Page 26 of When the Marquess Needed Me (The Rake Chronicles #4)

Chapter Twenty-Four

H e had been magnificent in the carriage, Beatrice thought later that afternoon, as she luxuriated in her bath.

She had not understood that he had felt insecure about his cock, but now that he had told her, many more things made sense.

And she understood why he would have such an anxiety. Women often crowed about the necessity of large cocks, in part, she was sure, because some women preferred them. But sometimes, she thought, such crowing happened because it was one of the only areas in which men could be held to the exacting, cruel standards that dictated the lives of women.

But the truth was that, while small, his cock was, to her, magnificent. She was sure many other women would agree. It was, truthfully, perfect for her. One of the many things, she reflected, that made the week and a half that she had left with him seem like not nearly enough time.

She would happily be his mistress for much longer.

But she resolved not to think of that now.

She did not want to occupy herself with thoughts of what she knew must come soon enough. A new protector. A man who was not Lord Leith. She didn’t want to think of that now when she felt strangely…happy.

Beatrice had told herself that she was happy before she came to London. And, in her way, she had been. She had her family and Parkhorne Hall and the running of it to occupy her mind and days. She had her occasional lovers who offered excitement and passion.

But what she had shared the past two days with Thomas was somehow different. It gave her a different feeling. She felt lighter than she had in years. Life appeared brighter.

She sighed. She would put away those thoughts for now.

Indeed, Beatrice had enough to worry about without thinking past tonight.

Tonight, she and Leith were to attend dinner at the Duke of Edington’s. Apparently, his wife, Catherine, had “indoor picnics”—the term Leith had used, with a little scoff—that functioned as a kind of gathering for their most intimate friends. She understood that Lord and Lady Tremberley would be there as well. Lord and Lady Montaigne would not be in attendance, as they were currently visiting his brother in the countryside. Their absence was a relief because, as far as Beatrice knew, she and Leith were still supposed to be in a chaste arrangement, according to the absurd prohibition Lord Montaigne had tried to put on their relationship.

It was somewhat irregular (although not unheard of) for lords to let their wives associate with the mistresses of other men, but she understood that these were not women who had abided by all the rules before their marriages—and so were less inclined to do so afterwards.

Beatrice had seen so little of what was called “good” society that it unnerved her to imagine herself at its epicenter.

She sunk deeper in the warm water. Luckily, she had an excursion planned for them ahead of dinner that filled her with much more excitement.

Three hours later, she and Leith pulled up outside a squat building down a St. James’s alley.

“Damn it, Preston,” said Leith beside her. “He knows that we are going to John’s. What is he doing here?”

“I asked him to make an extra stop.”

He leveled her with his amber gaze.

“Wait—is this—” he looked out the window “—you want to go here ? How do you even know about here ?”

“An old lover.” She shrugged. “He was a patron. He was fond of certain…things.”

“Were you?” he said, alarmed. “Fond of these things?”

“Fond enough.”

“And what were these activities?” Leith looked distinctly vexed.

She frowned. She had not planned to necessarily have this excursion center around her previous activities.

“It’s no matter. We can discuss it, if you are really interested. But I am much more excited about going into the shop with you . Have you been here before?”

He shook his head. “But I have heard of it, of course. It’s my belief—” he made a face “—that Trem and Henrietta are quite enthusiastic patrons of this particular emporium.” He cringed. “Monty and Olivia, too, although perhaps not to the same extent.”

She laughed. His squeamishness was really quite amusing. “Well, let’s explore it for ourselves.”

He had that same grim set about his mouth that she had seen at Vauxhall. But she knew that, just as he had then, he would go through with it. And that, once inside, he might actually enjoy it.

“Very well.”

Within minutes, he was leading her through the unmarked door and into a spare shop that looked completely innocuous.

Beatrice had been told what she needed to say, so they approached the shopkeeper, a tidy-looking man with gray hair.

“We would like to view the specialty products.”

“Assuredly, sir, madam.” He nodded, gesturing to an attendant that Beatrice had not noticed.

This attendant led them down a hallway to a doorway. He opened the door, gesturing for them to enter.

“Ring when you have made your selections.”

She nodded and the man was gone.

She turned and studied the room.

“My,” she said, “I had not exactly expected such a display.”

The room was gotten up very neatly, but it nevertheless displayed a rather overwhelming array of products. Across shelves and hooks many items were visible and she did not understand the purpose of half.

“Christ,” Leith said.

He was looking around the room with clear dismay.

“You are not half the prude you pretend to be,” she said, with a laugh. “I had a notion. Let us each select one thing, and we won’t show the other what it is. We can bring it out when we are prepared to use it.”

“Absolutely not.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am sure you can find one thing that looks intriguing.”

“For you, I will endeavor to try.”

Beatrice began perusing the walls, trying very hard not to sneak any glimpses at Leith. Next to many items sat helpful drawings. These illustrations proved invaluable for figuring out what the various devices were for.

She didn’t want to pick anything too adventurous. She didn’t want to push him too far.

Beatrice surveyed all the options and, when she had made her determination, she rang the bell.

Leith was on the other side of a rather large central bookshelf—each book, she had observed, more sinful than the last—and so luckily could not see what she handed to the attendant.

“Turn around,” she heard him say from over the shelf. “You promised not to look.”

She laughed, honestly surprised that he had selected anything.

She obeyed him, turning towards a large display of phalluses, extremely curious about what he had selected but resolute in respecting their agreement.

When they walked back to the carriage with their purchases tucked under his arm, he turned to her.

“I suppose you see this little excursion as part of your courtesan education.”

“In fact,” she said, “I have not thought of that at all. My thoughts were only of you.”

He looked down at her, his gaze stormy. She wasn’t sure if she was merely seeing her own melancholy about the shortness of their time together on his face.

But, in that moment, even to Beatrice Salisbury’s jaundiced eye, the man looked quite…besotted.

Impossible, she told herself.

But she found she couldn’t stop smiling.