Wicked Torment (Regency Sinners 1) Read online

  So it came as something of a shock to Bea to realize she was physically responding more strongly to having Wolferton hold her hand than she had to sexual relations with Charles during the whole of their five-year marriage.

  Darius waited for the conclusion to whatever thoughts were currently preoccupying Lady Beatrix. Although he hoped it would not take too long. His reputation for possessing absolutely no patience was not an exaggeration.

  In the meantime, it gave him time to consider the blush now warming Lady Beatrix’s cheeks, and the way in which it gave her an unexpected beauty. No, perhaps beauty was too strong a word, but the added color certainly gave a sparkle to those huge brown eyes and caused a rosy flush to the fullness of her lips. The top lip was intriguingly plumper than the bottom, something Darius had heard was indicative of a passionate nature.

  Perhaps seducing this lady into revealing whether or not she had been and still was a spy for Napoleon would not be so much of a chore after all?

  She drew in a deep breath, as if she had forgotten to breathe these past few minutes. “I am afraid you were utterly mistaken in drawing that conclusion, Your Grace—”

  “Darius,” he corrected huskily. “Or Wolf, if you prefer it,” he added as another frown creased her brow.

  She gave a shake of her head. “Addressing you with the familiarity of either of those names would be inappropriate. As I said”—she pointedly withdrew her hand from his grasp before putting both her hands behind her back for good measure—“you were mistaken in thinking that I was encouraging your interest during the picnic we both attended earlier this week.”

  He arched an autocratic brow. “But I am not mistaken in sensing your interest today.”

  A deeper color bloomed in her cheeks. “I am merely…taken aback by your unexpected arrival and the reason for it.”

  His mouth quirked in the semblance of another smile. “Then I shall continue to keep you in a state of suspense, because I have every intention of joining your other guests and remaining by your side for the remainder of the week.”

  Her frown was pained. “Is this some sort of dare or bet on your part?”

  He raised those arrogant brows. “I beg your pardon?”

  She sighed her impatience. “I have heard it said that gentlemen indulge in such wagers as to who will be first to seduce this or that woman. That these wagers are even written down in a book at gentlemen’s clubs such as White’s.”

  Darius’s mouth thinned. “By callow youths who do not know better. I am far too old for such nonsense as that.” He scowled his displeasure. “Nor is your conclusion that this must be one of those occasions in the least flattering, to either yourself or to me.”

  “That is possibly because I have no illusions in regard to my own appearance, Your Grace.”

  He looked down the length of his nose at her. “Then it is as well I have enough interest for both of us.”

  “You are wasting your time on me,” she stated firmly.

  The duke shrugged. “It is my time to waste.”

  “You will not succeed in seducing me,” she insisted impatiently.

  “Now who is the one extending a dare?”

  “I assure you it was not meant as such, but merely as a statement of fact.”

  “Are you actually denying me an invitation of remaining here as your guest?”

  Bea doubted that anyone had ever denied this man anything he set his mind on. Except this time, he stated he had set his sights on her. “The entertainments I intend to provide for my guests are far too unsophisticated for your tastes.”

  “On the contrary, the potential entertainment you offer is endless,” he drawled softly as he looked at her beneath hooded lids.

  Bea winced at the realization he had deliberately misunderstood her words. This was a conversation she had absolutely no intention of encouraging or continuing. “I would not want to keep you from your family.”

  His expression hardened. “I do not have any family.”

  Bea instantly realized her mistake. It was well known this man’s parents, the previous Duke and Duchess of Wolferton, had both died when he was young. Being an only child, he had been left to the guardianship of his father’s younger brother. Gossip intimated it had been a stormy relationship, although Bea had no idea in what way. She only knew that Wolferton, once that guardianship came to an end on his twenty-first birthday, had never publicly spoken to or acknowledged his uncle again.

  All eight of the gentlemen who called themselves The Sinners had been orphaned at a young age, and no doubt this was part of the reason those gentlemen had been drawn to each other and formed such a close bond during their school years. A friendship that continued to this day. “Your friends, then.”

  The duke gave a dismissive shake of his head. “They are all currently busy doing other things.”

  “But I do not have a bedchamber prepared for your use.” Bea was unhappy to hear a note of desperation entering her voice.

  He eyed her mockingly. “In that case, I have no objection to sharing your own bedchamber.”

  Bea’s eyes widened in shock. She frowned her displeasure as Wolferton chuckled at her reaction. “I do not appreciate being toyed with in this way,” she snapped.

  “Then let me assure you that in future I will be happy to toy with you in whatever way brings you the greatest pleasure, my dear Bea.” He stepped closer. “That is what your close friends call you, is it not? Bea?”

  This whole conversation had passed completely beyond Bea’s control. If it had ever been within it, which she seriously doubted. She was no match for a gentleman as arrogant and forceful as Wolferton.

  “Which you are not,” she stated politely but firmly.

  “I am going to be,” he assured her huskily. “It is my intention to be very close to you before this week has ended.”

  “You are welcome to join my other guests for a week of pleasant activities, Your Grace.” She pointedly added the formality so there would be no mistaking the invitation for anything other than what it was. “But you do so in the understanding I harbor no interest whatsoever in becoming your mistress,” she added for good measure.

  A slow and—yes, positively wolfish smile now curved those sculpted lips. “A week of sharing my bed would not make you my mistress, Bea.”

  “I have no interest in the two of us sharing a bed for so much as a single hour.” She frowned her frustration with his single-minded pursuit.

  “Liar,” he taunted softly.

  Was she lying?

  There was no doubting she felt flattered by Wolferton having stated an interest in seducing her. Her insides were also aflutter with an unfamiliar excitement. Her nipples felt hot and fully engorged, and between her thighs was swollen and damp with a wetness which had not been present during any of her sexual relations with Charles. Indeed, he had complained often when her lack of a response necessitated him having to provide that lubrication by applying an ointment to his cock before attempting to breach and enter her.

  Wolferton, it seemed, not only caused that natural lubrication without any effort, but was also experienced enough to know that he did.

  Bea stepped away from him. “Please feel free to join my other guests on the terrace for afternoon tea while I go and talk to my butler and arrange a bedchamber be made ready for your use.” She turned on her heel and lightly ascended the terrace steps before hurrying inside the house.

  All the time aware of a narrowed gray gaze watching her every step.

  Chapter 2

  “I look ridiculous.” Darius gave a disgusted snort as he observed his appearance in the cheval mirror in the corner of his bedchamber. The black shirt was unfastened at his throat; his black pantaloons hugged his hips and legs; his black Hessians gleamed.

  He looked more like the devil himself than the pirate he had decided to be when Quinlan, his valet, informed him of the need to wear fancy dress for dinner this evening. Not that it mattered how Darius looked when he would be sitting down t
o dinner with twenty or so people he would happily never set eyes on again, and who would no doubt be wearing even more ridiculous clothing than he was.

  Although he could not deny he was looking forward to seeing and speaking with Bea Hanwell again. To his surprise, she had piqued his interest earlier. She seemed so sure he would not succeed in seducing her, and yet her physical response to his close proximity had been unmistakable. Her cheeks had been flushed, dark eyes bright. Her tits had swelled above the low neckline of her gown, and there was no mistaking the delicious aroma of the musk a woman released when she was aroused.

  “No more ridiculous than usual, Your Grace,” Quinlan observed dryly as he continued to primp and arrange Darius’s black shirt so that the sleeves billowed out in pirate fashion.

  He was well aware of his valet’s opinion of the preference Darius had for wearing black shirts and neck cloths. “Tell me again why it is I employ you, Quinlan,” he drawled.

  “Because no other valet would put up with your bad temper and terrible choice in shirts and neck cloths,” the other man dismissed without apology. His own clothing was of a much more colorful and flamboyant nature, as if to make up for the fact his employer’s was not.

  Quinlan also preferred the company of men rather than ladies. A preference which did not trouble Darius in the slightest. What a man chose to do in the privacy of his own bedchamber was no one’s business but his own. And the person he was doing it with, of course. Darius planned to be doing several wicked things to Beatrix Hanwell before the week was over.

  He now gave a chuckle at his valet’s complete lack of deference to his title. “That is the reason I employ you, you irreverent sod.”

  “Indeed, Your Grace.” Quinlan stood back to observe his handiwork with a critical eye. “Do you think a pirate would leave his hair loose or tied back?”

  “I think my hair shall remain exactly as it is.” Darius turned away from the mirror dismissively, dark hair loose about his shoulders. “You are positive it is Lady Hanwell’s bedchamber which adjoins this one?” He glanced at the door between the two bedchambers. A door which was currently locked, the key on other side. Darius had already checked when he was shown into the bedchamber earlier.

  It would be too much to breach that locked door only to find a lady other than his reluctant hostess on the other side of it. Having met all of Beatrix Hanwell’s female guests at tea this afternoon, Darius found none of them appealed to his jaded palate in the slightest.

  “Her maid confirmed it to be the case, yes, Your—”

  “Stop ‘Your Gracing’ me all the damned time and concentrate on the matter in hand.” Darius and Quinlan might speak to each other in this informal way when the two of them were in private together, but his valet would never be overfamiliar in public. “You know exactly why I am here.” Darius kept no secrets from Quinlan. The other man had been with him for fifteen years now, and had more than proved his loyalty and trustworthiness.

  His valet gave a telling sniff. “I know that this house and Lady Hanwell’s guests are not what we are used to. Although the lady herself seems mannerly enough, as do the household staff,” he added begrudgingly.

  “Stop being a snob and tell me who was turfed out of this bedchamber to make room for me?”

  “The Earl of Landbourne.”

  His eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Dickie Havers?”

  “Lord Richard Havers is the Earl of Landbourne, yes.”

  “Hm.” Darius considered what he knew of the other man, a slightly overweight widower of forty or so. There were no children from the marriage. The earl also owned a fashionable house in London and an estate in the country.

  Was it possible he was Lady Bea’s lover?

  Or the person she intended passing treasonable information to?

  Landbourne could be both those things.

  Or neither.

  The other man could as easily be interested in making Bea his second wife. The lady was in possession of this small estate and the fortune left to her by her late husband. Both would be of value to a man like Landbourne, whose estate was rumored to be in need of a financial boost.

  Darius, having now accepted his surprising interest in bedding Bea Hanwell, hoped it was none of those things. “Any idea what our hostess will be wearing this evening?”

  “I believe Lady Hanwell is to be dressed as a serving wench.”

  A fitting partner for a pirate. “And Havers?”

  Quinlan gave a snort of laughter. “I believe the earl is to be a Viking warrior.”

  Oh good Lord…

  “Breathe in just a little deeper, and there is every chance I will have the pleasure of seeing your tits tumble out the top of that gown you are almost wearing.”

  Bea closed her eyes briefly and drew in several calming breaths before turning to face the gentleman who was rapidly becoming something of a nemesis to her. He had certainly succeeded in changing the whole tenor of her summer party.

  She had arranged this week-long, end-of-the-Season house party in such a way as to be a time of enjoying simple pleasures and relaxing with friends. There was absolutely no possibility that was going to happen now that Darius Strong had insisted on becoming one of that number.

  She had no idea what had transpired on the terrace after she left earlier to go in search of Kilby so that a suitable bedchamber could be prepared for the duke, but it was very obvious this evening that none of her female guests were clamoring for the duke’s attention as might have been expected of such a handsome and eligible gentleman.

  Bea could have insisted there really was no room for the duke to stay at the house, of course. But to have done so would have caused more scandal than the discomfort of his presence, if it became known one as low down the social ladder as Bea had ejected the Duke of Wolferton from her home. The duke and his inner circle were all friends of the Prince Regent, and as such were very influential in Society.

  Landbourne had not liked being ousted from his bedchamber, of course, but Bea did not see that as being a problem. The earl had badgered her until she’d issued him this invitation, but within an hour of his arrival yesterday, Bea became aware he had done so with the ulterior motive of offering her marriage. Bea had absolutely no desire to be a wife to anyone ever again, had no intention of giving up any of the freedom being a widow afforded her.

  So if Landbourne was offended by having been moved from the bedchamber next to hers to one farther down the hallway, then Bea was not in the least concerned by it.

  Although she was not sure having Wolferton in such close proximity to her was a good thing either.

  He looked more rakishly handsome than ever this evening. His overlong hair was still loose about his shoulders, and he had discarded his jacket and waistcoat completely. He now wore one of his black silk shirts unfastened at the throat, revealing the dusting of the silky hair covering his broad chest. Black pantaloons clung revealingly to his powerful hips and thighs.

  He was obviously a pirate.

  How fitting.

  As much as his comment was not. “I will thank you not to use such language with me or my female guests.”

  He gave a hard smile at the sharpness of her set-down. “Perhaps I could be persuaded into desisting if you were to make it worth my while.”

  Bea drew her breath in sharply. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your hair is quite lovely this evening.” He murmured his approval of the curly blonde locks currently falling about Bea’s shoulders and partway down her back, instead of answering her question.

  Nor did he make any attempt to conceal the fact he was currently using his superior height to look down the bodice of the red gown over which Bea wore a black corset in her role as serving wench.

  A somewhat risqué costume for her, perhaps, but when Bea chose it, she had not known the Duke of Wolferton would be present to see her in it. Or that he would state it was his intention to see her without any of her clothing before the week was through.

&n
bsp; Bea was still skeptical in regard to the duke’s interest in her, when he had never shown that interest in her before.

  “You have only to say the word,” he murmured softly, “and I will be happy to repel all boarders.”

  Bea had no idea what he was talking about until she saw Dickie Havers, a determined glitter in his eyes, making his way across the room to where she and the duke stood talking together.

  She had hoped the earl, having been removed from the adjoining bedchamber in favor of Wolferton, would accept her disinterest and cease his pursuit of her. Landbourne’s single-minded determination to reach her side now would seem to indicate otherwise.

  “Good grief…” Wolferton murmured so that only Bea could hear. “I do not think you can have properly considered the consequences of your guests wearing fancy dress for dinner this evening.”

  Bea held back her smile with effort. “Do not be cruel, Your Grace.”

  Landbourne did look somewhat ridiculous in tight, shiny black pantaloons that might possibly be leather, with only a waistcoat covering his chest and revealing that the earl had very pale skin and a paunch. His blond hair was sticking up in tufts, dirt had been smeared across his cheeks and forehead, and he carried an axe in a hand that was also smeared with dirt.

  Bea was unsure as to what Landbourne’s costume was supposed to represent. Possibly an American Indian or a Viking? Although the former would perhaps have carried a tomahawk and have a reddish hue to his skin rather than dirt smeared on his face and be carrying an axe.

  “I will endeavor to be polite on the condition you call me Darius for the rest of the evening.” Wolferton spoke very close to her ear.

  Far too close, Bea acknowledged when a quiver of awareness traveled the length of her spine before settling as tingling heat between her thighs. “We have already discussed this,” she answered him as softly. “Addressing you by your first name is far too familiar.”