Dear Cedric,
Rumor has it that you are married now to a lady of little renown…. and little consequence. We both know true gentlemen do not slake their real desires in the well-appointed bedchambers of their wives, no. You come to me, a woman who can embrace the baser side of you, the one you let no one see.
Gentle-bred ladies are scared of their shadow, much less the anatomy of a satyr as yourself. They cower in the darkened chamber, praying that the deed is done so they can say they have done their marital role. They never enjoy the coupling, not like I do.
You will always return to me.
Tell your wife that though you are bound to her by law and custom, you seek me by choice. How you find in my company what your dutiful wife cannot provide—laughter, wit, and the thrill of a heart unburdened by propriety.
I keep your gaze, your touch, and I soothe your restless spirit. I shall hold fast to you, and in the candlelit hours when your household sleeps, madam, it is my laughter that fills his ear.
He comes to me willingly, eagerly, as one starved of delight. I offer him what you cannot: the thrill of admiration, the warmth of a smile unclouded by duty, the embrace of a woman who knows her power. I know the splatter of freckles on his shoulder, the welts on his thigh, the ache in his skin when his burns flare. I comfort him, only me.
You, poor creature, you only offer him the dull weight of obligation.
Always yours, Cedric.
H.
By the end, Ariadne looked as if someone had struck her. Cedric crumpled the letter in a cruel fist. “It's fiction, Ariadne. Nothing that was said here is real, and please do not let it ever enter your mind that it is.”
“They know about you,” she whispered. “The intimate things only I should know.”
His gaze was fierce. “I do not know who is writing this fantasy, but I will find them and expose them. Look at me?—”
She kept her eyes down. Cursing softly, he grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her head up. “Believe me when I say, I will prove to you this is all lies.”
Her chest heaved, “You swear.”
“On my life.” He promised.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It took some doing, but a week and a half after Ariadne had promised Emily her own ton outing, they and four other girls her age—chaperoned by their parents, of course—were heading to Gunter’s Tea Shoppe on Berkeley Square.
As they trundled off, Ariadne chattered on about her maize cashmere walking dress, accentuating her tiny waist and diminutive figure. With her ebony hair arranged in ringlets and decorated with silk leaves.
That was all fine.
What was not fine was the cloth this gown was made from, soft pink silk, the square bodice bared her plump, white breasts almost to the nipple. In fact, if he could surely see her nipples, someone else could too.
He suddenly wished she were wearing one of her old, dowdy gowns, even as unfitting for her status as they were. He felt theurge to direct the carriage to a haberdashery and buy an entire bolt of cloth to cover her with.
“Your Grace?”
His wife was looking at him, her eyebrows raised and a small smile playing on her lush lips.
Minx.
Ever since that night they had made love, she had not left his bed since, and last night, when he had her on her knees gripping the headboard with white knuckles, she had that same smile on her lips.
She knew what effect the gown had on him.
Just as he knew the moment they arrived home, he was going to tear it off her.
“Surely you must be cold,” he said, plucking the thick shawl from the back of the squabs and draping it over her shoulder, making sure to pin both ends in the middle with a diamond broach.
She looked exasperated but didn’t undo it.
