The Devilish Trollop, page 9
“Absolutely,” Lord Cunningham agreed.
“That only leaves Imogen to sell off to the highest bidder.”
“She’s your youngest, correct?”
“She is,” Lord Marlowe confirmed. “She’ll be seventeen on her next birthday.”
Lord Cunningham made a low, lascivious whistling sound. “Such a precious, tender age.” His tone dripped with lust. “As sweet as honey plucked straight from the comb.”
“At that age, they’re so innocent they don’t know what you’ve got planned until their ankles are hooked over your shoulders while you fuck them deep enough to make them cry.”
Felicity slapped a hand over her mouth to keep herself either from roaring in protest or being sick. Either option would have revealed her in an instant, and considering the course of the conversation, she feared for her person if the two lechers found her.
“I’ll tell you what,” Lord Marlowe went on. “If I fail to lock down a marquess or higher for Imogen, I’ll let you have her.”
“Truly?” Lord Cunningham moved back into Felicity’s view. He rubbed a hand over his mouth as if considering. His breeches were clearly tented, turning her stomach even more.
“Why not?” Lord Marlowe shrugged. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
Lord Cunningham chuckled. “Perhaps. Though I have other irons I’d like to poke into a certain fire.”
Dread pooled in Felicity’s stomach.
“That Murdoch chit?” Lord Marlowe asked.
“Of course,” Lord Cunningham said, confirming Felicity’s worst fears. “She’s a fine little piece of flesh.”
“So you’ve had luck with her?”
“Not yet,” Lord Cunningham grumbled. “She’s had her head turned by Whitlock, damn him.”
Felicity could just make out the puzzled frown on Lord Marlowe’s face. “I thought Whitlock was sniffing after your Malvis. Or at least the other way around. Your Malvis has been gagging after the man. No offense, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she dropped to her knees, tore open his breeches, and swallowed him to his scrawny little balls the way she’s behaved these past few days.”
“Malvis?” Lord Cunningham made a sour face before stepping out of Felicity’s line of sight. “God, no. She casts up her accounts at the very thought of removing her stockings, let alone doing what women were made for.”
“Then Whitlock will surely go for Miss Murdoch,” Lord Marlowe said. “Didn’t you say you already saw her on her back with Sully in broad daylight?”
“If this miserable weather can be called broad daylight,” Lord Cunningham muttered. “And yes, I did see her. If she’ll part her legs so quickly for Whitlock, she’ll bend over and present her ass for fucking to me.”
Felicity recoiled from the screen as quietly as she could.
Lord Marlowe continued the conversation with a doubtful laugh. “She won’t so much as look at you if Whitlock offers for her.”
“Ah, but he won’t,” Lord Cunningham said. “I’ve made certain of that.”
In spite of her sick stomach, Felicity perked up, inching back toward the fold in the screen.
“Why would a nubile young trollop like Miss Murdoch suck your cock when she could marry Whitlock and be a viscountess?” Lord Marlowe asked.
“But you see, that is the beauty of my plan,” Lord Cunningham answered. “Whitlock won’t offer for her. He’s been convinced she’s a penniless usurper who only managed an invitation to this party because it’s being hosted by her friend.”
“You don’t say.” Lord Marlowe sounded impressed. “You told him that?”
“I did,” Lord Cunningham said. “I consider it quite a coup. Whitlock will throw her over, now that he’s had her. With any luck, Miss Murdoch will feel so desperate that she’ll turn to the first kindly, fatherly figure to offer her help.”
“Which I’m assuming you plan to do,” Lord Marlowe said.
“As soon as possible,” Lord Cunningham went on. “I’ll allow her to cry on my shoulder. And just when she’s succumbed to all those ridiculous female emotions, I’ll flip her over and pound her silly. I’ve had assurances from that chaperone of hers that we can be discovered together.”
“So the slut will be forced to marry you,” Lord Marlowe said as if grasping an ingenious plan.
“Precisely.” Lord Cunningham sounded entirely too pleased with himself.
“Was it your intention to remarry?” Lord Marlowe asked.
Lord Cunningham shrugged as he stepped back into Felicity’s line of sight. “Eventually. I’d hoped to settle Malvis first. But with a creature as shapely and delicious as Miss Murdoch, why should I wait? I end up with a cockstand every time I see the girl. I’ve already got an heir, so there’s no need to find someone with a pedigree for that. I’d marry Miss Murdoch for bedsport alone.”
Lord Marlowe laughed. “A girl like that would be up for it.”
“Exactly,” Lord Cunningham agreed. “Why, I’d wear that sweet cunny of hers out, and when it’s no longer tight, I’ll ream her in that precious ass of hers.”
“I bet she’d take it like a Paris whore,” Lord Marlowe groaned enviously.
Felicity had heard enough. She burned with disgust and fury and would have fled the room if doing so wouldn’t have meant revealing herself. It was abhorrent that two men could discuss such perverse sexual acts as though they were a joke. She had no doubt at all in her mind that Lord Cunningham would subject her to those things unwillingly if she balked. Worst of all, she or any other young woman he fancied could be forced into a marriage as easily as he’d indicated if Mrs. Wallace or some other chaperone was involved. It was far too easy for young women to be utterly ruined and worse by a man.
The one stroke of luck she had was when Lord Cunningham went on to say, “Enough of this sort of talk. I’m as hard as adamant now just thinking about it.”
“I’m in need of a discreet trip to my bedroom for relief myself,” Lord Marlowe laughed.
Blessedly, the two men started for the door.
“I plan to see if there are any willing maids in need of a shilling or two to snack on sausage,” Lord Cunningham said as they rounded the corner.
Felicity waited until they’d been gone for a full count of one hundred before letting out a revolted grunt and pressing a hand to her stomach. She stepped out from behind the screen, rushing for the door so that she could flee to somewhere safe from Lords Cunningham and Marlowe, or any other horrid men like them.
Her flight took her upstairs to her bedroom. It was only a small bit of a surprise when she found Eliza and Ophelia waiting there for her.
“Well?” Eliza asked, standing from the chair where she’d been reading one of Felicity’s books.
“How did it go?” Ophelia turned away from the rain-soaked window and crossed the room to her.
“We saw you flee into the library with Lord Whitlock,” Eliza explained as she and Ophelia crowded around Felicity.
“It went….” Felicity paused, mouth open, no idea how to explain the good and the bad of everything that had happened downstairs. She closed her mouth, giving in to her anger, and blurted, “Lord Cunningham told Sully that I was a poor nobody because he has designs on me.”
Eliza and Ophelia recoiled in unison, making sounds of revulsion.
Felicity went on with, “Sully doesn’t need to marry a title, he needs to marry a woman with money.”
Her friends’ revolted looks turned to confusion.
“But you have money,” Ophelia said. “You have plenty of it.”
“Lord Cunningham deliberately told him I did not so that he could pursue me for himself,” Felicity said.
“That bastard,” Eliza exclaimed. When Ophelia looked at her in horror, she went on with, “Harsh language is called for at a moment like this.”
“It certainly is,” Felicity said, her anger mounting. She began to pace the room. “I’m so furious with the man I could throttle him right now.” Her mind began to turn with ways she could seek her revenge.
“You need to go to Lord Whitlock at once,” Ophelia said, following her in her pacing. “You need to explain to him that you have a fortune, that he can marry you without fear of disappointing his obligations.”
“Yes,” Eliza agreed, jumping into motion with them. “You need to fly straight to him and clear up this misunderstanding before it’s too late.”
“Oh, I will,” Felicity said just as the spark of inspiration hit her. “But first, I need to humiliate Lord Cunningham to a degree that will make up for this horrible injustice.”
“Agreed,” Eliza said, even as Ophelia began to look anxious. “Do you have something in mind?”
“I believe I do,” Felicity said as the plan took shape in her mind. “And, of course, I’ll need your help.”
As soon as Sully put enough distance between himself and the library, shame and guilt closed in on him, threatening to swallow him. Only a coward would leave a woman to face danger on her own. In the heat of the moment, he’d assumed Felicity would dash outside and circle around the house to escape whoever had been entering the library, but within a minute he realized that would be impossible with the rain.
He had to go back for her, beg her forgiveness, and find some way to make up for his poor judgement in the moment. As soon as he dashed through the room adjacent to the library and into the hall, he looked for a way to double back to the library.
“Ah, Whitlock, there you are.” His plans were foiled as he encountered Rufus in the hallway.
“Herrington.” Sully nodded, hoping to push directly past the man.
Rufus stopped him before he could get far. “They’ve all gathered in the large parlor,” he said. “Seems as though someone had the idea in their head to put on some sort of a theatrical show tonight.”
“I see.” Sully tried to nod and move on.
“I’ll need some help constructing a quick stage,” Rufus said, stopping him again. “Caro wants it to be large enough for a choir, it seems. I trust I can rely on you for help?”
Sully winced and turned back to his friend. Rufus was the only friend he had at the party, if he were honest, and he needed to help when help was asked. He glanced down the hall, hoping to find some sign of Felicity, but all he spotted were Lord Cunningham and Lord Marlowe laughing to themselves as they made a quick and rather awkward run for the stairs. If Sully didn’t know any better, he would have thought the two men were walking strangely because they were aroused. The thought caused him to shudder.
Whether Rufus knew what he was shuddering about or whether he had ideas of his own, the man grinned as though he and Sully were sharing a joke. “I am nearly positive Miss Murdoch will be taking part in the theatricals,” he said. “Caro assures me that is just the sort of thing her friends would do. And what with the way Lady Cavendish has taken such a shine to her, I’m certain Felicity will be given a leading part. Lady Cavendish has confided that she enjoys a good theatrical event.”
Sully’s spirits soared and then sank within a heartbeat. “Miss Murdoch is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he confessed.
Rufus frowned. “Why say that with such a glum look?”
Sully glanced up and down the hall to make certain they were alone. “She’s everything I want in a woman,” he said. “She’s lively and sensual and full of ideas.”
Rufus continued to seem flummoxed. “That sounds ideal. When can we expect the announcement?”
“Never,” Sully sighed. He rushed on to answer the question he could see in Rufus’s eyes with, “You know I have expectations hanging on my shoulders for an advantageous marriage.”
To his surprise, Rufus continued to look baffled. “And Miss Murdoch fits those expectations perfectly.”
“She does not,” Sully said, nearly groaning in agony. “I need to marry a woman of wealth.”
Rufus burst into laughter. “Whitlock, dear friend, it is quite possible that Miss Murdoch is the wealthiest young lady at this party.” When Sully merely gaped at him, he went on with, “She’s worth fifty thousand pounds at least. Her father is Arnold Murdoch the mill owner.”
Sully wasn’t familiar with the name, but that signified nothing. “I was informed she was a pauper.”
Rufus gaped. “Who told you that?”
“Lord Cunningham,” Sully growled. The truth hit him suddenly and with bitter force. He huffed out a breath and rubbed a hand over his face, groaning.
“And you believed him?” Rufus asked, reflecting exactly what Sully was thinking.
“I didn’t know not to,” he confessed. “I did not know the man at all before this party. I barely know anyone. I’ve been too busy trying to keep my estate from failing to engage in London society.”
“Cunningham is a bastard,” Rufus said. “He delights in making fools of good men for his own sport. Whatever he told you is a blatant lie.”
Sully lowered his hand. “And you say Felicity is wealthy?”
“Ridiculously,” Rufus told him with a grin. He marched up to Sully’s side and slapped him on the back. “You’re a very lucky man.”
“No, I’m not,” he said as the two of them walked slowly on. “I’ve behaved like an ass to Felicity. I told her I couldn’t marry her.”
“Why didn’t she set you straight and brag about her father and his fortune?” Rufus asked.
The question stuck with Sully like a burr in his saddle for a moment before he remembered the exact wording of their conversation in bed several days before. Then he felt even more like an ass.
“I may have given her the impression that I couldn’t marry her because of her status, not because of her wealth,” he said.
“Which could explain why my wife has been so adamant about making her appear regal today,” Rufus said, as if in his own thoughts. He slapped Sully’s back again and picked up their pace. “There’s nothing for it, then. You will simply have to find Miss Murdoch, explain the mistake, and get down on your knees to beg forgiveness and beg for her hand.”
“I’ll have to do more than that,” Sully said. “I’ll have to make it all up to her in a way that will leave her in no doubt at all of my intentions.”
And he thought he knew just the way to do it.
Chapter 9
The plot was set. The players were in place. Caro and Rufus had graciously agreed to go along with everything, but only indirectly. They would need to maintain plausible deniability once the whole thing played out. Even Eliza and Ophelia needed to keep to the shadows to avoid the consequences of what was about to happen. Because Felicity knew full well that she was crossing more lines than any young lady had ever dared to cross before. All the money in the world wouldn’t redeem her in the eyes of society once the trap was sprung. But she couldn’t bring herself to care one wit. Sully was free to marry her and she was certain that, in spite of what was about to happen, he would.
“This is a rare treat,” Lord Cunningham said with a lascivious spark in his eyes as he took his seat directly across the supper table from Felicity. “Fancy being seated so close to a beauty like you.”
Felicity feigned coyness, hoping she was an accomplished enough actress for her cheeks to flush pink. “You do me a great honor, Lord Cunningham,” she said, batting her eyelashes.
“Believe me, my dear, the honor is all mine,” he replied. “You raise my spirits with but a glance. I will prove stiff competition for any gentleman seeking your favors.”
It was a blessing that one of the footmen swarming around the table had already poured Felicity’s wine. She reached for it, downing a gulp to both hide the grimace that threatened to spoil her ruse and to calm her sour stomach. She would need the courage she found in the glass to carry on with her plan as well.
“Lord Cunningham seems quite taken with you, my dear,” Lady Cavendish said in a confidential voice. It was a great honor for Felicity to be seated next to her near the head of the table, but the duchess had insisted. “But I would have a care with that one,” she added.
“He’s a perfect ass,” Felicity murmured in reply. A moment too late, she remembered to whom she was speaking and blanched. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace.”
The duchess laughed quietly. “He is a perfect ass.” She lowered her voice even more. “Why, he’s accosted half of the young ladies I know at one time or another. And yet, when my painfully foolish friend, Lady Hastings, attempted to wheedle her way into his bed, he rebuffed her mercilessly and called her a wrinkled old sow whose fields had been plowed so many times they were likely rife with weeds.”
“No,” Felicity gasped, breaking into a giggle and feeling more as though she were gossiping with Eliza and Ophelia than addressing a duchess at the supper table. She straightened, putting on her most regal and bland expression before saying, “You may very well approve of the mischief that is about to be wrought this evening, then.”
“Oh?” Lady Cavendish smiled broadly.
Felicity hummed affirmatively as the footman served the soup. “I must confess that I cannot abide a certain insult that was leveled at me and at Lord Whitlock within the past week. Said insult will be met with impunity this evening. I pray for your forgiveness in advance, my lady.”
Once again, she was certain she’d failed to address the duchess properly, but the grand woman didn’t seem to mind. She grinned like a girl less than half her age and started in on her soup with vigor.
“I do hope you admirable ladies are discussing topics appropriate to the supper table,” Lord Cunningham said from across several place settings and a salt salver. He looked thoroughly put out not to be part of the conversation.
“We were discussing your many charms, my lord,” Felicity said, returning to her false flirtatiousness.
“How kind of you,” Lord Cunningham said, his face turning red. He squirmed in his chair in a way that put Felicity off her soup entirely. “I have so many more charms to display to you, my dear.”
“Is that so, my lord?” Felicity arched one brow and made a show of sipping soup off her spoon in a way that would make the odious man believe she was as aroused as he clearly was.
