Delilah Marvelle – Prelude to a Scandal (страница 9)

Her brows shot up. Why … he appeared to be forthright.

He swiped a hand over his face. “If you haven’t noticed, I have no female servants. It was necessary to eliminate any temptation that would have caused me to stray from the self-governed control I’ve adhered to these past eight months. As such, you will have no lady’s maid. I’ve already enlisted an excellent French man for you, who is trained in all matters of female dress and hair. I can assure you, Henri is far more female than any lady’s maid you’ll ever have. My hope is that despite him being male, he will exceed your expectations.”

Oh. Dear. God. Her lady’s maid was going to be a … man? Whilst she was to be the only female in the entire house? Were Bradford’s urges that uncontrollable?

Though, yes, she was looking forward to bedding him, she was somewhat concerned about what his definition of stamina really meant. Daily advances she could easily take on. But what if he meant hourly advances for the rest of her life?

Justine swallowed, trying to fend off the burning heat consuming her face. “Did you plan on disclosing any of this to me?”

“Yes. On our wedding night.”

“Lovely. Why do I not feel comforted by that admission?”

He stared her down. “Rest assured, Justine, I have never forced myself upon a woman and I would never force myself upon you. Your submission would be entirely voluntary.” He continued to intently hold her gaze. “Do you have any further concerns? Because now would be the time to name them.”

Justine wet her lips and wondered what under heaven and above hell she was about to agree to. But then again … the man was a rake. That was what rakes did. Obsess about copulation and women. Everyone in London knew that. And no one, not even all the upper prudes, seemed all that concerned, aside from the moral aspect of it.

She eyed him. “I suppose I wouldn’t be so concerned if I knew you weren’t going to demand hourly performances for the rest of my life. Or involve other women.”

“It is my duty and honor to alleviate those concerns.” He held up his right hand beside his head and set his left on his chest. “I solemnly swear to never demand hourly performances or involve other women in our lives.” He dropped his hands back into place. “There you are. You have no further concerns.”

Justine couldn’t help but stare at him. “Do you find yourself amusing?”

He pointed to himself. “Do I look amused? I am being quite serious. Now. I recommend we get you home.”

Without sparing her another glance, he strode over to the braided bell pull and yanked on it a number of times as if he were worried Jefferson wouldn’t respond. “If all goes well with your father’s release, as I am hoping it will, I expect to see you in church next week at the appointed time. I will see to it all of your wet clothes are laundered and returned before then. Jefferson will fetch those cloaks for you and personally see to it you arrive home. Good night.” He offered a curt nod, departed into the adjoining room and quietly closed the door, leaving her to wait for Jefferson alone.

She blinked. If only she wasn’t so hopelessly smitten with Bradford. If only she wasn’t smitten with Bradford at all. Oh, how she prayed and hoped to whatever God there was above he would keep all of the promises he had made to her tonight.

SCANDAL FOUR

A lady should always refrain from discussing vulgar topics. Not because it is crass, though indeed it is, but because once vulgarity is allowed, everything is allowed.

How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

SIX DAYS LATER, evening, and only twelve hours left before the wedding, which had been set after the surprisingly prompt release of her father from Marshalsea.

Justine found it rather annoying that her own mother, who was usually very calm and very poised in nature, was rudely pacing back and forth. Lady Marwood’s graying brown tresses quivered atop her head with every frantic step, turn and swish of her flower-patterned skirts. All the while, she gripped Justine’s red etiquette book How To Avoid A Scandal before her with both hands as if she were praying to it. Which her mother most likely was.

“Mother.” Justine patted the space beside her on the bed. “Sit. There is no need for you to be more nervous than the little lamb who is about to be slaughtered.”

Lady Marwood came to an abrupt halt and pointed the book at her with one hand. “I am not nervous. And you are hardly a lamb. I was merely thinking about how I should go about conducting this particular conversation.”

Regally lowering her arm and the book down to her side, Lady Marwood focused her hazel eyes on Justine from across the short distance separating them. “Bedding a man isn’t any more complicated than what you’ve witnessed in the wild.”

Justine couldn’t help but snort as she drew her robed knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her exposed ankles. “That doesn’t sound all that promising, Mother. Some mates maul each other during mating.”

Lady Marwood shook her head. “Bless your misguided heart, you always come up with something no one else ever thinks of.” She sighed. “Do you have any specific questions you wish for me to answer?”

Justine eyed her. “I only have one question. Would you say daily advances from one’s husband are to be expected?”

“Men are very, very lusty creatures. Especially in the beginning of marriage.”

Well. Thank goodness for that. Bradford had made himself sound so abnormal. “Will it be enjoyable? At all? Please tell me it will be. I cannot imagine—”

“Not the first few times, dear. After all, your body will require time to ease into it. He will be forcing a rather large part of himself into a very small space. Once your body is accustomed, then yes, it will be pleasurable.” Her mother paused. “If properly conducted, that is.”

Justine shifted uncomfortably on the bed and yanked her nightdress and robe down around her feet. “So it will hurt.”

Lady Marwood sighed. “Depending on how large his penis is, yes. It will.”

Justine crinkled her nose, remembering all too well what she’d seen on Bradford in its erect state. She only hoped her body eased into it quickly, because she preferred getting to the enjoyable part right away.

“Speaking of size,” Lady Marwood went on, “I should probably point out that it will double in length during every encounter. And though odd, it is in fact quite normal.”

“Yes, yes. I know. I’ve seen it in the wild.” And on Bradford. But she wasn’t going to tell her mother that.

“Now, your grandmother, heaven rest her soul, gave me this solid advice on the eve of my wedding, which I am now gifting you. Never allow for more than two encounters per week. Feign headaches, if need be. That always works. For although a husband will try to convince his wife otherwise, twice a week is more than sufficient to produce children and still allow for pleasure.”

Justine’s brows went up. “Is that a suggestion or a rule?”

“It’s a suggestion, dear. Limiting contact is simply best for your health. You don’t want to end up with fifteen children.”

Justine paused, then genuinely grinned, imagining the entire house overrun with beautiful, happy little boys and girls. And though yes, she knew there was far more to being a mother than holding soft, pudgy hands and sharing stories about fairies and bogies, she couldn’t help but linger on all the fun she’d have along the way.

Justine shrugged. “The amount of children doesn’t concern me. At least I’ll be marrying a man who can afford them. Unlike father, who could barely afford me.”

Lady Marwood set her hands on her hips and glared at her. “Justine!”

“I meant it lovingly.”

Lady Marwood rolled her eyes. “My advice is that you bite your tongue whenever possible during the first year of marriage. At least until he grows fond enough of you and doesn’t feel the need to kill you.”

Justine smirked. “Yes, Mother.”

Lady Marwood sighed, approached her and held out the etiquette book. “I know you’ve already read this many, many times. But I suggest you read it again and allow the words to govern your new life. Our family hasn’t always catered to society’s conventions. But you will be a duchess, and London society doesn’t hand anyone respect. It must be earned.”

Justine dropped her legs back over the side of the bed and leaned forward, slipping the red, leather-bound book from her mother’s hand. Patting the book enthusiastically, Justine set it on the bed beside her. “I promise to earn full respect not only for myself and my husband, but also for you and father.”

“I have no doubt you will.” Lady Marwood leaned toward her, bringing with her the scent of lilacs, and kissed her cheek lovingly. “Sleep. You have a long day ahead.”

Her mother caught her hand and smiled, causing the aging lines around her hazel eyes and full mouth to deepen. “By tomorrow, you will be a duchess. As you well deserve to be.” Her mother released her hand, still smiling, then turned and swept out of the room, apparently quite pleased with the thought.

Justine smoothed the coverlet on the bed around her and muttered, “God save the King and all of his subjects I am about to unknowingly torment in the name of respect.” There was a quick knock. Heaven forbid her mother forgot to mention something critical. “Yes?”