Free Dennis, Josie - Wild Heights [Classics Rekindled 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) by Josie Dennis Page B

they use her so? How had she so willingly given Henry her maidenhead that afternoon in the lodge? No mention of love, certainly none of marriage, had been made. Now she was to believe them?
    “Not bloody likely,” she muttered.
    She scrubbed herself, erasing the feel of them. The smell of them. She ached in her bottom, but it wasn’t unpleasant. They’d both been inside of her, and it had been glorious. Quite fitting for a last time.
    No more tears, then. They’d given her pleasure, to be sure. And the knowledge that she held a power she’d never imagined, able to captivate the two of them for this brief time at least. She let out a harsh breath.
    That would have to be enough.

    * * * *

    Edward heard the whispers, harsh and insidious. He turned his head, finding three gentlemen on High Street eyeing him with dark gazes. He nodded to them and turned away. A group of ladies watched him, speaking behind their hands and clucking like hens. Their eyes, too, were dark with speculation before they put on their maidenly masks. What the devil was going on?
    Henry was in the pub, settling their bill before they headed back to the Grange. It had been three days since that horrid night in their parlor, and they had not yet thought of a way to untangle this mess. Cathy returned their missives unopened. She refused the hothouse flowers they’d sent. The Lord knew they had little experience properly courting any woman, let alone the one with whom they wished to spend their lives. They were at a loss about how to set matters to rights.
    As he strolled back to the carriage, one of the three gentlemen approached him. “Say, Linden!”
    Edward stopped and faced him, arching a brow in question. “Pickering.”
    The man stepped closer. “How did you manage it, Linden? You and Heath?”
    Edward’s stomach took a tumble, though he kept his face impassive. “Pardon?”
    Pickering grinned, a lascivious expression that proved nauseating on his fat face. “The Earling chit. She’s a prize piece to be sure, but no gentleman has been able to woo her. And now we hear that the two of you have…” He winked. “Well, perhaps it is better left unsaid.”
    Edward’s hands fisted. “What did you hear?”
    “All are talking about it,” Pickering said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Why, I myself saw how…attached the three of you were at my home the other night.”
    “Damn it all, Pickering. State your meaning or I shall have to call you out.”
    Pickering’s fat mouth fell open, his ruddy cheeks growing redder by the moment.
    “What’s going on?” Henry came to Edward’s side. “Pickering, your eyes are boggled. Eat a sour kipper this morning?”
    “Heath.” Pickering bowed his head, no doubt struggling to affect his usual air of modest gentility. “I was merely asking after Miss Earling. She has not been seen in company since the recital. Keeping her to yourselves?”
    Henry leaned closer. “Excuse me?”
    Pickering had the audacity to preen. “I’m curious, is all.”
    Edward exchanged a worried glance with Henry, who faced Pickering once again. “Curious?” he growled.
    Apparently Pickering hadn’t the sense God gave a partridge, for he missed the import of Henry’s tone. “Yes. However did you two of you managed to bed her?”
    Edward’s fist shot out, catching Pickering square in the face. “How dare you speak of her!”
    Henry grabbed Edward’s arm before he could thrash the bastard. “Easy.” Stepping between them, he placed a hand on Pickering’s barrel chest, shoving hard. “Did I hear you correctly?” Henry rubbed his jaw then flexed his hands. “Because if I did, you will have more than a bloody nose before the day is out.”
    Pickering gasped as blood poured down his face.
    “Carrying tales spread by a jealous young woman,” Henry mused aloud, taking out his handkerchief to hand the lout. “Not very gentlemanly. Perhaps your wife does indeed keep your balls in her sewing basket.”
    Pickering