Black Silk. Sharon Page

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СКАЧАТЬ understand the truth. Venetia had saved their family—she had married Marcus Wyndham, the Earl of Trent. As a result, Maryanne now possessed a dowry in a sum that sent shivers down her back and made her legs quake. And of course she could not touch any of that money, even though she needed it so desperately.

      A large portion would stay in her name once she married. But that would require leg shackling herself to one of the eligibles she danced with at Almack’s. And men who danced at Almack’s were not the sort of men one could imagine making love with naughty, roguish abandon in the middle of the theater.

      “You needn’t be afraid to let me see. After all, someday you will have to let a publisher take a look.”

      Maryanne choked on a giggle. She was a publisher! At least, she was running Georgiana’s business because Georgiana had vanished once again. No doubt her partner was in pursuit of a new lover, who had probably left town for the hunt, but she couldn’t help but feel again that sensation of her tummy dropping away. Usually, within a day or two, Georgiana sent her a letter. Either a glowing report on the charm, wealth, and allure of her new gentleman or a letter filled with fury, disappointment, and jaded regret.

      It had been a week, and there was no letter.

      “Lord Bainley sent hothouse orchids this morning, I noticed.” Venetia brushed back the red-gold tendrils that waved around her face. Her hazel eyes glinted with the mischievous delight she always took in assessing her sisters’ romantic successes.

      Maryanne stared down at her hem and nodded. Her Season should have been a “success.” Six gentlemen had shown interest. Cards and flowers had arrived with diligence, and the men had squired her for dances. She had ridden in curricles in Hyde Park. She had stumbled through so many awkward conversations on the weather she had begun to think she could make a career in predicting it.

      “But obviously the orchids cannot compete with a manuscript?” Gentle amusement rippled through Venetia’s question.

      Guilty, Maryanne looked up. “Lord Bainley is not the right one.”

      “I see. Have you found one that is?”

      She shook her head. “Do you want me to accept Lord Bainley’s suit?” She prayed the answer would be no. Many gentlemen were fascinated with Grace’s loveliness—why couldn’t one of them have proposed to Grace this Season and divert the attention? With her sister Grace in the country with Mother, Maryanne was on her own.

      Venetia tapped her lip. “Have you not found anyone you admire?”

      A start, a twitch, and three manuscript pages slid to the ground again. Blast.

      “There is someone, isn’t there?”

      Collecting her pages once more, Maryanne nodded. Now, this was a secret she could safely reveal. It would be humiliating, but it would certainly distract her sister. “Lord Swansborough.”

      In answer, the roses shivered with the breeze, and a flurry of pink and yellow petals leaped into the air.

      “Lord Swansborough! You can’t be serious.”

      A hot fire raced over Maryanne’s cheeks. “Why not? He’s delicious.”

      And she could see him in her thoughts—his wickedly tempting smile, his darkness—black hair and eyes and dressed in his signature black dress clothes from head to toe.

      She noticed an equally pink blush touched her sister’s cheeks. Now she was intrigued. Of course Lord Swansborough was a rake. She had no doubt he had done many of those exotic acts her courtesan authors described with such lusty wit. And Venetia had drawn erotic art, for heaven’s sake. How could she be embarrassed? Why?

      “Tell me, Venetia. What do you know about him?”

      “Stories that aren’t appropriate for—”

      “Venetia! I am also Rodesson’s daughter.” It was still so hard to say that aloud, after so many years of pretending, even to herself, that she was not. “You are not the only one of us to see his artwork. I need to know the truth about Swansborough.”

      “You truly are serious about him?”

      “What did he do? How scandalous can it possibly be?”

      “It is rather difficult to describe—”

      “I have seen your pictures, Venetia.” This was the first time she had admitted it.

      Venetia’s grip tightened on her shawl. “I had no idea.”

      “I am not as innocent as you think. Even Grace has had a peek.”

      At the mention of their youngest sister, Venetia’s fingers played with the fringe of her shawl. “Fine. Reputedly he had a woman drip hot wax on his chest.”

      Maryanne dropped her graphite pencil to the walk and knew the lead within had shattered. Hot wax on his chest? How could that be erotic? Despite her confidence, she felt at once aroused, shocked, and unnerved. “You saw him at that orgy you attended, didn’t you?”

      Venetia gasped. “How did you know about that?”

      “No one notices me when I sit quietly to read. You were speaking with Marcus, and you obviously didn’t notice me. What exactly did Lord Swansborough do at the orgy?”

      Venetia wore a full blush now. “I saw him pleasuring a woman with another man.”

      Maryanne gulped, but it was nothing more shocking than what she had read. It appeared men enjoyed the sight of other people making love. It stimulated them. “Hasn’t every rake?”

      “The woman’s ankles were bound, and she dangled from the ceiling. He…he pleasured her that way.”

      Maryanne felt her quim clench suddenly, and a warm jolt of sensual agony washed through her. Her cheeks were definitely aflame. “All men are rakes before marriage. A successful woman is able to determine which one can be tamed by love.” She had heard Georgiana utter this phrase numerous times.

      An auburn curl danced across Venetia’s cheek. “Once, I didn’t believe any man could be tamed by love.”

      “But Marcus fell in love with you and has been the most devoted husband in the history of England. Has he ever even left your side for a night?”

      Venetia laughed. “He has. But I would not exactly describe Marcus as ‘tamed.’”

      “And that is what I want!” Maryanne cried. Perhaps Venetia finally understood. “I want a dangerous man. A sensual, uncivilized, passionate male who merely dresses up as a gentleman but is utterly primitive inside.”

      “And that man will not be Lord Swansborough. He is too dark, most definitely too dangerous, and too…too…”

      “Experienced? Exciting? Arousing?”

      “Lewd. That is the most appropriate word for Lord Swansborough. He is entirely too lewd for you.”

      Maryanne bristled. Venetia always knew best, always gave orders. There was no reason to argue, but suddenly she couldn’t resist. “But what if I were to allow him to bind my СКАЧАТЬ