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She knew from before that it was not a long or onerous climb to reach the top of the hill where the enclosed rotunda perched with its magnificent river views.
Jane had again reported back that access was easily gained; that the window seats were lined with comfortable cushions, and that the door was unlocked. Now Araminta would simply avail herself of a hanging lantern, and take a short detour around the back of the entertainment in order to be hidden from general view as she made her ascent. As her evening slippers were made of silk, she removed them when she was out of sight, but the ground was soft, and it was no hardship to gain the sanctuary of her enclosed rotunda.
Hooking the lantern on the rafter by the entrance, she slipped inside to wait, hoping it wouldn’t be long before Teddy could make his escape. She’d made it quite plain where she wanted to meet, and that she desired a repeat of their union of eight months before but with a different conclusion.
If she couldn’t have Teddy as a husband, she was determined to enjoy him as a lover. Besides, he’d located the ruby diamond necklace, and soon he would retrieve it for her, as he’d promised. It was tempting to delay the seduction she had in mind until that had been achieved, but as that would mean denying herself as much as Teddy, she thought she could allow a little latitude. The truth was, she was hot and hungry to feel his arms about her; the slickness of their naked skins as they writhed in mutual passion. Just thinking about it made her squirm, so that when she heard the soft crunch of footsteps upon the gravel just beyond the steps that led up to the portico, her body was consumed by the most intense rush of desire she’d ever experienced.
Quickly, she arranged herself in an artfully seductive pose, half reclining upon the red-velvet upholstered banquette, her one knee bent and her skirt rucked up, discreetly, but with a flash of stocking top and bare thigh above. She’d have liked to have removed her gown altogether and simply thrown herself into his arms, but Teddy was a man of restraint. His gentlemanly doctrine had held fast in the face of her womanly enticements the night he’d asked for her hand in marriage, when he’d declared he could only commit the marriage act once he’d made an honest woman of her. And, of course, that meant leaving immediately for the Continent to perform some pointless act of chivalry, prioritizing a childhood friend ahead of Araminta, who needed him so badly as a potential father in order to legitimatize her baby.
Well, she’d forgiven him now. And she needed him as much as she did then. Only this time, for herself. She put her hands to her heated cheeks, then to the rise and swell of her heated bosom, cupping her breasts and dipping her head in coquettish invitation as the door was slowly, tentatively opened.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt the rush of moisture between her legs and a whirl of mindless wantonness that left her giddy and dazed.
And then her head cleared as if cold water had been poured over her as, horrified, she beheld the beak-nosed, oafish face of Mr. Woking, peering owlishly into the gloom.
“Mr. Woking!” Araminta shrieked, sitting up abruptly as he stepped inside. He blinked as if caught by surprise, but closed the door behind him nevertheless.
“Get out this instant! What are you doing here?”
At her shrillness, he seemed to gather his wits, stepping across the stone floor, one hand extended and holding, Araminta now saw, a piece of parchment.
“Thief!” she cried, lunging forward to try to snatch the note she’d written to Teddy, but at the last moment, Mr. Woking snatched it away.
“Who is the thief?” He thrust forward his receding chin as he put his hands on his hips and looked pointedly from her face to her mid-region. “My uncle is the thief, though he does not know it. Yes, the thief of my baby!”
Araminta took a couple of shaky steps backward and shook her head. “Of course, it’s not your baby,” she muttered, her hands nevertheless fluttering to her stomach, as she thought of how the baby Mr. Woking claimed to have fathered had already been lodged in her belly for more than a month the night she seduced him. Not that he could ever know that. No one ever must. Especially not her husband.
“Does my uncle know that you and I had intimate relations the night before you eloped? And that’s putting it delicately.” He edged a little closer, his eyes pinpricks of spite. “Does he?”
“You are bosky, Mr. Woking. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t?” He gave a little hiccup, while Araminta tried to push away the memory of how she’d been forced to such extremes after she’d gained access to his townhouse, and of their grubby ten-second exchange of bodily fluids.
She closed her eyes and tried not to scream. No, she needed to be as clearheaded as she could, for Mr. Woking was not thinking like a rational human being. Certainly not like a gentleman, and the lascivious way his gaze raked her from head to toe was making her increasingly anxious.
“I don’t know what I’m talking about, you say?” His breathing came fast and furious now. “You wanted me for your husband because of my prospects, and you thought you’d not win a viscount—my uncle, to be precise. You wanted to be Lady Debenham—didn’t you—only my uncle wasn’t interested, initially. So why did Debenham have to use trickery to win an acceptance of his so-called marriage offer?” He made a sweeping gesture along the banquette, picking up her reticule as he answered his own question. “I don’t think he did. I think you saw your chance, and you threw yourself upon him in just the same way you did me, so when he came up with a counter-offer, you thought he was a better prospect than me, didn’t you?” He gave an ugly laugh, and took an unsteady step toward her, fumbling with her reticule at the same time, loosening the drawstring and dipping his hand inside. “Pity you didn’t factor in the death of two cousins that now give me greater precedence over my uncle, and surely a bitter irony for you since surely you can’t prefer Debenham over me.” He shrugged, his mouth an ugly trembling line as he looked at her the same time as he withdrew the contents of her reticule. “So what do you keep in here, my lovely Lady Debenham? Notes for all your lovers? Is there a token for me? And what is this?”
“Give it back. It’s...nothing!” Araminta tried to snatch the small vial from his hand, but Mr. Woking pulled the stopper, laughing as the tiny Queen’s Anne Lace seeds scattered about the room. “Fairy dust? Is this how you bewitch us men?” He tossed the glass bottle and her reticule back onto the banquette. “The truth is, Miss Partington, that I still prefer you over all other contenders. I pine for you. Day and night. Your image fills my dreams, and sometimes I wake, trembling with desire for a woman I can never have. A woman who tricked me after using me most shamefully. Now it seems the woman I love is still not satisfied.” Retrieving her note from his waistcoat pocket where he’d shoved it a moment ago, he waved it in front of her face. “Well, now it’s time for this woman I love to satisfy me just a little. I need her to do something for me. Something that will help ease my nightmares.”
He put out his hand and touched the festooned sleeve of her evening dress.
“You recoil? Do I disgust you so much?” His lips curled. “Take off your gown.”
Araminta gasped. “How dare you, Mr. Woking? I will not.”
“Take it off and I won’t touch you.”
“What?”
“Just do as I say. You can trust me as a man of honor.”
“A man of honor does not ask an unwilling lady to remove her gown.”
“A lady of honor does not flaunt her body and her wares and then run away without following through on her original intent. Go on! Take it off. Turn around and I’ll undo the buttons at the back.”
Terrified, Araminta turned her back, her skin crawling at the feel of his fingers fumbling with her buttons.
“Now take it off. Since I’ve given you my word of honor I won’t touch you, you need to take it off yourself.”
