. He ran a finger along her cunnie to find her gushing with fluid. He hastily undid his pants and plunged into her. Broadmoor’s shaft easily slid to the hilt of her. He pounded her so strongly that the settee began to slide against the floor.

How dare she refuse me? Could that bastard Sir Williams make her this wet? Her body was meant to be mine.

Broadmoor grabbed Darcy’s hips and thrust himself savagely into her as images from his dream passed before him. She alternated between gasps and cries. For a moment he wondered if he should go easier, but realized she was pushing herself further onto his cock.

His balls tightened, and with an animalistic roar Broadmoor pumped his seed into her. His entire body shook as wave upon wave of his own fluids flooded and mixed with hers. When he recovered from the intensity of his climax, he became aware she had not spent yet. Still buried within her, Broadmoor reached around to her pelvis and rubbed her clit until she came.

After her shudders subsided, Broadmoor stumbled back with his withdrawal from her. Darcy sank to her knees, her face buried in the armrest of the settee. He wanted to lay her on the settee and cradle her in his arms as he kissed the dew from her brow. But something in her posture held him back. He desperately wanted to see her face.

“Darcy,” he said after taking a haggard breath and pulling up his trousers. Broadmoor’s anger and jealousy had dissipated, replaced with only warm affections for her.

She rose to her feet and smoothed her dress. She gave him a hard look. “That would be five shillings, your lordship.”

He stared blankly at her outstretched hand.

“Five shillings,” she repeated coldly. “For the privilege of buggering.”

Radcliff could hardly believe his ears. He was at a loss for words and thoughtlessly pulled out his purse. Why is she doing this?

“Darcy,” he said again.

“Miss Sherwood, if you please.”

She said the word ‘if’ but there was no ‘if’ in her tone. She took the coins from him and left the room without a backward glance.

Chapter Thirteen

The weather performed perfectly for the Pinkerton garden party. A slight breeze tempered the warmth of the sun’s rays. Lord Pinkerton’s many flora were reaching the end of their blooms, and he was more than happy to provide them one last show.

On the receiving end of Lord Pinkerton’s explanation of which flowers were more difficult to cultivate and which he expected to import next year, Radcliff listened with an occasional nod. He allowed his friend to carry the majority of the conversation.

“Ah, and this one,” Lord Pinkerton said lovingly of a blue flower as if it were his daughter, “this one did not seem to take to our English soil at first, but it had an inner strength, and as you can see, has flourished, outlasting the annuals that used to grow here.”

After a pause in which he smiled with admiration down at the flower, Pinkerton continued, “Rather reminds me of that raven beauty who came to my ball—the uninvited guest of Lady Worthley. Miss Sherwood. How does she fare?”

Radcliff cringed. “I know not. I haven’t seen her in more than three fortnights.” He had been tempted numerous times to seek her out despite her coldness.

He desired Darcy Sherwood more than anything he had ever desired in his life: Desired not only her body, but the thrill he derived from bringing her pleasure; the sense of achievement when he brought a smile to her lips. Broadmoor missed their easy conversations, and the peace he felt when he held her in his arms. He even longed for the anger his arrogance provoked in her.

“No need to, I suppose, now that the deed to Brayten is returned to Edward?” Pinkerton inquired.

“Brayten will be held in a trust for an indeterminate time,” Radcliff answered. He did not need to explain to Pinkerton, who nodded with comprehension, the reason. Nor did he disclose how he had nearly refused to return Brayten to Edward at all.

After his last visit to Darcy, Broadmoor found Edward back at home nursing his battered nose.

“Bitch damn near broke my nose,” Edward exclaimed after Radcliff confronted him about being at Mrs. T’s. Radcliff completed the task by leveling his right hook square in the center of Edward’s face. He had grabbed Edward by the collar in one hand, lifting him to his feet, and thrown him against the wall.

“And if you ever dare lay a hand upon Miss Sherwood,” Radcliff had said, “by God, if you so much as glance in her direction, I will break every bone in your body.”

Broadmoor didn’t realize how strongly he gripped Edward’s throat until the latter turned blue in the face. With disgust, Broadmoor released his hold of Edward, who fell to the floor on his knees, gasping and wheezing.

Radcliff decided the boy was lucky to have escaped his wrath with only a broken nose.

“Should you, er, decide to pursue the company of Miss Sherwood,” Pinkerton said, breaking into Radcliff’s thoughts, “know that I will be there to back you.”

Radcliff raised his brows.

“You would lose your entrée into Almack’s, of course,” Pinkerton continued. “I fear women can be rather harsh, but you have far too much standing and respect from most of your peers to be cast out entirely.”

“Your words of support are much appreciated,” Radcliff responded with tenderness for his old friend, “but she will have none of me.”

It was Pinkerton’s turn to raise his brows. “Indeed?”

“I believe she is content in her situation at the Tillinghast Gaming Hall.”

“How can that be?”

Radcliff shrugged. “She is the daughter of Jonathan Sherwood.”

“That she is,” Pinkerton conceded and, to Radcliff’s relief, resumed his discourse on the best climate and water conditions for day lilies.

“Thank God the whole horrid affair is at an end,” Katherine Barrington said to Radcliff a few moments later over tea.

Radcliff had hoped to leave the party without exchanging a word with Katherine, but Juliana begged him to stay. The three of them sat at one of the small tables laid out in the garden for tea.

“But don’t you think you were rather harsh on Edward—on us?” Katherine admonished. “I understand placing Brayten in a trust, but the allowance you allocated for him can hardly sustain the most frugal miser. After all, the poor boy has suffered so much at the hand of that harlot. Did you hear that she attempted to break his nose?”

Staring hard at his aunt, Radcliff wondered if certain mothers would forever overlook the trespasses of their offspring.

“She failed miserably,” Radcliff returned icily, “so I took the liberty of breaking it myself.”

Katherine choked and looked at her nephew as if he were mad.

“And I would not hesitate to break it again if he ever speaks ill of Miss Sherwood,” he added, and fixed upon his aunt an ominous stare.

“As for the matter of his allowance,” Radcliff continued, “the majority of what would have been his will be used to support your grandson.”

“My what?”

“A responsibility he has grossly neglected. He is fortunate that the Sherwoods want nothing to do with him—a fortune he little deserves.”

“I suggest,” he said as he stood up, “that you thank the Sherwoods in your prayers each evening.” With his aunt stunned wordless, Broadmoor executed a curt bow to Juliana and headed back inside the house.

“My hat and gloves,” he told one of the servants.

He would have return to his county seat, Radcliff decided. He was weary of London and the ton with all her meddlers and gossipers. Most of all, he needed a respite of anything that reminded him of Darcy Sherwood.

“Cousin!”

Radcliff turned to find Juliana bounding down the hall towards him.

“How old is he?” Juliana asked. “What is his name?”

“He is being taken care of,” Radcliff answered. “You need not trouble yourself.”

“But he is my nephew, is he not?” Juliana pursed her lips together. “I had a suspicion that Edward and Miss Priscilla—though I was quite young back then. Such matters were beyond my comprehension.”

How Juliana managed to become half intelligent and not made into an addle-patted young woman by her mother was a marvel to Radcliff. There is hope for her yet, he decided.

“Will you be seeing the Sherwoods soon?” Juliana inquired.

“No,” Radcliff said flatly.

Juliana frowned. “Oh. I had hoped to meet Miss Sherwood again.”

“I suggest you return to tend to your mother. She has been dealt a shock—”

“When do you expect to see Miss Sherwood next?”

“I do not expect to see Miss Sherwood again,” he responded as he accepted the hat and gloves that a servant had brought.

“But why?”

“She would rather I not.”

“But how is that possible? Did you upset her?”

Radcliff glanced sharply at his cousin, reconsidering his earlier praise of Juliana. He responded with some irritation. “If I did, it is no affair of yours.”

“I beg your pardon, cousin. Only it seemed you were quite taken with her.”

“I was. She refused me.” Broadmoor hoped that would put an end to Juliana’s line of questioning. He turned to leave.

Juliana’s eyes widened. “Refused you? It is unbelievable anyone would refuse to marry you.”

“I did not offer—” Radcliff stopped. It was inappropriate to speak of mistresses before his young cousin.

“But especially Miss Sherwood,” Juliana went on. “She adored you.”

Radcliff turned around again. “What do you mean?” And how the devil would you know? he wanted to ask the little chit.

“I saw it at the ball. In her eyes when she looked your way. And she did look your way quite a number of times, though she pretended not to. It seemed quite apparent that you were the reason she came to the ball.”

Is that what Pinkerton alluded to as well? Radcliff wondered. His demeanor softened.

“Be that as it may,” he said, “Miss Sherwood has made it clear that henceforth, she has no interest in pursuing our acquaintance.”

“Forgive me, cousin, if what I am to say next should be considered brazen, but I did not think you were one to quit so easily.”

“It was indeed brazen,” Radcliff told her, then felt a stab of guilt when she hung her head. “I appreciate your concern, but you need not trouble yourself with my affairs.”

Juliana opened her mouth, but Radcliff stopped her. He bid her adieu and proceeded home.

* * * *

“A hundred shillings,” Darcy told Henry as they sat in the dining room the following evening. The two sat at the same table she used to sit at with Radcliff.

“Don’t seem right,” Henry grumbled. “What sort of medical background has this man? I hear most of his kind are little more than witch doctors.”

“I haven’t much of a choice,” Darcy replied. “I do not want another Barrington bastard.” As she spoke these words, Darcy felt a sense of loss. She was torn between wanting to keep the last evidence of Radcliff and not wanting to be reminded of the man who broke her heart.

“Very well,” Henry relented. “I’ll secure you a hundred shillings.”

Darcy shook her head. “You’ve not a hundred shillings to spare, Harry. I see your new lover has a new suit of clothes. He is not a man of means and is terrible at cards.”

Henry flushed and looked down at his plate of half-eaten food.

“And I require more than a hundred shillings,” Darcy added.

“What of the money from Broadmoor?”

“The first installment won’t be enough to discharge all the bills and pay Nathan’s tutor.”

“Have you appealed to Mathilda?”

“She can loan me two hundred. That sum is far short of what I need.”

Henry knit his brows. “There must be some way. Would you consider Newcastle?”

The name made Darcy shudder. “He has not been as attentive to me as of late.”

“That can easily change. You have only to sneeze in his direction.”

“I could not bring myself to ask him,” Darcy said. “I could not be beholden to that man. It takes all my strength not to recoil from his touch.”

A woman at the other end of the dining hall squealed. Darcy turned to see Richard Caville at a table with a brunette. He was leaning into the table at an awkward angle, and Darcy had a suspicion, though the tablecloth hid it, that he had his hand upon the woman’s leg. Or further up, she mused.

The thought occurred to Darcy and Henry at the same time.

“Do you suppose he would…” Henry asked.

“Worth asking, I suppose,” Darcy answered.

She turned the idea about in her head throughout the evening. Her luck at the table was middling, and she could not help but think it fortuitous Richard should be there the night she might need him. Smartly dressed in a burgundy coat and beige trousers, he was a much admired Corinthian. He certainly had the fiduciary means to assist her.

Darcy dreaded asking others for help. Her father had never done it well, to his family’s detriment. And it was only thoughts of Priscilla and Nathan that gave her enough courage to swallow her pride. Nathan will have the respect he deserved, she thought. I will not allow the Barringtons to defeat my family.

“Mr. Caville,” she approached after battling down her hesitation. “I desire a word with you, if you will.”

“There is no ‘if’ where Miss Sherwood is concerned,” Richard replied. “Summon and I come.”

He excused himself from his companion and followed Darcy into the small library used by those seeking a quick and quiet tryst.

“I have need of a loan, Richard,” she blurted with the door barely closed. “Of about a thousand pounds.”

Richard looked bemused. After a moment’s pause as he realized she was in earnest, he responded, “Well, you don’t tarry about the bush, do you? That’s a grand sum of money. If it is funds you seek to borrow, why not apply to old Wempole? I am no banker.”

“Wempole is no longer in a position to lend me what I require.”

“And what of Broadmoor?”

Darcy’s cheeks flamed. “I doubt he will be seen here anymore.”

Richard’s brows shot up, but he did not inquire further. It was a virtue Darcy appreciated.

“I shall pay it back with interest,” Darcy added as she watched him approach her.

“How delightful,” he murmured, reaching out to curl a tendril of her hair about his foreigner.

“Not that sort of interest, Caville.”

“But the interest is what interests me, eh?”

“I am in earnest.”

“Tell you what,” Richard drawled as he relinquished her hair. “This be a gaming hall, I shall play you for it. High card draw. If you win, the money is yours. If I win, your price will be your body for the night; given to me as once you used to.”

Darcy’s breath caught in her throat. It had been years since she shared a bed with Richard; but even then their company was simply a joining of flesh. As Darcy studied the twinkle in his grey eyes, and how the hair falling over them only seemed to improve his rakish appeal, she wondered if perhaps a tumble with someone like Richard wasn’t exactly what she needed to drive out all thoughts of Radcliff.

Her lips curled in a half smile at his resourcefulness. “You flatter me,” she replied

Richard bowed. “Indeed, I have never offered a woman anywhere near a thousand pounds for the privilege of bedding her. However, no other woman comes close to being Miss Darcy Sherwood.”

“A fact that has not stopped you.”

“As with you, Miss Sherwood, I am more gourmet than gourmand. Variety is the spice of life.”

Darcy did not dispute him, though she knew his comparison no longer held truth. She had fallen in love with Radcliff Barrington and wanted no other man.

But it was not to be, and she needed the money.

“Very well,” Darcy assented. She walked over to a writing desk, pulled out a pack of cards, shuffled the deck, and presented it to Richard.

Chapter Fourteen

“Ladies first,” Richard insisted.

Taking a deep breath, Darcy pulled up a 10 of spades and felt a small sense of relief. There was less than a third of a chance that he could win.

Richard smiled and casually held up a jack of diamonds.

“Well, don’t look so thrilled,” he said.

“I don’t suppose you would lend me the thousand when our night is over?” Darcy tried.

“Perhaps I would entertain a wager. Double or nothing.”

Darcy did not respond.

“I shall have to bid adieu to the lady at my table,” Richard informed her as he headed toward the doors. “But I shall be in your chambers shortly. No need to send the page. I remember the way.”

Richard winked at her before departing. Darcy sank onto the settee. Damn. Now not only would she have to service Richard, she had not a crown more than she had started the night with. It wasn’t that she didn’t find Richard attractive. In fact, once they had concluded their affair, she had avoided any further physical contact, for fear that they would end up once again in that uncertain territory of unspoken attachments that easily led to jealousy and pain. She had certainly been tempted through the years.

Until Radcliff. Now she found it hard to contemplate being with anyone else.

She rose and poured herself a glass of wine at the sideboard. Perhaps I should make use of this occasion, she thought. Being with Richard would remind her of the days when coupling was but a corporal release, to serve an animal instinct. To harbor delusions that she could have anything more than that with a man would only provide certain disappointment.

Darcy poured a second glass after finishing the first. Radcliff Barrington had served his purpose. She had her prior debt taken care of and an income that would total 55,000 pounds. The sum was more than she had ever thought possible prior to winning the deed to Brayten. What more do I expect? That he had taken her senses to new heights was an unexpected perquisite to the bargain.

The memory of their stolen moment in the garden warmed Darcy as much as the wine. She settled into the settee with her third glass, and her hand crept down to lift the hem of her dress. When Broadmoor touched her, she could think of nothing else but spending for him. Nothing else existed but the two of them and the need for their bodies to join together. She remembered being sandwiched between his hard body and an equally hard tree. She closed her eyes and fingered her clitoris. She had not come close to exhausting her repertoire of ways to seduce a man and make him spend. Darcy enjoyed succumbing to Broadmoor’s commands, but also looked forward to righting the ship and issuing a few of her own.

Darcy’s fingers circled the nub of her womanhood, encouraging the agitation spreading through her loins. It was slow and lacked the intensity of Radcliff’s touch. Her body yearned for his. Her cunt longed to clench about his hot shaft. She envisioned herself riding him. Darcy wondered what his expression would be if she sheathed his cock with her mouth that moment, tasting herself on him. At the mercy of her tongue, he would beg her not to make him spend yet. She imagined his roar as he came inside her, his liquid essence pouring down her throat. Darcy laid her head back against the settee and allowed the tremors to pass through her.

Eyes closed, she remained on the settee as her orgasm subsided, leaving only the strumming effects of the wine in her head. She could have drifted into sleep, but had an engagement to keep. She rose to pour herself a little more wine. She was ready for Richard.

The hallway was starting to sway before her eyes as she made her way up the staircase. Perhaps she should not have had that final glass, but it felt pleasant.

“Beggin’ pardon,” Richard said behind her, “I could not extricate myself from the company as easily as I thought.”

“Meaning you wanted to play another round of hazard,” Darcy clarified for him.

Richard grinned as he swept her hand to his lips. “I am all yours, mon cheri. You look every bit as enchanting as the day I met you.”

“I drew the lower card. You’ve no need to flatter me.”

“I know,” he said in a husky voice, staring into her eyes in a manner that would make other women swoon. Richard reached out a hand to cup Darcy’s cheek before bringing her head to his. His lips brushed hers lightly. Darcy recalled the deep and probing kisses from Radcliff. With Richard, lovemaking was like the art of fencing. He advanced, then retreated, then advanced again to keep the other forever guessing.

Richard’s kiss deepened, forcing Darcy’s lips apart for his tongue. She allowed him to guide the dance as they stumbled through her doorway. Richard backed her into the room. A lamp was, strangely, already lit.

After tossing his hat aside and peeling off his coat, Richard pulled up the hem of Darcy’s dress and petticoat and lifted her by the thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Now I remember. She wished for the experience to be over. Darcy fumbled to untie Richard’s cravat while he carried her toward the bed. Perhaps, if I employ my skills well, I will have him spending shortly. Richard always fell asleep after sex.

“It has been too long,” he mumbled, kissing her neck and his favorite spot behind her ear.

Despite herself, Darcy arched her back. She stared up at the ceiling as Richard trailed his mouth down to bite a nipple through her bodice. The room gently rocked before her as she struggled with what to do.

Lose yourself in Richard and forget about Radcliff, one voice offered.

Absent-mindedly, she reached down and stroked his erection through his trousers. Darcy could not remember when wine had had such a strong effect on her.

Richard groaned, and Darcy recognized he was about to reach the point when the fencing would be over and he wanted only one thing. She felt two of his fingers in her quim, damp from her own attentions to it earlier. She watched as he hastily took off his waistcoat and shed his boots and trousers. Richard rarely bothered to undress his women; unlike Radcliff, who seemed to enjoy viewing her naked body.

Darcy remembered the way Broadmoor’s eyes lit up upon seeing her. She imagined the tongue caressing her clit was Radcliff’s. Her body responded to the idea, and her wetness grew. What would Radcliff do next? Would he cup my buttocks as he tongued my slit? Reach up and caress my breasts? Would he turn me around and spank me for rebuffing him?

A moan escaped Darcy’s lips, reflecting her body’s longing for Broadmoor. Richard, thinking she moaned for him, climbed into bed and pulled her on top of him: his favorite position. The effects of the wine were at its strongest. Darcy’s body felt warm, in need of contact.

“You and I belong together, mon cheri,” Richard said as she settled on his hips and wrapped her hand about his hard cock. “Broadmoor could not appreciate you as I can.”

But he did, a voice inside her protested.

“Only a fool would fail to appreciate the essence of Miss Sherwood.” The voice wasn’t Richard’s. Darcy’s heart hammered against her ribs. Had she heard correctly? She was afraid to turn around to find out.

“By Jove, have you been here the whole of the time?” Richard cried.

And then Darcy knew; without looking, where he was: sitting in the same chair he occupied that first night he surprised her in her bedroom. She felt like crumbling into little pieces. This would only confirm his opinion of her as a wanton harlot. She turned her head to the side and saw him from the corner of her eye. He was looking at Richard, his knuckles white.

“Damn near scared me half to bloody death,” Richard continued.

“That would not be my intention,” Radcliff replied in a tone suggesting he considered such an unintended prospect a happy consequence nonetheless. He turned to leave.

Darcy felt her internal organs cringe. She was tempted to speak.

“Care to join us?” Richard asked.

Darcy’s eyes bulged from their sockets. She could sense Radcliff’s body tensing and hoped he could contain his desire to strangle Richard. I should speak, she thought, but what do I say? Radcliff turned around, quiet, as if considering Richard’s invitation.

“Plenty of her to go around,” Richard explained. “Not like other women, she’s made of stronger mettle; as I’m sure you’ve experienced.”

A muscle rippled along Radcliff’s jaw.

This is madness, Darcy decided. She considered putting an end to the situation and walking out on both of them. But her body seemed disconnected from her mind. Still averting her eyes, Darcy heard Broadmoor remove his coat. Questions of why and how floated in her mind, but they remained incomplete and unanswered. When Richard stretched out a finger to seek her clit, she found herself aroused. The room felt small with the bulk of two men.

A rustling sound indicated Radcliff had loosened his cravat. Then the bed sank under his weight. Darcy’s mind whirled with expectation and anxiety. She needed to gain control of the situation, but the wine captured her mind’s potency. She felt powerless to stop what happened. She feared and desired what was to come.

Kneeling behind her, Radcliff reached around and put his hand down her bodice to clasp a breast. Darcy’s body jolted. His touch was familiar, and her body quickly settled against his hand like a dog whose master had returned. But there was also something new and heightened in the touch. Richard clasped two hands behind his head and leaned back into the pillows to watch.

Radcliff kneaded the heavy flesh in his hand. His forefinger slipped against Darcy’s nipple. She gasped, and arched herself further into his devouring hand. All question and thought was pushed out of her head as Broadmoor’s thumb and finger tugged at her nipple beneath the constraining fabric of her dress. When he retracted his hand, she emitted a low groan.

“You leave too much clothing on a woman,” Radcliff noted to Richard, pushing Darcy’s hair over her shoulder to better access the buttons on the back of her gown.

“Haven’t the patience to trouble myself with the damn stays,” Richard responded with a wry grin.

Darcy didn’t feel like she had much patience either at the moment. Her body hummed with arousal. She wanted Broadmoor’s touch. She sighed with relief when he finally pulled the dress, chemise and petticoat over her head. Still seated on top of Richard’s thighs, she could see the light in his bright eyes. It was Broadmoor’s dark eyes of coal she wanted to find herself in.

Despite her nakedness, the room felt far too warm. Touch me, her body silently urged him.

Gently, Radcliff took both her hands and placed them on top of her breasts. Darcy took his cue and fondled herself.

“I say,” Richard whistled, “that were a fine vision.”

Radcliff circled his arm around Darcy’s hip and fingered her clitoris, his hand bumping into Richard’s cock. Darcy’s fingers dug deeper into her breasts, and she began to grind herself against Radcliff’s hand and Richard’s thighs. Her head fell back against Radcliff’s shoulder. His body felt warm, hard and secure. The agitation in her loins flared. The air filled with her panting.

“I can’t wait,” Richard announced, “She’s fair creating a lake upon my legs.”

Richard picked Darcy up by her hips and brought her down on his shaft. Her desire reached a fevered pitch and she was glad to have a cock in her hot and waiting quim. The room spun around her, and she lost track of where Radcliff had gone. She vaguely felt a hand beneath her collecting the wetness that gathered on Richard’s thigh and dripped down his scrotum. Richard grabbed her arm and pulled her down to him to kiss her. Her nipples rubbed along his chest as he thrust his hips into her.

Darcy felt a slender object pierce her sphincter and she cried out into Richard’s mouth. Radcliff twisted his digit inside her, lubricating her rectum with fluid from her quim. She wasn’t prepared for the uncomfortable invasion, and tried to inch her body forward and away from Radcliff. In doing so, she slid toward the tip of Richard’s cock, so he grabbed her by the hips and pushed her back down the base of his shaft and further onto Radcliff’s finger.

Darcy cried out.

“Is she always this vocal with you?” Richard asked.

“Yes, she can be quite loud,” Radcliff said, removing his finger.

Darcy didn’t like how they spoke as though she was an inanimate object between them. She opened her mouth to say as much. But then Broadmoor’s hardness pressed against her rear. Darcy held her breath as the bulbous head pushed past the opening and slowly filled her body. She almost bit her tongue off. Darcy’s toes curled beneath her, her fingers twisted in the sheets, and she nearly fainted.

The threat of blackness faded. Richard was at least courteous enough not to move while her body attempted to adjust to the second cock. It pressed against her bladder, flaring a whole new set of provocative stimulations. She fought back the desire to wet herself, which intensified the bounty of sensations screaming in her lower body.

At last Richard began to rock his hips a little, his movements limited by the weight of two bodies. Afraid to move, Darcy allowed him to guide her body. Impaled on two cocks, amidst a mass of thighs, Darcy knew not where one body began and another ended. It was an uncomfortable position, and she felt on fire. She knew her climax would not be long.

When Radcliff began to move his cock in and out, she lost herself. A shattering release ripped through her body, threatening to turn her inside out. Her convulsions had nowhere to go but back inside her. Darcy’s sob-like cry split the relative quiet of the room. She longed for them to pull their cocks out, so her body could gently descend from the heavens she had been launched to. But both men were now intent upon their own releases. Buffeting her like a ship between waves, their motions prolonged her orgasm until she felt her teeth chatter.

Richard came first, providing some relief to Darcy. The distress of her first orgasm subsided and a growing arousal took its place. She wanted to escape Radcliff’s cock and to push it deeper inside of her. Radcliff placed his hands on her hips and offered her the latter option, bringing her buttocks against him until she could feel the hair of his pelvis against her. Richard’s cock was still inside her as Radcliff lifted her along his cock as easily as if she were a rag doll.

Darcy squeezed her eyes shut and let out another cry as the tidal wave broke. Radcliff grunted, and she felt the splash of hot liquid inside her. She fell against Richard, barely able to move. Radcliff held Darcy’s hips up high enough for her to stretch out her legs before she collapsed onto the bed next to Richard.

* * * *

Darcy waked the next morning to feel her body nestled against Radcliff, the curve of her buttocks near his groin. Her breath fell against Richard’s back. All three had to lie on their sides to fit into the bed. Radcliff reached a hand to her breast. The deliberateness with which he fondled her indicated he had been awake for some time. She relished his nearness, the heat of his body. It had not been long since they last they had seen each other, but it felt like an eternity. Darcy let out a soft sigh.

Then Richard snored, and memories of last night crept into her head with feelings of intrigue and mortification. What does it mean that Radcliff agreed to a menage-a-trois? What did he feel upon seeing me with Richard? Has he decided not to be angry with me any longer?

Radcliff moved his hand from Darcy’s breast to crotch. Her body responded instantly. His hardening cock pressed itself against her lower back. As his finger stroked her clit, her questions receded into the background. There was no denying her body wanted it. Darcy’s pussy wanted to join with his cock like nothing else, sending streams of wetness to signal its enthusiasm. When Broadmoor inserted a finger into her quim, Darcy shut her eyes as if the arousal would blind her. She wanted to piston her hips to better fuck Radcliff’s hand, but did not want to wake Richard. Despite his presence but mere centimeters away, she wanted to create a space just for her and Radcliff.

Broadmoor moved his finger to her anus. Darcy gasped. Her other opening was still tender from the night before. She didn’t want another ass-fucking. But Richard stirred and she kept quiet, allowing Radcliff to spread her wetness inside her ass. Radcliff shifted to align his cock. He collected more of her wetness and applied it to himself.

Holding her hips, he pushed his cock into her ass. Although she had been stretched by their activity last night, he still felt large inside of her. Broadmoor stroked Darcy’s clitoris, giving her time to adjust to the intrusion. It did not take long for the pleasure to build, reverberating through her lower body, down her legs, to the tips of her toes.

Broadmoor slid his cock in and out of her. Darcy kept her eyes closed and focused on not losing control of her body. She realized she needed to relieve herself, but now was not the time to reach for a chamber pot. The sensations in her bladder seemed to feed the vibrations of rapture expanding and multiplying until she knew they would collapse into her and sweep her into that beautiful place.

Radcliff pushed two fingers into her cunt. It was enough to send Darcy over the edge. She convulsed in his hand and on his cock. A low grunt near her ear suggested he had climaxed as well. Darcy let out a shaky breath. He kissed her through her hair.

“Be mine, Darcy,” he whispered.

His what? His mistress? His whore?

“I spoke of it before,” she responded. “I am no man’s mistress.”

She did not have to face him to know he frowned. Her stomach turned. She needed that chamber pot for another reason now. Scrambling out of bed, knocking Richard to the floor in the process, she reached for the urn and heaved.

“What the—” Richard grunted as he looked about himself in a daze.

“I have matters to attend to,” Darcy said, hastily donning a shift and throwing her dress on top sans a corset.

This had been a mistake, she thought as she hurried out the door and headed for Mathilda’s chambers. It would be best if she never saw Radcliff again. She decided at that moment to seek the services of a surgeon to terminate her pregnancy. A hundred shillings or no, she would find a way to make it happen.

Chapter Fifteen

Radcliff cursed himself. He had allowed the sentimental words of Juliana and Pinkerton to cloud his rationale. And so he had sought out Miss Sherwood to make one final overture—only to find her lifting her skirts to Richard Caville. He could easily have broken Caville’s neck in his jealousy. That he had managed to contain his fury surprised even him.

So had his reaction to Caville’s invitation. He had never before entertained the notion of sharing a woman, but found he did not want Caville to have Darcy all to himself. And, though he had not wanted to admit it at first, there was something wickedly arousing about it all. But it had been a terrible mistake. Perhaps it was best he did not seek her out again.

“Take no offense, ole boy,” Caville said, eying the chamber pot. “It must have been some bad wine and not your buggering.”

Radcliff glared in response, trying his best not to find some way to call Richard out so that he might have the chance of running a blade through the man. He buttoned his trousers and reached for his coat and hat.

“Reckon she may change her mind,” Richard said, still sitting on the floor naked. Radcliff felt the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He had no desire for a tete-a-tete with Richard.

“About being your mistress,” Richard provided.

That Caville heard his whispered words to Darcy only incensed Radcliff more.

“She fucked you willingly,” Richard continued, his brows furrowed in thought.

Either the man was oblivious to the wrath he was incurring in Radcliff or he chose to ignore it. Radcliff decided it was best to leave before he cuffed Caville on the jaw.

“I had to wager a hundred shillings for the privilege.”

Remembering Darcy’s words from before, Radcliff stopped and pulled out money. He tossed it onto her vanity.

“You can wager five shillings less next time,” he said before walking out.

* * * *

Darcy always woke up alone. But sometimes, her dreams of Radcliff felt so real she would reach for him upon waking; only to feel an empty bed.

The night before, Darcy dreamed Broadmoor had slipped into her bed chamber in the middle of the night and watched her sleep. It had been an uncommonly warm evening. She slept naked, with only a thin sheet wrapped about her midsection. After studying her as she lay asleep on her side, Broadmoor rubbed where his cock tented his breeches and pinched her nipple.

Darcy emitted a small moan in her sleep. Quietly, Broadmoor shed his clothing to reveal his square and sculpted chest, muscular legs of an avid equestrian, and the thick hard shaft that signaled his desire. He slid next to her in bed, pressing his cock against her ass. He bent his head to gently suckle a nipple while his hand reached between her legs.

“Service me,” he whispered into her ear.

Darcy pushed herself against his hand but buried her face in her pillow, too drowsy to do anything but enjoy his ministrations to her.

But when Broadmoor pulled his hand out from between her legs and delivered a sharp slap to her ass, she nearly bolted upright.

“Take me in your mouth if you wish to be pleasured more,” he instructed.

She did as told, and glided his cock along her tongue. She wrapped her lips about it, feeling its fullness and pulsating warmth. Broadmoor groaned when she pulled her mouth towards its head and tongued the sensitive spot beneath the bulge, tasting the drop of dew that had slid there. Fisting his hand in her hair, he pulled her mouth back toward his groin. She swallowed him hungrily, swirling her tongue against his cock as she pistoned the length of him. He pulled himself out before reaching the point of no return.

Broadmoor laid Darcy on her back and positioned himself between her legs. Mirroring her actions, he swirled his tongue over her clit before inserting it into her trembling quim. She arched her back and gloried in the rippling sensations stirred by his tongue and mouth. Heat swirled in her. She wanted him inside, his most intimate part joined to hers. She wanted him. But first she would have to spend, for she could not bring herself to stop the delightful labor of his tongue.

“Radcliff, Radcliff,” she murmured as the throbbing of her clit and contracting of her quim intensified.

And just as she was about to reach her climax, Darcy woke up.

* * * *

“I lost the courage,” Darcy explained to Henry as they sat in the box with Lady Worthley, who was accompanying an ailing friend to the opera. Lady Worthley was not nearly as enamored of opera, and asked Darcy and Henry for company.

“Then you mean to have the child?” Henry asked as he lifted the opera glasses to his eyes to scan the crowd for an interesting face or body.

Darcy shook her head. “I could not. And yet I could not bring myself to ask for it. He said he would only require ten shillings for the visit.”

“He’s a bloody thief.”

“It doesn’t have to be a bastard,” Henry piped up after they had walked in silence for a while. “I could marry you. Then you wouldn’t have to put yourself at risk with that sham of a physician.”

Darcy smiled and put a hand on her friend’s arm. “Harry, a friend more true than you could not be had. But I would be of no use to Mrs. T if I were a married woman.”

“No need to work at Mrs. T’s once I am Earl of Brent. I will have an income of more than ten thousand pounds per annum.”

“But it may be years before you are Earl. Until then, you have not enough to support two additional persons. And what will become of Priscilla and Nathan?”

“Perhaps my father would increase my allowance. Daresay he would be happy to have a marriage that would put an end to the rumors he pretends not to hear. You and I would make the perfect husband and wife, Darcy, as surely you would not mind my lovers and I would not mind yours. Or perhaps we could trade our lovers every now and then.”

The gleam in his eyes brought laughter and tears to Darcy.

“Your father would not approve of your marrying someone of my sort,” she said. “The Earl of Brent, no matter what his proclivities, could ensnare a much better wife than I. But I do appreciate the thought, Harry. With all my heart I do.”

They walked, her arm linked with his.

“Perhaps I should have a word with Broadmoor,” Henry thought aloud.

“Don’t you dare,” Darcy snapped. “He and I have done with one another.”

Henry sighed for the both of them. “You don’t suppose I would have a chance with him?”

Darcy laughed again. “I don’t think he is partial to you. I suspect he thought us lovers.”

“Well then, I can prove that wrong!”

Darcy shook her head. “What an incorrigible man you are, Harry.”

“And you love me for it.” He lifted her hand to his lips.

“Be careful, Harry. I may fall in love and decide to marry you after all.”

Henry grinned. They wound their way around the block back toward the gaming hall. A wistful comfort settled about Darcy. This was the life she knew: Henry, Mathilda, and the patrons of the gaming hall. For a moment, her world crossed with Radcliff Barrington. But like planets aligned before the sun, they would eventually part ways.

* * * *

Trying his best to suppress a yawn, Radcliff shifted in his seat as strains of “Orfeo and Euridice” filled the opera house. He was not particularly interested in early classical music, and had not thought Juliana to be either; but he agreed to escort his cousin to the performance nonetheless. He found that indeed it had not been the compositions of Christoph Willibald Gluck that attracted her interest, but rather a young man sitting in the box next to them.

He seemed a decent fellow, though he did not possess a very high station in life—Katherine would disapprove without a second glance at the young man—but where one stood in the eyes of the ton mattered less to Radcliff. He allowed Juliana and the young man, Robert Gibbons, to have their moment during intermission. Radcliff stood far enough from the couple as not to intrude upon their conversation, feigning interest in what Mrs. Trindlewood and her daughter had to say.

Mrs. Trindlewood was quite amiable, but there was nervousness about her. Radcliff sensed a hushed anxiety among many people he knew; as though many glances were cast his way. He caught the eye of Juliana, and she seemed to look at him with concern. He managed to extricate himself from Mrs. Trindlewood and approached Juliana and young Gibbons.

“Good day to you, sir,” Robert greeted.

“Thank you, and a good evening to you,” Radcliff responded.

Robert flushed as he realized he had referenced the wrong part of the day.

“Shall we go to our seats?” Radcliff asked Juliana.

Her eyes were gleaming. Broadmoor had never known her smile to be so wide.

“Robert is a bit of a composer himself,” Juliana told him. “He met Mozart.”

“I was a mere boy,” Robert said. “But his music did inspire me.”

“I rather wish we were listening to one of his operas tonight instead.”

Robert nodded. “Although, it can be said that Gluck paved the way for Mozart.”

“Indeed. Perhaps you can tell me more of Mozart,” Radcliff offered. “I am partial to Blake’s. Have you ever been?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I should be happy to extend you an invitation as my guest.”

Juliana made a sound like a puppy, and Robert vigorously pumped Radcliff by the hand. When they returned to their boxes, Juliana grasped Radcliff by the arm.

“My dearest cousin!” she cried. “How can I ever thank you?”

“Delay your gratitude. I have not yet given him my blessing,” Radcliff said. “I thought at one point you were not enjoying your tete-a-tete?”

“Oh, that.” Juliana released him and looked away. “It was of no consequence.”

Broadmoor sensed uneasiness from her, but put up his quizzing glass to take another look at Robert, who sat with his mother, father, and two brothers. Broadmoor’s gaze wandered past their box. He stiffened.

It couldn’t be. It was.

Darcy Sherwood. She sat with Wyndham, Lady Worthley and an older woman he could not place.

Despite her worn and slightly dated gown, Darcy looked beautiful. Different. Fragile. Her hair was set in curlers and arranged on top of her head with a jeweled hairpiece. Broadmoor was reminded of how much he liked her hair loose and unruly, and felt a sense of loss that he would never see her hair tumbled in disarray about her.

“Cousin?”

Juliana’s voice came to him as if from the end of a tunnel. “I take it you have found Miss Sherwood.”

Radcliff lowered his eye piece. “That explains the look of concern I have been receiving all evening,” he said, “and what has set the tongues to twittering. One would think the gossips have tired of it all by now.”

Juliana bit her lower lip. “That and…”

“And?” He fixed a daunting stare at her as he lifted his brows.

“It is said that she will wed the Viscount Wyndham.”

Blood drained from Broadmoor. He was besieged by a multitude of feelings: anger, jealousy, pain and loss. She was lost to him forever: Broadmoor’s worst fear come to life. He had never conceived she would marry, given her refusal his offer.

But my offer was not that of matrimony.

Radcliff signaled for the page. He scrawled a note and told the man to deliver it to the Viscount Wyndham.

Chapter Sixteen

“What do you mean, Priscilla? How can that be?” Darcy asked in disbelief, despite the obvious agony in her sister’s eyes.

“I received this by courier today,” Priscilla explained, and handed over a letter.

The seal, though broken, was clearly that of the Baron Barrington. Darcy took the letter and scanned its contents.

* * * *

Dear Miss Priscilla Sherwood,

It has come to my attention that young Nathan is not being afforded the advantages worthy of a Barrington. He is at a critical age when great care must be attended to his upbringing. I mean to cast no aspersions on the care you have provided him thus far, but there are limits to what your family can offer him. As such, Nathan should be retained in my custody to ensure that he receives the full breadth of what is due to him.

Your servant,

R. Barrington

It was brief and very much in the style of Radcliff. Even the bold but elegant handwriting could not have been formed by any hand other than his.

“‘Worthy of a Barrington?’” Darcy recited from the letter, confused. “Does he believe Nathan to be Edward’s, then?”

Priscilla colored. “He is certain.”

But surely he would have mentioned such knowledge, Darcy thought, recalling suddenly Radcliff’s growing interest in Nathan throughout their conversations. And there was the suspicious matter of Nathan’s new clothes and books.

“The tutor,” Darcy said quickly, “and the clothes. Was Rad—was he providing those?”

Priscilla nodded with guilt.

“But how did he come to know? Did you speak to him?”

“He came upon us in the park,” Priscilla explained. “Quite by accident, I think. Though it was rather strange for him to be at our park, of all places. But when he saw Nathan—you know the resemblance Nathan bears to Edward—it became quite plain, I think.”

“How is it you have not told me this?” Darcy cried, a dozen thoughts whirling and colliding in her mind.

“He swore me to secrecy. For what reason, I know not, though I imagine it had something to do with his association with you.”

This time it was Darcy who colored.

“Have you fallen in love with him?” Priscilla would have done better had she slapped Darcy across the face. “You have, haven’t you?” Priscilla persisted.

“It matters not,” Darcy replied. “Forgive me, Priscilla, I should have confided in you—as you should have confided in me. I told myself that I wished to protect you, Nathan and Mama from the scandal.”

“We do not live on a separate continent, dear sister. We heard rumors almost from the beginning. But even were it not for the gossip, it was plain on your face how you felt—at least to me.”

Tears pressed against the back of Darcy’s eyes as she received her sister’s sympathetic smile. “I suppose,” Darcy said, “I was too mortified. Imagine two Sherwood sisters falling for Barringtons!”

Darcy saw tears in Priscilla’s eyes, as well. Priscilla threw her arms around her sister. They drew strength from each other. “Those Barrington men are such horrid creatures, are they not?” Priscilla asked with a chuckle.

“Yes,” Darcy answered, but there was no jest in her voice. She recalled the letter she held. “‘Worthy of a Barrington,’” she seethed, “typical Barrington arrogance! For five years they did not lift a finger for Nathan—did not deign to acknowledge his existence—and now they wish to take him from us?”

“Had I known him better…” Priscilla began, “He seemed to have such a wonderful rapport with Nathan. And when Nathan so adored his dog…”

“The Duke that Nathan speaks of. It was Baron Broadmoor, then?”

“Yes, but, oh, I never conceived that he would try to take Nathan from me!”

“He most assuredly will not take Nathan from us,” Darcy pronounced as she clenched the letter in her hand.

“But—”

“I will defend our family with my last breath. The Baron will rue the day he ever laid eyes on a Sherwood!”

“Do you think perhaps we should seek the counsel—”

Darcy sighed with exasperation as she gathered her hat and gloves. “I know you think my reason is overcome by vehemence, Priscilla, but my anger better enables me to do battle. Nathan may be a Barrington by blood, but he is a Sherwood in name and birth. And no pompous meddler, no matter his stature or wealth, will change that!”

Whirling on her heels, Darcy stormed from the room with Priscilla struggling to keep pace. Encountering the page, Darcy requested that Matilda’s horse be brought around.

“Shall I come?” Priscilla asked.

Darcy shook her head. “You must stay by Nathan’s side. If we must, we will leave London for a place where the Baron cannot find us.”

“Nathan is with his tutor and Mama. Should I begin packing a portmanteau?”

“It may be advisable. I will bring word as soon as I am done with the Baron.”

Darcy received one last parting embrace from her sister before mounting the horse and directing it toward Grosvenor Square.

The audacity of the man! Darcy fumed. How dare he trifle with my family! Is this the Baron’s way of exacting revenge upon me for having refused him? Granted, he had been kind to pay for the new clothes, books, and tutor for Nathan. But they would have refused his benevolence had they known his true purpose! Never did a more odious man exist in all of England!

When Darcy pulled up before Broadmoor House, the boldness with which she spoke to Priscilla waned. In truth, there was little they could do if the Baron chose to exert his influence to take Nathan from them. Nothing but run away and begin our life anew, she lamented. Darcy had the 50,000 notes from Radcliff. The sum would suffice until she found another means of support.

But someone has to let the arrogant man understand he cannot do anything he damn well please just because he is a Barrington.

Forcing down her trepidation, Darcy resolutely mounted the steps of his residence. The butler greeted her once more with indifference, and hesitantly allowed her passage.

“Is the Baron home?” Darcy inquired.

“He is, but, I believe he is indisposed.”

“I have an urgent matter requiring his attention.”

The butler paused. “I will pass him that message, but perhaps you would wish to return at another time?”

“He will see me today,” Darcy pronounced and sat down on a chair in the hallway. “I will wait until he is disposed.”

“He may be busy the entire day.”

“I have all day.”

The butler stiffened. “If you will wait here, Miss Sherwood.”

“I intend to.”

When the butler returned, he indicated that his lordship would see her in his study. Darcy followed the butler, recalling the last time she had been here, also under unhappy circumstances.

“Miss Sherwood, my lord,” the butler announced before leaving the two of them alone.

Radcliff, seated behind his writing desk, did not even lift his head. He seemed engrossed in what he was writing. Darcy waited for him to acknowledge her presence.

He didn’t.

She pressed her lips together as she watched the quick movements of his pen. No one could infuriate her more! He did not even look up when she stomped over and stood in front of his desk.

Casting the letter he had written to Priscilla at him, her lips quivering with rage, Darcy declared: “Nathan is ours. You will never lay a hand on him.”

Broadmoor looked up with a blank expression. “Are you not being rather presumptuous, Miss Sherwood?”

Presumptuous? His choice of words flabbergasted her. “Nathan has known no other family but us.”

“He has a right to know the other half.”

“There is no other half. For five years Edward has denied his son; he cannot expect to now dance into Nathan’s life as though nothing happened.”

Radcliff folded the letter he had been writing with maddening calm. “Nathan will not be raised as Edward’s son; he will be in my custody and raised, nonetheless, as a Barrington.”

“Your custody?” Darcy flamed. “Nathan is not your responsibility. If this is a means of assuaging your guilt for the part you played—”

“Regardless of my motivations, is it not in the best interest of Nathan to be given all the privileges that come with his heritage?”

“It is not in his interest to be taken away from his mother!”

“Neither you nor your sister would be barred from visiting Nathan now and then.”

Darcy’s eyes widened. “You contemptible, overbearing bastard!” Darcy cried.

“I appreciate your sentiments, but I hardly think they help your case.”

“What is it you want?” Darcy seethed. “Is it the money you gave me in exchange for the deed to Brayten? I would give anything to never see or hear the name of Barrington again!”

“Anything?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Anything,” Darcy spat.

Broadmoor crossed one leg over the other and considered the matter while Darcy wondered how best to wring the man’s neck.

“I will relinquish my pursuit to obtain Nathan,” he announced. Darcy perked up. “On two conditions,” Radcliff continued, rising to his feet. He stood before her. It was all she could do to stand her ground and not be overpowered by his aura.

“What conditions?” Darcy asked. He was so close she could smell him, the scent awakening all her raw animal senses. He looked down at her, and this time she saw in his eyes the hunger of a predator beholding its prey.

“That you submit to me—here. Now.”

Her knees shook. Darcy could barely swallow. “Here?”

“And now.”

By the hard set of his jaw, Darcy could see he was not jesting. Why is he doing this? Part of her wanted to run. Part of her was thrilled he wanted her.

“You give your word that you will not attempt to take Nathan from us?” she asked, wondering where her towering rage had gone.

“My word. In writing, if you wish.”

She trusted him. He was insufferable, but his integrity was intact. “Very well,” Darcy surrendered, wondering how she would explain it all to her sister.

Holding her immobile with the strength of his gaze, Broadmoor gently pulled at the ribbon of her bonnet until it came undone. Darcy closed her eyes as Broadmoor removed her bonnet and tossed it aside. He might as well have torn her entire dress away – she felt naked before him. Would he kiss her now?

Radcliff stepped away. Darcy felt as if chains had been lifted from her; but the absence of his closeness was as confusing as his touch was liberating. She watched him return to his writing desk and sit down.

“Take off your dress,” he ordered.

“I cannot reach the buttons in back,” Darcy responded with defiance.

“Then you must tear the dress from your body.”

Darcy felt a familiar warmth fan from her loins.

“But…” Darcy stalled, studying her dress to see if there was a way it could be easily reassembled after being torn.

“I am waiting, Miss Sherwood.”

“Perhaps you could assist with the buttons, sir—my lord?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. But that is not what I suggested.”

Darcy frowned. She would have to reconcile herself to purchasing a new morning dress. Unhappily, she grasped the hem of the gown and stretched it between her two hands. It took a number of attempts, but the fabric eventually gave way. The sound of her gown ripping filled the air. Darcy vacillated between rage and arousal: She hated him for blackmailing her into submission for the second time. But most of all, she hated him for making her submission feel so good.

“Well done,” he commended when she slipped her arms free of the gown. “Now remove the petticoat and stays.”

Darcy’s stays fastened in front. It and the petticoat fell to the ground around her feet.

“And the chemise—I want it torn.”

“It’s the one you bought,” Darcy said hotly. Despite her lack of clothing, she felt warm from head to toe.

“Yes, I recognize it. Tear it.”

“But what will I wear when I leave?” Darcy asked in a panic.

“That is your dilemma, Miss Sherwood. For all I care, you can leave in the buff.”

Darcy glared at him. His lack of concern enraged her. This was retaliation. He meant to settle the score by requiring not just her submission, but her complete humiliation as well. If it weren’t for Nathan, she would have whirled on her heels and left, never mind the dampness between her legs.

“The love you bear your nephew is commendable.”

“Well, you know nothing of love!” Darcy snapped. “You are a heartless and callous lout.”

“The chemise, Miss Sherwood.”

Stifling a scream, Darcy ripped the thin cotton garment apart. She stood before him without a shred of clothing; and though her nakedness was nothing new to him, she covered her bosom and groin with her hands.

“Such modesty does not become you, my dear,” Radcliff noted with a sardonic grin. “Turn around.”

Darcy did as she was told, the lack of emotion in his voice making her feel as if she were a slab of beef being inspected. She watched him appraise her, his gaze touching on every inch of her body.

“Touch your breasts for me,” he directed. Darcy detected a tremor in his voice. “With both hands.” She did as she was told. “Fondle them,” he clarified. She kneaded her breasts, first slowly and lightly, then harder and faster as she felt sensations rippling from her breasts down to her quim. She pinched both her nipples and softly groaned.

“Stop,” he ordered brusquely and rose to his feet.

She continued to dig her fingers into her flesh and pushed the orbs together.

“Stop,” he repeated and dashed her hands from her breasts. “Your ability to follow orders is wanting, Miss Sherwood,” he said, walking around her like a hawk circling its prey. “Such defiance must be addressed. Stand against the table with your feet apart.”

Broadmoor leaned Darcy forward onto his desk and spread her legs so that her buttocks were more than adequately exposed for him. She knew what came next. Darcy braced herself for the harsh sting that would follow his hand.

“That,” he said after he delivered the first blow, “is for your hesitation. This for your defiance.” Darcy nearly flew over the writing desk with the second slap. “And your impudence.” Her knees shook with the force of the third and fourth strikes. Her ass burned with the spanking. Her cunnie ached. “Do not question me again, Miss Sherwood,” Radcliff told her, adding another whack for good measure.

Broadmoor reached beneath Darcy to discover wetness slithering down her thigh. She suppressed a whimper.

“I present to you the sweet smell of your submission,” he said, and passed his damp fingers underneath her nose.

“Get on with it,” she urged through gritted teeth.

Acquiescing, Broadmoor instructed her to lie across the writing table on her back. Radcliff reached down to the floor and picked up the chemise, which he tore in two. With each half, he tied her legs to the table so that the softest parts of her flesh were exposed view. With her dress, he bound her wrists together and pulled her arms over her head, securing them to the remaining two legs of the table.

The damn thing—the table, and the manner in which she was stretched across it—was exceedingly uncomfortable. Darcy silently cursed Radcliff, and promised herself to make him pay for this.

His gaze traveled the length of her body. Darcy saw a facial muscle twitch along his jaw. He ran a hand languidly from her knee and up her thigh. Darcy caught her breath when his fingers grazed her belly button and cupped a breast. She shivered when his thumb passed over her nipple. He caressed the contour of her jaw with his knuckles, then parted her lips with a finger before inserting it into her mouth. She tasted herself.

He walked over to the other end and fixed his eyes on her pussy. Bending down, Broadmoor inhaled her musky scent and ran his tongue over her clitoris. Darcy nearly exploded with an orgasm at the touch.

To her dismay, he only watched her and waited for the specter of her orgasm to subside. Darcy groaned in disappointment. She desperately needed and wanted his touch. Without him, she was a throbbing mess of sensations requiring release.

When the threat of her climax diminished, Radcliff once more stroked her clitoris with his tongue. Darcy closed her eyes and soaked herself in the beautiful sensations building within her. He stood up and pushed a finger into her sopping quim. Her muscles clenched hungrily at his finger.

“Most delectable,” Radcliff noted as he withdrew his finger, “but we shall have to wait. I have an appointment to keep.”

Darcy felt the air sucked from her. She opened her eyes and looked at him as if through a haze. She watched in horror as he put on his gloves.

“Oh, please…” she whispered through parched lips.

Broadmoor raised an eyebrow.

“Please…take me,” she whimpered.

“Why?”

“Because I desire it. Because you have made me desire it…”

“How much?”

“I crave it immensely, desperately,” she said through blurred thoughts. “No one makes me feel as you do.”

“No one?”

“No one,” she confirmed. “No one can bring such delight. My body longs for your touch.”

“Is it mine to do as I please?”

“Yes, yes, my body is yours. Yours alone. Radcliff, please, for the love of God, please take me. Fuck me.”

He smiled and planted a tender kiss on Darcy’s brow. Grabbing the letter he had been writing earlier, he donned his hat and said, “In due time, my love.”

Her eyes widened in panic. She gave him a wild look. He is not going to leave me bound to the writing table?

“Ring for my servants if you require anything,” he offered before closing the door after him.

Darcy’s cunnie ached with emptiness. She attempted to will herself to spend. He had left her on the worst precipice she had ever known. Darcy struggled against her bindings. Good God, what if a servant walks in? She struggled harder.

The minutes dragged on. All she could do was wait.

* * * *

It killed Broadmoor to leave Darcy there, her quivering body tied to his writing table. Radcliff wanted nothing more than to help her achieve the greatest ecstasy her body could know. But it was true he had an appointment.

She would hate him for this. But it was worth it to hear her utter her desire: Yes, yes, my body is yours. Yours alone.

She would not believe him if he told her that he suffered too. His cock had strained against his trousers from the moment she attempted to tear her dress. It had taken every ounce of his restraint when he had witnessed that clear honey glistening down the length of Darcy’s slit and onto the surface of the writing table.

But she would understand now that she was his, and could only be his. And he knew now, more than ever, that he was hers and could only be hers.

“Miss Sherwood’s horse is still here,” his perplexed butler explained to Radcliff upon his return.

“Yes, I know,” Radcliff said briskly as he tossed his hat and gloves to the man. He could wait no longer. He had to have her.

Broadmoor opened the door to his study and was relieved and guilt-ridden to find Darcy still tied to his writing table. She struggled against her bindings liked a caged animal. Hoping he had not tied her bonds too tightly, he silently promised her that he would make it up to her for the rest of his life. He sauntered over to inspect her quim.

She was wetter than ever.

Thank God, Radcliff thought. His assumption had been correct. When he met her eyes, which were casting daggers at him, he gave her his best devilish grin. Still defiant. He would have it no other way with Darcy Sherwood.

“I know you, Radcliff,” Pinkerton had told him. “You need someone as bloody cocky as yourself.”

She is perfect for me, Radcliff concluded as he stared at her bound body. In wit, passion, honesty, and flesh, his match, she was perfect. It was time to bring her to the rapture she so deserved.

Broadmoor reached between Darcy’s legs and stroked her cunnie. Her body responded like a well-tuned instrument. She had been hanging on the edge of spending for so long that it did not take her long to climax. Spasms erupted throughout her body. Her body would have arched off the table if not for her bonds.

Before she completely recovered from her orgasm, Radcliff untied Darcy’s bonds and flipped her onto her stomach. With her breasts flattened by the desk and her ass hanging deliciously off the edge of the table, Broadmoor drew out his cock and pushed it into her waiting quim.

Sublime.

After only a few well-drawn thrusts, he had Darcy riding her second orgasm. His own came with a blinding fury. Broadmoor’s thighs shook as he pumped himself into her once, twice, thrice.

He pulled out his cock while it was still erect and aimed it at her ass. Darcy quivered. Her knees buckled. Holding her up by her hips, Broadmoor pushed his cock into her other opening. It had been well lubricated by her own body fluids.

Darcy inhaled sharply. He could tell she was still unaccustomed to having a cock buried in her ass, so he moved slowly. By the time he had his cock far enough in that his balls touched her buttocks, she was moaning in delight. Radcliff increased the intensity as her frenzy grew. Her tightness had his cock harder than before.

“Oh, God,” Darcy cried, overtaken by another climax.

Radcliff shoved his cock into her, his balls slapping against her ass, until his own orgasm rolled through his cock and he shot his seed deep into her body. He felt like collapsing on top of her, but knew she was sore from being tied to the writing table. Collecting her body in his arms, Broadmoor carried Darcy to the sofa. She breathed what sounded like a contented sigh and leaned her head against him. This, too, felt sublime.

He massaged her arms and kissed her eyelashes. He murmured into her hair, “This is merely the beginning, my dearest Darcy.”

She tensed. “Your condition was that I submit to you here and now. The ‘now’ has passed, my lord.”

“If you recall, I had two conditions.”

“Two conditions?” she echoed apprehensively. “What is the second?”

“That you give your hand to me in matrimony.”

Darcy blinked. She looked at Broadmoor as if he were playing a cruel joke upon her.

“I want you for my own, Miss Sherwood,” Radcliff explained.

“What of being your mistress?”

“You refused me.”

“But you think I would accept an offer of marriage instead?”

“Well, I hadn’t planned on it being an offer,” Radcliff said. “My appointment, you see, was to secure the minister and leave notice with The Times. The banners will be read in tomorrow’s paper.”

Her eyes widened. Radcliff could not tell if she was appalled or impressed.

“Do you mean to refuse me a second time?” he asked when she had not spoken.

“What of Nathan?”

“He, your sister, and your stepmother will be provided for. If they choose to live in London, I will find them a townhouse. If they prefer the country, there is my primary seat or my secondary estate near Brighton.”

“You won’t take Nathan from Priscilla, then?”

The relief and hope in her voice made him feel like a rotten cad. He responded brusquely, “Of course not, though I had to do something to command your attention and force your hand.”

She shook her head. “You are the most arrogant and abominable man.”

“So you’ve said.”

“And if I decline?”

Radcliff clenched his jaw. His features darkened. “It is not an option. Do you realize that you could easily be with child? I will not have another Barrington bastard.”

Her eyes widened. Darcy looked away quickly. Too quickly.

“Good God,” Radcliff exhaled. He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to him. “Are you with child?”

Darcy looked at him in protest, but no words came.

“That settles the matter then,” he said grimly. “Thankfully, I set an early wedding date.”

Is that relief lighting her face? Happiness? Horror suddenly flooded Darcy’s eyes. “I would be Mrs. Barrington!”

Radcliff could not resist a half smile. “Yes, the fourth Baroness Barrington.”

“But why?”

“You disappoint me, Miss Sherwood. I took you for a clever woman, but it would seem obvious, even to the dumb, that I adore you. I adore you body and soul. I want to be the only man to command pleasure from you. I want to bring you joy in all its forms from the moment the sun rises to the moment the moon sets. And I wish it for the rest of my life.”

He could see tears well in her eyes. It was nearly his undoing.

“And I believe,” he continued, “that you bear some affection for me as well.”

“A little,” she acknowledge with a wry smile.

He kissed the tear that slid down the side of her face before capturing her mouth with his. Unlike the fierce kisses of desire, this one was tender and bespoke the love he felt for her.

“Darling Darcy,” he murmured into her hair and pulled her close. The ton be damned: Nothing could make him feel as contented or complete as she.

“I have a condition of my own, Baron,” Darcy said as she pulled away to look up at him.

“Indeed?”

Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “You must submit to me on our wedding night.”

Radcliff considered for a moment. “Very well, Baroness. You will be mine through the honeymoon.”

Darcy shook her head. “I don’t think I shall ever become accustomed to being addressed as a Baroness. Priscilla will wonder what has become of me! I should speak with her at once. Oh! My clothing!”

Radcliff offered her his coat. “You shall pen a letter to your sister, and I will have my servant deliver it post-haste. As for the dress, one of my maids can sew it well enough for you to depart in it.”

Flushing, Darcy accepted the coat. The blush in her cheeks made her look angelic. Radcliff stared at her.

“It will take some time to mend the dress. What are we to do till then?” she inquired.

“I would like to ravish you once or twice more,” Radcliff responded as he adjusted his cock, “though I will require a brief respite. What does my lady recommend to pass the time?”

She gave him a smile that thrilled him to no end.

“Have you a deck of cards, my lord?”

The End