Fascinated

'I'm teaching you.' God help him, he hoped no one was listening. What was he doing arguing such a thing with her here in public where every comma was food for gossip by morning. 'And I won't talk about this nonsensical idea of yours here. You don't know what you're saying. You don't know what you want. First it's Raulton, then it's this…'

'Well, I reconsidered that. I think it would be much more interesting to be his mistress than his wife. He'd be generous and kind… and he's so experienced. A woman really must prefer a man with experience… and so, by the same token, ought not a man? Prefer a woman with experience, I mean.'

Jeremy blanched. 'I'm getting you out of here. You have lost your mind or you have a fever. Stay here until I inform Reginald…'

She felt a bubble of triumph well up. She had totally confounded him, and the more agitated he got, the more enamored she became with the idea of him teaching her the erotic arts of a mistress.

Now, if she could only find a way to have that moment with Raulton, it would just set the cake.

She couldn't believe that it turned out to be a simple matter of following him discreetly and seizing the moment. She slipped into the crowd and edged her way around the room, nodding to acquaintances, and feeling a spurt of resentment when she was detained to listen to a morsel of gossip or a tidbit of news. It was a chore just keeping track of Raulton, with all the distractions around him.

Ah, there he was, presenting another of his limp young things with some lemonade. Nasty stuff, but the girl didn't know it. She looked awestruck; this was probably her first go-round at Almack's.

And Raulton had had obviously enough of her, too. He excused himself quickly thereafter, heaving a thankful sigh as he withdrew and headed for the refreshment room.

She scanned the crowd for Jeremy, caught his eye as he searched for her and, quick as a cat, went after Raulton.

Nothing could be better. She could make up any story about her supposed assignation with Raulton. But Jeremy's speculations would be a lot more pungent. Well, so it should be, blast him. He deserved to suffer.

He wasn't that far behind her, and he didn't scruple to grab her and haul her back from whatever folly she was about to commit. 'Damn it. Damn you. What the hell do you think you're doing?'

Raulton suddenly appeared as if by magic, a glass of ratafia in hand, and Regina almost fainted at the sight of him. Now what? She was cooked; her deceit was about to be exposed.

But she should have known: Raulton of all people was not behindhand about anything to do with subterfuge. He took in the scene with one lightning look, and then he held

Regina's eyes meaningfully, handed her the drink, and murmured, 'There, my dear Regina. A reward for your forebear-ance. I trust you will be all right?'

He was saying, I'// play. You play. It was so perfect. She bent her body toward him. 'Quite, Marcus.'

'I wish there were more time.' He took her hand, he kissed her palm. Her breath caught as his tongue swiped her palm. 'There's never enough time.'

'Marcus…' Who was a better actress than she? 'Can't we…?'

'This is the only way,' he murmured, and then he was gone.

'Jesus,' Jeremy muttered. 'You are a menace.' He took her arm, as she stared after Raulton, barely able to contain her glee at the scene he had just wittingly played out with her. 'Tell me you didn't breathe whisper of that bird-brained scheme of yours to him.'

'What scheme is that, Jeremy dear?'

'To become his mistress.'

She looked horrified. 'Never yet, Jeremy. I'm not nearly skilled enough. But you're going to remedy that, aren't you- and soon.'

There was that word again: remedy. As though he were castor oil or something. 'I'm taking you home.'

'There's nowhere I'd rather go with you.'

And that tone-he did not like that tone of voice. It was too reasonable. Too rational. So he kept silent during the ride back to Green Street and said not a word as they entered the house.

Here was the moment he ought to leave. He knew it. He felt trouble brewing in his bones if he took one step farther into that house with her.

'Would you like a brandy?' Regina asked.

'I would like an explanation.'

'Well, it's all your fault. You're the one who started gabbling about mistresses and how you hate to coddle and coax reluctant virgins. And frankly, any woman who thought about it would much rather know about those things than not.'

'Get in the library. We're not going to discuss this where your servants can overhear.'

'I should think not. The brandy's in there; that should calm you down.' She waited until he had entered the library and closed the door before she rang for the butler. 'Ah, Bertram. That will be all tonight. My father will see to himself when he returns.'

'Very good, my lady.'

Better than good, dear Bertram. Jeremy is all in a twist over this mistress business. Nothing could be better.

But still, she paused a moment before she entered the library and latched the door behind her. This was the biggest step, the place where she must be willing to relinquish every inhibition, every stricture she had believed her whole life. She had to give herself over to him, no matter how scared she was, no matter what he demanded of her.

This was nothing romantical. And now that she was on the cusp of carrying through, she had to be certain she wanted to cross this threshold. If she entered that room and offered herself, she could never come back again whole and intact. But who would know?

Who would know?

Indeed, who would know?

I would know. I'd know everything, every mystery, every question answered, every feminine secret revealed.

And she could still live her life, and no one would ever have to know.

So how serious was she? Blast it. This was no turn of the cards, and ace takes the trick. This was no small thing: she would become no better than a queen of hearts, and in the end, she might wind up the fool.

No one has to know.

No one would look. How would anyone know?

It was the most tantalizing thing. Beyond that door, she would enter the alluring world of the forbidden, the world he had described to her so seductively she hungered for the experience of being a kept woman. And it was Jeremy, not a stranger. For all her fear, she trusted him. And at the very least, he did seem to care about her.

And no one would ever know.

The thought made her breathless. She girded herself and swung open the library door.

He was sitting in the wing chair, staring moodily into his brandy snifter, immovable as a king, and she wanted to play.

'Now we are alone. So tell me, Jeremy, if you were with your mistress tonight, what would you do now?'

'I'd tell her she's a damned fool,' he said roughly, 'and that she's as green as glass and twice as fragile, and a man would crush her to pieces just with his hands, she's so breakable.'

'Well, we keep coming back to the main purpose: teach me.'

'You don't know what you ask.'

'Then tell me. Hold nothing back.'

'And how honest shall I be?' he demanded violently. 'Where they list you in Whoremonger's Guide depends on who is paying how much to fuck you. And for all that money, you have no life. You belong to your lord every minute of the day, even if he never comes to you. You must be willing to spread your legs at his will and whim, and he'll fuck you every which way he can think of, and ten more ways besides. He owns your naked body, every inch of it, and he's paying for what's between your legs. He'll make sure no one else can have you, and you hope to hell he never tires of you. That is the life