Two Secret Sins Read online

  Two Secret Sins: A Scandal in Mayfair Book 2

  By

  Anna Campbell

  Copyright © 2021 by Anna Campbell

  annacampbell.com

  ISBN 978-1925980066

  These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Anna Campbell.

  Cover art by Hang Le

  E-book Formatting by Web Crafters

  www.webcraftersdesign.com

  Dedication:

  To my dear friend Valarie Ross

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from One Wicked Wish

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Half Moon Street, Mayfair, London, March 1816

  Eliot Ridley, Viscount Colville, stepped back to survey the perfect globes of his mistress’s bare buttocks, presented to him as she bent over the carved base of her bed. By heaven, he was the luckiest fellow in England.

  His hands caught Verena’s luscious rump, as he leaned in to kiss that firm white flesh. This close to her sex, the rich scent of her excitement invaded his senses. He breathed deep, loving that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

  Under his mouth, she shifted in encouragement. “Don’t wait, Eliot,” she said in a constricted voice. With her stomach crushed against the wooden edge, catching enough breath to speak must be difficult. She quivered in response as he nipped her.

  “Spread your legs wider,” he said gruffly, too on edge for niceties as he rose behind her.

  She obeyed, sliding her feet further apart across the carpet, and hitched upward until he could see her sleek pink cleft. He repositioned his grip on her hips and thrust forward with a smoothness that took him to the hilt. As his body sank into hers, his soul sank into immediate peace. Which seemed mad, when he was as sexually aroused as a man could be. But since their first encounter, Verena had always had this magical effect on him.

  As he basked in her hot, wet clasp, he sucked in a huge breath. It felt like his first full breath in a month.

  Sighing with pleasure, she clenched around him as if she never meant to let him go. For a long moment, they remained still, captive to the mighty power of this connection. Then, with an incoherent grumble deep in her throat, she bumped back. He took the hint and began to move in long, hard, possessive strokes that penetrated to the place inside her that drove her wild.

  “Oh, yes,” she gasped, as she began to shake. “More.”

  Eliot smiled with tigerish intent and released her hips to catch her waist. While she shuddered and writhed through a storm of feminine pleasure, he kept moving.

  He bent over her to caress the full breasts that bobbed with every thrust. Her whimper of surrender became another melting sigh. She reached back to give his face a clumsy caress, then her hand dropped down to fist in the sheets as another wave hit her hard.

  Eliot’s balls were aching and, despite his best intentions, his thrusts became less measured. In a perfect world, he’d maintain this relentless rhythm that she loved until she called a halt, but in this one, he was too close to climax to last much longer.

  She must have felt it because with a brief grunt of amusement, she nudged back once more. “Will you let me finish you?” she murmured, her voice husky after her lengthy orgasm.

  As he pulled free, he couldn’t summon any words. Dear Lord, he could barely summon a coherent thought. He straightened and stepped away on unsteady legs.

  She braced her arms against the base of the bed and rose. He couldn’t doubt that he’d satisfied her. Her uncharacteristic awkwardness told him that pleasure still rippled through her. “On the bed or here?”

  “Here,” he said and almost lost himself as she fell to her knees before him.

  Verena’s hungry gaze settled on the erect penis jutting toward her. Her greedy anticipation thundered through him like a herd of runaway horses. He shuddered again when she cradled his balls, then encircled that column of swollen flesh with her hand.

  “Don’t…don’t be too long about it,” he managed to croak out, which drew another huff of amusement from her.

  The amusement faded, and her expression became intent. Her hold firmed as with the ease and eagerness that always made his heart perform acrobatics, she took him into her mouth.

  More heat. More pressure. More blazing pleasure. Her lips began to move on him, and he buried his unsteady hand in her tumble of mahogany hair as he yielded to the invincible rise to completion.

  On a muffled growl, she increased the pressure. That ruined any chance of holding back. Verena knew a thousand ways of teasing him until he was half-mad. But today, he was too close to the brink to extend their play.

  He angled forward and on a guttural groan, he delivered himself up to her. Digging his fingers into her skull, he jerked helplessly into her mouth. She took every drop with an avidity that only intensified his ecstasy.

  At last, he managed to step away on legs that were near to collapse. She sat back on her heels and raised one hand to wipe her lips. Her blue eyes were dark, and alive with sensual knowledge. And wicked self-satisfaction with what she’d just done. Verena liked knowing that he couldn’t resist her.

  Shaking, he retreated until his hand met the bedpost. He needed its help to stay standing.

  As she took in his wobbly state, Verena smiled. “I can see you missed me.”

  Missed her? This last month on the family estate had lasted an eon. He’d tried to leave Hamble Park after a fortnight, but his business dealings had been more complicated than expected and his oaf of a father had been as intransigent as usual. In good conscience, he hadn’t been able to escape back to London until now.

  At a furious clip, he’d driven to Lorimer Square where he left his carriage in his father’s stables. Then instead of calling into his rooms at the Albany, he’d headed straight to Verena’s elegant house. The lack of her these last weeks had left him restless and unhappy and out of sorts.

  He told her none of that. Instead, his lips curled in wry acknowledgement. “A little.”

  Her smile deepened. “You needed that.”

  “I did.”

  Turning up today, he’d broken a longstanding arrangement. It was Wednesday, while until now, he always visited on Friday afternoons. When he’d let himself into the garden and knocked on the French doors, he hadn’t been sure whether Verena would give him his marching orders or invite him into her bed.

  Her hatchet-faced butler Merton had shown him into the gold and white drawing room. When Verena joined him, Eliot had prepared for some complaint about his extended absence. But she’d taken one glance at his face, and whatever she’d seen there had her rushing over to fling her arms around him and deliver a passionate, open-mouthed kiss.

  Within minutes, his breeches gaped open, and he was heaving and grunting over her as she sprawled across the priceless Turkey carpet. Their first fuck downstairs had been h
ot and fierce and over within minutes. After he’d caught his breath and fastened his breeches, she took him by the hand and led him up to her bedroom.

  He felt like he hadn’t done her justice in the drawing room, although she’d reached her peak with a little help from his hand on her quim. The incendiary memory rushed through him and despite his exhaustion, he felt a distant spark of interest.

  She always melted into climax with a naturalness that thrilled him. He’d never known a woman so frank about how she relished the sexual act. There was nothing shy about Verena Gerard. Right from the first, she’d demonstrated no trace of shame or shock at anything that they did together. Her attitude to sex was like a man’s. Even more practical than most of the men he knew. When she wanted something, she set out to get it.

  Right now and for the last six months, she’d wanted Eliot Ridley. When their affair started, her enthusiasm and daring had been a glorious surprise. Her appetite for pleasure and her refusal to apologize for her powerful urges still enthralled him.

  Verena rose to her feet and wandered across to the door of the dressing room. He studied the perfect line of her back and the gentle movement of those round buttocks. She was a creature of delicious curves, perfectly shaped to fit his hands.

  She turned in the doorway, giving him the chance to feast on the sight of the pointed pink nipples that he loved to kiss. His gaze traced the pale plain of her stomach and the nest of dark brown curls at the juncture of her thighs. That niggle of interest became a little more urgent, although he was nowhere near ready for another bout.

  Verena was a beautiful woman, and most beautiful of all when she was naked. Partly because she didn’t display an ounce of self-consciousness. She had a body created for pleasure, and she knew it.

  “I missed you, too,” she said in a careless way, as if it didn’t mean anything.

  Verena might be incapable of shock, but Eliot still was.

  As she disappeared into the dressing room, astonishment crashed through him, stole his breath. He couldn’t believe his ears. Theirs was a relationship built purely on physical compatibility. They didn’t swap confidences or whisper sweet endearments to each other in the cuddly aftermath to sex.

  They didn’t partake of many cuddly aftermaths. Most of the time, Verena sent him on his way, once he’d satisfied her urges. She didn’t share her troubles with him. Nor did her sympathetic hand on his brow soothe away the difficulties of his day. Although on numerous occasions, she’d offered him relief from his worries and annoyances with a good fuck. He had no complaints about that.

  Lady Verena Gerard didn’t stay with her lovers for long, although while she did, she was faithful. Her affair with Eliot constituted one of her more enduring liaisons. Which meant that while he’d arrived here today frantic to have her, he hadn’t been sure if after a month’s absence, he still counted as her lover.

  Given what they’d done this afternoon, he guessed that he still did.

  By the time she returned to the bed, smelling of jasmine soap and wrapped in a ruby velvet peignoir that complemented her pink and white complexion, he’d convinced himself not to make too much of what she’d said.

  After giving her a swift kiss, he went through to clean himself up. Verena’s well-trained and discreet servants always made sure that hot water and refreshments were set out in the dressing room. He’d turned up in all his travel dirt, but he’d been in such a lather to see his mistress that he’d been unable to wait. He was shamingly aware that a gentleman should have taken the trouble to wash and shave before he called on a lady.

  Eliot pulled on his breeches and poured two brandies, before he stepped back into the shadowy bedroom. Verena was ranged on the bed, lolling against the pile of pillows. The loose peignoir sagged open over her generous bosom. With her kiss-swollen lips and cascade of dark hair, she looked thoroughly debauched.

  He smiled in masculine appreciation and leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. “I’ve brought you a brandy.”

  “Thank you,” she said, holding out her hand as he straightened and approached. He delivered the drink and bent to brush a kiss across her ruffled hair.

  He crossed to stand at the window, watching the late afternoon light fade across her garden. Spring was tardy arriving this year. The spindly trees held a hint of green, but the daffodils were yet to appear. Traffic noise seeped in from the street in front of the house, but right now, he felt like he and Verena shared a private bubble. It was a deuced pleasant fantasy.

  He sipped his drink and let his mind dwell on what they’d just done. What they might do next.

  “Are you at leisure this evening?” He turned to face her. “I could stay.”

  What Eliot really wanted was a night alone with Verena. The last few weeks had been hell, yet the sight of his headstrong mistress made all the vexations go away. He wasn’t ready to step out of this opulent bedroom and face the world’s clamor once again.

  With a shake of her lovely head, she set her half-empty glass on the nightstand. “I’m engaged for dinner at Celia Edgecombe’s.”

  Verena didn’t sound particularly disappointed to send Eliot on his way. Why would she? She enjoyed his company. She enjoyed having his cock inside her even more. But neither were essential to her well-being, whereas he thought of her all the time and his desire for her verged on obsession.

  It was damnable being at her mercy, but he couldn’t break free. Theirs was a deuced strange affair.

  She was such a goddess in his arms, that it was a risk trying to change things between them. Yet he couldn’t help taking that risk.

  He finished his brandy and set the glass down on top of the chest of drawers. “Would you like to go driving tomorrow?”

  His invitation made her raise her eyebrows in surprise. “In Hyde Park?”

  “If you like.”

  She gave a gurgle of laughter. “You’re in a bizarre humor today, my lord. Time with your family always puts you on edge.”

  He frowned and swung away to the window again. “Time with my father does. Imogen and Stella are perfectly acceptable company.” In a week, his younger sister Imogen arrived in London for her first season. Stella, his cousin, acted as Imogen’s companion and chaperone. “So will you come out in my carriage?”

  As he posed the question, he knew what her answer would be.

  “I won’t.”

  No, she wouldn’t. In the half a year that they’d been together, they’d managed to keep their liaison a secret from the nosiest society on earth. It was something of a miracle. The fact that they made such an unlikely couple helped preserve their privacy. Nobody would imagine Lord Colville and Lady Verena Gerard feeling anything for each other except polite disdain.

  But the moment Eliot caught a glimpse of the notorious widow at a hunt meet in Leicestershire, he’d known she was the one for him. He’d been staying with a friend in the neighborhood. It turned out that Verena, who was a punishing rider, had a hunting box nearby.

  He’d heard of her, of course. A woman so beautiful and so profligate with her favors couldn’t help sparking gossip. If anyone had asked him, although nobody was likely to, he’d have said that such an undiscriminating female wasn’t to his taste.

  So he’d been unprepared for the impact of that luscious brunette beauty and that wild, joyous spirit. In an instant, all his starchy judgements had crumbled to dust.

  Because Verena wasn’t cheap and shabby and desperate. She was the most vivid person he’d ever met, and in her company, for the first time in his well-behaved existence, he felt alive. As if he emerged from a long dark tunnel into radiant light.

  If his friends ever found out about the affair, they’d be astonished that he’d fallen under this particular lady’s spell. Yet Eliot wasn’t surprised at all. Verena’s warmth and thirst for experience were irresistible to a man who had spent his entire life in the cold. Her presence offered perpetual summer, whereas winter touched everything else around him.

  It was no extraordinary thing
that Eliot should want Verena Gerard. What was extraordinary was that Verena returned his interest.

  Eliot was counted a virtuous, upright member of society, a model of decorum, a man who never set a foot wrong, destined for great things. His ambitious father Lord Deerforth had groomed his only son since childhood for political power.

  A liaison between a future prime minister and the brazen widow was unthinkable.

  When they met, Eliot feared Verena would dismiss him as a dull dog. A fellow too wrapped up in his own rectitude to attract her. The previous men who shared her bed had all been dashing rakes. While Eliot had always been more complicated than his correct manners might indicate, not even in his wildest dreams would he describe himself as either dashing or a rake.

  But when their eyes met over the baying of hounds and the buzz of conversation, some silent message had passed between them. Two days later, he’d called at her house on his way back to Gloucestershire, and she’d taken him into her bed. For three days, he’d dwelled in a heaven that surpassed all previous experience. And despite the virtuous façade he presented to the world, he was a man who had known his fair share of women.

  From the first, he and Verena had both recognized that it was better that nobody knew they were together. But as time went on with no lessening in his interest, he grew impatient with the small part she allowed him to play in her life.

  Now, when she refused him, he didn’t turn to look at her. “I’m not ashamed of you, you know.”

  A bristling silence greeted that. He realized with a sinking heart how patronizing he sounded. Before he could muster an apology, she responded with a hint of acid. “Well, that’s gratifying to hear. Perhaps instead, I’m ashamed of you.”

  Aghast, he turned to face her. “Damn it, Verena, you don’t mean that.”

  The eyes that she leveled on him were cool. How could she turn his blood to steam with her touch, yet look at him as if he was little more than an acquaintance? An annoying acquaintance, at that. “Don’t I?”