Lord Algernon bowed again. “I shall leave you to think upon your choices, Lady Huntingdon. I trust you will reach the right one, and that you know the direction to my rooms.”
With that parting shot, he stalked from the blue salon, taking all her incipient hopes with him.
Lord Algernon Forsytewas feeling quite pleased as he entered the carriage which had been awaiting him. The equipage was sleek and well-kept, the Moroccan leather squabs oiled and comfortable. Different than the conveyances in which he could ordinarily afford to travel, that much was true. Fortunately, Lady Beatrice Knightbridge hailed from a family flush in funds. It was about the only thing to recommend her aside from her bubbies.
Fat purses and fat bubbies.
Lord Algernon appreciated both, and not necessarily in that order. Well, he also appreciated brandy and gin, but that was to be expected. What he did not appreciate, however, was a frigid female. And Lady Beatrice was decidedly that. He did not think he had ever met a colder fish.
Further proof of his grim supposition was provided by the manner in which she stiffened and shoved him to the bench opposite hers when he attempted to seat himself at her side.
“Do not crowd me, you oaf,” she snapped. “Your seat is over there.”
Lord Algernon settled himself on the bench and raked her prim, buttoned-up form with a disdainful glare. “I thought you might at least give me a kiss after my efforts on your behalf today. One could say it is the least you could do. Instead, you are more swaddled than a babe.”
His chief objection was that he could not see the only part of her that rendered her somewhat tolerable. Although the day was warm, later summer upon them, she had donned a drab gray walking gown fastened all the way to her throat with a pelisse gathered atop the unsightly affair.
“I would sooner set my lips upon an eel,” she told him crisply as the carriage rocked into motion.
“I have an eel for you to kiss,” he suggested lewdly, just to nettle her.
She blinked at him, his double entendre apparently lost upon her. “Of course a man like you would eat eels for his dinner. I ought not to be surprised.”
Eels were easily and cheaply had, and he well understood her insult. He supposed he, in turn, should not be surprised she had not comprehended his. Of course, he had meant she ought to kiss his cock, and damn him if the notion of Lady Beatrice doing so did not make him harder than a fire poker, right then and there.
He inhaled deeply to chase away the lust pounding in his loins, for it would not, sadly, be satisfied by the prim lady opposite him. “One would think you more accommodating of a man who has just done everything you asked.”
She inhaled slowly, then released the breath. “It is done, then?”
He nodded at her query, trying to stifle a sudden, unexpected surge of guilt. The devil of it was, he enjoyed Lady Helena Davenport—er, Lady Huntingdon. She was beautiful and tall, with legs a man could not help but imagine wrapped around his waist. If he had not been so bloody soused the night he had lost her in a hand of cards to Huntingdon, he would have enjoyed those damned legs.
And that rapturous bosom. Lady Huntingdon’s breasts were truly outstanding. Like twin mounts of blancmange, he had no doubt, topped with the sweet cherries of her luscious nipples. A dessert course in feminine form. Why, he could have covered them in an effusion of his manly cream…
Damn, when was the last time he had fucked a decent pair of bubbies?
The pointed end of a leather boot connected with his shins, sending pain searing through him. He howled, rubbing the wounded leg and pinning Lady Beatrice with his most displeased glower. “What the devil is the matter with you, kicking a man who has just done your bidding?”
“I kicked you because you have yet to confirm you have indeed done my bidding,” she said coldly. “I asked you if it was done, and your response was to stare at my person as if you were eying a feast laid before you.”
Color tinted her cheekbones.
She was comely, Lady Beatrice. But he hated to tell her he had not been looking at her so much as he had been fantasizing about her rival, laid bare before him. Ah, if only he had not had the devil’s own luck that night…
“It is done,” he forced out instead of entertaining further lewd thoughts of the new Countess of Huntingdon, however well-deserved they might be. He needed to remind his cock that bedding Lady Huntingdon would not pay his gambling debts. But playing Lady Beatrice’s games would.
The lady in question’s eyes went wide, a cat-in-the-cream smile curving her lips. “Do you think she will come to your chambers as arranged?”
In truth, he could not be certain. He had blustered his way through the interview with Lady Huntingdon, his bravado fortified by the gin Lady Beatrice had offered him on the ride to Wickley House. The countess had seemed suitably affected by his claims. However, whether or not she would appear with one thousand pounds on the morrow was anyone’s guess.
“Of course she will,” Algernon said smoothly. “She was quivering in her petticoats at the notion of being connected to me through the gossipmongers and the damage it might do to the earl.”
Lady Beatrice nodded, her nostrils flaring. “That is most excellent news, my lord. Most excellent indeed. The rest of my plan shall proceed tomorrow then, as we discussed.”
Algernon grinned. “It will as long as I have the funds you promised me, Lady Beatrice.”
With a disapproving sniff, she reached into her reticule, extracting a bank note. “You will have half the monies today and half tomorrow, upon the full execution of my plan.”
He plucked the bank note from her gloved fingers. “That is not what we discussed, my lady.”
