Under a New Year's Enchantment. Barbara Monajem
woman,” Garrick said, but he couldn’t suppress a grin at the image Val’s words had conjured up. “In any event, it’s absurd. Theodora is...”
“Very pretty,” Val said.
“Calm, capable and a spinster by choice,” retorted Garrick.
“She has a mighty trim figure,” Val contributed.
Including a particularly attractive bosom, but Garrick’s appreciation of it had nothing to do with Theodora’s hypothetical desires. “Many women have good figures. If I’ve noticed hers, it’s your fault for stirring up the entire household—you and that damned succubus.”
“That’s no way to speak of Lucie,” Val said, suddenly not the least bit amused. “She can’t help what she is.” Lucille Beaulieu, like Val, had been a spy for years. With the two of them in the same house, extraordinarily sensual by nature and most likely sending dreams about like shuttlecocks, it was no wonder the party had become so erotically charged.
“I don’t suppose she means any harm, and nor do you, but this party is beginning to resemble an orgy,” Garrick said. “Maynard Buxton is chasing—and frequently catching—everything in skirts, and if I’m not mistaken, even my aunt is indulging herself.”
Val laughed. “Yes, with Mr. Wedgewood, the only available widower.”
“It’s unlike her—she’s one of the starchiest women I know—and it’s all your fault,” Garrick said. “If you’ve been sending dreams to Theodora, stop it.”
Val grinned. “Only the first night I was here.” Lord Valiant had come to Westerly on a bizarre mission for the Office of the British Incubi—to arouse Theodora’s interest in sensuality in order to encourage her to marry. Evidently, one of Theodora’s relatives had influence with the incubi and wanted her wed before she became a confirmed old maid. It was damned officious, in Garrick’s opinion.
“Since then, Lucie and I have been sparring with dreams,” Val said. “Or rather, I’ve been sparring openly and she’s been pretending not to. But it’s not like shooting or archery, old fellow. One conjures up erotic images and aims them at the intended recipient, but thoughts don’t necessarily go straight to their destination and stop there. They tend to diffuse and affect everyone.”
Garrick had seen this effect during the war—it definitely had its uses—but he didn’t want it here in his house. “I’ve no interest in women at the moment, so it’s a bloody nuisance.”
“Tsk,” Val said. “A woman is just what you need.” Trust Val to exit on a typical parting shot. “I’m off to a warm bed. Enjoy your cold one.”
* * *
Very well, I do want it, Theodora admitted to herself a few hours later as she lay in bed. If people were going to call her a loose woman when it wasn’t true, why maintain her very proper, very boring innocence? Sometimes she became so frustrated she felt she would burst. She longed to escape the tedium of many aspects of her life, but there was no place to go. However...why not find a lover and have an affaire?
Not Garrick, though. Perhaps Lucille was right and the war had affected him badly, but Theodora would never forget how horridly he had treated her tonight. She would have to find another candidate. She considered the other males at the party and dismissed them with a shudder. She ran through a list of attractive men she’d met in London—even a particularly brawny coal-heaver, unfortunately impossible—but her mind kept returning to Garrick. She fell asleep thinking of him.
She woke sweating and aroused, touching herself. She’d been dreaming of Garrick. His hot, sensual eyes devoured her through the thin fabric of her nightdress. Her nipples were hard against the fabric. More than that, they were visible, and he smiled and brushed them with his hand.
Her heart thudded with the power of the dream. This was nothing like the daydreams she’d had of Garrick or other men. Her imagination had never—could never conjure up anything so—so overwhelming. So intoxicating. So very real.
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