Chapter One

England, 1750

George Frederick Worth, the Bishop of Wellington, had one elder brother. Lord William Worth was a colonel in the King's Own Royal West Worcester Dragoons, stationed in India. The bishop had five younger sisters, four of whom had married quite well and were nicely settled. Laetitia, the eldest, was the Duchess of Solway. Charlotte, the second eldest, was the Marchioness of Cardiff. The third, Georgeanne, was the Countess of Dee, and the next to the youngest, Julia, was married to Lord Rafferty of Killarney. It was the youngest, however, who was a thorn in the bishop's portly side.

Lady Lucinda Harrington had been wed at seventeen, and widowed at twenty-three. Her husband, an older man, had left her his considerable fortune, which had not been entailed upon his estate. His title had passed to his twelve-year-old nephew, an obnoxious lad, whose mama had not been of a mind to allow Lucinda to remain at Harrington Hall under the circumstances. Lady Margaret had fully expected her son to inherit all of his uncle's goods and chattels. When he hadn't, she had become quite piqued.

Advised by her trusted barrister that she hadn't a snowball's chance in hell of overturning her brother's will, she had done the next best thing and ordered his widow from the hall. As there was no dower house at Harrington Hall, and as her parents were both deceased, it was George Frederick Worth, the Bishop of Wellington, who had been obliged to take his widowed sister into his household. And from the moment she had arrived, the bishop's life had been more difficult than he could have ever imagined.

"I shall only remain until I can find a house of my own," Lady Lucinda Harrington had announced to her brother and sister-in-law upon her advent at the manse. "I think London, perhaps. I have never lived in the city. I believe a small mansion on one of those delightful little squares I have heard so much about should suit me quite nicely."

Lady Lucinda Harrington smiled a brilliant smile at her brother and his wife. She was a very beautiful young woman with rich, chestnut-colored hair and bright, marine blue eyes. Her sisters were all equally stunning. They had been immortalized by one of the foremost portrait painters of the day in a great canvas titled The Five Graces. It hung in the bishop's main salon. His guests often commented upon the extaordinary beauty of his female siblings.

"You cannot buy yourself a house, Lucinda," the bishop said.

"Why on earth not, George? I am, to use a most vulgar and common expression, filthy rich," Lucinda replied.

"You are a woman, alone," he answered her.

"Because I am a woman, and alone, I cannot purchase my own establishment? That is absolutely ridiculous, Georgie!" she told him.

"I think, my dear," her sister-in-law interjected, "that what George means is that a lovely, well-born widow, without children, alone in her town house might cause unfortunate gossip. You will, of course, want to remarry as soon as possible in any event. Your new husband will more than likely keep a house in London for the season. It would be imprudent to expend monies for your own house under such circumstances. Wouldn't you agree, dearest?"

"But I do not necessarily want to remarry," Lucinda said quietly. "Remember, I was wed at seventeen, and never really had a season in London as Papa couldn't afford it with Julia's dowry to scrape up."

"Not remarry?" The bishop looked scandalized. "Of course you will remarry, Lucinda. You have no other choice."

"Of course I have a choice, Georgie. With my own monies I do not have to be at the mercies of some man. Robert, bless him, certainly saw to that. He advised me himself not to remarry except for love, and love alone. That, he said, was the most valuable advice he could give me. I promised him I should indeed not remarry except for love. You surely would not want me to break a promise I made to my late husband on his deathbed, would you?" She cocked her head to one side questioningly.

"You cannot leave my home except as a bride," the bishop responded stubbornly. "Your reputation would be in tatters almost immediately, and the gossip would reflect upon us all. I know the others would agree, Lucinda. Fortunately your husband was wise enough to leave the management of your inheritance to Mr. Wythe, Senior, of Wythe, Wythe and Smyth, who as it happens are my own solicitors. I shall speak to them in the morning."

"I could also leave your house in my shroud," Lucinda said darkly, glaring at her brother. Georgie could be such a pompous ass.

"You could," he agreed, not in the least intimidated. "She is such a minx," he said later that evening to his wife as they prepared for bed. "She hasn't changed a bit, I fear." He walked across the chamber to where his wife's maid was laying out Caroline's night garment. "You are dismissed, Molly," he told her.

"Yes, yer worship," she said, bobbing a curtsey and hurrying to the door, casting him a coy look over her shoulder as she went.

Opening the door, the bishop gave her bottom a friendly smack and winked. "I'll see you later," he whispered to her, then closed the door behind the serving girl. After walking back across the room he began to pull the pins from his wife's blond hair as she sat at her dressing table. When he had discovered them all, he picked up her hairbrush and began brushing her hair.

"Ummmm," Caroline Worth murmured. She loosened the tie on her chamber robe. She was quite naked beneath.

The bishop watched in the mirror as he stroked her thick, long hair. Finally he set the brush aside, and leaning over he cupped her two breasts in his hands. Caroline had large, pear-shaped breasts with enormous nipples. He fondled the flesh and pulled the nipples out to their full length, one by one. Her breasts felt weighty in his big palms. Their eyes met in the mirror as she pulled her nether lips open, smiling.

"Come, and have a little taste, darling," she invited him.

He grinned. Anyone seeing his elegant, proper wife would never imagine what a wanton she was when the bedchamber door was closed. He released her breasts and knelt between her thighs, bending his head to lick at her and suck her naughty little clit. He knew exactly what would happen, and it did. Caro was quickly aroused by his actions.

"I want to fuck," she moaned to him. "Hurry, darling! I am so very, very hot for it!"

He slid her off her stool, pulling her to the floor where she lay, legs stretched wide, arms open and inviting. The bishop pulled off his own chamber robe and fell upon his wife, fucking her until she came in a great, gusty sigh, her juices crowning the head of his penis generously. He groaned, well satisfied. "Twenty years married, Caro, and I still want you," he told her.

"Me, and half the female servants," she teased him mischievously.

"I cannot help it if I am a man who needs to give love, darling," he told her. "Besides, you always get my best, Caro. You know, this is what Lucinda needs."

"Love?" his wife replied.

"No, a good stiff cock up her cunt," he answered.

Caroline giggled. "Ohh, George, you are really so naughty for a clergyman. Now get off me, and let us get into bed. I'm freezing. Tell me, did you ever… well, you know, with your sisters?"

He laughed. "Willy and I had a bit of a go with Laetitia and Charlotte before he went off to India. After he was gone they wouldn't, and we never fucked them. It was just kissing, and sucking, and fondling." He chuckled with the memory. "Their husbands got their cherries, or so I presume. Neither Willy nor I ever did."

Her nightgown now on, and her person comfortably ensconced in their bed, the bishop's wife said, "What are you going to do with Lucinda, George?"

"Well, she is still young, and certainly a beauty. Her pedigree is respectable. She's rich. We'll have a husband for her in no time at all, m'dear. I guarantee it!" the bishop reassured his wife.

A year passed, and Lady Harrington remained domiciled in her brother's house. It had become a battle of wills between the two siblings. Lucinda wanted her own home in London, but the bishop would not allow her bankers to release the necessary funds for such an extravagant purchase. George wanted his sister to remarry, but there wasn't a gentleman who came to call who suited Lucinda at all; and woe to those who engaged her attention for a time and then had the temerity to propose marriage. A second year passed. George Worth decided that a trip to London was absolutely in order if they were ever to rid themselves of his youngest sister.

At twenty-five Lucinda was considered an incredible beauty. The virginal debutantes in that London season of seventeen hundred and fifty paled before her presence. As there were no great heiresses that year, Lucinda, with her comfortable income, became the most sought after female in society, despite her age. The younger of the fortune-hunting lordlings amused her, and she was tolerant and kind to them. The rakes and roués were quickly dismissed with a sharp word and a toss of her chestnut curls. Lucinda had no time for fools, or men who thought all women gullible before their manly presence.

The field surrounding Lucinda finally narrowed itself into the three most eligible men in London. Richard Rhodes, the Duke of Rexford, was tall with naturally blond hair and silver-gray eyes. He was so proud of his hair color that all of his wigs, but the formal ones he must wear to court, were the exact same color as his hair. He was a great horseman, and his home in Kent, Rexford Court, was considered one of the finest houses in the country.

Hamlet Hackett, Marquess of Hargrave, was his best friend. A portly young man of medium height, he was prematurely balding with a fringe of nut brown hair growing around the pink back of his pate. His eyes were a deceptively mild blue. Even with the finest wigs made, he still had the look of a well-fed monk; although it was known in certain circles that Hamlet Hackett had the libido of an amorous alley cat. Not a maid at his home, Hargrave Manor, was safe from his naughty ways. He eyed Lucinda as though she were an especially tasty pastry and dreamed of making love to her. He did not, however, share his thoughts with Richard Rhodes, who he suspected had similar notions.

Lucinda's third suitor was Lord Benjamin Bertram of Bancroft Hall, near Oxford. This gentleman was outrageously wealthy and had been the target of ambitious mamas for the past five seasons. He was a very tall and thin man whose hair and eyes both were a nondescript brown. His face was lean, almost severe. Lucinda Harrington was the first woman he had considered worthy to bear his name, and his heir, for he could trace his antecedents back to the long-ago time of Alfred the Great.

George Frederick Worth was delighted by all three suitors for his sister's hand. Whoever she chose, it would be a triumph, and add sheen to his family's escutcheon. Heeding his wife's advice, he did not champion any of the trio as a favorite.

If the truth had been known, he didn't care which one Lucinda picked, for all three were eminently suitable.

The season was drawing to a close. They would soon be returning to the manse. The bishop was growing more nervous by the day. "Has she said nothing to you, Caroline?" he finally asked his wife. Often women talked to other women before speaking to the men in their family.

Caroline Worth looked uncomfortable. She attempted to avoid her husband's gaze. At last she said, "Lucinda says she has found the perfect house for herself on Traleigh Square, near the park."

"What?" The bishop struggled not to shout, but his temples were beginning to throb. He swallowed hard, and drew in several deep breaths to calm himself. Then he demanded of his wife, "Has not one of them declared? God only knows they have monopolized her time enough."

"She has refused all three," Caroline murmured in a tiny voice. "She will have her own home again, George. I do not believe she will remarry until she gets her way. Unless you want her living with us forever, I beg you to give in to her in this matter." Then Caroline Worth burst into tears. "I want my home back, George! I am to have another baby, and I want my home back again! The manse is not that big. Clarissa is too old to be in the nursery any longer, and I need the bedroom your sister inhabits for her."

"She has refused all three?" The bishop's face was purple with his outrage. "And you did not tell me?"

"It only happened in the last week." His wife wept nervously. "You cannot make her marry if she doesn't want to, George. This is not the middle ages."