by Lisa Torquay
“About two hours ago, my lord.” Her features went desperate. “I came as soon as they left.”
It must have been while Drake was at the club. Had he known of it he’d have thrashed the lecherous duke the minute he met him earlier. The murderous intent that threatened to blind him seemed almost unsurmountable. His hands fisted by his side, so tight his knuckles became white.
He directed a hard look at Hester. “Are you satisfied now?” He cared not that his growl came with a savage hint.
Hester turned wide eyes darkened with surprise and apprehension to him. “That’s outrageous!
“You’re the weaker end, he’ll prey on you.” His voice low with that fury. And strove to prevent his head from imagining what would have happened to Hester were she in the house.
"Thank you, Mrs Walters." He'd tell Wakefield to pay her extra for her trouble and to send the locksmith to install additional locks.
The housekeeper took her distressed leave. Hester and Drake stood alone in the study with a tense silence stretching between them.
“My goodness!” She vented at him. “Your lot is little better than a pack of outlaws!”
“I can’t disagree.” He admitted calmer now that she was under his protection. He’d instruct Bruce to be even more careful and not let her out of his sight for even a minute.
She paced to the window, a hand rubbing her brow. “I should never have got involved in this.” She said under her breath.
Involved with him, she meant. And in that, he couldn't disagree more. In hindsight, she'd burst into his life like a dazzling beacon. But he took into consideration the fact that she must be shocked with how this situation unravelled to the point she had to upend her life.
“It won’t last for long.” He tried to cheer her up though he couldn’t be certain of it. “I’ll leave you in the care of Wakefield.”
She whirled to him. “You’re going out again?” And this time he saw her beautiful eyes darken with the fear she was striving not to show.
“Yes, I’ll be back shortly.” But all he wanted was to stay and give her the comfort she deserved. “Bruce will protect you.”
Their eyes clasped for long moments before she gave a resolute nod, and he turned to leave.
“Do you have any idea of what you did?” Drake asked his mother with an angry glare.
He left Worcester House with the express aim of taking it with the Dowager Marchioness. Not that he was eager to see his dear mother in the aftermath of her aborted manoeuvre. He did it for Hester and her safety.
“You expelled me from your dratted soiree.” There wasn’t an ounce of worry in her arrogant stance.
Why he expected Honora to have a drop of sympathy for someone in the lower ranks, he couldn’t fathom. She hadn’t deigned to express concern for Hester’s position. He never deluded himself that his parent didn’t conceive that anyone below her was born to serve and was expendable. But this time he was beginning to think she went too far.
“You shouldn’t have attended in the first place.” His voice louder with his impatience. “Even less with Lady Millicent.”
“Yes, well,” she shrugged off her part in it. “She’s to be your betrothed soon enough.”
And why he’d expected her to take responsibility for the damage she caused was another question he possessed no answer for.
“You’re seriously living in a parallel world if you think I’ll let you manipulate me.” He scoffed.
The elderly woman frowned. “You must marry to produce a clean bloodline.” She demanded like the matron she’d become.
He cast her a vexed look. “To hell with your bloody bloodlines.” He bit out.
“You're so fond of the theatre.” She’d had difficulty understanding that. “In those precious plays, whenever classes mingle, it ends in tragedy.”
“A convenient view, I reckon.” He mocked.
“And if it does end well, it's a comedy, because it's pathetic.” He didn’t believe her to be so shallow.
“Of course, no one ever tells that those playwrights received support from royalty and nobility, and from people who'd pay any price to go to the theatre and be assured that their world will never change.” He pointed out.
“Yes, because those plays are supposed to mould people's minds and show them who their true leaders are.” Oxford missed out on a superb orator, Drake thought acidly.
Naturally, it didn’t cross her mind that such social conventions might change, that the lower echelons of society might one day claim their due.
"Your concepts say so much about you! About how you accepted to endure a loveless marriage, a husband full of mistresses and ended up a lonely widow." All for the sake of keeping a status quo that didn't favour her in the least.
She ogled him full of resentment. “How dare you!”
“I dare because you didn’t question the unfairness of it all.” He possessed full awareness that a woman in her position counted few options. Even a tavern girl had more choice. The girl could choose her job, at the very least, even if a lowly one. “Was that why you never acted on your attraction to that Italian maestro you preferred to die than to miss a concert from? You fairly ate him up with your eyes whenever he was around.” He challenged. Honora started seeking the maestro out after his father died. As far as Drake knew, she didn’t risk being happy with him for the simple notion that, for her, ranks surpassed everything else.
A drop of sadness crossed her gaze, and Drake almost regretted what he threw at her. But these facts had to come out in the open.
“Only a dirty mind would conceive such a ludicrous notion.” Denial would forever be her bed companion. Now more than ever, especially as Francesco D’Angelo died the previous year in his native Sicily of an unknown disease.
“Say what you will.” His emphatic tone showed how determined he would be in that. “I’ll not follow in yours or Father’s steps to live in this hypocritical bubble.”
"Hypocritical or not, it's our world." She looked at him directly in his eyes. "And you're already following in your father's steps in that you stick to your mistress no matter what."
The low blow hit its mark because a pure sulfuric reaction burned his guts. To be compared with a man who changed mistresses as he changed for dinner was demeaning. Drake had sowed his wild oats, yes, but to be likened to the fickle man the old marquess had been appeared unfair. And even if he avoided dwelling on it, he and Hester had gone beyond the keeper and mistress arrangement for the simple reason the diminutive rebel refused to buy into it any longer.
“You can think whatever you wish.” He inflicted coldness in his voice. “But I demand you visit Haddington and explain yourself.”
“Absolutely not.” Finality in her cultured tone. “I’ll not stand face to face with that man.”
A sardonic grin graced his chiselled features. “Funnily enough, you plotted a match with the man’s own daughter.”
“Her breed makes up for it.” The cynicism caused him almost to choke.
“Next time you act with such recklessness, I’ll banish you to the country and close this house for years to come.” And he meant it.
“You wouldn’t!” His mother uttered indignantly.
"Try me." And pivoted to leave but looked back at the dowager marchioness. "And by the way, forget Lady Millicent, forget every single debutante in the ballrooms. I don't care for them." And strode out of the drawing-room, intending to take a long time to return.
“Your Grace, how you… you…” Hester forgot her line for the umpteenth time that morning.
"Surprise me," Duff whispered her line for the umpteenth time that morning.
“Stop!” Drake barked for the ump—well, you know.
Concentration was nowhere to be found in Hester's mind. This counted the third morning after Drake dragged her to his townhouse. The previous two had been no better. No wonder, with sleepless nights in between, anyone would acquire a fractured mood.
>
He stood from his seat on the first row and neared the stage. “What’s the matter?” He frowned. “You rarely forget your lines.”
What was the matter? Sleepless nights, feverish dreams when she managed some sleep. Having breakfast with Drake, working with Drake, confined in a carriage with Drake. Having dinner with blasted Drake. That’s what! Temptation and the strain to resist it had been skirmishing day and night. Nights! If this continued for much longer, she’d end up in rags.
But she couldn’t just vent her frustration here where the support role actors sat around bored out of their minds with waiting for their cue.
"You will agree with me, my lord," she answered, "that work hasn't been in the forefront in the last few days." Even less when she had to dress as she did today, with a day dress that might be simple for a lady but stood out in her own circles. The confection spelt 'mistress' all over it, but the blasted marquess wouldn't allow her out of his sight for a single minute for her to fetch a few of her own clothes at her home.
His nostrils flared with a sharp intake of breath at her retort. “Fine.” He bit out. “Take a break while the support actors rehearse.” Relieved, her peers hastened into action, glad for having something to do.
With a thankful nod, she headed backstage for a cup of tea and took the opportunity to say hello to her father and brother. She had said nothing of what happened so as not to worry them, which made her relax a little with their chat about the theatre.
After dinner, Drake sat in his study with a report from one of his estates before him. At least he was attempting to focus on it. Only it was not working. In fact, nothing was working. Living and breathing under the same roof as Hester threatened to drive him to undiluted madness. Everything he tried to divert his thoughts—and certain parts of his body—from her ended in failure.
He tried the club. Nothing. He tried reading. Nothing. He tried riding. Nothing. His hands itched to do the job themselves. With little to no success. He wanted her, solely her.
Bloody hell! The woman was going to be his downfall.
The notion that she might go away from him left him dizzy. That felt worse than a thousand lashes with barbed wire. No, better her tormenting presence than her wrenching absence. He’d take it any day.
He could see she was distressed. Haddington lying in wait to take his revenge on what he perceived as damage to his daughter’s reputation had to be weighing on her. Even the rehearsals weren’t going as they should. And who would blame her? Not him, for sure.
The clock on the mantel struck the hour. Too late to be awake. Time to find some sleep. Scratch that. Time to find some wicked dreams in his ragged slumber.
He’d shed his coat and waistcoat in the study. His feet took the stairs in disheartened steps while he undid the knot on his cravat.
His arm pulled his bedchamber’s door open, and he froze, hand on the neckcloth. The lit fireplace cast warm, soft light in the room. In his bed, a feminine, petite form clad in sheer lace, reclined on pillows against the headboard.
He didn’t believe his eyes. Better, he didn’t believe his luck.
The door closed with a slam of his boot.
Her head rose from the book she read by a candle, light-brown hair falling over her shoulders, eyes with that parakeet shade.
“Good evening,” she whispered.
The mere sound of her voice made him hard. The lucky night ahead made him harder.
Brusquely, he tore the cravat from his neck before he choked on the grit in his throat.
“You took your sweet time,” she taunted.
And he had no ability to speak, only to swallow and retain a drop of sanity. Had he known she was here, he’d have jumped into bed a century ago, give or take.
Damning fires of hell! This woman would finish him up. In five minutes.
In jagged movements, he undid the four buttons on his shirt and kicked his half-boots. Then he prowled to bed as if he did this every night of his life. The mere possibility filled him with even more hunger.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hester observed Drake’s approach with her heart slamming in her chest and eagerness spreading in her insides.
After a tense dinner, she’d sat in her chamber ruminating on the sleepless night ahead. At the end of her forces, she contemplated that fighting herself and her needy desires were getting her nowhere. If anything, she felt she drowned in the quicksand of her frustration and pride. It would have been the same even if she hadn’t been obligated to stay here these last few days. His constant presence was already driving her intentions to tatters. That Lady Millicent herself attested to the ruse Drake played to help her indicated Hester’s foolishness in struggling to keep her distance.
There could be a chance her reasons reduced to simple self-cheating, but in her distressed state of mind, she cared very little if this was the case. Which resulted in her being in his bed, dressed in one of the nightgowns he’d had made for her.
Her eyes lifted when Drake stalled two feet from her, standing like a giant mass of muscle, heat, and intent.
“This bed is bigger, so I decided to sleep here tonight.” The breathy statement caused him to lower his focus to her mouth. The skin tingled with the memory of his kisses, mingling with the yearning for a thousand more.
He sat by her side on the mattress, facing her. “Sleep is something you’re not doing here any time soon.” His movements caused his shirt to gape and exhibit his wall of a chest made of sinew and enticement.
Her stare clasped on his to establish a sizzling current between them. “Oh,” she answered. “Perhaps I should find another chamber in that case.” Coquettishness never ever figured in her life outside the stage, but it seemed the right thing to say, especially as his breath hastened.
One of her hands rose to sneak under his fine lawn and trace a route that started on his shoulder, down one defined pectoral, the warmth and smoothness of the skin covering that wide part of him. His rosemary scent added to the sheer maleness of him, as his own fingers reached the bows keeping her dressing gown together.
“You won’t get sleep in any of them either.” The rasp seemed more like a fine sand-paper caress over her senses, stirring and promising.
Her palm reached his nipple where she grazed her nails lightly and elicited an intake of air from him. “Well, this leaves me with only this chamber, I suppose.” And she shifted on the pillows to lie down.
He also adjusted, stretching beside her, wedging a solid thigh between hers, blunt, unapologetic. Their previous intimacy, familiarity was coming back like a tidal wave. His head neared hers, those intense eyes taking in every inch of her face.
“A wise decision.” He murmured before his mouth came on to hers and everything went up in flames.
He assured her she’d get no sleep. Right now, he also denied her a full kiss. He licked the corner of her mouth, then he merely feathered her lips with his. To one side, to the other. Her arms lifted to lace his shoulders to tell him to do the right job of it.
But he didn’t, of course.
His tongue flicked the other corner. Like that sandpaper of his voice, his evening stubble rasped on her skin to gnaw a deeper hunger. That firm, sensual mouth moved to her chin, only for his teeth to graze on it so lightly, they were barely there.
She whimpered, begging for more.
Again, he didn’t grant her anything.
Her fingers raked his wavy hair and tried to pull him closer. He didn’t yield. On the contrary, his head put distance from her.
“What do you want, Hester?” As if he had to ask!
She opened her eyes to find his fast on hers. “A full kiss, you blasting rake!”
He rumbled a chuckle. “But you shunned them when you left me.” He was goading her, the scoundrel!
She licked her lips in the quest to appease them and endure his torment. “I’m not shunning you now.” With her answer, she hoped he wouldn’t make her crawl for it.
&n
bsp; “No, but how about I give you a little of your own poison?”
A laugh swelled in her, almost ending up right in his face. She’d been taking her own poison since she ended their liaison, for pity’s sake!
The battle of wills translated in the joust of their glares. He didn’t move an inch while she was tearing out of her skin with need.
Until she could hold it no more. “Damn you!” she vented. And lifted her lips to capture his in a proper kiss this time. Her mouth pried his open and her tongue barged in with the thirst of a hundred deserts.
And defeated him because he groaned on her mouth and came down, his entire frame covering hers, pressing her onto the sheets. His arms surrounded her in a fierce band, and they were touching everywhere. Their tongues duelled, played, advanced, retreated, teased in what felt like forever. Hester didn’t allow Drake off the hook. She savoured him to her heart’s content.
But the kiss got them breathless, and they had to come up for air. On her belly, his erection had hardened to steel.
In the candlelight, his brandy gaze darkened. “This was definitely the Un-taming of the Shrew.” He drawled in that tenor of his.
During the time she'd lived in that cosy house he'd installed her in, she'd not dared express her fantasies, or take the initiative. For her, the arrangement entailed her acquiescence, nothing else. And how liberating it was to express her wishes, act on them, get them, savour every single moment of it.
“If you wish for a repeat, you’ll have to beg, too.” She warned without a drop of meekness.
A side-smile drew that irresistible mouth. “Beg?” He taunted. “Since when does an English lord beg for anything?” And dived back to kiss her again, turning the tables, plundering her mouth like a true lord of all he surveyed.
This skirmish for power would set fire to the entire country, Hester celebrated, opening for him, and sending the entire world to Hades.
They kissed and nibbled, and licked, and sucked until they soared to a fever pitch. She could take it no more, she was ablaze, hungry, ready.