The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(270)
"Is this all of you?" she pouted, stretching her arms over her head and her legs wide.
Her once voluptuous breasts had grown pendulous. She was now well-padded all over from years of good living, but she flattered herself she could still have any man she wanted.
"The others will be along in a moment. Big card game on, huge stakes," one of them said, daring to approach the bed. "But you don't need them. You can have all of me. I'll make you happy."
Her cat-green eyes sparkled. "I give you leave to try."
Six exhausted men later, she was still wide awake and hungry. Damn, it had been so easy when she had been younger. She'd been happier then.
True, much of the time she had faked her interest, her pleasure, to get what she wanted. Now she didn't bother, for she had everything except pleasure. Had she really thrown away the best years of her life on that idiot Stanton? A nice enough chap, a vigorous lover, but far too much of a gentleman for her tastes, in bed and out. He had been passionate in their early days together, but had never succumbed to her more outragous suggestions no mater how hard she had coaxed and wheedled.
He was intelligent, handsome, rich, and titled in the end. He had spoiled her materially and looked the other way, but she had determined his amorousness, however manly, was simply not enough. She wanted his money, and even more than his thrilling love-making, the freedom to pursue her lustful course of action until at last she felt truly satisfied. She could almost feel sorry for the poor bastard. He had tried so hard to pleasure her, and he had never seen it coming...
But it would be worth it, she told herself. Anything to ease this constant ache in her loins. It had been there for years.
She sighed as she recalled a particularly passionate afternoon, the hands upon her breasts, between her thighs…
It had been Blake Sanderson, begging her to let him, since they were supposed to be marrying in a few days' time anyway. She had quivered and panted, and almost-
Since then, it was as if she had been buried in a block of ice. Every man had tried, and failed, to give her that toe-curling joy she had only ever known once. She had sold herself to Stanton. He had been young, vigorous, but any illusions he had had about her had made him recoil from her and their marriage bed in horror.
But now she was free. Free to seek the happiness that had long been denied her. Well, to be fair, she had been unfaithful the whole time she had been married, but she wanted the miracle of love, the 'forever after' the novels spoke about. The ultimate bliss.
She had treated Blake most shamefully, true. But would it not demonstrate the height of her power to get him back for herself? He was as rich as Croesus, handsome…
She knew that drab little old bitch Leonore Ross had been servicing him like a common convenient the past few years when he was in Town. He was no more likely to marry an ancient dried-up widow like her than the man in the moon. No, he would want a family, sons…
There was the rub. But of course he didn't ever need to know about the potions she had taken which she was sure had left her barren. It would be the best excuse imaginable for keeping him in her bed, laboring away night and day to make her happy.
There would be some trouble over his nonsense about being a doctor, and that clinic for whores. Well, the less said about those sorts of women the better.
But she was willing to bet that he had learned a lot of interesting things from them…
Yes, Blake could well be the solution to all her problems, she thought, as she motioned three of the exhausted men forward.
"You there, you there, and you here," she said, turning on her side and pointing. "Let's all try this again, shall we?"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Breakfast was a relatively silent affair for Blake and Arabella, both wrapped up in their thoughts of the other which had preoccupied them all night.
A note was brought in just as Blake was finishing. "It's from Lady Pemberton. She's invited us to a supper and says there are some people, cousins, you need to meet."
Her face fell. "Oh, but we just went out last evening, and-"
"It would be odd to refuse the invitation, though, seeing as they are family."
"Then Mrs. Evans-"
"I shall take you at seven, never fear. Wear your bronze gown with the pearls."
She blinked in surprise. "Can I not wear what I like?" she asked quietly.
He shook his head as if clearing it, and tapped himself lightly on the head with the heel of his hand. "Yes, of course, my dear. I'm sorry. I have no idea what got into me. I admit to it being one of my favorite gowns, barring the white with black and silver you wore for the New Year, and I want you to look well without being ostentatious. Who are your cousins? Peter never mentioned--"