Pleasure for Pleasure

Page 56

“Perhaps he grabbed her breasts,” Annabel said with relish. “Frankly, I cannot imagine Sylvie enjoying a grab and tickle.”
“He didn’t,” Josie said. “He would never do something like that.”
“Oh, you’d be—”
“No, I wouldn’t!” Josie snapped. The very suggestion made her think about Thurman and the way he pawed her front, for all the world as if he were an elk trying to uncover grass from the snow.
Annabel looked at her narrowly. “All the more reason why Thurman deserved that shovelful of manure.”
“Did he paw you?” Tess exclaimed.
Josie wrinkled her nose. “It wasn’t terrible. Just—”
“Terrible,” Annabel said. “There is a reason why young women are supposed to stay with their chaperones, you know.”
“It seems to have been a remarkably wanton afternoon,” Tess observed. “Where on earth did Mayne manage to kiss Sylvie in such a way that you observed her?”
“We were in the stables,” Josie admitted. “But they couldn’t see me.”
“What did she say after she slapped him?” Annabel asked. “I always meant to slap someone for the impertinence of kissing me, but somehow I generally forgot.”
“Well, Mayne kissed her, and then there was a terrible crack when she slapped him.”
“And then?” Tess said, obviously fascinated despite herself.
“I probably shouldn’t—”
“Tell or we’ll have your guts for garters,” Annabel said.
“You can’t tell your husbands,” Josie said.
They both nodded.
“Well, Mayne said something like, ‘Sylvie, what devil’s game are you playing?’ His question might have included an expletive or two,” Josie said. “I was so surprised, you understand.”
“Yes, yes,” Annabel said, waving her hand. “And Sylvie?”
“Sylvie said, and I know I have this right: ‘When I decide to be manhandled by a canard, I will know where to come, Mayne. I thought you were putting your degenerate life behind you—but obviously you wish to drag me into the muck with you.’” Josie finished with fine dramatic flair.
“Canard?” Annabel said. “Isn’t that French for a duck?”
“Well, perhaps I got that word wrong, then, because I’m sure she didn’t mean duck,” Josie said. “She really sounded quite violent. Or rather, not violent so much as disgusted. She was revolted. You could tell. She was shaking.”
“Not to be pedestrian,” Tess said, “but perhaps Mayne has bad breath. It comes from bad teeth, as I understand. Lady Dayton told me—”
“He doesn’t,” Josie said firmly.
“It’s a question of teeth,” Tess began, but Annabel waved her into silence.
“Josephine Essex,” Annabel said, “do you care to tell us precisely when Mayne kissed you?”
After a second of silence, Josie said, “It was only one kiss.”
“One kiss?” her sisters said in chorus.
“Not even a real kiss. It was just a kiss to show me how to walk right.”
“What?” Tess said.
“Did you enjoy it?” asked Annabel.
Josie could feel herself growing pink. “Not so much,” she said. “It was just a kiss, after all.” She tried to give a casual shrug. The kind of shrug that indicated she certainly had not been dreaming of that kiss every single night since it happened.
“Just a kiss,” Tess said. “Do you know what is most interesting about this, Annabel? Mayne kissed me once.”
Josie transferred her scowl to her eldest sister.
“I did not enjoy it, and I don’t believe he did either. We shared one extremely tepid kiss when we decided to marry, and I distinctly remember thinking that all the talk of kisses must be wildly over-estimated, as it was nothing special.”
“Not like Lucius’s kisses, hmmm?” Annabel said mischievously.
“Hush. And I happen to know that Mayne kissed Imogen as well.”
Josie swallowed. Apparently she was just the last in a long line of Essex women whom Mayne had graced with his attentions.
“She didn’t enjoy it either. In fact, to hear her tell the tale, Mayne kissed her only so that he could convince her that there was no point to their having an affaire since there was no desire between them.”
“And now we have a third woman, Sylvie, who has described Mayne as a lackluster kisser,” Annabel said. “Poor Mayne! He really must be handicapped in that area.”
“That’s absurd!” Josie said hotly. “He—He—” She floundered to a stop.
“He what?”
“Stop clowning about like that,” Tess said to Annabel. “If Josie enjoyed Mayne’s kiss, it’s all for the best, but if you think about it, the man has really suffered a trail of disappointment. Didn’t he fall in love with Lady Godwin before she rejected him?”
“In love with Lady Godwin? Mayne?” Annabel repeated. “I don’t think so. I think he’s in love with Sylvie, more’s the pity for him.”
Josie bit her lip. “I know he’s in love with Sylvie. He told me himself.”
“Before or after he kissed you?” Annabel asked.
“After. And before. He wanted to make certain that I didn’t take the—it—too seriously.”
“Wasn’t that generous of him?” Annabel asked. “That man deserves a fall more than any gentleman I’ve heard of lately. How dare he warn you that he’s in love with another woman and then kiss you?”
“He was only trying to help,” Josie said. “And he has had the fall, Annabel. He lost Sylvie.”
“Will she go back to him?”
“I don’t think so. It’s hard to explain but she was truly revolted. I could hear it in her voice.”
“Poor Mayne,” Tess said.
“Fie on that,” Annabel said briskly. “We know of four women who disliked his kisses: Lady Godwin, Tess, Annabel, and now, Sylvie. But we know of one who enjoyed them.”
Josie felt her blush getting hotter. “That has nothing to do with it,” she managed.
“That has everything to do with it,” Annabel said. “If you wish to marry him, then your sisters are just the ones to make sure it happens.”
“Are you cracked?” Josie cried. “I can’t marry Mayne. It’s madness even to say that aloud. I’m young and he’s—and I’m—I’m fat.”
“You are not fat,” Tess snapped. “I am tired of hearing that, and I’m tired of seeing in your eyes that you’re thinking it. You are beautiful. Have the past few days taught you nothing? Why do you think that loathsome Thurman stole his loathsome kisses? Because you are beautiful, and since you gave up the sausage corset, the men are slavering over you. And if you think Mayne hasn’t noticed that, you’re cracked. I saw him look at you myself.”
“Nonsense. Mayne wouldn’t ask me to marry him in a million years.”
“Why not?”
“I have made a study of marriage. You know that. I’ve catalogued every single novel published by the Minerva Press in the last few years. Men ask women to marry them, as far as I can see, because they are struck by reverence for their delicate beauty. Or because they are somehow forced into the marriage by a ruse. Mayne shows no interest in my delicate beauty, even if I had it, and ruses are not as easy to pull off as one would think.”