watch her, while shooting two pristine shirt cuffs out of his jacket. A steady dark gaze was levelled on her flushing face. ‘Come, tell me what you plan to do to punish me.’
‘I will finish it between us,’ she stated in a brittle tone and tilted her chin to an obstinate angle. ‘I will go ahead and marry Ralph Pomfrey as soon as maybe and once I am his wife I will not cuckold him. I will sleep with only my husband.’
A spontaneous laugh broke in Clayton’s throat. ‘I’m impressed. You’re going to be a faithful spouse. That’s most unusual for the ton and most certainly novel for you, my dear. I’m sure your late departed husband would be miffed to know you’ve reformed rather too late for him to gain any benefit. I hope Pomfrey appreciates your sacrifice.’
Ralph Pomfrey was aware—as was the whole of the ton—that he’d proposed marriage to the woman who had been Clayton Powell’s mistress for over six months. The knowledge that his betrothed was continuing to sleep with another man seemed not to trouble Pomfrey. Naturally, it was assumed that once the nuptials were imminent the liaison would end, at least until Loretta had done her duty and provided her husband with a legitimate son and heir.
‘You won’t find it all so amusing when I turn you away,’ Loretta said with a choke of annoyance. She had used her ace and had it immediately trumped. Now she wished she had saved it for another time, but could not withdraw it. ‘You won’t find another woman to please you as well as I do.’
In Clayton’s view, that petulant afterthought was her ace and it kept him loitering by the door while he gave both it and her his attention. Without doubt Loretta Vane was an enthusiastic and uninhibited bed partner.
A slow appraisal roamed over the naked young woman provocatively posing on the edge of the bed. Her figure was undeniably lush and perfectly proportioned. But it wasn’t just Loretta’s physical charms that made men keen to win her favours. She’d gained a reputation as a wanton with an appetite she’d been previously unashamed to sate in adulterous affairs during her first marriage. If she’d meant what she said about staying true to Pomfrey once they were wed, it would indeed be an odd union. Polite society was, for the most part, composed of people untroubled by discreet promiscuity within marriage, once the nursery was full.
Clayton tilted Loretta a wry smile that hinted at his capitulation. He approached her, noticing sultry triumph glittering in her eyes as she rose gracefully from the bed to sway towards him.
‘How do you know you please me very well?’ he asked and pressed a kiss to the pulse bobbing beneath the porcelain skin of her throat. ‘I’ve never told you so.’
‘You don’t need to say. I know I do,’ she said huskily. An ardent gleam was darkening her blue eyes as she peeped up at him. ‘Shall I make you say it?’
‘Do you think you can?’
‘I know I can,’ she promised and flicked her small tongue to curl on his ear.
‘Well…in that case I suppose it would be rude to decline the challenge,’ Clayton said before his lips hardened on hers, parting her mouth wide so he could immediately plunge inside. He gasped a laugh as her nimble fingers immediately opened the buttons covering the magnificent bulge straining the material at his groin. They slipped inside to slide with skilful rhythm until he growled at her to cease. She did so and instead lithely dropped to her knees in front of him.
With blood pounding through his veins, Clayton curved long fingers over the dark head rocking efficiently in front of his hips. With a groaning oath he tensed and drew her up. Swinging Loretta in to his arms, he carried her back to bed.
At six in the morning Clayton again shrugged in to his coat and approached the door of Loretta’s boudoir. As she softly called his name he turned to smile at the dishevelled sight of her. Her half-open eyes were glazed in torpor.
‘I know I pleased you,’ she purred. ‘Deny it if you can…’
‘You pleased me. Without doubt you make an excellent paramour.’
Sensual languor was still drugging her mind, but Loretta frowned at the amusement in his tone. ‘I’ll make a far better wife than mistress. I meant what I said, Clayton,’ she whispered throatily.
He shot her a grin. ‘So did I,’ he said and went out, quietly shutting the door.
A nebulous March morning was moistening the cobbles as Clayton emerged into the street. He turned in the direction of Belgravia Place, a leafy square hemmed by elegant town houses, the largest of which was his home.
John Vane had left his young widow her own apartment conveniently situated in the heart of town. Thus it was just a short time later, and with a weak dawn light at his back, that Clayton was taking the stone steps to his mansion two at a time.
On entering the hallway he was surprised to see Hughes, his butler, striding towards him as though anticipating his arrival. The elderly servant had been in the army in his heyday and, being sprightly for his years, still strutted about as though on parade.
‘An urgent post arrived, Sir Clayton,’ he told his master and held out the tray on which reposed a parchment. If he deemed it odd to see his master arrive home at daybreak with his cravat trailing from a pocket and the remainder of his clothes in a state likely to give his valet an attack, he gave no outward sign.
Clayton took the letter while issuing an order. ‘Arrange for hot water for a bath, please, and coffee and toast.’
‘At once, sir,’ Hughes said with a crisp nod and marched off.
Clayton took a proper look at the writing on the note he held. A grin split his face. He recognised the hand as that of his good friend Viscount Tremayne. He guessed that, as the post was urgent, Gavin was already on his way to Mayfair from his estate in Surrey. Clayton dropped into his chair in his study and read the very welcome news that Gavin Stone was due in town today.
Chapter Two
‘Oh! You have not brought him for me to cuddle!’
‘You may cuddle me instead!’ Viscountess Tremayne teasingly replied and proceeded to give Ruth a warm hug. ‘I have missed you,’ she said fiercely.
‘And I have missed you,’ Ruth said simply, tightening her arms about her best friend. ‘I am longing to hear more wonderful news about Surrey. But first tell me—where is that darling baby boy?’
‘He has been snuffling a little bit and I thought it best to leave him in the warm with his nurse as the weather has turned so bitter cold.’ Sarah gave Ruth an expressive look. ‘James is teething and I fret that he might take a chill.’ A soft maternal smile preceded, ‘He is a darling little chap, the image of his papa, and at times I feel I will die for love of him.’
Ruth linked arms with Sarah and led the way to the sitting room. Once her visitor had shed her hat and gloves, they sat in comfortable fireside chairs. Logs were crackling valiantly in the grate, keeping at bay the draughts. Outside was weak spring sunlight, but the March winds were strong enough to infiltrate the casements and stir the curtains.
Ruth poured tea from the prepared tray that sat on a table close to the hearth. Once they had sipped at the warming brew their conversation was resumed with a fluency that mocked the long months and miles that
