by Cheryl Holt
Her citing of the date was extremely distressing, but he couldn't figure out why it would be. Blandly, he inquired, "Is it so soon?"
"Four weeks away."
"It certainly is."
"Have you any comment on the situation?" "What would you like me to say besides congratulations?"
"Would you imagine I'll be happy with Mr. Shelton?" "Since when did your kind ever marry for happiness?"
"My kind"? Honestly, Ian, where do you get your absurd notions?"
"From status-conscious snobs like you."
She shot a reproving glare. "So what is your opinion as to my pending nuptials? Will my union with Mr. Shelton be one long romantic adventure?"
He couldn't see any reason to lie. "No. It will be quite awful."
She chuckled, though miserably. "You've always been so brutally frank. It's a most infuriating trait."
"I aim to please."
"Were you aware that Mr. Shelton is thirty-five years older than me?" "Is it that many?"
"My mother claims the age difference is a boon." "How could it be?"
"She says I'm nervous and fickle, and I'll benefit from his steadying presence." "Your mother is an idiot."
"It's two in the afternoon," she mentioned, switching subjects, "and you aren't dressed." "No, I'm not."
"You're falling apart. What's happened to you?" It was a question he'd asked himself a thousand times.
"You can't keep visiting," he scolded. "Why not?"
She marched to the sideboard, and he watched— flummoxed—as she passed up the food, but helped herself to some of his uncles' whiskey.
He was aghast. "Have you become a drunkard?"
"I don't believe so. Why?"
"Whenever I see you lately, you have liquor in your hand."
She grinned. "I have, haven't I?"
"Yes, and I don't like the transformation."
She shrugged. "I don't care."
Her reply aggravated him, which was silly. His primary criticism of her had been that she was too cautious. Now, as she was spontaneous at every torn, he was irked. Why couldn't he be glad?
She approached the table, and just as he assumed she'd sit in the chair next to him, she snuggled herself onto his lap.
"Caro!"
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
"I'm sitting on your lap."
"You have to stop being so forward."
"Why?"
"Because ... because ..." "Aren't you the one who urged me to be more impulsive?"
"Well... yes."
"I've merely decided to heed your advice, and I'm giving my passionate character free rein. What's wrong with that?"
"What's wrong with it? I'll tell you what's wrong with it. It's... it's ..."
"I missed you," she blurted out.
He'd missed her, too, but he'd never admit it. "That's as may be, but it doesn't imply that you can—"
She kissed him! Directly on the mouth!
Her fingers were in his hair, her breasts pressed to his chest. His body reacted as vehemently as could be expected, his cock rising to the occasion, and he was so conflicted.
He'd always desired her, and she was throwing herself at him. Why not catch her? What objective was served by restrained conduct?
He couldn't conceive of a single one.
She'd begged him to ruin her, though he was positive she wasn't serious. She was unhappy and fretting over her marriage, but he was sure—when push came to shove—that she'd go through with it. She simply needed to feel more secure as to her marital obligations, and a few evenings earlier he'd given her a hint as to what would be required. Why not continue with his lessons?
When he was working so hard to establish himself as a bounder and roue, what could be more fitting than to seduce the very prim and proper Lady Caroline? He could go some distance down the sexual road, without actually deflowering her.
If they were discovered, what was it to him? Apparently, she was prepared to risk her reputation, and she was the one who had everything to lose. With the exception of his new relationship with Jack, he was possessed of so little that mattered. If she was eager, shouldn't he oblige her?
So far, he'd dawdled like a statue, unwilling to join in, and his anatomy made the choice that his common sense couldn't render. He seized control of the embrace, pulling her nearer, as he caressed her shoulders, hair, and back. He clasped her hips, situating her delectable bottom so it was nestled to his inflamed loins. With each shift of her torso, she rubbed across his phallus, making him groan, making him ripple with lust.
"You've taught me something about myself," she murmured. "What is that?" "I adore kissing."
"I can tell."
"I think I have a knack for it, wouldn't you agree?"
"Oh, yes. You definitely have a knack."
With a renewed fervor, he captured her mouth, and he was stunned by how natural it seemed to dally with her. He felt as if he'd been kissing her forever, as if he'd been created specifically for kissing her and no other purpose.
Goaded to recklessness, he draped her over his arm and nibbled down her neck, to her bosom. He fought with the bodice of her dress, then eased a breast free. He licked the aroused tip, as she arched and struggled against the potent stimulation.
"Oh, Lord, yes," she breathed. 'Touch me just like that! Don't stop!"
"You've become a wanton."
"Do you mind?"
"Not a whit. I find it quite grand."
He'd often suspected that she was an inferno of buried passions, and he was delighted to be proved correct. How lucky he was to have stumbled on her when she was ready to misbehave!
He sucked on her nipple until her hips started to flex, then he reached down and pressed on her mons with the heel of his hand, but the gesture provided scant relief.
She was beginning to comprehend the pleasures of the flesh, so she knew what her body craved, and he was elated to give it to her. However, they were lounged in a chair in the dining room. He wasn't positive if Jack and Rebecca had departed, and he had no clue as to the location of any of the servants. Someone could walk in on them, and while he wasn't concerned over being observed, he was certain she'd be mortified.
He drew away and straightened her clothes, then he stood her on her feet, and he stood, too.
She frowned. "What are you doing? We can't quit!"
"Let's go up to my bedchamber."
"Will we engage in the sorts of activity we attempted the other night?"
"That was my intent. I'm hoping to have my wicked way with you."
"Then by all means, let's go to your bedchamber."
As if they were adolescent sweethearts, he linked their fingers and led her toward the hall. She'd grown so brazen that she willingly followed, content to leap off any cliff he suggested.
He grabbed for the knob and opened the door, when he literally bumped into Rebecca.
Suddenly and without warning, he was positioned between his mistress who was extremely jealous and Caro who was ... was ... Well, he couldn't describe what she was. The scene was hideous, and he hadn't a clue how to wiggle out of it.
Like a beast, he stepped away from Caro, pretending no heightened affection. It was the only satisfactory resolution, but still, he could feel her stiffen, could sense that she perceived the insult.
"I thought you'd left," he said to Rebecca, struggling to sound casual.
"I was curious if you'd like to..." Rebecca paused as she saw Caro. Her gaze narrowed, her brain whirring as she tried to deduce what Caroline's presence indicated. On the spur of the moment, he couldn't devise an acceptable response.
"What are you doing here?" she asked Caro.
"I might ask you the same question," Caro rejoined, "but then, we both know the answer, don't we?"
Rebecca's hot temper sparked. "I have every right to be here if I wish. Ian and I have an understanding."
"Ian and I have an understanding, too," Caro maintained, being deliberately enigmatic.<
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Rebecca gasped and shifted her malevolent glare to Ian.
"Explain yourself," she demanded.
He had no idea why he was meeting with Caro, couldn't justify it to himself, and most especially couldn't justify it to Rebecca.
"It's not what you think," he pitifully asserted.
"Isn't it?"
"We're old friends," Caro chimed in, imbuing the comment with too much innuendo. Where had she obtained this aptitude for feminine wiles?
"What are you doing sniffing around Ian?" Rebecca challenged. "Be gone! At once!"
"I'm not ready to leave."
"Ladies," Ian interrupted, "if I might—"
"Shut up, Ian," they snapped in unison.
"Ian," Caroline kept on, regal as any princess, "I'd like to finish our discussion. Would you arrange to have Mrs. Blake escorted out?"
Rebecca scoffed. "As if Ian could order me to do anything! I'm a widow and—as opposed to you—I'm permitted to act however I please."
"I'd forgotten you were a widow in mourning," Caro mused. She rudely and critically assessed Rebecca's bright red gown.
"I'm sure it will come as a surprise to someone as pious and perfect as yourself," Rebecca retorted, "but I'm not in mourning. My late husband was a violent boor and not entitled to any lingering respect from me."
"Actually"—Caro was giving as good as she got— "I'm not surprised in the least. How many husbands have you killed? Five? Six?"
"Now you've done it," Ian muttered.
"I didn't kill any of my husbands!"
"That's not what I hear."
"Is it my fault they keep dropping dead?"
"You always seem to be with them when it happens. Some of us find it a tad too coincidental."
"I don't know why they keep dying!"
"Don't you?"
Caro stared her down, appearing greatly harassed, immaculate, and without fear of harm. She regarded Rebecca as if the ferocious, incensed woman were a queer bug that ought to be squashed.
"Jack!" Ian called. "Jack! Are you here? Come help me!"
Shortly, Jack hurried toward them, and in an instant, he discerned the awkwardness of the situation.
"Rebecca," he said, "why don't I see you home?"
"I don't need a boy to show me the way," she fumed, her livid gaze locked on Caro's. She spun and stormed out, halting at the last to hurl over her shoulder, "Lady Caroline, I wonder if Mr. Shelton knows where you are."
Caro was unperturbed by the threat. "Why don't you speak with him? I'm positive he'd be eager to chat with an individual of your stellar character."
For a split second, Rebecca looked as if she might engage in some of the homicide for which she was so notorious, so Jack blocked her and dragged her away.
Ian watched them go, yearning to trot off after them. At the moment, he'd like nothing better than to be relaxing in a gentlemen's club and enmeshed in an amiable game of dice. He'd be surrounded by sane, rational men, the company of whom he enjoyed and understood.
The dust settled, and Caro broke the jarring silence. "Well, that was unpleasant." "It certainly was. I'm sorry." "Are you?" "Of course I am."
The ice queen had returned with a vengeance. She was coldly furious, but only a person who knew her intimately—such as himself—could detect it
"In the past," she charged, "you castigated me because I held my tongue in ugly circumstances, or because I was calm in the middle of discord. Were you implying I should be more like Mrs. Blake? Is she the sort of female you relish?"
There were a dozen replies he could make as to why he persisted with Rebecca. He liked her fire and sass, her spirit and audacity. She was wild in life and wild in bed, and in light of his current attempts to regularly offend others, it was enormously entertaining to observe as she thumbed her nose at Caroline's society, but he doubted Caroline would appreciate any candor on the topic.
"I've known her a long time, Caro," he quietly stated.
"Have you?" She smiled the frosty smile that could set grown men to trembling. It was her mother's smile, her aristocrat's smile, her wealthy, spoiled earl's daughter smile.
"Good-bye," she said.
She tried to step around him, but he moved into her path, a hand on her waist.
"I don't want you to leave. Not when you're so angry."
"I'm not angry"
"You can't he to me. I know you too well."
"No, you don't. You don't know me, at all. Nor do I know you." She yanked away so that he wasn't touching her. "Occasionally, I'm lonely and frightened, and I allow my low feelings to push me into foolish predicaments. I sit in my empty bedchamber, and I pine for you, and I convince myself that you're missing me, too. I forget that you have an entire existence that doesn't include me—just as I have one that doesn't include you and never will."
"That's not true, Caro. We're old friends. You said so yourself."
"I didn't mean it," she cruelly retorted. "I apologize for pestering you. It won't happen again."
"You haven't been a bother. You're welcome to stop by whenever you like."
"Don't start being kind to me. Courtesy doesn't become you."
She walked down the hall, toward the rear door, and he called, "Wait, Caro. Let me take you home."
"I can find my own way—as your mistress can. I'm not helpless and never have been. No one seems to realize that about me."
Then she was gone, and he slumped against the wall.
It had been the worst afternoon of his life, and it
wasn't even three o'clock. If he had a hundred years to try, he wouldn't be able to fix this for either woman.
He proceeded to the dining room, poured a whiskey, and began to drink.
Chapter Six
Remove your hand before I break your arm," Rebecca warned.
Being his typical, annoying self, Jack didn't heed her command.
"I'm not afraid of you," he blustered.
"You're not?"
"No."
"Let me demonstrate why you should be."
She'd been an orphan raised by distant cousins— who'd had six boys. They'd all been bigger and meaner. She'd learned the hard way how to scrap and brawl, how to defend herself and win.
She whipped around, ready to bloody his nose, when she came face-to-face with his fabulous blue eyes. In the past few days, she'd been haunted by those eyes, and she didn't want to be gazing into them now. They were too piercing, too astute, and they seemed to delve through muscle and pore, down to the center of her miserable black heart.
"What will you do, Rebecca?" he taunted. "Will you fight the entire world?"
"If I have to."
"I'm not the enemy."
"You couldn't prove it by me."
She couldn't bear having him so close, and she stomped to her carriage and climbed in.
She was still trying to figure out what had transpired between them in Ian's dressing room. Jack had come upstairs to inform her that Ian was gone, he'd aggravated and insulted her, and the next thing she knew, she was riding him like a mare in heat.
After the life she'd led, she had few scruples and even fewer reasons to behave, yet she was very committed to Ian. He was a generous, attentive lover, and he'd been kind to her when no one else had shown an ounce of concern. For his stalwart devotion, she owed him gratitude and fidelity, yet Jack had merely glanced in her direction and she'd succumbed like a harlot.
She'd betrayed Ian! Ian whom she adored! Ian whom she hoped to marry! And she'd done it with his penniless, exasperating brother! Had any woman in history ever committed a more heinous act?
As she recollected her treachery, she blushed with shame, which was saying a lot. She never regretted, never apologized or lamented. As a single female, she had to survive as best she could, and if others didn't like how she carried on, she didn't care.
She'd been wed at fourteen, at sixteen, at twenty. Her three husbands had been brutal swine, who weren't missed. The first two had left her meager inheritances t
hat barely paid the bills. The third had been a money-grubbing miser, who'd died with plenty of cash in the bank, but she doubted she'd receive a penny of it.
She was no fool, and she understood how the world worked. She had no influential acquaintances and no power. Despite how long she bickered with her brother-in-law, he would end up with it all, so she had to marry Ian. No other man would have her, but what if he found out what she'd done? There was a limit to what he'd tolerate, and having sex with Jack crossed any acceptable line.
She couldn't justify her crazed rush to fornicate with Jack. She didn't even like Jack!
With how he'd slithered out of nowhere and ingratiated himself to Ian, she remained unconvinced that they were siblings, and she loathed that Ian was so fond of him. Her grip on Ian's affection was tenuous, so she didn't want to share him with anybody.
What had she been thinking? How could she continue visiting Ian? How could she wed him? Her conduct with Jack would forever be a wedge between them, a secret she couldn't divulge.
Desperate to be away, she pounded on the roof of the coach, signaling the driver to hurry, when Jack climbed in behind her.
He paused to peer up at the other man and said, "Mrs. Blake is going home. Take your time arriving, would you?"
He winked! The bastard! The driver would suppose that she'd deliberately planned to be sequestered with Jack, and rumors would spread.
Did Jack want stories drifting to Ian? Was he completely deranged?
"Get out of here!" she hissed, but the horses took that moment to pull, and the carriage lurched forward. Jack tumbled onto her, his weight pushing her onto the seat. In a thrice, she was flat on her back, and he was sprawled on top of her. Down below, his cock was erect and prodding her leg.
They hadn't been secluded for two seconds and he was aroused, which indicated that he desired her again, that their initial encounter hadn't been a fluke. Every feminine part of her rejoiced.
What was the matter with her? Had she no integrity? No honor? People often whispered that she possessed no conscience or morals. Were they correct?
"Ah!" she shrieked. "Are you mad? Get off me!"
He chuckled, but ignored her, so she batted at his shoulders and chest, and he seized her wrists and pinned them over her head.