Chapter Nine

 

 

James was very aware of the package tucked into his outside pocket as he and Paul walked the mile or so back to FitzArden Hall.

Miss Harry had fulfilled her role with alacrity, it would seem, and now it was up to him to read the book and find out what on earth was going on with Letitia.

“An excellent meal, don’t you agree?” Paul stepped over a log.

“I do indeed.” James followed suit. “Of all the dinners I’ve had in town, the banquets, the mostly highly regarded chefs, the elegant and overloaded dining rooms…I would rather have a meal like this once, than those flamboyant displays of gastronomic improbability every night.”

“Well, a bit on the verbose side, but fundamentally I agree.”

“Yes would have done,” joked James.

“Just matching your floridly descriptive language, my friend.” He sought firmer footing. “And I’m going to suggest perhaps sending a few men down this way to improve the path. Since it would seem you’ll be using it frequently, you might think about removing the more obvious pitfalls.” He dodged a low hanging branch by inches. “Especially for these evening trips.”

“Good point.” A squishing sound followed. “Damn. I thought I’d managed to avoid that puddle.”

Paul chuckled at his friend’s mishap. “Your boots will serve to remind you of my suggestion.”

“Isn’t that the way of things? I just break them in to the point of utter comfort…only to drown them in a mud puddle.”

They walked on for a little while, managing to avoid further mishaps. Then Paul spoke. “I am known for an improper degree of curiosity, so forgive the prying nature of this question. Letitia’s maid, Miss Harry. What do you know of her?”

James thought for a few moments. Letitia had honoured him with the tale of how they’d met, but he doubted she’d be happy to learn he’d told Paul that same story.

“I don’t know much about her,” he hedged. “From what I understand, Letitia had just met her when you arrived. I gather the poor girl had just lost a position and had ended up in the village inn, only to be discovered by Letitia.”

“And immediately adopted, it would seem,” said Paul.

“Yes, that’s Letitia. An excellent heart and a gift for making instant decisions.”

“Which could land her in a lot of trouble,” cautioned Paul.

“Don’t I know it,” groaned James.

“Oh ho. I deduce from the sound of it that perhaps some stronger emotions are at work here.”

James sighed. “Really?”

“Good lord, lad. If you wish to claim Miss Letitia, you’re taking your own sweet time to go about the thing, you know. Haven’t you heard the phrase Faint Heart ne’er won Fair Lady?”

“It’s a good thing it’s dark, Paul, and thus you are unable to see my face. Because the look I’m giving you this moment would sear your flesh and char your bones to ashes.”

“Hit a sore spot, then, did I?” Paul did not sound repentant.

“Look,” tried James. “Letitia is a very dear friend…”

“Who you’d like to wed and bed. In whatever order that may be.”

“I…really, you should not speak of her like that…”

“Oh for God’s sake, James. Listen to yourself. You lust after Letitia. You dream of her. You pine and gaze upon her loveliness.” He took a breath. “You want to fuck her till you’re both blind, man. And I say that with no disrespect for either you or the lady in question.”

James choked, tripped on a stump and fell flat on his face on the path.

“I believe that to be a completely adequate answer, lad. Well done.” Paul dragged his friend to his feet.

“I don’t believe this,” sputtered James.

“Life really can kick you a good one in the bollocks now and again, can’t it?”

Remembering what Paul had suffered, James bit back the snide comment that trembled on the edge of his tongue. “Indeed yes.”

“Look on the bright side, James. You can afford a new pair of boots, and now you’ll need new breeches as well. But it’s not going to mean you can’t eat tomorrow.”

“There is that,” answered James. “And to be fair, in answer to your earlier—and very inappropriate comments—yes, I am deeply attached to Miss Letitia Ridlington, and I plan on marrying her at the earliest possible moment.” He paused for breath. “Which plan, I would appreciate your not mentioning to anyone yet, since I haven’t quite managed to perfect the details at this point.”

“Aha. I knew it.”

“Smug bastard.”

“Thank you. I do work hard to maintain that reputation.”  Paul’s laugh rang out as they emerged from the wood onto the rough walk that would soon be the lane leading to FitzArden Hall. “Why haven’t you asked her yet?”

“Because Letitia is somewhat of a force to be reckoned with.” James realized he’d just casually stated something that was so true it shook his bones. “If I did the proper, you know, bended knee in the rose garden and so on, she’d kick me out on my arse. She has some silly notion of not loving anyone ever. The Ridlingtons are an odd lot when it comes to the tender affections. From what I have learned, they didn’t get any affection at all, tender or otherwise, from that damned old Baron who fathered them all.”

“Bit of a bastard, was he?”

“He redefined the word bastard.” James sighed. “One of those men who seem to have had their hearts removed and replaced with a lump of granite. Look at the family. Edmund ran away to sea, deserting his inheritance. Simon vanished into the church. Letitia stuck it out by protecting herself with a shield, a wall she’s built around her heart that few can penetrate. I don’t know the twins very well, since they fled to town the minute they got the chance. And Hecate? She’s something else again and I’m honestly not sure what.”

“Good lord.” Paul sounded stunned. “That bad?”

“Yes, that bad. So now perhaps you understand why I’m not falling over myself to propose to Letitia.” He paused. “And there’s the matter of our ages too…”

“Your ages?”

James cleared his throat. “I am considerably older than Letitia, Paul.”

“No you’re not.”

“Indeed I am.”

“By how much?”

“Nearly ten years.”

“James, you are a great friend and I’m honoured to know you. So forgive me if I observe that in this instance you are being a pompous arse.”

“I must disagree.”

“Of course you must. But I will restate my assertion. You’re being an utter, bacon-brained, pompous arse. Women have always been—and will continue to be—centuries older than men, in ways we will never comprehend.”

James sighed.

 

*~~*~~*

 

There was still a final glass of brandy to be enjoyed and some friendly conversation to end the day, so it was a couple of hours after he’d arrived back at the Hall before James could open the book that had been burning against his hip on the walk home.

But Paul finally retired, leaving James free to go to his own rooms, which were completed enough for him to sleep there, and also work there if he needed to.

Being used to town life, it had taken James some time to adapt to the earlier mornings and consequent earlier evenings offered by country life. He found himself waking later than he should, then working harder all day, only to retire and stare at the room around him. Thus he’d decided to install a desk and chair for himself in the adjoining room off his bedroom. While this was in no way unusual for a gentleman, what was different was the fact that James actually used it.

There was no carpet yet, nor had the fireplace been deemed usable. One or two chimneys needed finishing before fires could be lit anywhere but the kitchen. He was assured of hot food, but the rooms would remain increasingly chilly until he could set the taper to the first log. He hoped it would be soon, since autumn was getting her hooks into the countryside and winter wouldn’t be far behind.

So this night he lit himself a branch of candles, grabbed a warm quilt from the bed and retired to his private study to peruse the stolen book with the last of the brandy.

Carefully unwrapping the string, he smiled at Harry’s ingenuity. The covers announced the volume to be a second edition of a treatise on the correct way to shear a sheep. Published in 1749.

He removed the old, musty covers, and placed the enclosed manuscript on the table in front of him.

The first page announced that this was a volume titled Cytherean Tales.

That alone made him blink. He knew the word…Cytherea was another appellation of Aphrodite or Venus. It was an alternate way of describing the goddess of love, and had been subverted into a description of women…mistresses mostly.

The subtitle confirmed it. Diverse Stories of Women Empowered to Choose.

Good God.

He turned the page. Lady Corinth. An interesting pen-name, to be sure. Again it betrayed the potentially erotic nature of the work, and James found himself with slightly sweaty palms as he turned the page and began to read.

Sure enough, the content grew more and more sensual, leading to passages that shocked even him.

He had to read those several times, just to make sure, aware that they were affecting him quite strongly.

Unfastening his breeches, he read on.

There were notations all over the place; clearly the suggested changes or comments from the publishers. He ignored those. The story had drawn him in, and as he paused for a sip of brandy, he realized why so much work had already been performed on it. The publisher had a treasure here…a goldmine, if James was any judge of the matter.

There were four sections, each devoted to a woman who had chosen to join the demi-monde for a variety of reasons. Once in the House of Cytherea, they were schooled and dressed, becoming well-read women of the world, with skills that augmented their sexual expertise. Then each was “presented” to the Ton, and eager applicants for her favors were screened, then finally auditioned. The winner got the goods, as it were.

James couldn’t put it down.

The women were well-drawn, each different but interesting, and the men depicted in a frighteningly accurate way. He had to wonder how that had happened, since Letitia had been cocooned at Ridlington for most of her life.

Then again, she was also describing erotic scenes about which she also should have known nothing. He made a note to himself to investigate Edmund’s library at the earliest opportunity.

Reading on, it seemed that the room grew warm…coincidentally at the time Miss Susan Sweetsilk was luring Lord Strongstaff into her web of sexual desires. She danced for him, then succeeded in tying his wrists behind him, at which point she revealed her breasts to him—inches away from his hungry lips.

James licked his own lips, bypassed the description of Lord Strongstaff’s…er…staff, and finished his brandy in one swallow.

It wasn’t so much the lascivious nature of these tales, or even the excellent writing of such scenes that was affecting him so forcefully. It was the thought of Letitia writing them that aroused his own staff to the point of pain.

Did she write at night? By candlelight in her room, much as he was reading her words right now? In her night robe, perhaps, or over those warm summer nights, just a loose chemise?

Did she let that soft hair down to tumble over her shoulders and caress her naked arm as she penned the vision of Mistress Dove arranging Sir Woodward Peregrine’s cock within her bosom, the easier to bring him to his completion?

God Almighty, he was hard as iron.

Finishing the final chapter, he closed the book and stood, tearing his clothes away from his body. They itched, irritated skin that seemed to burn with an inner fire.

He wanted. He needed. He desired that damn woman more than he’d ever realized. This book, this revelation of what she held inside, had shown him that his affections were more than a polite wish for her as his wife.

He lusted. Paul was right. He wanted her in his bed, underneath him, screaming out his name as he fucked her every which way he could think of. Then they’d rest, read a couple of chapters of her book, and do it all over again.

His cock throbbed, his spine tingled and he took himself in hand. It had been quite some time since he’d lost control of himself this way, but tonight…the book…thoughts of Letitia mingling with the visions she’d created—it was all too much.

He surrendered, and with a few firm strokes found his release. It brought him a measure of physical relief along with a slightly embarrassed sensation.

But one thought remained uppermost in his mind.

He was going to have Letitia, and it had to be sooner rather than later. Faint heart and all that.

Paul had been absolutely right.