Damn her twice.
CHAPTER 3
Everett recognized her immediately.
Sybil was wearing a blue gown that was cut indecently low across her generous breasts. So low, he swore he could see the faint pink crests of her nipples peeking over the decolletage.
By God.
The temptation to rise from his chair, stalk down the length of the table to where she was seated, and throw her over his shoulder to carry her away from any eyes that weren’t his was strong. Just as it was wrongheaded.
Bitterness sliced through Everett at the thought. It was a damned shame a woman so disloyal could also be so bloody lovely at the same time. Her chestnut hair was piled high in an elaborate knot, a few curls left free to frame her heart-shaped face. At her throat, she wore a necklace of sparkling diamonds that he’d likely paid for along with the sinful silk evening gown. His gaze lit for a moment on that wretched half-heart-shaped mole that never ceased calling to him before he wrenched it elsewhere. Matching earrings glittered from her ears. She wore a mask fashioned of the same shade as her dress, obscuring her delicate features.
It mattered not.
Heknewit was her, and so did his damnable cock, which was already thickening in his trousers after three months of lying dormant. How he had failed to see her during the earlier days of the house party was a mystery likely explained by three factors.
First, he hadn’t expected her to be amongst the guests, for the coveted invitations were meant exclusively for members of the highly secretive Wicked Dukes Society. Second, he’d also been quite thoroughly inebriated much of the time, thanks to the devilish concoctions of his good chum the Duke of Kingham. Third, the prurient nature of the affair meant most ladies chose to wear masks to keep themselves anonymous.
Still, now that he had settled eyes upon her, Everett couldn’t look anywhere else. She was the most beautiful woman in the room. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only gentleman aware of that painfully obvious fact. She was flanked by men who were admiring the offerings on ostentatious display. Including his own damned friend, Kingham, who was seated next to her.
Everett’s wife was presently flirting with the fellow seated at her left side. Smiling at him. Leaning closer and giving the bastard an excellent view down her bodice, along with Everett and anyone else casting a glance in her direction.
Damn her.
He gripped his fork so tightly it was a miracle the sterling utensil didn’t bend in half.
Lord Saunders was the chap to her left, unless Everett was mistaken. He would have to see to it personally that the lecherous oaf had his membership revoked. She laughed, and even the sound was tempting, reaching him from across the sea of revelers separating them at the sumptuous dinner that had been prepared for their delectation.
“Is something amiss?”
The feminine voice at his side interrupted Everett’s grim musings, and he turned to the mysterious lady who was his companion of the evening. He didn’t recall her from previous house parties, although she was undeniably lovely.
Pity he wasn’t interested in her. Pity he hadn’t been interested in anyone since he’d first set eyes upon the faithless woman he’d wed. Instead, his traitorous cockstand belonged to Sybil alone. A woman whose velvet-soft skin he could feel beneath his fingertips as he reached for his wineglass. She was so damned intoxicating. Now that he’d touched her again, all he could think about was having her.
Having her every way he possibly could. Fucking her to oblivion until he had excised the poison of that wretched woman from his blood the only way he knew how.
“Nothing is amiss at all,” he reassured the lady at his side smoothly, just before gulping down half the excellent French wine within the goblet.
He was lying, of course.
Because damned welleverythingwas wrong. He hadn’t expected his wife to suddenly appear at this house party, least of all in his bedroom. Indeed, he had been doing all within his power to keep her far away at Riverdale Abbey where she belonged.
To forget her very existence.
The latter had proved impossible, and no amount of drunken revelries of any sort had aided him in his quest. But now, she was here. Beneath this roof. Sitting at the same table. Flirting with other men, curse her.
“You seem quite interested in the conversation down the table,” the lady at his side commented wryly. “Perhaps my contribution is more tedious than I dared to fear.”
“Your conversation is eloquent and intriguing,” he assured her, a spear of guilt piercing him at her pointed observation.
He was being rude.
It was all Sybil’s fault.
And she would begin paying the price for her scheming this very night. He could scarcely wait. To his rational mind, the notion of bedding her was equally attractive and repulsive. He didn’t want to consummate their marriage. Didn’t want to desire her. Not after what she had done.
But that didn’t seem to matter to the rest of him. And so, he would take his pleasure from her, get her with child. It had to happen at some point or another. He’d known that when he had left her at Riverdale Abbey. The notion had been at the edge of his every thought, word, and deed since then. And yet, he hadn’t been willing to succumb to his base lust where she was concerned. He’d been too furious with her, and his pride had been determined that the consummation could wait.
