Papa's Desires (Little Ladies of Talcott House Book 2) Read online

  Several people turned to gaze upon them as they moved together and Grayson overheard a whispered, “What a handsome couple they make.”

  Perhaps his search was finally over. Her fingers felt warm in his, even through the gloves they both wore. A pink flush moved up her cheeks when he smiled at her. The dance began and his hopes soared with the notes of the music.

  They did not speak for the first few moments of the dance. No doubt she waited for Grayson to begin the conversation and he searched his mind for just the right conversational gambit to woo the lovely Miss Adaline.

  “Have you ever heard of a street gang called The Weasels?” he asked.

  Miss Adaline gasped and withdrew her hand from his. He gaped at her, shocked by his own words. Had he lost his mind? What had ever provoked him to say such a thing? Not to mention his firm belief that Miss Heathrow had fabricated the entire tale of her life as a member of a street gang.

  “My lord,” Miss Adaline said when she managed to gather her wits about her, “I am sure I have never heard such a shocking and offensive question in my entire life. A street gang? What reason would you have to believe I am aware of criminal activities?”

  With each word her voice rose higher and the pitch of it became more shrill. She stopped dancing and another couple nearly collided with them. Her face flushed crimson and she bolted from the dance floor, causing no small amount of unwanted attention to be directed at them as he followed her.

  Her mother—was there any young lady in attendance without a mother hovering nearby— stepped forward to meet her as Miss Adaline and Grayson approached. “Mama,” Miss Adaline said, “he asked me the most inappropriate question.”

  Thereupon Mrs. Venture was joined by Mr. Venture, a formidable man who no doubt took a protective interest in his daughter’s welfare. “What is the meaning of this, Grayson? What have you done to upset my daughter?”

  Although the people standing near were too well-behaved to stare, Grayson was certain that if they could have swiveled their ears upon their heads in order to pick up more of the conversation, they surely would have.

  “Please, allow me to explain,” Grayson said, his mind reeling from his own foolishness.

  “Be quick about it.” Mr. Venture, though not a young man, had the posture of one who would not hesitate to use his fists to defend his daughter’s honor. “Just because you were born with a title and my Adaline was not does not mean you may speak to her in an offensive manner.”

  “No sir, absolutely not.” Grayson’s throat had gone dry and when he opened his mouth to explain himself his mind went blank, except for the sweet smile and laughter of Miss Heathrow of Talcott House.

  “I-I have no excuse for what I did and I offer my sincerest apologies to you and your wife and daughter,” Lord Grayson finally managed to say.

  Not waiting for a reply, he exited the building as quickly as possible. He had commitments to at least three more dance partners, but he simply could not stomach it, though the social slight was nearly inexcusable for a gentleman. Waving to his coachman, his conveyance was brought to the front of the building and Lord Grayson escaped into the night.

  Once inside the carriage, he retrieved his flask and downed the remainder of its contents.

  Cynny clutched the newly arrived letter from Cammie and gasped at its provocative contents, then covered her mouth and peered down in disbelief at her friend’s familiar handwriting.

  Surely Cammie must be playing a trick on her.

  The description provided by her best friend that told of what happened between married people sounded too fantastical to believe. Even worse, Cynny didn’t understand much of it. What in the world was a cock, also, according to her dear friend, known as a penis?

  And her kitty…it was also called a cunny or a quim? Honestly, Cynny was shocked to her very core. She thought about her time on the streets and wondered if Mary hadn’t shielded her from the crudeness of some of the gang members, would she know more about what happened between husbands and wives?

  In the outbuilding behind the tavern, Mary and Cynny had been lucky enough to have their own little room in a corner. Most of the gang members were children, and the few older members would often spend time in the tavern or gallivanting about town during the nighttime hours, not returning to their beds until they were so inebriated they could hardly walk.

  She recalled overhearing some of the young men, in their drunken states, brag about kissing a certain woman and then taking a turn in bushy park, whatever that meant, but as soon as such conversation began, Mary would cover Cynny’s ears. Though she could never quite confirm it, she had suspected the young men were speaking of something similar to what happened between husbands and wives, but it had always confused her. Whenever she’d asked Mary to explain, the older girl had shushed her.

  She tucked Cammie’s letter into her pocket, next to the gold watch, and sank down on her bed. Miss Wickersham had confirmed that Lord Kensington was still coming to marry her. Her heart pounded. The wedding was imminent—tomorrow morning, in fact—and she still didn’t understand what happened between husbands and wives. To think that husbands had something big between their legs called a cock that got hard when they took their wives to bed…well, it simply sounded ridiculous. Especially the part about the hard cock going inside the wife’s kitty. Or cunny.

  Oh dear. Perhaps Cynny should have been patient and waited for Lord Kensington to teach her all she needed to know. He would be her papa soon, after all, and it was a papa’s job to care for and guide his little girl in all things.

  Another thought struck her. What if Cammie’s new papa, Lord Cavendish, was some sort of scoundrel and was subjecting her to serious improprieties that weren’t the norm in polite society? Cynny sighed and put her face in her hands, trying to decide what she should do. She’d already asked Daisy and Rosie if they had any idea what happened between married people, and both of them had pleaded innocence.

  Cynny swallowed hard and looked over at her finished wedding gown spread out on a large trunk at the foot of her bed. It was a beautiful cream colored dress trimmed with lace, a bit girlish in style but still quite lovely. Her heart commenced pounding and the strange pulsing she’d been experiencing more and more lately between her thighs started up again. She pressed her legs together, reveling in the slight relief this gave her, and began squirming on the bed.

  Mm. This feels nice.

  For a reason she couldn’t fathom, Lord Grayson’s face suddenly flashed in her mind, but she didn’t cease her gyrating motion upon the mattress. In fact, she moved faster and faster, as the delicious throbbing in her privates deepened.

  She flushed and stared at the closed door, fearing someone—particularly Miss Wickersham—would walk in on her at any moment. She wanted to lift up her skirts and touch her kitty, but she hesitated.

  No. Be a good girl. Be a good girl so you can still marry Lord Kensington.

  She took a deep breath and pulled out Cammie’s letter again. Perhaps if she read it over and over, it might start to make more sense. But no matter how many times she reread the missive, she didn’t quite understand. Nor did she understand the dampness that was now rubbing between her thighs as she resumed squirming around on the bed, pressing her thighs together even tighter. She also didn’t comprehend why the aching increased whenever she thought of the handsome yet frustrating Lord Grayson. She folded the confusing letter up again and returned it to her pocket, but didn’t cease her unladylike movements upon the bed.

  The mattress gave a loud squeak, and it was at that moment the door was flung open.

  Cynny froze. Miss Wickersham stood in the doorway, eyeing her with suspicion.

  “What are you doing in here all by yourself? You are supposed to be helping Cook.”

  “I finished helping Cook early,” she said, trying her best to look innocent, as if she hadn’t just been wiggling around on her mattress in an effort to make her kitty feel oh so good.

  “I heard noises. You w
eren’t jumping on your bed, were you?” Miss Wickersham crossed her arms, appearing quite stern.

  Cynny’s tummy clenched, along with her bottom cheeks. Her last punishment at the headmistress’s hands remained fresh in her mind. “I just sat down very quickly and the mattress gave a squeak. I swear I wasn’t jumping.” She folded her hands in her lap, attempting to look prim and proper, ever aware that the stolen watch was in the pocket of her dress, along with Cammie’s odd letter. Talk about contraband. If Miss Wickersham decided to question her longer, or search her—which happened occasionally when things went missing around Talcott House—Cynny was doomed beyond all measure.

  “Miss Wickersham! Miss Wickersham!” Garland rushed up to the headmistress. “You must come quick! Daisy said a naughty word, and when I tried to escort her to your study, she ran off into the gardens and now I can’t find her.”

  “What word did she say?”

  Garland whispered something in Miss Wickersham’s ear that had the older woman’s eyes bugging out of her head. Cynny wasn’t surprised, as the few naughty words she knew, she had learned from Daisy. But she was smart enough not to repeat them in the presence of Garland or any of the other caretakers in Talcott House.

  Both women rushed off, leaving Cynny alone.

  Poor Daisy. Cynny hoped Miss Wickersham wasn’t too strict with her, though she supposed hiding from a caretaker in the gardens was a bit more mischievous than simply uttering a naughty word. A sympathetic quiver raced across Cynny’s bottom as she imagined the kind of trouble her friend had landed herself in, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit smug that she wasn’t the one headed to Miss Wickersham’s study for a change. She also felt grateful to her friend for unknowingly saving her from further questioning by Miss Wickersham.

  Cynny stuck her hand in her pocket, caressing the letter and the pocket watch.

  No more squirming and no more thinking about touching her kitty, she resolved. She would endeavor to be pure in thought and deed until her wedding tomorrow. And then she would finally have a papa and she would henceforth be known as Lady Kensington.

  It seemed almost too good to be true.

  Chapter 6

  Bloody hell, Grayson. You look like something a stable boy scrapes off his boots.”

  Unlike earlier in the evening, Grayson was not pleased to see Lord Caldwell. After the fiasco at the ball, he had retreated to the sanctuary of his club where he had taken full advantage of his membership status to imbibe in copious amounts of alcohol. Perkins, the club steward, had made the ill-fated suggestion that perhaps Lord Grayson would like to retire to one of the guest rooms above stairs in order to rest.

  And now, not only had the help taken notice of his smashed state, but his friend Lord Caldwell had arrived to witness his misery. Grayson’s appreciation for Caldwell’s convivial nature evaporated and he scowled up at him. “Leave me alone, Caldwell.”

  “Not bloody likely.” Caldwell pulled a seat up nearer to Grayson and peered at his face. “You need a bath and some rest, mate. What has gotten into you? You caused quite a stir at the ball.”

  Grayson’s head pounded and he scrubbed his hands over his face. “I have made a mess of things, it would appear.”

  “You have given the ladies something to chatter about, certainly, but I believe your reputation is quite safe...as long as you are not seen in public in your current state. Honestly, Grayson. What were you thinking? Is it true you asked Miss Venture about a street gang?”

  Grayson leapt from his seat as fast as a man with a banger of a headache could and paced across the plush carpet and back again, arms pumping at his sides in agitation.

  “I do not know what has happened to me,” he said, tamping down the panic—or was that his dinner—rising inside him. “What the blazes was I thinking? I had never spoken to the young woman before and the first thing out of my mouth was to ask her about a street gang? Not the weather or a compliment to her gown? Have I lost my bloody mind?”

  “You would not be the first gentleman to lose his concentration in the presence of a comely young lady, Grayson,” his friend generously pointed out. “Though I must admit, it seems quite uncharacteristic for you.”

  “Exactly!” Grayson said and continued his pacing. Perkins arrived bearing a pot of tea on a tray which he sat upon a table and commenced preparing a cup for the agitated lord. Without even asking, he simply put the cup in Grayson’s hand the next time he held still long enough for the act to be completed. Once the hot liquid hit his throat, Grayson was grateful and felt a mite bad over his poor treatment of the steward a few minutes prior.

  “A street gang? Named The Weasels? Are you daft, man? Did you make the entire thing up?” Caldwell shook his head. “No, never mind. Whether it is fact or fiction, the question is, why did you say it at all?”

  Grayson finished his tea and held the cup out for a refill. He was grateful for the late hour, even by the standards of White’s, which meant only Caldwell, Perkins and a couple of servants were privy to the spectacle his complete discomposure created. He was this far in, he might as well share all.

  “I-I met a girl, a young lady, recently. A most unusual young lady with hair like spun gold and the disposition of an angel. Yet, she told me the most outrageous tale of being part of a street gang called The Weasels.”

  Caldwell’s mouth hung open and he leaned toward Grayson as though in disbelief, when he finally closed it enough to make his jaw work, he said, “Where is she? If she has captivated you so much that you have lost all sense of composure, why were you at a ball dancing with other young ladies? No wonder you were so dissatisfied with your dance partners.”

  “She is,” Grayson’s heart squeezed in his chest in a most unfamiliar way as he spoke, “betrothed to another. In fact, I believe she is to be wed in a matter of hours.” His consternation over his own behavior at the ball paled in comparison to the complete misery which engulfed him at the prospect of another man touching his Miss Heathrow. To hell with blood and lineage and his once staunchly held beliefs regarding such matters. What a cad he’d been to consider himself above anyone. He found he cared not who her parents were and thought her more charming and intelligent than any of the ladies of the ton. It occurred to him that he didn’t even know her first name, but it mattered not. She was an angel fallen from heaven above, her habit of telling fanciful stories of street gangs notwithstanding.

  “Betrothed to another, you say? Then we have not a moment to lose, now do we, Grayson. Come on man, we have a bride to fight for.”

  “What are you talking about, Caldwell? I told you, she is betrothed to another.”

  “And so that is it, then? Have you told her of your feelings for her?”

  Here Grayson nearly blushed in humiliation. “I-I have only spoken to her one time. I am sure she would be shocked to know I was even still thinking of her. In fact, I am shocked by it myself. Perhaps I ought to see a doctor. Clearly I have contracted some loathsome disease.”

  “The most loathsome disease of all, my friend. You are in love.” Caldwell grabbed Grayson’s arm with one hand and another cup of tea from Perkins with his other. “We have no time to spare. We must get you cleaned up and then we are off to—” Caldwell cocked his head to the side and studied Grayson. “Where are we off to, my lord?”

  “Talcott House. And we must hurry.”

  “Oh, Cynny, you are the most beautiful bride I ever saw,” Rosie said as she circled slowly around her friend who was adorned in all her bridal finery.

  Cynny giggled. “I am the first bride you've ever seen, Rosie,” she said, “so of course I am the most beautiful.”

  “Even if I had seen one hundred brides, none could be nearly as pretty as you, Hyacinth, and well you know it.”

  “Oh, do you really think so, Rosie?” Cynny asked. She was quite anxious over the fact that she would, within just a few hours, be married to Lord Kensington, a man she had never met before. Although she had great faith in Miss Wickersham’s ability to select
just the right papa for each of her girls, Hyacinth could not help but feel a bit anxious. She comforted herself with the reminder that her friend Cammie had found true love with her papa, Lord Cavendish. And she had never met him before she was married either, so clearly Miss Wickersham knew what she was doing.

  If that were really true, then why could Cynny not stop thinking about Lord Grayson, the man she met in the garden just a few days ago? Their encounter had been extremely brief and Cynny knew that she was inexperienced with men, and so perhaps the warm feeling in her tummy she had for Lord Grayson was simply the result of meeting an attractive man. She certainly hoped that Lord Kensington would be a handsome man as well.

  Cynny realized it was ironic that she hoped for a handsome husband since she had been judged and approved of for her beauty her entire life. Very few people had bothered to get to know the girl beneath the beautiful golden curls. Cynny looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. She missed Cammie. She wished she was here with her today to share in her special moment, but also to give her advice.

  The letter from Cammie still had her confused, and she thought of the most shocking tidbit from the letter and nearly gasped in her nervousness.

  Your papa will have a big shaft between his legs called a cock. It will get hard when he desires you and he will thrust it inside your kitty.

  Even if papas had cocks, what exactly did they look like? Shaft was too vague a description and Cynny wished Cammie had drawn her a picture.

  In addition to being anxious about marrying a man she had never even spoken to before, Cynny had not yet had her meeting with Nurse Lister. Before Cammie got married she had a special examination with Nurse Lister and when Cammie returned to their shared bedroom, she had the most calm expression on her face and a mysterious smile on her lips. When Cynny asked her about it, all Cammie could say was, “You'll have to wait until it's your turn. It is too much for me to describe.”

  Ever since then Cynny had been waiting for her turn with Nurse Lister in order to find out what happens between married men and women. Between a papa and his little girl. She had the letter from Cammie, but she had more questions than the letter answered. Would she be able to ask them of Nurse Lister without dying of embarrassment? For example, how on Earth would something like a big hard cock fit inside her kitty? She mostly hoped that Nurse Lister would volunteer the information so she would not be forced into the humiliating situation of being forced to ask.