by Meara Platt
Embarrassment over the whole situation kept Benedict moving around the room, unable to look directly at her at first. He forced himself to be man enough to stand in front of his father’s desk and to address Miss Porterfield directly. “That is correct,” he said.
She looked as nervous as ever as she studied him. “If I might ask, my lord, why would a man like you ask such a thing?”
The handful of women he’d interviewed for the job so far had asked similar questions, but none with the careful delicacy that Miss Porterfield showed. It filled Benedict with confidence and made him strangely eager to explain himself.
“I am in love, Miss Porterfield,” he said. “The woman’s name is Lucy. She resides near my home in England, in Kent. Unfortunately, last year, Lucy refused my proposal of marriage.”
“Oh.” Miss Porterfield frowned in confusion.
“She refused,” Benedict went on, feeling slightly mad for telling the story, “because she is unable to bear children. As I am a marquess, she deemed it inappropriate for me to take a bride who could not provide me with an heir.”
“I see,” Miss Porterfield said, though Benedict wasn’t sure she did.
“I cannot accept such a self-sacrificing answer from her,” Benedict went on. “Not when she is perfection to me in every way. So, I have devised a plan to change her mind. I plan to return to England with a child, an heir, and to tell her that I was married here in Antigua, but that my bride died in childbirth. This way, Lucy will no longer feel the guilt of denying me an heir, because I will already have one.”
Miss Porterfield stared at him in consideration. “I suppose it would be easier to do things this way than to actually marry and hope for the worst.”
“Precisely.” Benedict couldn’t quite meet her eyes. His plan sounded callous and cruel when spoken aloud. But love wanted what it wanted, and he would do anything for Lucy. “Might I ask why you have come here today to…apply for this job?” he asked.
Miss Porterfield glanced down, clasping her hands and twisting her fingers together. “My father is a wealthy merchant in Charleston, South Carolina. He wanted an alliance with one of the largest plantation owners in the state, so he betrothed me, against my will, to the man’s son. My intended is widely known to be a cruel man, though, and I could not go through with it. I ran away on the morning I was to be married, taking as much as I could with me, and booked passage on the first ship departing. It brought me here.”
She glanced up at him. Benedict’s chest squeezed at the fear in her eyes.
“I have just been informed that my former betrothed may have figured out where I am. And my money is running out. I need to leave Antigua as soon as possible, and I need money.”
“I’m so sorry for your unfortunate situation,” Benedict said, wishing there was something else he could do for her aside from ruining her.
“I am not squeamish about giving myself to you for your purposes,” she said, which Benedict immediately sensed was a lie, “but I ask one thing in return.”
“Tell me,” he said, stepping closer to her.
She took a breath—one he felt was designed to give her courage—and said, “Take me back to England with you. Help me to hide once I get there. I would do anything to disappear from my old life entirely and to start a new one. Anything.” The intensity in her eyes as she stared at him underlined the truth of what she said.
She was the one. She was most certainly the one Benedict had been waiting for these past few weeks. And, God help him, he was more than certain that he could do everything required to conceive a child with her.
“Do you swear to me you’re telling the truth?” he asked, already knowing she was.
“I swear it,” she answered.
He nodded. “Then yes, I think we will do quite well together.”
She let out a breath of relief, but quickly sucked in another one in shock, as though she understood what she had just agreed to.
Benedict turned away, believing it would be kinder if she had a moment to compose herself without him staring at her. “Very well, then,” he said. “I have business I need to take care of this afternoon, but if you are willing, please return to my house tonight and we will…get started.” He turned back to her.
Miss Porterfield’s face had gone scarlet. She nodded tightly, lips pressed shut, indicating she would do what she needed to.
Benedict’s heart went out to her. “Don’t worry, Miss Porterfield,” he said, marching back to her. “I’ll make certain our brief time together is as smooth as possible for both of us. And I pledge to be your protector until such a time as you no longer need protection.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, blinking back tears of gratitude.
“Don’t worry,” he went on. “Within a year, you will have a whole new, safe life.”
Chapter Two
She couldn’t believe she had actually agreed to the mad-capped arrangement. Suzanne walked back to the inn from Lord Killian’s vast estate in a daze, hardly seeing the bustle of the busy port city around her. She’d agreed to hand her body over to a man she didn’t know for purposes that could only be described as wicked.
But, no, something about it wasn’t wicked at all. Not like the dejected and disillusioned whores she passed pandering outside of the dock-front inns and pubs. Those women had hollow eyes and wan expressions, as if they knew their lives were over, even as they continued to live. One or two of them even sent her warning looks as she passed, as if telling her to run as fast as she could from their fate.
What Lord Killian was offering her was entirely different, or so she told herself as she ducked into the inn and made her way up to her tiny, rented bedroom at the back of the establishment. He wanted to create life. Not just the life of a baby—a baby who would go on to hold a title, own lands, and live a life that Suzanne could only dream of—but her life as well. Submitting to him for the purpose he had in mind would be temporary. Fleeing with him to England and starting a new life would allow her to start over again in peace.
She spent the rest of the afternoon telling herself that over and over. What she was about to do wasn’t salacious, it was necessary. Although that didn’t help her to feel any less skittish as she bathed in the cracked basin provided with her room and dressed in the cleanest clothes she had. It didn’t seem right for her to offer herself to Lord Killian smelling like she’d worked all day in the fields.
By the time she arrived at Lord Killian’s plantation after dark, the seeds of doubt in her mind were beginning to sprout and grow like weeds.
“You again?” the butler asked her with a sneer as she stepped gingerly into the foyer.
Suzanne had to think fast. She assumed Lord Killian didn’t want everyone in his household, or anyone at all, to know what he was up to. He wouldn’t thank her for blabbing about his business to the staff. “I…I left my reticule in Lord Killian’s study earlier,” she said in a rush, tripping over her tongue.
“Is that so?” The butler crossed his arms and glanced down his bulbous nose at her.
“I won’t be but a minute if you allow me into the house to fetch it,” she said. She didn’t truly think there was much of a chance of the butler letting her roam the house alone, and even if he did, she had no idea where Lord Killian’s bedchamber was.
The butler didn’t look likely to move an inch as he frowned at her, but Suzanne was saved by Lord Killian himself as he strode out of a room farther down the hall.
“Ah, Miss Porterfield. This is a surprise,” he said, his face a mask of neutrality. Suzanne blinked. He’d known she was coming back. Perhaps his surprise was a show for the butler.
“She says she left her reticule in your study, my lord,” the butler said, doing the work of explaining for Suzanne.
She was almost relieved. “I won’t be but a moment if you escort me there to find it, my lord.”
“Very well.” Lord Killian nodded. “McHale, you can leave this to me.”
Lord Killian gesture
d for Suzanne to come with him. There was a faint touch of pink to his cheeks and a nervous energy radiating from him that convinced Suzanne he knew what he was doing. She glanced carefully at the butler, nodding respectfully to him, and hurried along the hall to meet Lord Killian.
“Oh, McHale, could you see to the plantation deed documents we spoke about earlier before going to bed?” Lord Killian asked, pausing and turning back to the butler. “I’d like a full report tomorrow morning.”
The butler frowned slightly. “Yes, my lord.”
Suzanne walked on, Lord Killian just a step behind her. “That should keep him busy for the rest of the night,” he murmured. “He’ll assume I had one of the footmen show you out.”
Suzanne nodded, not knowing what else to say. They walked on as if heading to the hallway that contained Lord Killian’s study, but before they got there, he took her hand and pulled her down a different hallway. They traveled on silently, Lord Killian picking up his pace, until they reached a narrow set of servants’ stairs. They took those up to the second floor, where Lord Killian led her on through a few twists and turns.
They ended up in a large, beautifully decorated bedroom toward the back of the house. Suzanne’s heart thundered against her ribs as she took it all in. Teak furnishings gave the room a warm feel, and the blue wallpaper and curtains hanging from the bed suggested a cooling sea breeze. Two sets of tall windows were open at the far end of the room, letting in a genuine sea breeze. The bed was already turned down for the evening, and a porcelain wash basin and pitcher had been set up on a carved table near a floor-length mirror. There was something soothing and romantic about the whole scene.
“I, uh, I’m not sure how to proceed,” Lord Killian said, lowering his eyes in a manner that could only be described as charming.
“Neither am I,” Suzanne admitted in a shaky voice. “I’ve never done this before.”
His brow inched up. “Truly? I mean, I know that is what you implied earlier, but if this is truly your first time….” He pressed his lips shut and clasped his hands behind his back. “I will understand completely if you decide against this.”
“No.” Suzanne shook her head tightly. “This is what I want.”
He nodded, and Suzanne suddenly had the impression that he was just as nervous about everything as she was. “We…we should undress and get into bed, then,” he said. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, you can keep your shift on.”
Suzanne gulped for breath, then nodded, beyond the power of speech. She met and held his gaze for a moment. As much as she expected the eye-contact to unnerve her, it had the paradoxical effect of putting her more at ease. Lord Killian seemed like a good man, and he was doing what he was doing for love.
With that in her mind, Suzanne walked around to the far side of the bed, tugging at the ties of her gown as she did. Even in the best gown she had, she felt inadequate. In the course of a few months, what had once been a lovely day dress was now frayed around the edges and thin from so much wear. She peeled it off and laid it over a chair by one of the windows all the same, removing her stays and stockings, and everything else but her shift. Then, without daring to check to see what state of undress Lord Killian was in, she tip-toed to the bed and slid between the sheets.
The bed smelled fresh and light, as though the sheets had been washed and aired with care, and perhaps a hint of tropical flowers. It was a far cry from the flea-infested bed she’d been sleeping in since arriving on the island. The luxury of it all nearly lulled her into a sense of peace.
That peace vanished as she caught a little more than an eyeful of Lord Killian’s naked body as he approached the bed. The man was magnificent. He was lean and athletic, with strong arms and legs. His broad chest had a light dusting of hair, his belly was flat, and his waist was trim. But, of course, her eyes shot straight to the impressive sight of his manhood as he climbed into bed with her. The sight sent her pulse racing.
A wave of tingles joined her racing pulse as Lord Killian moved to rest atop her, balancing his weight above her with his arms at her sides. “I’m not certain of the best way to proceed,” he admitted. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or frightened, but I can imagine that this is all quite new and alarming to you.”
“I’m willing to do what needs to be done,” she said, her voice wispy and small.
He smiled. “You are very brave.”
Something trilled deep in her heart. He was a kind man. And a handsome man. And if she were honest with herself, she liked the way he felt above her.
His face settled into a thoughtful frown. “This will go much more smoothly if we both enjoy ourselves just a little. The female body has ways of easing coitus when it feels pleasure.”
It was the most ridiculous string of words anyone had ever said in her presence, and yet it made that wriggling feeling deep in her gut grow stronger.
“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” she said.
“Well….” His thoughtful look intensified. “It might be useful if I kissed you.”
A blossom of something expectant filled her chest. “All right,” she whispered.
He bent down to cover her mouth with his. Suzanne could count on one hand the number of times a boy had kissed her in her life, and she’d have fingers left over. Those kisses had all been childish pecks, stolen as a part of mischievous games when she was too young to know what they meant. The kiss Lord Killian gave her then was heated and heady. She had no idea what to do with it, but he seemed to know. He molded his lips to hers, teaching her how to relax and let him explore her. And when she relaxed enough, he parted her lips with his and slipped his tongue along hers, tasting her.
The sensation was intoxicating, and within seconds, she found herself sighing at the sensation and resting her hands on his sides. The wriggling in her core turned to a more insistent pulsation. She shifted instinctually beneath him, wondering if the room had just grown hotter or if it were her imagination.
As soon as she moved, he stopped kissing her. “I’m sorry, is that too much?” he asked, worry in his eyes as he gazed down at her.
“No,” she answered, barely above a peep. “It was nice.”
“All right.”
He bent down to her again, continuing where he’d left off and exploring her mouth. She had no idea what to do other than to let him invade her as he saw fit. It was strange and compelling to feel his tongue in her mouth, teasing hers. So much so that she almost didn’t notice the way his hand moved from the bed to touch her side, sneaking its way up to her breast.
She sucked in a breath as she noticed—and appreciated—his touch.
“Is that all right?” he asked, pulling away once more. “I…I mean, it might help the whole process along.”
“It’s fine,” she told him, more breathless than ever.
He nodded, then dipped down to continue kissing her. His hand caressed her through the thin cotton of her chemise, cradling her breast. He brushed his thumb over her nipple, and the sensations filling her intensified by a thousand.
She had just begun to relax into his kiss and his touch when it dawned on her what the hard spear pressing against her thigh was. It seemed so much larger than the brief glimpse she had had minutes before, enough to make her gasp.
“Are you certain this is fine?” he asked, balancing himself above her.
“I am,” she insisted. In fact, the more he interrupted, the more frustrated she became. “It is all so very new to me, that is all.”
“Understood.” He nodded gravely. He started to lean into her once more, but stopped himself and cleared his throat. “Um, perhaps I should ask. When the time comes, would you like warning before I…before I enter you or would you like it to be a surprise.” Before she could answer, he followed up with, “Sometimes it can come as less of a shock if we don’t have enough advanced notice to worry about something.”
Either way, she wished he would get on with it.
“Surprise me,” she said, digging he
r fingertips into his back. He had a magnificent back. “And do hurry.”
“As you wish.” He nodded and bent to kiss her once more.
Whether it was her encouragement—which, frankly, she’d given because she didn’t think she could stand the curious ache that had formed within her and wouldn’t let her lay still for much longer—or his own eagerness, when he kissed her again, it was with much more of a sense of urgency. His hands roved her body, which she found she enjoyed immensely, and his hips ground restlessly against hers. She found she enjoyed that as well, particularly the way it caused his staff to rub against her.
Except she instinctively felt as though he was rubbing in the wrong spot. And his hands, as pleasant as they felt on her breast and stomach, should have traveled farther south as well. Everything within her seemed to be pointing restlessly to the ache between her legs. And while she knew logically that that was the key location for the creation of babies, she never could have guessed how demanding her body’s sensations in that area could be.
Her thoughts began to crumble completely as his breath quickened and he reached for the hem of her shift. She moved restlessly as he hiked it up over her hips and even higher, above her waste. She had a harder and harder time catching her breath as he nudged her legs apart. And when he slipped a hand between her legs to stroke the soft, overheated flesh of her sex, she let out a moan of pleasure.
“My God,” he groaned, as sensual as she felt, “you’re so wet.”
A flash of embarrassment filled her. Was that a good thing?
She only had a handful of seconds to worry about it. True to his promise of surprise, he positioned himself between her legs and thrust inside of her before she could tense in anticipation. A brief burst of pain accompanied his thrust, but the pure wonder of feeling him inside of her, hot and hard and stretching her in a way she couldn’t begin to describe, pushed the pain to the back of her mind.