upon them.
On Wednesday Lord Bertram arrived to take her for a ride through the park in his open carriage.
Thursday the duke cornered her in her morning room and, pushing her to the yellow settee, fondled her breasts. She scolded him prettily.
Friday the marquess stole a kiss.
Saturday Lord Bertram attempted to put his hand beneath her skirts and was slapped lightly for his trouble, but she gave him a kiss on the cheek to assure him there were no hard feelings.
Sunday Lucinda arrived at church to discover her three suitors waiting for her in her pew. She did, however, go home alone.
The next week was much the same, but Lucinda did manage to get the gentlemen to appear in public with her more, assuring them it was better that they did. The third week afternoon visits began, and Lucinda liked it a great deal more, for she was able to convince her suitors to take her riding in the park which kept them out of the house. The fourth week, however, each was insistent upon staying for tea after they returned Lucinda home. Only the presence of the footmen serving, and Polly hovering, kept her from their lustful advances.
Four weeks into this most public courtship, Lucinda began appearing at parties with her suitors in tow. Now it was impossible to keep them separated, and she was only able to keep to her schedule by allowing one of them to escort her home each evening.
The carriage rides back to Traleigh Square were passionate. Cooped within the closed coach with the duke, the marquess, or Lord Bertram, Lucinda had no choice but to yield to their overtures. She did so coyly, sighing deeply when she was kissed, murmuring as her bosom was fondled hotly by eager hands. The marquess surprised her one night, getting his hand beneath her gown and its petticoats to frig her quite enthusiastically until she came. Then, despite his portly figure, he managed to kneel before her and, sticking his head beneath her gown, licked and sucked at her until she came again. Lucinda did not hold back or demur. She enjoyed the release he gave her and told him so.
'When we are wed, my dear,' the marquess assured her, 'I shall give you even greater pleasure.'
It was obvious he could not keep his little triumph to himself. Several days later on their journey home from a delightful evening of card playing, the duke directed his coachman to drive through the park. In the darkness of the carriage, he lifted her voluminous skirts, then putting her, spread-legged, upon his lap, fucked her with vigor even as he tongued her nipples. Afterward he praised her excitement as quite stimulating to him and, handing her out of the vehicle, escorted her to her door, kissing her hand chastely.
It was obvious now that Lord Bertram would certainly accost her next, and he did not disappoint. This time in the darkened carriage she was set down on her knees before her swane and instructed to suck his cock until it was dry. She did so, and was praised by the gentleman for her stellar performance. 'The Master has trained you admirably,' he declared.
To spare herself any more of these evening onslaughts from her suitors, Lucinda began inviting them to dinner. In her din-ing room, surrounded by the servants, they could not assault her. But she could not always remain at home as it was very necessary she be seen in public with them.
She took to devising ways of avoiding their lust. One evening she insisted they all accompany her home. Another evening she cried off with the headache and remained home. A third she grew ill early on in the evening and, loudly insisting her escort remain at the gambling tables, went home alone. And all the while she smiled, and twinkled, and flirted with each of them until each was convinced he would be the winner of her hand.
The banns having been read the required number of times, Polly and John were married on a Monday morning by a local vicar. Lucinda had given them both the day off. She stood as one of their witnesses, afterward walking back to Traleigh Square with two footmen in attendance, leaving the newly-weds to themselves for the day. Her household was all agog with her generosity and her kindness to the two servants.
'She's a real lady,' the cook said that evening in the servants' hall. 'We're lucky, we are!'
Several days before the Whitley ball, John told his mistress that the Earl of Stanton had arrived at Lord Bowen's house. They would be at the musicale at Lord Carstairs' this evening. Now was her chance to see what he really looked like, Lucinda thought happily. She had missed him, and she had missed his passion. She dressed carefully that evening, her gown in the latest fashionable hue, a flame color called 'Burnt Opera House.' With her pale skin and her rich, dark chestnut hair, she was quite striking.
Her escort that evening was the marquess. As he was not the brightest of fellows, she was able to ask him in innocent tones, 'Who is the Earl of Stanton, Hamlet dearest? I hear he breeds wonderful horses, and I am thinking of purchasing a mare for myself. My footman, John, said he is staying at Lord Bowen's.'
The Marquess of Hargrave looked about the salon. 'Stan-ton up from the country? I don't think he's been to London in ten years. A bit of a recluse, but you're right, darling girl, he breeds good horseflesh. Ahh, there he is, next to Bowen, with that lovely piece of fluff hanging on his every word. Lady Grayson is said to be very generous with her favors. Elderly husband, y'know. Would you like to be introduced, Lucinda?'
'Not really,' Lucinda said, sounding bored. 'I am not ready yet to buy, and when I am, perhaps it is my husband who will gift me with a mare.' She smiled up at him meaningfully and tapped his arm archly with her ivory fan, even as her lashes brushed her cheek. Then after a few minutes she asked him to allow her to sit quietly in the rear of the salon as she was feeling faint.
'Can I get you anything, Lucinda?' he fretted.
'Perhaps a bit of champagne,' she told him weakly, and he hurried off. Lucinda scanned the room swiftly, and then she saw him again. She was utterly astounded. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life. His face was angular and sculpted. His cheekbones high, his chin a square. She hadn't noticed when he was masked how square his chin really was. He had a long, elegant nose. His eyebrows were thick and as black as his wavy hair. The forehead high. The seductive mouth she well remembered, but without his mask he was an entirely different man. All his features came together magnificently. What on earth had John meant by saying he was
'Here is your champagne,' the marquess said, returning.
She waved him away. 'Take me home, Hamlet,' she told him. 'I am much too ill to remain. My temples are throbbing, and Master Bach's music will only make it worse, I fear.'
They made their apologies to Lord and Lady Carstairs. Their hostess remarked pithily once they had departed, 'I wonder if she's really got the headache or is simply eager to get into bed with her marquess. Like everyone else in London, I can barely wait for the Whitley ball to learn whom she has chosen.'
'The betting at White's is phenomenal,' Lord Carstairs told his spouse. 'It's two to one on the marquess, and even money on Rexford. Bertram is the long shot at ten to one. She's a fine-looking woman, and whoever she picks, she'll bring him a nice fortune. Harrington left her everything. If I'd known how plump in the pockets he was, I'd have let him court our Livinia.'
Overhearing his host, Lord Bowen told his friend, the Earl of Stanton, 'She has the town agog. She's a clever bitch, I think. She's given no indication of whom she will favor in the end. Was she fun, Lucian?'
'You know I don't discuss such matters,' the Earl of Stanton said coolly. His heart had almost burst through his flowered vest when he had first seen her. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. Would she really be able to recognize him at the Whitley ball? He now regretted his decision not to reveal his face to her that last night.
The next morning flowers were delivered to Lucinda, an armful of roses and lilies. The plain card with them said simply,
The day before the Whitley ball Lucinda paid an afternoon call on the Countess of Whitley, Lady Anne. Seated in the august lady's salon, she said, 'I have a rather unusual favor to ask of you, madame,' and then she explained. 'It must, however, remain a secret until the last moment,' she concluded her request.
'My dear!' the countess exclaimed. 'You have a marvelous flair for the dramatic. The knowledge alone that you will have George announce your betrothal at my ball guaranteed it to be the most sought-after invitation of the autumn season. Why, even the king is coming!
'Tomorrow night,' Lucinda replied, her blue eyes twinkling.
