by Olivia Drake
As he approached, she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. All the blood from his brain went rushing to his groin. He craved to possess her with a ferocity that made him tremble. With effort, he leashed the powerful urges that burned inside him.
This was for her pleasure, not his.
Yet, if truth be told, it was also about softening her resistance to being courted by a man of his rank. She had expressed her opinions about his aristocratic world in no uncertain terms. He wanted to break down the barriers between them and win her body, heart, and mind.
He lay down beside her on the bed, sliding his arm around her slender waist to bring her onto her side. Then he lifted his hand to her face to trace her lovely features. She returned his gaze with characteristic brashness, though her green eyes also held a hint of wariness.
“I oughtn’t be here with you,” she said frankly. “This may very well be the worst mistake of my life.”
He couldn’t stop a grin. That was part of what he liked about Natalie. She seldom said the expected, and he was jaded enough to deeply value the trait. “Shall I leave, then?”
Her arms tightened around him. “Certainly not!”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Drawing closer, he blended their mouths, relishing the pliancy of her lips and the swiftness of her response. Any slight inhibition in her vanished as she kissed him back with an unrestrained zeal that made his blood surge. Then she did something that nearly shattered his iron control. She brought her hand up and cradled his cheek as if he were precious to her.
All the suggestive moves that women had used to entice him over the years paled before that one feather-light touch. A tidal wave of lust inundated him. Her taste, her scent, her femininity tempted him to the verge of madness. For one mindless moment, he could think only of stripping her naked, sinking into her heat, and staking his claim on her.
His fingers were seeking the buttons at the back of her gown before Hadrian caught himself. A thread of rationality made him acknowledge the danger of losing mastery of himself. Better he should focus on pleasing her.
He curled his hand around the ripe curve of her bosom and stroked her through the silk fabric, working his fingers inside the tightness of bodice and corset. She made a small sound of delight as her nipples tightened to buds and her body moved sinuously on the bed. Little did she realize, it was just a prelude to what she truly desired.
Hadrian scattered kisses over her face, reveling in her feminine scent and the satin of her skin. Only then did he reach beneath the hem of her gown. Blessedly, her skirts were not twisted, permitting him to glide his hand upward over her slim calves and past the garters that held her silk stockings. As his fingers slipped inside her lacy undergarment and parted her slick, hidden folds, she gasped, catching hold of his arm. “Oh!”
He lightly swirled his thumb over her most sensitive nub of flesh. “Let yourself feel this pleasure,” he murmured. “You’re safe with me, darling.”
A sigh of surrender eddied from her as she opened her legs to grant him access. Her lashes fluttered shut, her fingers curling into his shirt. Awed that this strong-willed woman would yield to him, he buried his own turbulent needs and focused on using his expertise to guide her up the path to ecstasy.
Any initial qualms she’d displayed vanished as he explored her honeyed secrets. She arched her head back, uttering small mewling sounds while moving her hips in wanton enjoyment, slowly at first and then with increasing desperation. He kissed her throat, murmuring sweet nothings, sensing her rising turmoil and reveling in it. She surged against his hand, seeking, searching, moaning. A moment later, she gave a keening cry as rapturous release rippled through her slender body.
Hadrian buried his face in her hair as he strove to steady his ragged breathing. His loins burned with a fierce fervor that required all of his willpower to stifle. He tugged down her skirts, his every muscle taut with restraint.
Natalie lay spent with her face tucked into the lee of his neck, her slowing breaths teasing his hot skin. Although her supple body tantalized him to the point of pain, he wouldn’t have moved for the world. It just felt too perfect to hold her in his arms.
After a time, she wriggled languidly and opened her eyes to gaze at him in blushing wonder. “Oh my,” she murmured. “I can see why we unmarried ladies are warned never to be alone with a man. That was pure bliss.”
She looked so tempting that he wrestled with the urge to kiss her again, to take their mutual desire to its natural conclusion. She was a passionate woman who would find as keen an ecstasy in their lovemaking as he would. But in the aftermath, she would regret succumbing to him. He would succeed only in confirming her worst beliefs about the lecherous habits of noblemen.
Already, the hint of flustered awareness in her manner told him her senses were on their way to being restored. Being a virtuous woman, she would feel unsettled by her wild passions. It was best to give her time to adjust to her newly awakened sensuality.
“It’s my pleasure to make you happy.” He skimmed his mouth over hers and forced himself to add, “But I really must go now.”
Her fingers tightened, one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his neck. With her hair mussed and her lips rosy, she was the image of a satisfied woman. A woman who desired more, much more. Despite his better judgment, he felt a wild surge of hope that she would invite him to stay.
Then her teeth sank into her lower lip. She glanced away before returning her resolute gaze to him. “Yes … yes, I suppose you must.”
Chapter 19
Late the following morning, Natalie sat alone in the plush confines of the ducal carriage on her way to meet her grandfather.
Her gloved fingers were tightly clasped in her lap. She gazed out at the passing scenery, the buildings of brick and stone, the throngs of people, the elegant vehicles competing with workmen’s drays and hansom cabs. She’d always believed Philadelphia and Washington to be bustling cities, but London was so much larger and more crowded. The air rang with the raucous cries of street sellers and the constant clatter of traffic.
At any other time, she’d have been fascinated by the vast variety of new sights in this foreign metropolis. But today she felt too tense and preoccupied. She had lain awake for half the night, pondering that remarkable encounter with Hadrian, only to awaken with a firm resolve in her mind.
A young maid named Hetty had delivered one of the new gowns from Lady Elizabeth, the hem already let down to suit Natalie’s height. From her, Natalie was able to learn that the duke had left the house directly after breakfast and wasn’t expected to return until mid-afternoon.
It had been an immense relief not to have to face him. With the coast clear, she could make the arrangements for her plan.
Directed by the maid through a maze of corridors, Natalie had gone to the duchess’s suite. There, she’d found Hadrian’s mother lounging in a pink peignoir, enjoying a cup of cocoa with her nose in a novel. Her Grace had been delighted to help and had declared her heart touched by Natalie’s eagerness to meet her grandfather without delay. She’d suggested Natalie pen a note to Sir Basil requesting permission to call on him at his earliest convenience, then dispatched a footman to deliver it. On the basis of her former acquaintance with Sir Basil, Her Grace had even hinted rather broadly of a desire to accompany Natalie.
That wish had had to be firmly quashed. The duchess must have no inkling as to the true purpose of the visit.
While awaiting Sir Basil’s reply, Natalie went to the nursery to check on Leo. He was playing tin soldiers with a solemn, brown-haired boy, who turned out to be Lizzy’s son, Finny. The Earl of Finley, Mrs. Tippet fondly identified him. Apparently, it was the custom for the eldest son of a peer to take one of his father’s lesser titles, just as Lord Godwin’s heir was a viscount, Lord Wymark. It served to underscore to Natalie how very different the lives of the nobility were from those of common folk.
Now, she smoothed her hand over the fine gold silk
of her gown and prayed that all would go according to plan. She intended to prevail upon her grandfather to allow her and Leo to live with him. She must not stay even one more night under the same roof as the Duke of Clayton.
The previous day’s incident had made it alarmingly clear how easily passion could spin out of control. She had believed herself to be strong and principled, capable of proper conduct with men. After all, she’d had considerable practice in her twenty-six years.
Yet she’d fallen straight into Hadrian’s arms.
She had been an enthusiastic participant in their torrid embrace, well nigh handing herself to him on a silver platter. Several times, he’d given her the opportunity to put a halt to their lusty encounter, most notably, when he’d left the bed to close the door. Instead, she had yielded to the wild beating of her blood, permitted him to reach beneath her skirts, and responded to his expert touch like a wicked wanton.
Even now, the memory of that splendid pleasure made her throb with the desire to experience it all over again. Every kiss, every whispered word, every alluring stroke of his fingers down there was branded in her memory. And how was she ever to forget that stunning burst of ecstasy?
She blushed at her wanton cravings. Although Hadrian had honored his promise to leave, the intensity of passion on his face had indicated a keen desire to stay. For a moment, she had sorely wanted to invite him to make love to her. But she knew a man of his rank would never offer her marriage—nor would she ever accept. The only other option was to become his mistress, and that was out of the question.
Therefore, the rational solution was to remove herself from Hadrian’s sphere. Then the siren call of temptation would be mitigated, and she could salvage her virtue before it was too late. Because if truth be told, she simply could not resist him. And if the prospect of departure hurt her heart, she would forget her longings eventually. He was an English duke and she was an American schoolteacher, and that made for an impossible situation.
On that dismal thought, Natalie felt the carriage begin to slow. She peered out to see a road lined by brick row houses. A group of boys playing a raucous game of ball almost knocked over an old woman, who shook her cane at them. Laundry flapped from the upper windows of several houses. The neighborhood was decidedly more rundown than the wealthy streets of Mayfair.
The carriage came to a halt, the footman opening the door and letting down the step before helping her disembark. She gazed up at the narrow house before her, noting how cramped and tiny it appeared, but she supposed anything would seem small compared to a ducal mansion. At least it looked tidier than the peeling paint and drying wash of the adjacent homes.
As she walked toward the house, the young footman darted ahead of her. Startled, she said, “James, it isn’t necessary to come inside with me.”
“I’m to announce you, miss, that’s all. Her Grace would insist upon it.”
Natalie held her tongue. The British aristocracy had many archaic rules, but now was not the time to make a fuss over protocol. For all she knew her grandfather was a stickler, and she didn’t wish to commit a faux pas. Not when she desperately needed to persuade him to give her and Leo shelter.
When the servant knocked, the curtain twitched at the front window and she glimpsed a pale feminine face framed by a mass of dark hair. The door was opened a moment later by a mobcapped older woman with careworn features.
“Miss Fanshawe to see Sir Basil Fanshawe,” the footman intoned.
The maidservant looked past him to pin Natalie with an inquisitive stare. “So, ye’re the one from America! Come in, come in! The master’s been waitin’ on pins and needles ever since yer note arrived.”
The footman returned to the carriage, while Natalie stepped into a foyer barely large enough to hold a single chair, a framed print of a landscape, and a narrow staircase. She removed her bonnet and cloak, which the servant hung on a wall hook. Just then, an adolescent girl in rose muslin rushed out of a nearby doorway. Her bright hazel eyes and upswept curly black hair identified her as the one who’d been peeking out the window.
“I’ll take her to Grandpapa, Mrs. Beasley.” She linked arms with Natalie and towed her down a cramped passageway. “Hullo, I’m your cousin Doris. I’m sixteen, and Grandpapa says I’m now the lady of the house. Oh, I adore your gown, that gold silk is so very stylish. Do you know, my brother has the very same green eyes as you?”
Amused by the disconnected chatter, Natalie had not a moment to get a word in edgewise before they entered a small parlor, where two men awaited them. “She’s here!” Doris announced. “Our long-lost cousin Natalie!”
An elderly man with a full head of white hair stood by the unlit hearth. Tall and distinguished, Sir Basil looked dapper in a slate-gray coat and dark trousers. A smile lit his lined features as he walked forward with the aid of a silver-topped cane. “My dear child! What a delightful surprise to receive your note! Why, I never thought to meet you in person.”
Natalie found herself enfolded in a bear hug tinged with the scent of pipe tobacco. After a brief hesitation, she hugged him back, moved by the sentimental emotion that flooded her bosom. Growing up, she’d only had her father, and an occasional letter from these distant relations in England. Her grandfather had not quite seemed real to her until this moment.
Drawing back, he looked her up and down, his green eyes misty. “Ah, a true Fanshawe, you’ve the look of your papa. Now, here’s your cousin Giles.”
Giles Fanshawe was a lanky young man with a Romany handsomeness and a pleasant smile, who pumped her hand up and down. “Have you really come all the way from America? Is it true your father owned an estate where he bred horses?”
“Yes,” Natalie said, “though it was merely a small farm.”
“Giles wants to breed racehorses,” Doris confided. “But Grandpapa hasn’t the funds. We even had to lease out our estate in Lincolnshire.”
“Now, don’t be bothering our guest with your chatter,” Sir Basil said, his smile taking the sting out of his words. “Do sit down, dear Natalie, and tell us what has brought you to our fair shores.”
Natalie was directed to a well-worn leather chair that she suspected was her grandfather’s favorite, since a pipe and pouch lay on the table beside it. As the others took seats opposite her, she gave them an abbreviated summary of the massacre that had taken the lives of Leo’s parents, her promise to deliver him to his grandfather, and the problem involving his birth papers.
“Lord Godwin dared to accuse my granddaughter of lying?” Sir Basil said indignantly, rapping the tip of his cane on the threadbare carpet. “I knew that pompous oaf when he was a mere pup. Why, I’ve a mind to call him out for that craven insult!”
“Pray don’t do that, sir,” Natalie said, alarmed by the notion of him challenging Lord Godwin to pistols at dawn. “His cousin, the Duke of Clayton, has the matter well in hand.”
“Is it true you’re staying at Clayton House?” Doris asked, looking starstruck. “Your note was written on his mother’s stationery. I nearly swooned to see the gold crest.”
All eyes turned to Natalie. Realizing that now was her opportunity, she took a deep breath. “Yes, I am, but only because Leo is a distant relation of the duke’s. Yet I confess to having misgivings about being there. You see, His Grace has expressed an intention to seek a wife this season, and I fear that Leo and I are a hindrance, what with all the entertaining he’ll be doing. That’s part of the reason why I came here today. Grandpapa, I was hoping that Leo and I might find a home with you while we’re waiting for his papers from America to be verified. It need only be temporary, of course, since I’ll eventually be returning to Philadelphia.”
Sir Basil frowned. “My dear, you flatter me, but I’ve little to offer in these miserable rooms when you are staying in the highest kick of style.”
“Clayton House is the grandest residence in London,” Giles added. “The duke must be a miserly fellow not to find some corner of that huge pile for you to lay your head.”
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Unwilling to sully Hadrian’s reputation, Natalie said hastily, “Oh, don’t misunderstand me, he’s been all that is gracious! It’s just that I feel I’m imposing on his good will. And being from America, I’m not accustomed to such luxury, either. I’d be far more comfortable here among my own family.”
They all stared at her as if she’d gone mad.
“Oh, but you must stay at Clayton House,” Doris said. “Especially since His Grace is seeking a bride. Why, he might very well choose you, Natalie.”
“You’re devilish pretty,” Giles said frankly. “Being under his roof, you’d have an advantage over all the other ladies. You’d need only to flirt with him.”
“Yes, indeed,” Sir Basil added, snapping his fingers. “Why, this is a brilliant notion! Only think what an auspicious marriage it would be. My granddaughter, the Duchess of Clayton!”
Doris clasped her hands to her bosom. “Society would accept us again if you’d sponsor my come-out, Natalie. Just think, I’d be able to dance at balls and meet the man of my dreams. Oh, I never thought it was even possible!”
Dismayed, Natalie cast about for a way to dampen their enthusiasm. “I’m a nobody from the wilds of America. I have a life there, and I intend to return to it. The duke will choose a lady of impeccable background. Not a woman whose father was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“Bah, you’re a Fanshawe,” Sir Basil declared. “You’ve noble lineage, and even a few royal connections dating back to the time of the Conqueror. As for your papa’s birth, I always acknowledged him as my own, so I’ll hear no more talk of you being a nobody.”
Just then, Mrs. Beasley appeared in the doorway to announce luncheon. Her grandfather invited Natalie to join them, and she accepted with alacrity. She dared not leave without having accomplished her purpose. It was far too dangerous to remain at Clayton House and be tempted into another indiscretion.