Maggie MacKeever by Lord Fairchild's Daughter Read Free Book Online

of furniture as he climbed the winding mahogany staircase to his mistress’s chamber. It was said that the opera dancer herself had been the woodcarver’s inspiration, and Averil had often noted that some of the figures bore a crude resemblance to Felicity in her more passionate moments. Reminding himself to compliment her again on her execrable taste, he knocked discreetly at her door.
    Felicity greeted him with great enthusiasm, running her fingers, as always, along his sabre scar. Averil disentangled himself and surveyed her critically.
    “You look charming, as usual.” He observed, with some distaste, the startling red ensemble in which she had chosen to attire herself. Felicity was in a shocking state of disarray.
    “I did not expect you, my lord,” Felicity murmured, with eyes downcast in a fine imitation of maidenly confusion. Averil watched appreciatively as a blush tinged her ivory cheeks.
    “Better and better,” he replied, flicking a perfectly formed little ear with a careless finger. “You should wear that shade more often, my love. It becomes you.”
    “I thought it would please you.” Felicity bestowed a glance of great innocence upon him. “My mantua maker is the greatest beast; she demands immediate payment. I told her I would take the matter up with you.”
    “Oh?”
    “Averil, I do not know how I am to go on!”
    “And why is that, my love?”
    Felicity’s air of meekness abruptly deserted her, and she stamped a delicate foot upon the floor. “I vow you are the most odious wretch in nature!” she stormed. “Not only were you promised to me for the masquerade last night, but now you set out to make mock!”
    Averil carefully inspected the impeccable folds of his cravat in a nearby mirror. “I trust that you did not allow my absence to curtail your activities?”
    “No,” Felicity sniffed, oblivious to the dangerous gleam in her protector’s eye.
    “And which of your faithful swains escorted you?” Averil nonchalantly adjusted his sleeves.
    “Theo,” Felicity retorted triumphantly. Her tone quickly changed as Averil moved swiftly toward her. “But it was of no consequence, I assure you!” Further protestations were made impossible by the hands that fastened themselves around her neck.
    Felicity saw colors of many startling hues, before Averil’s strong fingers released her and she fell backwards upon the bed. She silently bewailed, not for the first time, her lack of wit. Another, wiser, woman would have long since learned to deal carefully with the Duke of Chesshire, but Felicity had the unhappy tendency to arouse his temper as often as his ardor. At his best, Averil was not a gentle lover; at his worst, it was as if he were possessed by a horde of malicious demons, and Felicity was often hard-pressed to disguise the bruises he left upon her fair skin. She lay back upon the bed, reluctant to move.
    Averil looked down upon the frightened woman with barely-concealed contempt and wondered what had ever attracted him to such a voracious creature. He had seen in her the opportunity to infuriate his old rival, but little else. That old score would be someday evened, but Averil was content to bide his time. He had long ago promised himself the pleasure of Theo’s disgrace, but not before he had broken the man’s spirit.
    That his efforts had, thus far, met with little success bothered him not at all. He was in no hurry to take his revenge. Averil’s fingers strayed again to the scar, obtained in a duel over some long-forgotten woman. He’d been young and inexperienced, and Theo had been quick to take advantage. Averil’s eyes blazed as he remembered the older man’s taunts.
    “Do not be angry, cherie,” Felicity crooned, sadly mistaking the reason for Averil’s silence. “You must know that I am devoted to you. Theo doesn’t signify!” Interpreting Averil’s expression as sudden passion, she quickly rose to embrace him.
    “I do not choose to share your favors,” he said