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Her flesh quivered as he caressed her; she was all a man could ever want. All he would ever need. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her smile coy. “I suppose we’re starting on the making of them, then.”
He arched over her, covered her back with his front, and kissed her spine, “That is if we hadn’t begun already but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure?”
Ana’s laugh coasted over them as he joined them as one in body… and one in soul.
VICTORIA’S STORY: A LADY’S RULES TO RAKISH EARLS
PROLOGUE
Woodworth Manor
It all started with a sudden drop-in by Petunia Wright, the aunt of David Martin, Earl of Gladhame,, on the most inopportune day and the most unfortunate time, as he was in bed with a woman.
The night of bliss was suddenly wiped away and David felt his stomach cramp with fear knowing his aunt, who was set on him marrying, would barge in and see the lady in his bed.
“What the devil do you mean she’s here?” David hissed to his butler while tying off his robe. “She should be in Chesterfield, not here!”
Utterly desensitized to his master’s activities, his butler, Mister Cornelius Gibbs, was set in his usual unflappable lines. “Shall I tell her you are not home then?”
“Splendid plan to consult with the same party she is searching for to ask permission to tell her the same party is suddenly not in,” David drawled dryly. “Do you not think it would have been a touch more sensible to have said that knowing I had company? You’ve all but done led her to my door.”
Gibbs nodded sagely, “I shall tell her you’re not in then.”
“Good God, man,” David shot a look the woman in his bed. Her named escaped him at the moment, was it Joyce or Judith? Juliana probably? All he knew was that she had to be squirreled away as soon as possible before his aunt discovered her.
Do not get caught.
The rule his friend Gabriel Williams, Duke of Clovervale, a former rakehell himself, rang through his head. It didn’t matter that the man was now married and had left his licentious ways behind him—the words still rang true.
“Tell her to meet me in the west drawing room,” David replied. “It should give you time to get Miss—”
“Furnham,” Gibbs supplied instantly.
“Yes,” David nodded, “And get her out to her home.”
“I shall have—”
“David,” his aunt called from his doorway. “Are you in here, dear nephew?”
“Devil take it!” David hissed as he maneuvered past his elderly butler and before he slipped through the door, he dropped his voice and ordered, “I will take her to the drawing room. Take Miss….”
“Furnham.”
“To her house,” David said before he slipped out of the door.
A diminutive figure dressed in a moss green velvet travelling ensemble stood at his doorway. Beneath the brim of her brightly feathered leghorn hat, his aunt’s bright blue eyes latched onto him. He reached out to clasp her shoulder and kissed her powdery cheek, “Good morning, Aunt. I am surprised to see you.”
“Why?” her hand fluttered like a bird’s wing to pat his face. “I sent word this morning.”
“It is morning, Aunt,” he said, as he led her to the drawing room. “Letters from the country would not have gotten here in time.”
The room was aptly named because of the green silk walls that were covered in paintings he had precured from Italy and Spain and half-a-year he’d spent in France. Rich wooden tables, padded chairs, and luxurious chaise lounges were scattered around the room.
The principal attraction in the room was the large fireplace made from green marble he had sourced from India. The serpentine stone had a natural beauty, strength and hardness and took wonderfully long to polish.
“I hope you’re not gambling your means away at those awful men’s clubs,” Petunia sniffed while taking off her hat. “My dearest boy, I’ve heard rumors about how your sort gets at times. You are not, are you?”
“No, Aunt,” he said. “I promise.”
