Page 2 of My Lord, Lady, and Gentleman

His heart sank. He certainly didn’t need reminding that Susanna and Joseph would never be his. No matter how many invitations he’d accepted in London, just for a glimpse of them. No matter how many times he’d woken up in the night, hard and aching after wickedly explicit dreams of fucking them both. No matter how many gushing newspaper articles he’d pored over, or inadequate sketches of their eyes and lips he’d thrown into the fire.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Chapter 1

St. James’s Square, London

Today. Today is the day for change. For I cannot bear another moment of this loveless, passionless marriage.

Pasting a bright smile on her face, Lady Susanna Fenton swept into the lavishly furnished dining room of their townhouse. “Good morning, Joseph.”

Lord Joseph Fenton, her startlingly handsome husband, looked up from his newspaper and gave her a tight smile. “Good morning.”

Oh bother. She’d done it again. Called him Joseph, when he wanted her to say ‘my lord’ or ‘Fenton’ like the well-bred ton ladies did.

For about the thousandth time she inwardly cursed the Prince Regent for his so-called gift of a barony which had turned her husband into a cold and too-proper stranger and forced her into the unwanted role of aristocratic wife. Mr. Joseph Fenton had laughed, charmed with a beautiful Irish brogue, and called her Susie. Lord Fenton’s face was unreadable, his tone determinedly English-clipped, and he only referred to her as Susanna or Lady Fenton. Sure, their marriage hadn’t ever been perfect; friendship and like minds hadn’t translated to passion in the bedchamber. But now…it was a shadow of what it had once been. What it should be.

“How is your breakfast, my lord?” she continued, as a peace offering, and his smile warmed a little.

“Most adequate. You should try some of Cook’s blackberry preserve. By the by, you are looking fetching this morning. That shade of green always looks superb on you.”

Susanna barely suppressed a wince at the ton breakfast conversation, impersonal and insubstantial. All it needed was a comment on the weather, bleak, cold and gray as October in London tended to be. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, returning to the ironed broadsheet. “We have another shipment of lace coming in this evening. I’ll supervise the unloading at Wapping, some of those deckhands can be clumsy.”

“Very well,” she replied, gritting her teeth as she turned to the sideboard of warmed dishes, and filled her plate with coddled eggs, thinly sliced ham, and buttered toast.

It was either that or hurl the plate at the wall.

While she’d long suspected Joseph had married her mostly for her father’s very successful importing empire, the reminders hurt like relentless needle pricks. Once upon a time, she’d thought he cared. Perhaps even loved her. But their marriage was nothing like her parents had been; a world of interesting conversation, saucy banter, clasped hands and tender smiles. And so very passionate. How often had Mama and Papa told her to go and enjoy cake in the kitchens with Cook, then returned later with suspiciously pink cheeks, bright eyes, and fresh clothing?

That was the kind of marriage she wanted. What she had was a polite, distant husband who saw her as a walking, talking display for fabric and accessories, a proper lady to occasionally visit at night, take swiftly and gently, and abandon. Susanna Fenton might have wealth, position, and a blasted title, but she also had a heartbreakingly empty nursery, for Joseph wouldn’t spill inside her…and a desperate craving for the orgasms he didn’t provide.

She just knew there was so much more to lust. At the docks, one couldn’t help but see all sorts of jaw-dropping sights. And a curious miss who had found a small window overlooking a secluded alley saw and heard more than most. Good heavens. The rough carnality of it all had been truly startling…and so very arousing. Couples engaged in frenzied rutting against the stone wall, women having their swollen nipples suckled, and hard cocks thrusting into eager mouths. Men on their knees, their tongues and fingers working busily between spread thighs. Blunt, crude words, moans of pleasure, and most wicked of all, occasionally more than two people. That she still went to that window to watch and yearn after two years of marriage was her own secret shame, for it definitely wasn’t the behavior of a perfect baroness.

Yet it wasn’t that Joseph lacked passion. At times she could almost feel the raw, brooding Dubliner simmering under the controlled surface. He just had to be coaxed out of his aristocratic shell. So she had devised a plan. A very naughty plan to provoke his ire, and ensure he saw her not as a prim society wife, but as a bold, alluring, sensual woman who needed love and erotic pleasure.

Taking a deep breath to calm her frazzled nerves, Susanna took her plate to the oak dining table and sat at Joseph’s right, rather than in her usual place at the opposite end with miles of polished wood and oversized floral arrangements between them.

Her husband raised his head from the newspaper again and gave her a quizzical look. “Is something wrong with your chair?”

“N-no,” she mumbled, tongue-tied. Gracious, he smelled delicious. Sandalwood soap and some sort of herbal concoction his valet splashed on his jaw after shaving. “I wanted to tell you something. Something, ah, private.”

“Oh?”

“Now we are home from Venice, I am planning on commissioning a portrait.”

Joseph smiled politely. “What an excellent idea, the gallery is rather sparse. Or perhaps in the drawing room. A gilt-framed painting will look just so.”

“It’s not, ah, that kind of portrait,” Susanna continued, a blush scorching across her cheeks. “The painter is…Clayton Irving.”

Her husband froze. “Beg pardon?”

“Clayton Irving. He’s—”

“I’ve heard of him,” said Joseph, his jaw rigid.

She paused, even as her heart soared with hope. A reaction! Now, to push him a little further. “Of course you have. Mr. Irving is divinely handsome, ever so popular, and an exceedingly talented artist who is making a name for himself painting ladies of the ton…without clothing. He is traveling here from Guildford and should arrive this afternoon to discuss terms and show me his portfolio. I did initially invite him a few days ago, but he had some meeting he couldn’t miss with Lady Portia Butler.”