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"HE IS ARRIVED. BUT HE LOOKS CROSS. Handsome as ever. But cross. Are you certain you wish to entrap the man?" inquired Joan Devereux, the proprietress of the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum, where men and women met for illicit and wicked trysts.
Georgeanna, whose pulse had quickened the instant Madame Devereux had entered the salon to announce the arrival of Mr. Cedman Ashley, replied, "Would you not do all in your power to entice him into your bed?"
In her mind, Georgeanna saw him, his tall form, sculpted figure, dark hair and eyes that swam with unnerving depth. Ashley had recently returned from the West Indies, where he had spent the last two years looking after his late father's estates, and, though darker in complexion upon his return to England, had appeared as dapper as ever. But Georgeanna had always wanted him, desired him the instant she had witnessed his skills with the flogger some years ago.
Madame Devereux smiled. "He is a mighty fine cut of steak, to be sure. But do you not play a dangerous game, my dear?"
Georgeanna drew in a deep breath. She did not know if her plans would work, but she could think of no other means of persuading the man into her bed. They had friends in common, and though she had had several occasions to place herself in his path, he had been polite but uninterested. She had heard that he courted an heiress for he was in want of funds, his father having lost the family fortune on grand and speculative investments, including the purchase of several sugar plantations just before sugar duties were doubled to fund the war against Napoleon. A few years later, West Indian sugar sold in England at less than the cost of production.
“If I recall,” Madame Devereux continued, “he can be quite forceful, almost merciless, in his dominance.”
A warmth spread through Georgeanna as she recalled the tears that trailed down one beauty’s cheeks as she submitted her body to Master Ashley, but by the end of their engagement, the woman all but worshipped the man and had crawled on hands and knees to beg his attention.
“My forbearance has grown considerably since my return here,” Georgeanna noted. “My patience and restraint have improved under Master Gallant’s tutelage.”
“Yes, I wonder that you have not attempted to seduce him?”
“His heart belongs to another, and I am not as partial to men of fair hair.”
Master Gallant’s hair was nearly as flaxen as her own, and save for her late husband, Sir Thomas, she more often preferred dark tresses. She imagined herself writhing beneath the body of Master Ashley, entwining her fingers in his locks, though he kept them shorter than he used to.
“You are his senior.”
“You mean to imply that he will not find me attractive?” Georgeanna asked with raised brows, though she took no offense. She was no young debutante and had recently celebrated her thirtieth birthday, but she had kept herself in good health. Despite having given birth to two sons, her figure was still slender in the limbs. Her belly was only slightly more plump and her breasts less pert; still, she was considered a lovely woman. And Mr. Ashley was merely two years her junior.
“Some men are threatened by older women.”
“I do not think Master Ashley easily threatened by anything.”
Madame eyed her. “And what of you?”
Georgeanna took in another deep breath, though it did not calm her as much as she would have hoped, and she spoke with more confidence than she truly felt. “I do not fear Master Ashley.”
“Then bonne chance, my lady.”
Georgeanna smiled, but before she entered the drawing room where he awaited her, she had to pause to gather her courage, take several breaths and contain the trembling inside. She had taken great pains to present herself well, but now she doubted her efforts. Did the headband she wore over her golden curls betray her attempts to appear young? Was the burgundy hue of her gown not youthful enough? Should she have worn stays that pressed her breasts higher and further apart?
She wanted to appear confident, and all this worrying was needless. In truth, what was there to fear? He could refuse her outlandish proposition. Her situation would be no different than it was at present. But what if he accepted?
Perhaps that was what she feared.
*****
Anticipating a short duration to his visit, Cedman had kept his hat, gloves and walking stick with him. He had not been to the Red Chrysanthemum in years. To no surprise, as Madame Devereux was known to be frugal, the place had not altered much save for what he discerned to be a newer sofa in the room. He stood beside the hearth and watched the clock above the mantle chime the time. Within the hour, he would have to depart to for Drury Lane. The Broadmoors had invited him to the theatre, and they occupied a box beside one reserved by Miss Adams. The lovely young woman, the daughter of a wealthy nabob, had been, of late, quite receptive of his attentions, smiling at him often, fluttering her lashes, leaving her hand at her side so that his might brush against it when he took a seat beside her. She was not the most clever in conversation—her charms lay mostly in her fine countenance, her skills at the pianoforte, and, of course, her dowry—but Cedman considered himself fortunate to have the slightest chance of winning her hand when she had a great many suitors.
Her dowry would clear a considerable portion of the debt left by his father. Tonight, at the theatre, he would make his desires to court her known in no uncertain terms.
But first, he had to deal with the unexpected matter of Lady Pennington. She had purchased Merrybourne, where his mother and sister resided, and given them notice that she intended to convert the property into townhomes. His mother, having lived most of her life at Merrybourne, had been distraught. He had requested a meeting with Lady Pennington at her residence in Berkeley Square. To his surprise, she had responded that she would meet him at the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum.
“Good evening, Mr. Ashley.”
He turned toward the doors to behold the woman. Though a widow, she styled her hair in the loose coiffure favored by younger women. At the same time, she had chosen a dark gown. His gaze briefly fell to her lovely décolletage before returning to her heart-shaped physiognomy and bright hazel eyes. The interest of a pretty woman could not help but capture his attention, and he had sensed hers in their previous encounters, but he had kept his distance from her so as not to be diverted from Miss Adams.
He bowed. “Good evening, Lady Pennington.”
She had a peculiar upward tilt to her chin. Was that to better view him because he stood more than a head taller than her or because she wished to look down her nose at him?
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me regarding my family’s property,” he said.
