Wickedly Wanton: A Ménage Regency Tale Read Free Page A

thought of before the encounter by the stream. She wondered why as a surge of need pulsed through her.
    Standing, Faith dropped the cloth and stood before her. Sabine almost ordered her back on her knees but stopped. Touching her arm, Faith asked, “What harm is there in all of this?”
    Incredulous, Sabine stared at her. “What harm? Our reputations could be ruined beyond repair. So much harm could come from this!”
    “Not if we are prudent with our rendezvous,” Faith insisted.
    Sabine narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Her friend seemed to want this more than she'd have ever thought. Did she want Lord Severn? Sabine herself? Or both…?
    Shaking her head, she smiled at Faith. Arguing wasn't the way to change her mind. “But we don't know if he can truly be prudent,” she whispered, “or if we can truly put our trust in him.”
    Even though she didn't want to admit this to Faith, Sabine was intrigued with the notion of meeting Lord Severn. A chance like she'd never have again, an adventure like no other. She wanted this; what was more, she wanted him. The afternoon interlude by the stream had brought out a side of her she had worked hard to suppress.
    Now, with her marriage to Reddick looming, Sabine wanted to let go. To feel all she could, explore while she had the chance to do so. Even now, her skin tingled and her core clenched in desire, slick with need.
    “I've not heard of any scandals involving women, have you?” Faith asked.
    “No.” Sabine shook her head, focusing on the conversation at hand. “But that does not mean there haven't been any. We'll inquire after his reputation.”
    Faith nodded, accepting it. Sabine relaxed though there was a part of her disappointed in her own words. She couldn't admit how very much she wanted to experience more of the wonderful new sensations Lord Severn—and Faith—had brought forth in her this afternoon.
    * * * *
    Sabine entered her father's study. It wasn't his, per se, of course; they were guests in Mr. Beauchamp's home for the summer. She missed their townhouse in London, but could admit, even without the encounter by the stream this afternoon, she rather enjoyed the country.
    Taking her time, she looked around the furnishings. Decorated in much the same style as the rest of the house, the tapestry-upholstered chairs matched the tapestries along the walls. The room felt very open, despite the dark-paneled walls and shelves of books her father would never bother to read. However, the Louis XIV chairs seemed too small next to her robust father and his guest.
    Her eyes inevitably focused on Mr. Rupert Reddick. The man she was to marry.
    Taking a deep breath, Sabine nodded politely to him, offering a small curtsy in greeting. Her stomach churned with anger, resentment, and a little fear, but she kept her face blank of all emotion. Her father would use that against her.
    “Harold,” Reddick said as if the two men were the oldest and best of friends. Sabine knew better but remained silent. “Your daughter has grown into quite the beauty.”
    Harold Stanton nodded, laughed in agreement. Taking her arm, he steered her toward the fireplace.
    “Sabine,” he said, “Mr. Reddick has come to call on you. I'm very pleased with this match and expect you to be amenable as well.” When she said nothing, he tightened his fingers on her arm, but not hard enough to bruise. “Treat him well, Sabine. It will make your wedding night more pleasant.”
    She gave one stiff nod and held her tongue.
    “Excellent!” he said, letting her go. “I'll leave you two alone to converse.”
    So saying, he quickly exited the room and closed the door behind him. For a heartbeat, Sabine stared at the closed door in shock. Clearly, her father cared naught for her reputation. Or for what Mr. Reddick may do to her with no chaperone.
    Reddick smiled a rather charming smile at her, and she marginally relaxed. “You have nothing to fear,” he said. “Come sit next to me so we may better know each