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The urgency of their physical need had taken them both by surprise. Even now, she was conscious of the throbbing between her legs at the mere thought of him. He’d invaded the very core of her in more ways than one. Lord Fenton was bound to her. He’d said as much as he’d cradled her in his arms, whispering sweet endearments while he gently kissed her eyes and lips.
Yet despite his assertions that what they’d shared was the most real and true moment of his life, doubt needled.
How could she have got so carried away? Had she been a fool? A mere conquest?
As Antoinette chattered, Fanny sank deeper into hopelessness. In the morning she would marry Lord Slyther. What choice did she have? Neither he nor her mother would allow further postponement, so what possible hope had she of eliciting anything from Lord Fenton before it was too late? Anything that would give her reason to delay her nuptials for a few more days.
How had she allowed him to take her virtue when she was to marry another?
Well, the answer to that was easy. There was no way Fanny had intended allowing Lord Slyther take her virtue when the man for whom she’d fallen was so willing.
But why hadn’t she told Lord Fenton she was to marry Lord Slyther in less than twenty-four hours. That had been a distinct oversight.
After delivering Lady Harwood to her modest lodgings, the carriage deposited the two sisters in front of theirs, but before the jarvey was dismissed Lady Brightwell came hurrying down the front steps dressed in a dark cloak.
“Inside with you, Antoinette—Fanny, we’re going to see Lord Slyther.” She rubbed her hands together as she waited to be assisted up the step, while Antoinette obediently disappeared through the front door. “He’s impatient, Fanny. You did well last night. Perhaps Lord Slyther has the priest and witnesses already waiting.” She squeezed Fanny’s arm as she settled herself on the carriage seat beside Fanny. “Tonight could be your wedding night!”
Fanny didn’t know whether to scream, faint or be sick.
“Come, girl, show a little jubilation. You have done well. Very well.”
Dully, Fanny stared ahead. After a long silence she whispered, “I don’t know if I can do this, Mother.”
“Whatever is this nonsense, Fanny?” A note of alarm crept into Lady Brightwell’s tone. She rapped on the roof for the jarvey to go faster, as if hastening to their destination might stay Fanny’s disquieting sentiments. “Lord Slyther is a viscount. He is rich. He has promised to be generous—”
Fanny shuddered. “Provided I become his slave. Oh, Mother, he made me do the most appalling things the other night.” She slumped against the cold window. “You have no idea. I thought I was going to die of shame—”
“Do you imagine you’re the only young woman who has had to barter her body to buy a life?” Lady Brightwell’s dismay turned to anger. Growing anger. “Would you see us cast into the streets, or forced into a grinding, menial existence because you are not prepared to do what every other young woman has to do in order to satisfy a man? Yes, men are disgusting creatures and Lord Slyther is probably worse than most. But he has one redeeming feature, Fanny, that you can’t ignore.” Directing the full force of her fulminating glare upon Fanny as the carriage drew up in front of Lord Slyther’s elegant Mayfair address, she comforted her daughter, “He cannot possibly live long. Then, my dear, your reward will be widowhood and, if you play your cards right in the meantime, a sizeable widow’s portion. Now, get out of the carriage and do what you have to do without that long face!”
Terrified, Fanny waited outside Lord Slyther’s bedchamber, as instructed. Her mother had been ushered to the drawing room.
As the door opened to admit her she nearly gasped at the foetid sickroom air but managed to retain the pleasant and decorous smile demanded by her mother.
If she could conjure up Lord Fenton’s image she might get through this, she counselled herself. Oh, why had she not told him about Lord Slyther? He’d been overcome with feeling. It had been more than just lust. He’d shared her feelings of genuine attraction. She’d never have done what she had if she hadn’t truly believed that the extraordinary force that had drawn them together wasn’t based on something more than that.
Now, as she took in Lord Slyther’s satisfied, triumphant look she knew her mother spoke the truth. Only careful calculation was going to get Fanny what she wanted.
She curtsied. “I missed you this evening, my Lord.” She made a point of fingering the ring she’d been given, holding it up on its chain and looking at it proudly. There had been an uncomfortable moment when Lord Fenton had whisked up Fanny’s handkerchief, in which the ring had been wrapped, in order to assist with some discreet mopping up. Fortunately for her white muslin, she had not bled—her days as a keen horsewoman during the family’s exile in France had seen to that.
When the ring had fallen from the handkerchief into Lord Fenton’s lap, along with Lady Harwood’s retrieved bracelet, he’d barely glanced at it. Fanny hoped the coat of arms would not be familiar to him; but he’d made no comment as he’d returned the items before resuming his loving comfort in the aftermath of their passion.
Comforting it had been, and it was all Fanny had to sustai
n herself with, for now Lord Slyther was struggling up on his pillows, his grimace of pain contorting into one of relative pleasure to see her.
“Missed me, eh?” he repeated, patting the mattress at his side. “Come and tell me how you missed me, Miss Brightwell. Such pretty words, but empty unless you elaborate.”
Fanny had resolved not to shrink from him. His odious person, reeking with decay, and his words, foul and disrespectful, would not find their mark. Tonight, Fanny would do what she had to in order to play for the time she so desperately needed.
Sinking beside him, she briefly stroked the hand he placed upon her thigh before carefully removing it. “My mother is in the next room so you must not take liberties, Lord Slyther.”
He let out a crack of laughter. “Got your spirit back, have you? My, but I enjoyed our last little session, teaching precocious Miss Brightwell her place. I see you are not so easily cowed as I’d thought. Good, more sport for me—for you will learn how to behave in my company, Miss Brightwell.”
Fanny lowered her eyes. He liked her spirit only so he’d have more enjoyment in seeing her cowed? Well, she would not be. Not cowed and certainly not married to him, if she could help it. Her difficulty was how she should play her behaviour so that he would grant her the few days’ delay she needed.
“I am a lady, my Lord, and I will not have my reputation besmirched, even if we are due to wed in the morning. It is late and I am surprised my mother acceded to your unconventional request.”
“Your mother is so eager for all I can confer on her daughter and the benefits to herself that she’d accede to anything.”
