by Cheryl Holt
At her capitulation, he should have been elated, but he wasn’t. His conscience was railing at him, shouting that he was a scoundrel, but he couldn’t listen. He felt as if he was in a runaway carriage, that he couldn’t slow it down or alter its course. He could only hold on through the wild ride.
“Promise me,” he pleaded, “that you’ll never be sorry.”
“I never will be. I promise.”
“Promise me that—no matter what happens in the future—you’ll always cherish this memory.”
“I always will.”
Sentiment swept over him, and suddenly, he was terribly conflicted. Though he owed her no fidelity, it seemed as if he was cheating on her, being disloyal for hiding his situation with Veronica.
He was on the verge of changing his mind, but she must have sensed his anguish.
“It will be all right, Nicholas,” she gently soothed.
“I couldn’t bear to hurt you.”
“You never will.”
She pulled him to her, and she started their next race to ecstasy by initiating a stirring kiss in which he gleefully participated. He used her fervor to her detriment, persuading himself that she was eager for what was coming. They were both keen to proceed. They would both be better off after they were through.
He aroused her, his hands roaming, his mouth nibbling, until she was once more on the brink of bliss. Baring his flanks, he tugged down his trousers, his torso dropping between her thighs. He took his cock and wedged the tip into her sheath.
At the peculiar positioning, she tensed and frowned.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to join my body to yours, remember?”
“Are you sure this is the correct way?”
Her innocent question underscored the depravity of his conduct, but he ignored his reservations.
“Yes, I’m sure this is correct.” He wedged in a tad farther. “It will hurt—just for a moment. Then it will feel grand.”
“It doesn’t feel grand now.”
“It will. Trust me.”
“You know I don’t.”
She smiled a smile that was old and wise, as if she knew something he didn’t. He glanced away and dipped to her breasts, laving them, nursing at them, until her pleasure rose and crested.
As her orgasm commenced, as she cried out, he clutched her hips and thrust once and again, and burst through her maidenhead.
“Oh . . .” she breathed, and she hugged him very tight.
He drew away slightly, and he was aghast to see tears in her eyes.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t—”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“Are you certain?”
“The pain is waning—as you told me it would.”
“It will be over in a minute.”
“It already is.”
He’d never lain with a virgin before, so he hadn’t understood how monumental the episode would be. Mustering all his fortitude, he held himself very still, waiting while she acclimated.
Her hot maiden’s blood was urging him to finish, and as she relaxed the tiniest bit, he began to flex. He was much too rough, pushing in all the way, then retreating to the tip, and the encounter escalated much too quickly. He couldn’t slow the approaching rush.
The most alarming explosion of passion flooded his loins, and he couldn’t tamp it down. He’d planned to do the sane thing, the rational thing, and withdraw at the last second, but he’d never been so titillated, and he recklessly emptied himself against her womb.
With a shudder, he ground to a halt and slid away. He snuggled her onto her side, and he spooned himself to her back.
They were silent, with him running a hand up and down her arm and thigh. He was very attuned to her, and he could sense her roiling emotions. He might have probed her thoughts, but he’d rutted like a beast, and he was afraid of what she might say.
Eventually, she murmured, “It was different than I imagined it would be.”
“In what way?”
“I didn’t realize it was so . . . physical. I assumed it would be . . . I don’t know . . . more romantic, I guess.”
He winced. “It can be very romantic. I simply didn’t do it very well. You entice me beyond my limit. I couldn’t control myself.”
“I didn’t want you to control yourself.”
“It gets better with repetition.”
They were quiet for another lengthy interval, then she asked, “I’m not a virgin anymore, am I?”
“No.”
“Could I be with child?”
“It can’t happen from just one time,” he claimed, not having any idea why he’d lie.
For an insane instant, he almost wished she was pregnant. He could picture the little girl they’d create. She’d have Emeline’s big green eyes and pretty blond hair. Or perhaps it would be a boy with his handsome looks, attitude, and swagger. But he shoved the poignant vision aside.
He was betrothed and would be married very soon, and while he didn’t care about Veronica, he wasn’t such a tactless brute that he’d sire an illegitimate bastard shortly before the ceremony. In wedding him, Veronica would have to put up with a great deal, but he wouldn’t make her put up with that. It wouldn’t be fair to her or Emeline.
So Emeline couldn’t be increasing. He was the master of his world. He would command it away, and it would never transpire.
His hand rested on her waist. She clasped hold and linked their fingers, giving his a squeeze.
“This was for the best, wasn’t it?” she asked.
“Of course it was.”
“It changed everything. We can be together now.”
“Yes, we can,” he agreed. He was too drowsy to decipher what she meant. Carnal lethargy was sweeping him away, so he was in no mood to chat.
“We’ll go forward, as I’d hoped we would.” She paused, and with a hitch in her voice—was she crying?—she said, “Are you happy?”
“Yes, Em, I’m very happy.”
“I’m so glad I’m yours. Yours forever.”
“Mine forever,” he concurred.
Her breathing lagged, her body relaxing, as slumber approached.
“You can’t stay in here,” she mumbled.
“I won’t. I’ll wait until you doze off, then I’ll leave.”
She gave his fingers a final squeeze, but no more words were spoken.
The quiet settled in, the air cooling, and he tugged a blanket over them. He tarried, listening, watching her. He wanted to remember her as she was at that moment: warm and sleepy and sexy and beautiful. And too, too trusting.
The first crack of dawn appeared on the horizon, and he slipped from the bed.
He stood, straightening his clothes, gazing down at her. There was the strangest pressure in the center of his chest, as if his heart was . . . was . . . breaking.
Goodbye, he whispered, and he turned and tiptoed away.
“There it is! Look!”
Veronica pointed out the carriage window, and her friend, Portia, leaned across the seat to peer out at Stafford Manor.
Veronica was terribly nervous, but trying not to show it. She’d been on pins and needles, watching for her initial glimpse of the mansion. If it wasn’t incredibly imposing, Portia would tell everyone that Veronica was taking a step down.
Veronica was very spoiled—there was no use denying it—and she insisted on having the best of everything. She couldn’t have her reputation tarnished by a plain, modest residence. It had to be absolutely grand or she’d just die!
“It’s fine,” Portia said. “Not as big as your father’s—”
“Father is a duke,” Veronica snapped. “Nicholas can hardly be blamed for his home being less impressive than ours.”
“But it has its
own charm.”
“Yes, it does,” Veronica agreed.
It was set on the side of a hill, with orchards of fruit trees leading up to it. The stone was a pretty tan color that glowed in the morning sunlight. It appeared to be a magical spot where a princess, which she deemed herself to be, could live happily ever after with her prince.
Not that she intended to live at Stafford, but the house would suffice for her infrequent forays to the country.
Her visit to Nicholas, unexpected and uninvited, was thrilling and reckless. Since she’d be alone with him for the first time ever, she’d built up numerous scenarios in her head as to what might occur without a chaperone dogging her every stride.
He was reputed to be vastly skilled with the ladies. Would he, by chance, shower her with some of his extensive experience? If she could wrangle a few delicious kisses, she would consider the trip an enormous success.
“I can’t wait,” Portia said, “to see Lord Stafford’s face when you climb out of the carriage.”
“Neither can I. He’ll probably faint with shock.”
“Wouldn’t that be hilarious? It would provide us with stories for months.”
At the notion of Nicholas suffering a fit of the vapors, they both laughed.
“What if she is here when we arrive?” Portia asked, she being the brazen hussy who was supposedly ensconced on the premises.
Rumors of a mistress were still rampant, and Veronica hadn’t made any progress in learning if they were true or not.
Well, she’d soon discover the actual state of affairs. If there was a doxy, the trollop would definitely know her place when Veronica was finished with her.
“If she is here,” Veronica mused, “she won’t be staying for long.”
“What will you do to be rid of her?”
“I haven’t decided, but I wouldn’t be beyond taking a stick to her backside. She’ll be sorry to have crossed me.”
“Oh, you’re too, too horrid.” Portia chortled with glee. “What about Lord Stafford? What if we find out that he’s betrayed you—as everyone claims?”
“I’m not ready to believe the worst of him. Yet. He is to be my husband after all. He deserves my respect.”
“If he’s squandered it though,” Portia pressed, “what then?”
“He’ll be very sorry too.”
Emeline walked down the grand staircase. She could barely contain her joy and was fighting the urge to grin.
While she was usually an early riser, the prior night’s activity with Nicholas had kept her occupied much too late. It was nearly nine o’clock, and she was finally traipsing down to breakfast.
Sexual dalliance it seemed, with the most marvelous man in the world, could generate a huge appetite.
She was anxious to eat, then locate him. He’d made some promises, and she’d given herself to him to seal those promises, so they had many topics to discuss. He planned to return to the army, but she wanted him to retire and come home to Stafford as fast as he could.
They could marry before he left. That way, when he was far away, he would know she was impatiently waiting for him and thinking about him all the time.
As she reached the foyer, she glanced out the front window. She stopped and stared.
Nicholas was there, arguing with his brother. He was dressed in his uniform, his horse saddled, a pack tied on the back.
Her heart pounded. Was he leaving? He couldn’t be! Not before they’d talked!
She hurried to the door and rushed outside.
“Lord Stafford!” she called, scarcely able to recollect that she shouldn’t refer to him as Nicholas.
Both brothers whipped around, and they glared at her as if she’d done something wrong.
Lt. Price muttered, “Damn it.”
“Lord Stafford,” she said again, “what’s happening?”
Nicholas frowned at Emeline, at his brother, at Emeline, then he told Lt. Price, “Give me a minute alone with her.”
“No,” Lt. Price maddeningly replied. “This needs to end. Right here, right now.”
She stumbled to a halt. They were big and brawny, and they towered over her, making her feel small and insignificant.
“I thought you’d sleep in this morning,” Nicholas said.
“I was just coming down to breakfast.” She studied his clothes, his horse, and she asked, “What are you doing?”
Nicholas didn’t answer, and his brother explained, “He’s departing for London. Immediately.”
“But . . . why?”
“You know why,” Lt. Price scathingly retorted.
Emeline blanched, her cheeks reddening with shame and fury.
“Tell me why,” she demanded of Nicholas. “Not your brother. You. Tell me.”
He shrugged. “I have to go.”
“For how long? Forever?”
He hesitated, then admitted, “Yes.”
His cheeks reddened too, but likely from chagrin at being caught.
“You were sneaking away? Without a goodbye?”
“Miss Wilson,” Lt. Price counseled, “remember yourself. Remember where you are and who might be listening. Why would the earl need to say goodbye to you?”
Humiliation swept over her, and she wondered if she might faint.
While she’d assumed her remarkable connection with Nicholas would bring about a wedding, he’d used their bond as bait he could dangle to convince her to raise her skirt.
“You didn’t mean any of it, did you?” she charged. “It was all a lie.”
He glowered at his brother. “Go away. Now. I must speak with her.”
“No.”
Nicholas took a menacing step toward Lt. Price. He leaned in and quietly threatened, “If you don’t give me some privacy, I will beat you to a bloody pulp.”
The brothers shared a heated visual exchange, then Lt. Price moved away.
Nicholas turned to her, and he looked altered from how he’d previously been. Any prior fondness had vanished, and she tried to figure out what she was witnessing instead. It wasn’t boredom so much as irritation that she was creating a scene, and he would have to deal with it before he could be on his way.
“Well . . . ?” she asked.
“I have to go, Em.”
“Why?”
“I never should have started in with you, and there’s no appropriate conclusion except for me to separate myself.”
“It’s awfully convenient that you didn’t arrive at this decision until after last night.”
“Trust me, this is for the best.”
“I don’t trust you, so you’ll never get me to agree.”
“I’m more experienced in these affairs than you.”
“Are you?” she derisively scoffed.
“We couldn’t keep on as we had been. I’m doing this for you, Em. You have to continue living here. You can’t have your reputation sullied because of me.”
“When was I supposed to learn that you’d left? How was I supposed to learn of it? Or were you hoping I’d hear the servants gossiping in the halls?”
“My brother was to confer with you this afternoon.”
“How kind of him,” she sneered, and she began to cry. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t hold her tears at bay. There were too many.
“I loved you,” she pathetically said.
At her repeating the foolish declaration, he winced as if she’d struck him.
“I told you not to,” he gently replied. “I told you I wasn’t worth it.”
“I thought you would marry me. I gave myself to you—because I believed you would.”
“It was the lust talking, Em. I’m a scoundrel. I always have been.”
If he’d taken out a gun and shot her, he couldn’t have been anymore cruel. She moaned with dismay and swiped at h
er tears.
“Em,” he murmured, “don’t be sad. I can’t bear it when you are.”
He reached out as if he might touch her, and his brother snapped, “Nicholas!”
The earl dropped his hand. The most awkward silence descended, and she wished the ground would open and swallow her whole.
She felt silly and ridiculous; she’d been tricked and deceived. It was an old story: the handsome, charming aristocrat seducing the unsuspecting, naïve girl. On a daily basis, it played out all over the kingdom.
“What have you determined about my situation?” she inquired. “Are my sisters and I moving out of the manor?”
Lt. Price came forward. “We’ll discuss it after my brother is gone.”
Gad, was she to be thrown out on the road? Could Lord Stafford really be that malicious? She’d imprudently consorted with him. Was eviction to be the price for her misbehavior?
Lt. Price gestured to the earl’s horse. “This attempt at farewell is horrid and pointless. Let’s get you out of here.”
Lord Stafford looked pained, as if he might try to defend himself or justify his actions, but she couldn’t listen.
She might have turned and run into the house, but she was distracted by the realization that there was a coach coming up the lane. Their conversation had been so gripping that they hadn’t noticed its approach. The three of them spun to gape.
It was a fancy vehicle, pulled by six white horses that trotted with matching strides. The outriders wore green livery, decorated with gold braid and buttons. There was an ornate crest on the door.
“For pity’s sake,” Lt. Price growled as it rumbled to a halt.
The two brothers shared another caustic visual exchange, then Lt. Price pushed the earl toward the conveyance.
“Go over and say hello,” Lt. Price instructed. “It’s not as if you can ignore her.”
“Who is it?” Emeline asked, but neither man answered.
“I’ll explain later,” the earl told her.
“No, you won’t,” Lt. Price huffed. “Your chats with Miss Wilson are over. I insist on it.”
“I hate that you had to find out like this,” the earl said to Emeline.
As if she’d become invisible, he whipped away and went to the carriage. Like an imbecile, she dawdled, watching him.