Fascinated

Oh, it was too much. She didn't care a whit what her father was saying, and she felt so disgraceful, she couldn't even look at him.

'What day is it?' she muttered, her voice muffled.

'Friday, of course,' Reginald said, thinking that the best course was just to ignore her lapses this morning. Better than censuring her anyway, and he hardly had the heart to do that as it was. 'The papers have come, my dear. Do you wish to have one?'

She was scared to death to have one, given the gossip columns, but she took one anyway. Friday. Four days… five?… since she had formed her ill-considered plan to wreak revenge on her father and Jeremy. And look at the end result: her father still believed she was interested in Raulton (did she not predict it?) and she had willingly become Jeremy's mistress.

How had this train of events happened? How had she gone from virgin to vixen in the space of less than one week? And how had she ever lived without that explosive pleasure?

It was enough to make her brain burst, to think about it. All of it. Or plan what to do next. Or deal with the fear there might not be a next.

Well, there would be a next because Jeremy had claimed her. But when he tired of her-it didn't bear thinking about… She opened the paper instead.

The morning line had opened at White's, and marriage prospects were all the talk, his, Raulton was amused to see, in particular.

It wasn't as if he weren't aware of it, but the fun was in seeing who made the Book. It was always vastly entertaining.

White's echoed Heeton's line but one. Soames was there- insipid little whelp-and Law, who at least had some countenance if nothing else to recommend her. But the interesting one was the Olney. She who had kept up with him at loo this past evening, and who eyed him with more than passing curiosity whenever he saw her.

She was the only one Raulton would not have predicted. She was too outspoken, self-aware, self-sufficient. And not in the least malleable, or one who would be accommodating to his needs.

But beautiful, yes. The most beautiful among this year's London belles, despite the fact it was her third turnout. And well-spoken, witty, stylish, shapely, with plump full breasts and neat taut nipples that she had practically presented to him on a platter last night.

Olney with her thick dark hair and her knowing blue eyes. Silvery laugh. Elegant hands. Exquisitely dressed. An only child, and her father's heir. Fascinating. A woman any man should want to marry.

And the Book made her at ten-to-one.

Why had no one told him about her?

He wasted no time finding out. And he liked what he heard: a productive estate in Hertfordshire waiting for the man she would marry. Money in funds. London town house. Best circles.

The woman was surely a treasure. What was wrong with her?

Why had no one snapped her up heretofore?

Did it matter? If no one wanted her, she must be desperate this third Season, and thus, fair game. And he was as eligible as anyone, and mending his reputation daily. It was time to suck it in and throw his preconceived ideas out the window and sniff around a woman he could actually stand to live with.

One who looked like an excellent fuck, judging by her breasts and nipples. And if she was, so much the better. Things-or at least one thing-were certainly looking up.

Ancilla came to call. 'What's to do, my dear Regina? I missed the Petleys' party last night, and apparently it was the place to be.'

Regina rang for tea, and they settled in the library. 'It was a card party and supper for a few friends. A few hundred friends, that is. Their house cannot accommodate such a rout. But there we were, and so was everyone else they had ever met in all their years in London. I ensconced myself at loo and did not need to bother with the rest.'

'No, just with Mr. Raulton. Really, Regina…'

She sighed. 'Is that out and about already? You would think these people had better things to talk about.' She motioned the maid to bring in the tea cart and set up the table. 'Like food, for instance. Well, the Petleys do better than most at table, but where can you find anything like this? She filched one of cook's scones from the cart and popped it in her mouth.

A strategic exercise really so she would not have to answer Ancilla's questions. But Ancilla was never deterred, and if anything she was too patient by half, which was probably the way in which she got most of the good gossip she always seemed to have.

'They've booked his matrimonial chances at White's,' she said off-handedly. 'Father told me this morning. Which means it's been on at Heeton's for at least a week. Would you care to wager whose names are on the line?'

'Soames,' Regina said promptly, because it stood to rea-son that anyone Raulton had paid that much attention to would instantly come on the line. 'Other than that, I couldn't begin to guess.'

'Well, for today-Soames, but the odds are off the sheet on that one, Miss Law, Miss Babbage-a dark horse- and a certain Lady Olney.'

It took Regina a moment to grasp that last. 'ME?!'

'Your very self, Regina. Now, how did that come to pass? Did you throw yourself at him last night?'

'I played cards for hours and hours and hours. With six other people alternating,' Regina said indignantly. 'We had not a moment alone, or a conversation that was not overheard by a half dozen onlookers.'

'It must have been very interesting conversation,' Ancilla said.

Had it been? Or was it just the usual card table rousting and jousting? For the life of her she couldn't remember, and all because she had been so furious that Jeremy was not there.

But he was here with her now. She could feel the light touch of the chain around her hips and between her legs. Her body reacted, stiffened.

She belonged to him. She hungered for him. She wondered where she even got the patience to sit with Ancilla this morning. She didn't care about Raulton's stable or whether sane men were willing to lose massive sums of money wagering on which impeccable innocent he might marry.

But the fact her name was on the line shocked her.

God, if her father found out…

Of course he would find out. One round at the clubs and it was over: his every nightmare come true. His daughter's name on the lips of every gabble grinder in the whole of London, and worse than that, scandal broth for the Tatler, too.

'I thought you should know,' Ancilla said. 'Although what you might do about it, short of leaving Town, I don't know.' She bit into a scone. 'These are excellent, Regina. I must come to tea more often.'

They sipped in silence for a few minutes, Regina's mind racing nineteen to the dozen trying to think of some way to cope with this awful news.

'I never encouraged him.' Not really. Only Ancilla and her father had overheard her imprudent and indiscreet comment about her desire to marry him. Only Jeremy believed that she would have become his mistress, had she not become his. And now this. Irreparable, irreversible THIS.

'I did not want him.'

'Well, he now has cause to think just the opposite.'

Jeremy would know soon enough, too. And after last night when he had ridden her to midsummer and over. How would it be once he heard this news? All the chains in the world could not bind him to her if he believed she truly wanted Raulton. Worse and worse, she had said it often enough.

'My lady.' The butler at the door.

She looked up, hard put to even think of receiving anyone else on the heels of this news.

'Mr. Raulton, if you please.'

I don't please. Blast blast and blast. With Ancilla right in the front row, lapping up every word.

She slanted a look at Ancilla, whose pale eyes were avid with curiosity; she blew out a hard breath and bowed to the inevitable. 'Have Nellie bring more tea, and send in Mr. Raulton.'