As the ladies rose to greet their escorts, Beth wandered off to see if she could garner a dance with “Cheltie.” Unable to watch Beth’s inevitable attempts to flirt with him, Althea excused herself and strolled the ballroom. Finding herself watching yet again for Lord Cheltenham’s leonine head and well-shaped arse, she firmed her lips and removed to the veranda. But a few clinched couples had her retreating to peruse the food in the refreshment room.
Finding that room safe, she dawdled, snacked on sweetmeats and biscuits, and sipped lemonade. She was thankful no one engaged her in conversation, realizing belatedly that a woman alone might be seen as looking for a benefactor, and that was the last thing she wanted. Finally, she decided to find her cousin, their carriage, and then her bed. She needed to be at the store in the morning.
After checking the open rooms on the ballroom floor, she tried the upper level. Gaining the hallway, she saw most doors were open. ’Twas a relief as she would not have wanted to knock, given the nature of the party.
Her relief was short-lived. In the first room, a man’s head was visible over the back of a wingchair facing the fire. With no sign of Beth, she turned to leave the doorway.
A slurp sounded.
Frowning, she glanced back at the man.
His hand, visible on the arm of the chair until now, shifted toward his lap, and he murmured, “Hold it. Deeper.”
Althea’s gaze dropped to the floor, and her mouth fell open. Skirts were puddled on the rug in front of the chair. A woman was kneeling or sitting in front of him. Beth had shared enough details of past escapades that Althea could guess what the slurp meant. But even after Beth’s descriptions, the reality was shocking. She could not comprehend why a woman would do that. The point of sex, after all, was procreation, not pleasure.
Eyes wide, she clutched the doorframe. Her brain wanted to withdraw, locate Beth, and go home. But her body was held in thrall, pulse thrumming through her veins, core heating and liquefying, her breath coming faster.
Why was the door left open? Darn it, she knew she should have questioned her cousin further when she described “downstairs” rather than “the ball.” Were all the rooms thus occupied?
She’d found Beth with two stable hands in an empty stall one day months ago. The guilty thrill then had kept her frozen in place. Afterward, she’d told herself it had been guilt alone. Why would she react so strongly to watching others’ intimacy when she’d never responded that way to intimacy with her husband?
There was no denying her reaction though. While she did not understand these strange sensations that contradicted everything she knew about sex, she could not tear herself away. Even remorse over spying on strangers could not loosen her white-knuckled grip.
“Althea, there you are.”
The spell was broken, and she turned to see her cousin stepping out of a doorway across the hall. As she took a step toward Beth, she heard a movement behind her and glanced back.
The Earl of Cheltenham lounged against the wall next to where she’d been standing, all loose-limbed grace and an easy smile. He’d been watchingherrather than the room’s occupants.
A bolt of lust shot through her. What would it be like to have him cover her like a stallion does a mare, as she’d seen in the stables? Or to be on her knees in front of him? Then chagrin washed over her. Sex was private, between two people, and she’d been caught staring.
Hot shame replacing the lust she’d felt moments ago, Althea turned away and hurried to join Beth. These illicit scenes were obviously meant to titillate partygoers of these types of affairs, but she loved her independence too much to risk it for as lackluster an activity as sex, peculiar tingles or no.
Chapter One
August 1817, Greenborough Park, Cheltenham
“Ford. I am so glad you arrived tonight before the other guests.” Evan pulled Robert Orford, one of his two closest friends, into the library, barely waiting for him to hand his coat and hat to the butler. He headed straight for the buffet table with the tray of decanters. “Whisky? Brandy? Tea?”
“Whatever you want. I can see you’re in a state.” Robert threw himself into a damask chair by the fire, across from Evan’s usual seat.
Known as “Ford” to his friends, Robert was the most easygoing of the three men, who’d met in secondary school and attended Oxford together. He was also the shortest and stockiest. Evan was tallest at a few inches over six feet, with Michael Slade, Earl of Mansfield, splitting the difference.
“In a state. Ha! Never. Lord Cheltenham”—Evan struck a dandy’s pose to imitate gossip about himself—“never has a hair out of place, nary a feather ruffled. Nothing phases him, don’t you know?”
“Whatever you say, old man.”
Evan shot him a look. “Brandy it is then. I’m more likely to sip it and not be miserable for our guests tomorrow.” He brought the drinks over to the seating area that included a low table and a settee on a silver and gold-toned rug, skirting the small desk he used when working in this room instead of his office. The dark bookcases flanking the fireplace felt as though they loomed over him as he handed one glass to the other man before flopping into the matching chair.
“Our? Your guests, you mean.”
Dozens of acquaintances were due to arrive for his annual late summer rout. Men and women of all ages, some married, some actually with their spouses rather than their mistresses, and some unmarried would attend because his parties were famously beyond risqué. No one who worried about their reputation joined. Frankly, few were invited. Still, an unspoken rule was understood. Guests were not to share the specifics of these parties.
And indeed, varying the activities and pushing the envelope of scandal were why people returned each year. The Ton was all for titillation away from society’s prying eyes, and Cheltenham was far enough from London to give them exactly that while being near enough for many to make the trip.
“Ford, I could use your help. I’ve designed the games, but I am not certain I can bring myself to play them.”
“Did you suddenly find your prudish side? Religion mayhap?” His friend stared at him, glass half-raised to his mouth.
